unfold and peek at is more impossible than the one before—not to mention that some of them are outright illegible. Then I unfold HARRY POTTER & THE SORCEROR’S STONE .
“Here you go,” I say, handing the slip of paper to the kid.
“What do you think, Trevor?” Foster asks, kneeling down, studying his face.
Trevor reads it and then he smiles, the spark of an idea animating his eyes, and it’s pretty magical. I feel good about his chances. I squeeze Foster’s arm.
Trevor goes back in front of the group, and everyone stops talking. He unfolds and folds the clue a few times, biting his lip, staring down at the dirt, thinking. I’m rooting for Trevor, but I’m also rooting for Foster and me, because it feels like if Trevor can get this one, then Foster and I will get our first date.
Finally Trevor slips the clue in his pocket and begins, raising his arms in the air, making a big circle three or four times.
“What’s he doing?” I whisper to Foster.
“That means the whole thing ,” Foster whispers back. “He’s going to act out the whole clue instead of just the individual words.”
At first I’m annoyed, because the words are so plain, anyone could act them out. “Sorcerer” could be broken down into a few simple gestures (waving a wand, stroking a beard), and for “Stone” you can just pretend to lift something heavy. “Harry” is even easier—just point to your hair. But the Whole Thing? I can’t even imagine that. The Whole Thing is like everything, and how do you act out Everything? How do you communicate Everything ? You can’t.
Trevor starts off crouching on the ground, like he’s scared and hiding, then there’s some bird impressions and a bit where he’s pretending to be lost. Later he waves his hand frantically, trying to indicate something that’s moving really fast, but no one can tell it’s a train. Then he changes strategies, going for more of a wizard thing, miming the costume—a hat and scarf and glasses. Finally he does the wand, but the way he’s casting spells looks more like he’s hitting somebody with a stick, so no one guesses it, which then derails into an extremely confusing impersonation of a Quidditch game, and after that there’s a bunch of gestures I can’t interpret at all. The rest of his team aren’t even guessing at this point, they’re just shouting, “What is that?” and “Do that part again!” and I’m feeling depressed and responsible because I picked it. But Trevor doesn’t give up; he keeps trying stuff, experimenting, throwing himself into it, until gradually it’s like this emotional one-man performance, and suddenly I find myself really visualizing this frightened and heroic boy-wizard. He’s in the midst of mime-fighting some villain like Voldemort or Severus Snape when, magically, a kid yells out, “Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone!!” and Trevor throws his fists in the air and cheers and the whole thing’s over.
Foster runs to his group and high-fives everyone, and hugs Trevor, and he even hugs me, but he forgets about the reading and Book Soup and Sunday, because that whole thing’s over too.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
..................................................................
WALKING BACK TO my girls, I can’t stop thinking about the charades game, how inspiring it was. But more than just inspiring me , it inspires me to inspire . Even though incentive, as a concept, doesn’t really do much for me personally, it usually works on other people, so I assume it’ll probably work on the girls. I’m starting to get used to what it feels like to be a leader, and I’m also getting used to giving speeches and just basically trying to share my voice with other females and other potential future writers. I gather the girls near the animal area by the bunny pen and give them a long speech, which they have no choice but to listen to.
“When I was a kid, even younger than you guys,
“Here you go,” I say, handing the slip of paper to the kid.
“What do you think, Trevor?” Foster asks, kneeling down, studying his face.
Trevor reads it and then he smiles, the spark of an idea animating his eyes, and it’s pretty magical. I feel good about his chances. I squeeze Foster’s arm.
Trevor goes back in front of the group, and everyone stops talking. He unfolds and folds the clue a few times, biting his lip, staring down at the dirt, thinking. I’m rooting for Trevor, but I’m also rooting for Foster and me, because it feels like if Trevor can get this one, then Foster and I will get our first date.
Finally Trevor slips the clue in his pocket and begins, raising his arms in the air, making a big circle three or four times.
“What’s he doing?” I whisper to Foster.
“That means the whole thing ,” Foster whispers back. “He’s going to act out the whole clue instead of just the individual words.”
At first I’m annoyed, because the words are so plain, anyone could act them out. “Sorcerer” could be broken down into a few simple gestures (waving a wand, stroking a beard), and for “Stone” you can just pretend to lift something heavy. “Harry” is even easier—just point to your hair. But the Whole Thing? I can’t even imagine that. The Whole Thing is like everything, and how do you act out Everything? How do you communicate Everything ? You can’t.
Trevor starts off crouching on the ground, like he’s scared and hiding, then there’s some bird impressions and a bit where he’s pretending to be lost. Later he waves his hand frantically, trying to indicate something that’s moving really fast, but no one can tell it’s a train. Then he changes strategies, going for more of a wizard thing, miming the costume—a hat and scarf and glasses. Finally he does the wand, but the way he’s casting spells looks more like he’s hitting somebody with a stick, so no one guesses it, which then derails into an extremely confusing impersonation of a Quidditch game, and after that there’s a bunch of gestures I can’t interpret at all. The rest of his team aren’t even guessing at this point, they’re just shouting, “What is that?” and “Do that part again!” and I’m feeling depressed and responsible because I picked it. But Trevor doesn’t give up; he keeps trying stuff, experimenting, throwing himself into it, until gradually it’s like this emotional one-man performance, and suddenly I find myself really visualizing this frightened and heroic boy-wizard. He’s in the midst of mime-fighting some villain like Voldemort or Severus Snape when, magically, a kid yells out, “Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone!!” and Trevor throws his fists in the air and cheers and the whole thing’s over.
Foster runs to his group and high-fives everyone, and hugs Trevor, and he even hugs me, but he forgets about the reading and Book Soup and Sunday, because that whole thing’s over too.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
..................................................................
WALKING BACK TO my girls, I can’t stop thinking about the charades game, how inspiring it was. But more than just inspiring me , it inspires me to inspire . Even though incentive, as a concept, doesn’t really do much for me personally, it usually works on other people, so I assume it’ll probably work on the girls. I’m starting to get used to what it feels like to be a leader, and I’m also getting used to giving speeches and just basically trying to share my voice with other females and other potential future writers. I gather the girls near the animal area by the bunny pen and give them a long speech, which they have no choice but to listen to.
“When I was a kid, even younger than you guys,
Similar Books
