attitude now.”
He’s right, of course, but I’ve never been good at hiding my true self. That’s how I landed in this courtroom in the first place. Everyone saw the real me that day in November, that day at play practice with Ricky York.
then
my inner donkey brayed
It was only November fifth, and we still had a few weeks before Thanksgiving break would lead us into December, but Mrs. Luna started getting intense. We began meeting for lunch in the auditorium to practice on stage. She said the play was challenging because it coordinated drumming and music with the actors’ words, movements and use of props.
Mrs. Luna also was worried because the office had scheduled the school’s talent show for December seventeenth. That would create a week of conflict over the stage. We had to get serious to be ready for our January opening night, she said.
By Friday, everyone knew what they had to do. Some kids painted sets. Todd and other backstage workers were trying to fold a five-foot-long paper crane for the opening scene plus work on hundreds of smaller cranes that would be handed out to each audience member. The drummers were coordinating with people who would play recorded music at various spots. And all around the auditorium, small groups of actors rehearsed.
Up on the stage, Mrs. Luna worked with Maddy Miskowski and Isaac Adler, a smart boy who played Sadako’s best friend. In the first scene, he helps her prepare for a running race before she falls ill from leukemia a couple scenes later.
I practiced in a far-back corner with Kailyn Whitehead and Ricky York on the journey to spirit land scene. One girl, Lenore Shafer, was one of the smart kids learning the entire play so she could fill in for anyone if necessary. She did Maddy’s Sadako lines for our run-through.
“OK, we’re going to get this,” said Lenore, who had taken charge of our group. “We can do it! Practice makes perfect, right guys?”
“Right!” said Kailyn Whitehead.
I couldn’t figure out Lenore. She was one of the few girls I’d seen who had black hair with light roots. She wore the dark Goth look from head to toe, but she was permanently perky.
Practice had not made anything perfect. Ricky could not get his lines right. Even reading them, he was rough. Now we were supposed to be practicing without scripts, and Ricky still held his crumpled copy in his hands.
We started the scene again with me and Lenore holding hands. We pretended to fly through clouds, watch cranes fly by, grab stars and toss them like confetti. As Grandmother, I was to show her the way as we passed over spirits of a thousand years toward those who died from the bomb. I said my line that was Ricky’s cue to speak.
His part was seven sentences, talking about how he was digging fire lanes when the bomb exploded and lit everything white and melted everything around him.
Once again, we got a blank look from Ricky. He said nothing. He blinked. His index finger poked his sliding glasses back up his nose. Then, when he fumbled for the millionth time with that falling-apart script in his hands, I ripped it away from him.
I flung the pages behind me. “What is your problem? Are you a complete moron, or lazy, or what?”
Ricky blinked a couple times more. His nose twitched like a rabbit to move his glasses up again.
“Say something! You have seven sentences! You’ve had three weeks to memorize! How hard is that? For God’s sake, get a brain!”
I hadn’t noticed the room fall silent. I didn’t realize how loud I screamed. My eyes looked from Ricky’s sad, skinny face, to Kailyn and Lenore frowning, to everyone staring beyond. No one moved, except Maddy Miskowski. She looked right at me for once, shaking her head at center stage.
Then I saw Mrs. Luna, crouched a few feet in front of Maddy, her black hair shining in the stage lights, her fingers stretched out for balance on the stage floor. Her back was turned but her face looked at me – shocked for sure. What
He’s right, of course, but I’ve never been good at hiding my true self. That’s how I landed in this courtroom in the first place. Everyone saw the real me that day in November, that day at play practice with Ricky York.
then
my inner donkey brayed
It was only November fifth, and we still had a few weeks before Thanksgiving break would lead us into December, but Mrs. Luna started getting intense. We began meeting for lunch in the auditorium to practice on stage. She said the play was challenging because it coordinated drumming and music with the actors’ words, movements and use of props.
Mrs. Luna also was worried because the office had scheduled the school’s talent show for December seventeenth. That would create a week of conflict over the stage. We had to get serious to be ready for our January opening night, she said.
By Friday, everyone knew what they had to do. Some kids painted sets. Todd and other backstage workers were trying to fold a five-foot-long paper crane for the opening scene plus work on hundreds of smaller cranes that would be handed out to each audience member. The drummers were coordinating with people who would play recorded music at various spots. And all around the auditorium, small groups of actors rehearsed.
Up on the stage, Mrs. Luna worked with Maddy Miskowski and Isaac Adler, a smart boy who played Sadako’s best friend. In the first scene, he helps her prepare for a running race before she falls ill from leukemia a couple scenes later.
I practiced in a far-back corner with Kailyn Whitehead and Ricky York on the journey to spirit land scene. One girl, Lenore Shafer, was one of the smart kids learning the entire play so she could fill in for anyone if necessary. She did Maddy’s Sadako lines for our run-through.
“OK, we’re going to get this,” said Lenore, who had taken charge of our group. “We can do it! Practice makes perfect, right guys?”
“Right!” said Kailyn Whitehead.
I couldn’t figure out Lenore. She was one of the few girls I’d seen who had black hair with light roots. She wore the dark Goth look from head to toe, but she was permanently perky.
Practice had not made anything perfect. Ricky could not get his lines right. Even reading them, he was rough. Now we were supposed to be practicing without scripts, and Ricky still held his crumpled copy in his hands.
We started the scene again with me and Lenore holding hands. We pretended to fly through clouds, watch cranes fly by, grab stars and toss them like confetti. As Grandmother, I was to show her the way as we passed over spirits of a thousand years toward those who died from the bomb. I said my line that was Ricky’s cue to speak.
His part was seven sentences, talking about how he was digging fire lanes when the bomb exploded and lit everything white and melted everything around him.
Once again, we got a blank look from Ricky. He said nothing. He blinked. His index finger poked his sliding glasses back up his nose. Then, when he fumbled for the millionth time with that falling-apart script in his hands, I ripped it away from him.
I flung the pages behind me. “What is your problem? Are you a complete moron, or lazy, or what?”
Ricky blinked a couple times more. His nose twitched like a rabbit to move his glasses up again.
“Say something! You have seven sentences! You’ve had three weeks to memorize! How hard is that? For God’s sake, get a brain!”
I hadn’t noticed the room fall silent. I didn’t realize how loud I screamed. My eyes looked from Ricky’s sad, skinny face, to Kailyn and Lenore frowning, to everyone staring beyond. No one moved, except Maddy Miskowski. She looked right at me for once, shaking her head at center stage.
Then I saw Mrs. Luna, crouched a few feet in front of Maddy, her black hair shining in the stage lights, her fingers stretched out for balance on the stage floor. Her back was turned but her face looked at me – shocked for sure. What
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