My Homework Ate My Homework by Patrick Jennings Page B

be patient, too.
    “Say the line, only say it bigger this time. Not huge. Just a little bit bigger. There’s nothing to be afraid of. It’s just us. You can’t possibly mess up, and if you do, I swear I’ll never tell a soul. Ever.”
    She still looks uncomfortable.
    “Do it with your eyes closed,” I say. “That might help.”
    She closes her eyes, then opens one and peeks at me, then closes it.
    “I’m here. Say the line. Say it big. Rattle the windows.”
    She takes a deep breath, then says, “ ‘I ain’t never seen such a lily-livered bunch a’ no-good yellow varmints in all my born days!’ ”
    It ain’t Calamity Jane. More like Calm Jane. Bigger, but too polite.
    “Better,” I say. “But it could be a lot bigger. And madder. Do it again.”
    She says the line again, but it barely grows in size. So I tell her to do it again. Then again. Andagain. Boy, am I being patient. I don’t like being patient. A funny thing starts happening: instead of getting bigger each time, she starts getting smaller. I think it’s because she’s getting discouraged.
    I don’t know what to do. How can I help her? What is she so afraid of?
    A knock on the door startles both of us.
    “Who is it?” I snap.
    “It’s your mothers,” Mother says, and opens the door.
    “Time to go, honey,” Eden’s mother says in a tiny, polite voice.
    She sounds like Eden, but she doesn’t look like her. I mean, she doesn’t look Asian—or Javanese, or whatever. She has strawberry blonde hair, like me, and blue eyes. Was Eden adopted?
    “Okay, Mama,” Eden says, and gets her backpack and coat.
    “We’ve been rehearsing,” I say to her mother. “For the play. You’re coming right, Eden’s mother?” I don’t know her name. Eden’s last name is Sumarta—which sounds kind of like
smarter—
but since not everybody’s parents have thesame name as their kids, I don’t call her Ms. Sumarta.
    “You can call me Melissa,” her mother says, rubbing her hands together, like they’re cold. “Yes, I’ll be attending the play. Come on now, Eden. We have errands to run.”
    “I’m ready,” Eden says.
    “Have you ever acted onstage, Melissa?” I ask.
    She shakes her head really fast but really small, like the idea of acting frightens her.
    Hmm
.
    “We really appreciate all the help Eden gave Zaritza with her math,” Mother says to both Eden and her mother, then smiles awkwardly. It’s awkward in here. I don’t know why.
    Melissa looks at Eden, her eyebrows pinched together.
    “Oh,” Eden says, then says to my mother, “You’re welcome.”
    “Can Eden come back tomorrow to rehearse more?” I ask Melissa. She makes an expression like she smells something bad all of a sudden but doesn’t want anyone to know she smelled it.
    “Eden’s really getting good,” I lie. “Can weshow you one of the scenes we’ve been working on?”
    This freaks both of them out. Honestly, their eyes practically pop out of their sockets.
    “Sorry, we really must be going,” Melissa says.
    Eden jumps up and rushes to her. “Bye, Zaritza. Thanks.”
    “Yes, thank you for helping her,” her mother says. “And thank you, Naomi, for having Eden over.”
    “Come by any time,” Mother says.
    Melissa nods then hustles Eden away.
    “Wow,” Mother says when they’re gone. “That might explain some of Eden’s shyness.”
    “Yeah,” I say. “It explains a lot of things.”

Day Three came and went. Eden, Wain, and I had gotten off-book—which means we’d learned our lines—but not many others had. Josh tried to get three run-throughs in before lunch and we almost made it. He really worked us hard, but the hardest thing for me was having to sit on the floor and watch others perform. If I’d been the star, none of this would have been hard. It would have been the best day ever.
    I did get to be an extra in some of the crowd scenes, and sing in the chorus during the big numbers. The playwright obviously tried to keep everybody