known forever as the failed Puff at the most disastrous concert in Platters history.
Sing, somebody!
And then, to the amazement of Mason himself,
he
was that somebody.
More nimbly than he could have imagined, Mason walked out onto the stage and joined Brody at the mike.
Mr. Griffith came around again to the familiar opening cue, and Mason opened his mouth to prepare to sing, praying that this time he wouldn’t have a spasm of coughing. After all, if there was one song on this earth that he could sing, this was it.
“Puff the Plainfield Dragon,” Mason sang.
Brody joined in. “Lives at our school.”
“Puff helps us to do our work and follow every rule,” the two friends sang together. Brody’s voice was loud and confident now.
“Puff is loved by everyone because he is so cool! Every day we shout hooray that Puff lives at our school! Oh.…”
The Plainfield Platters added their voices to the next chorus. Mason couldn’t see them, but he knew that standing behind him on the risers, Nora and Dunk, Sheng, Julio, Alastair, and Bradley were all singing, too. Brody was belting out the song with all his big Brody heart, his face shining once again in its usual Brodyish way, as if it had been buttered with happiness.
Although they hadn’t rehearsed it like this, Mrs. Morengo turned toward the audience and invited them to sing along. The gymnasium swelled with the sound. Mason wondered if even Mrs. Prindle and the Channel 9 cameraman would be able to resist taking part.
“Puff the Plainfield Dragon!” Mason sang to thebrand-new but still lucky stuffed dragon propped up against the side of the stage.
“Every day we shout hooray that Puff lives at our school!”
“Oh, Mason, we were so worried!” his mother said as she crushed him into a hug once the concert was over and kids were meeting their parents in the hallway outside the gym. “We looked and looked and couldn’t find you anywhere! But then—oh, Mason, you didn’t tell us that
you
were going to have a solo, along with Brody!”
Mason’s dad stopped fiddling with his camcorder and joined in the hug.
Mason didn’t know how much to tell them. So all he said was, hoping it didn’t sound too much like bragging, “The lightning during the raindrop song? That was me, too.”
“Oh, Mason!” his mother said, seemingly overcome by the thought of his solo
plus
his extremely clever lighting effect.
“And, Dan, what do you think about voice lessons? Mason, should we call that woman Mrs. Morengo suggested? Would you like us to do that?”
“Um, that would be a no,” Mason said.
His mother exchanged a glance with his father but didn’t say anything more, distracted by the compliments and congratulations from other parents crowding up to them.
“The two of you looked so cute together!” Brody’s mother said, busy hugging Mason as Mason’s mother was busy hugging Brody.
Nora flashed him a huge smile. Even Dunk’s parents said something nice while Dunk stood staring down at the floor.
Maybe Mason should ask Coach Joe on Monday if he could revise his Pedro story. He thought maybe Pedro was ready now to come out of retirement and play again, taking his place up on the stage, in the spotlight, making music for all to hear.
Anything was possible.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
It is such a pleasure to be able to thank some of the wonderful, brilliant, creative people who helped bring this book into being: my longtime Boulder writing group (Marie DesJardin, Mary Peace Finley, Ann Whitehead Nagda, Leslie O’Kane, Phyllis Perry, and Elizabeth Wrenn); my unfailingly insightful and encouraging editor, Nancy Hinkel; my wise and caring agent, Stephen Fraser; consistently helpful Jeremy Medina; magnificently sharp-eyed copy editors Janet Frick and Artie Bennett; Guy Francis for his funny, tender pictures; and Isabel Warren-Lynch and Sarah Hokanson for their appealing book design. And one huge thank-you goes to Jennifer Teets, who invited me to give an author talk
Sing, somebody!
And then, to the amazement of Mason himself,
he
was that somebody.
More nimbly than he could have imagined, Mason walked out onto the stage and joined Brody at the mike.
Mr. Griffith came around again to the familiar opening cue, and Mason opened his mouth to prepare to sing, praying that this time he wouldn’t have a spasm of coughing. After all, if there was one song on this earth that he could sing, this was it.
“Puff the Plainfield Dragon,” Mason sang.
Brody joined in. “Lives at our school.”
“Puff helps us to do our work and follow every rule,” the two friends sang together. Brody’s voice was loud and confident now.
“Puff is loved by everyone because he is so cool! Every day we shout hooray that Puff lives at our school! Oh.…”
The Plainfield Platters added their voices to the next chorus. Mason couldn’t see them, but he knew that standing behind him on the risers, Nora and Dunk, Sheng, Julio, Alastair, and Bradley were all singing, too. Brody was belting out the song with all his big Brody heart, his face shining once again in its usual Brodyish way, as if it had been buttered with happiness.
Although they hadn’t rehearsed it like this, Mrs. Morengo turned toward the audience and invited them to sing along. The gymnasium swelled with the sound. Mason wondered if even Mrs. Prindle and the Channel 9 cameraman would be able to resist taking part.
“Puff the Plainfield Dragon!” Mason sang to thebrand-new but still lucky stuffed dragon propped up against the side of the stage.
“Every day we shout hooray that Puff lives at our school!”
“Oh, Mason, we were so worried!” his mother said as she crushed him into a hug once the concert was over and kids were meeting their parents in the hallway outside the gym. “We looked and looked and couldn’t find you anywhere! But then—oh, Mason, you didn’t tell us that
you
were going to have a solo, along with Brody!”
Mason’s dad stopped fiddling with his camcorder and joined in the hug.
Mason didn’t know how much to tell them. So all he said was, hoping it didn’t sound too much like bragging, “The lightning during the raindrop song? That was me, too.”
“Oh, Mason!” his mother said, seemingly overcome by the thought of his solo
plus
his extremely clever lighting effect.
“And, Dan, what do you think about voice lessons? Mason, should we call that woman Mrs. Morengo suggested? Would you like us to do that?”
“Um, that would be a no,” Mason said.
His mother exchanged a glance with his father but didn’t say anything more, distracted by the compliments and congratulations from other parents crowding up to them.
“The two of you looked so cute together!” Brody’s mother said, busy hugging Mason as Mason’s mother was busy hugging Brody.
Nora flashed him a huge smile. Even Dunk’s parents said something nice while Dunk stood staring down at the floor.
Maybe Mason should ask Coach Joe on Monday if he could revise his Pedro story. He thought maybe Pedro was ready now to come out of retirement and play again, taking his place up on the stage, in the spotlight, making music for all to hear.
Anything was possible.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
It is such a pleasure to be able to thank some of the wonderful, brilliant, creative people who helped bring this book into being: my longtime Boulder writing group (Marie DesJardin, Mary Peace Finley, Ann Whitehead Nagda, Leslie O’Kane, Phyllis Perry, and Elizabeth Wrenn); my unfailingly insightful and encouraging editor, Nancy Hinkel; my wise and caring agent, Stephen Fraser; consistently helpful Jeremy Medina; magnificently sharp-eyed copy editors Janet Frick and Artie Bennett; Guy Francis for his funny, tender pictures; and Isabel Warren-Lynch and Sarah Hokanson for their appealing book design. And one huge thank-you goes to Jennifer Teets, who invited me to give an author talk
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