invited?”
I made a face. “If Wallace invited me to his house to pick up my ten-million-dollar check from Publishers Clearing House, I wouldn’t go.”
Trudi looked impatient. “You’re the one who always complains that nobody cares about the drama club. Well, now everybody cares. And our play is shaping up into a monster hit! Life is good, Rachel! Enjoy it!”
When I heard that Wallace was changing the role of the vet, by turning all her dialogue into rap, I rushed right over to Mr. Fogelman’s office to offer some sympathy and moral support.
My head was spinning as I walked. Now, instead of “Your beloved pet has expired,” Leticia’s lines went more like:
“Go shop for a canary, or a turtle, or a frog.
’Cause you no longer own a dog.”
I suppose that was a jock’s idea of poignant and beautiful.
I tapped on the door of the teacher’s office, and walked in. “Mr. Fogelman, I’m so sor—” The astonishing sight and sound within that room stopped me dead in my tracks.
The three Dead Mangoes were draped in various poses around the cramped quarters. The Quick brothers were strumming madly on their unplugged guitars. That awful Void person slouched all over the desk, drumming on the blotter, and using the IN/OUT tray as cymbals. Most amazing of all, Mr. Fogelman was perched on an overturned wastebasket. All his concentration was aimed at the small electric keyboard that rested on his knees. They were jamming !
And it was great! The best thing about it was Mr. Fogelman. The Wallace vein was nowhere to be seen as his fingers danced over the keys. He looked as young and carefree as Joey. With a sweep of his hand, he brought their song to a close.
I clapped as loud as I could. “That was fantastic, Mr. Fogelman! I didn’t know you could play!”
He seemed kind of embarrassed to be caught in the act. “Oh, you know, I was in a band in college. I’m not very good anymore.”
“Are you kidding?” crowed Joey, punctuating it with a power chord. “You’re awesome ! You’re going to be the ultimate Dead Mango!”
Mr. Fogelman laughed gently. “Thanks for that, Joe, but I’m not really free to join your band. In case you haven’t noticed, I have a job.”
“No, he means for the play!” Owen explained. “We need your keyboard to get a really big sound for Old Shep, My Pal. ”
“That would be fun,” Mr. Fogelman admitted, “but it’s impossible. I’m the director.”
The Void raised both hands to part the curtain of hair away from his eyes. “ You’re the director?” He frowned. “I thought that guy Wallace was the director.”
“No,” I said sarcastically. “He’s in charge of everything else in the world.”
Mr. Fogelman laughed. And I thought to myself, if the Dead Mangoes could put our director in a good mood (even when the W word was mentioned), then they were well worth having in the play.
“Come on, Mr. Fogelman,” Joey pleaded. “Without you we’re just fantastic. With you, we’d be, like, out of control, ballistic, steamroller, wow!”
Suddenly, I blurted, “You should do it, Mr. Fogelman! Wal— other people can look after staging and cues.” (I’d almost said…well, you know.)
I could practically see our director’s brain working as he talked himself into it. Finally, he sighed. “The play has changed so much; I guess it can change a little more. Boys, you’ve got yourself another Mango.”
The Bedford fall fair was that weekend. Trudi and I had been going as long as we’d been friends. Yeah, sure, we were getting a little old for the games and the rides. But it was still fun, with the best junk food on earth. My favorite part was the show tent, which really appealed to the actress in me.
“Let’s go early like last year,” I urged as we walked to homeroom.
“Go where?” asked Trudi airily.
(Earth to Trudi…) “Hello! The fair is Saturday.”
“The fair?” she repeated. “We’ve got no time for that. Wallace is raking leaves on
I made a face. “If Wallace invited me to his house to pick up my ten-million-dollar check from Publishers Clearing House, I wouldn’t go.”
Trudi looked impatient. “You’re the one who always complains that nobody cares about the drama club. Well, now everybody cares. And our play is shaping up into a monster hit! Life is good, Rachel! Enjoy it!”
When I heard that Wallace was changing the role of the vet, by turning all her dialogue into rap, I rushed right over to Mr. Fogelman’s office to offer some sympathy and moral support.
My head was spinning as I walked. Now, instead of “Your beloved pet has expired,” Leticia’s lines went more like:
“Go shop for a canary, or a turtle, or a frog.
’Cause you no longer own a dog.”
I suppose that was a jock’s idea of poignant and beautiful.
I tapped on the door of the teacher’s office, and walked in. “Mr. Fogelman, I’m so sor—” The astonishing sight and sound within that room stopped me dead in my tracks.
The three Dead Mangoes were draped in various poses around the cramped quarters. The Quick brothers were strumming madly on their unplugged guitars. That awful Void person slouched all over the desk, drumming on the blotter, and using the IN/OUT tray as cymbals. Most amazing of all, Mr. Fogelman was perched on an overturned wastebasket. All his concentration was aimed at the small electric keyboard that rested on his knees. They were jamming !
And it was great! The best thing about it was Mr. Fogelman. The Wallace vein was nowhere to be seen as his fingers danced over the keys. He looked as young and carefree as Joey. With a sweep of his hand, he brought their song to a close.
I clapped as loud as I could. “That was fantastic, Mr. Fogelman! I didn’t know you could play!”
He seemed kind of embarrassed to be caught in the act. “Oh, you know, I was in a band in college. I’m not very good anymore.”
“Are you kidding?” crowed Joey, punctuating it with a power chord. “You’re awesome ! You’re going to be the ultimate Dead Mango!”
Mr. Fogelman laughed gently. “Thanks for that, Joe, but I’m not really free to join your band. In case you haven’t noticed, I have a job.”
“No, he means for the play!” Owen explained. “We need your keyboard to get a really big sound for Old Shep, My Pal. ”
“That would be fun,” Mr. Fogelman admitted, “but it’s impossible. I’m the director.”
The Void raised both hands to part the curtain of hair away from his eyes. “ You’re the director?” He frowned. “I thought that guy Wallace was the director.”
“No,” I said sarcastically. “He’s in charge of everything else in the world.”
Mr. Fogelman laughed. And I thought to myself, if the Dead Mangoes could put our director in a good mood (even when the W word was mentioned), then they were well worth having in the play.
“Come on, Mr. Fogelman,” Joey pleaded. “Without you we’re just fantastic. With you, we’d be, like, out of control, ballistic, steamroller, wow!”
Suddenly, I blurted, “You should do it, Mr. Fogelman! Wal— other people can look after staging and cues.” (I’d almost said…well, you know.)
I could practically see our director’s brain working as he talked himself into it. Finally, he sighed. “The play has changed so much; I guess it can change a little more. Boys, you’ve got yourself another Mango.”
The Bedford fall fair was that weekend. Trudi and I had been going as long as we’d been friends. Yeah, sure, we were getting a little old for the games and the rides. But it was still fun, with the best junk food on earth. My favorite part was the show tent, which really appealed to the actress in me.
“Let’s go early like last year,” I urged as we walked to homeroom.
“Go where?” asked Trudi airily.
(Earth to Trudi…) “Hello! The fair is Saturday.”
“The fair?” she repeated. “We’ve got no time for that. Wallace is raking leaves on
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