E very time Ella Pearl crawled over the top of Ricky Raccoon's puppet house, I held my breath. That unruly crocodile gnashed her teeth faster than a pair of snapping turtles looking for worms.
Clickly clack, clickly clack
. And even though I had seen my grandmother's puppet shows a zillion times, I was sure that someday Ella Pearl was going to eat Ricky Raccoon for supper.
“Not to worry,” Gram said. “Ricky is much too clever to be eaten by a cross old crocodile.” But with Ella Pearl's fiery temper, I never knew from one show to the next what might happen.
My gram was magic. She could make any puppet come alive and make kids laugh so hard they wet their pants.
When I was in the fourth grade, Gram asked me if I'd help with her Ricky Raccoon puppet shows. “I need a good director,” she said. “Someone I can depend on to run the sound system and work my spotlights.” My problem? I didn't like being in front of people. I was afraid they'd laugh at me if I made a mistake.
“But I don't know how to direct,” I told Gram.
“Nothing to it,” Gram promised. “And the pay's not bad either.”
“You know I can't make puppets act,” I reminded her. Staying behind the scenes was what I did best.
Gram understood. She had this way of making me believe I could do anything, though, so that was why after a little more coaxing on her part, I found myself saying, “Well, as long as it doesn't interfere with Little League, I guess I'll give it a try.”
Working for Gram turned out to be a blast. She showed me everything I needed to know and made me a cool T-shirt with the word DIRECTOR on the back. After a couple of goof-ups, I caught on to working the sound system and the spots. Sometimes my best friend, Sam, helped if Gram needed extra-special lighting.
Have stage, will travel
was Gram's motto. It said that on a magnet she kept on her fridge. And it was true, too. She and her stage traveled all over Seattle,entertaining kids and adults. Everyone knew her. We had been working together all summer when we both learned my job was about to fizzle out.
“You'll never believe it,” I'd said to Sam during recess the day before. “My dad took a new job. Looks like I'll be starting fifth grade in Texas. Is that the pits or what?”
He groaned. “No way. Who's gonna play first base if you leave?”
“You know I wouldn't let the Seattle Seagulls down on purpose,” I said glumly. “Moving isn't my idea.”
“Awwww, man, I can't believe it.”
“Me either,” I said, feeling even worse now that I'd told Sam. “But there's not much I can do about it. There's already a For Sale sign stuck in our yard.” And my director's job? It would disappear like a puff of smoke.
Dad had this weird idea that living in a small town would be great for our family. When he found out his computer company had an opening near Franklin, Texas, his hometown, he applied for it. Moving would mean no more Seagulls, no more Sam, no more puppet shows, and the worst part, no more Gram. But she was her usual cheery self about it.
“Baker, we'll just have to adjust, that's all. I'll come and visit you often. Who knows?” she said, shrugging. “I might even bring Ricky to meet some Texas kids.”
“Promise?”
“You've got my word on it.” She gave me an extra-high five. We were now on our way to the Londonderry Mall puppet theater to give our last show together, and I wanted it to be the best one ever. Sam planned on meeting us there. I was nervous. Seems like when you want everything to work out perfectly something always goes wrong. Gram called it Murphy's Law: if something is going to go wrong, it will. But so far, so good.
“Wow, the mall's packed today,” I said, looking out the car window.
“Labor Day sales bring out lots of people,” Gram said. “Last-minute school shopping.”
My mom had told me we'd go shopping in Texas. Not only did last year's cords and shirts not fit, they were too heavy for the Texas heat. As long as
Clickly clack, clickly clack
. And even though I had seen my grandmother's puppet shows a zillion times, I was sure that someday Ella Pearl was going to eat Ricky Raccoon for supper.
“Not to worry,” Gram said. “Ricky is much too clever to be eaten by a cross old crocodile.” But with Ella Pearl's fiery temper, I never knew from one show to the next what might happen.
My gram was magic. She could make any puppet come alive and make kids laugh so hard they wet their pants.
When I was in the fourth grade, Gram asked me if I'd help with her Ricky Raccoon puppet shows. “I need a good director,” she said. “Someone I can depend on to run the sound system and work my spotlights.” My problem? I didn't like being in front of people. I was afraid they'd laugh at me if I made a mistake.
“But I don't know how to direct,” I told Gram.
“Nothing to it,” Gram promised. “And the pay's not bad either.”
“You know I can't make puppets act,” I reminded her. Staying behind the scenes was what I did best.
Gram understood. She had this way of making me believe I could do anything, though, so that was why after a little more coaxing on her part, I found myself saying, “Well, as long as it doesn't interfere with Little League, I guess I'll give it a try.”
Working for Gram turned out to be a blast. She showed me everything I needed to know and made me a cool T-shirt with the word DIRECTOR on the back. After a couple of goof-ups, I caught on to working the sound system and the spots. Sometimes my best friend, Sam, helped if Gram needed extra-special lighting.
Have stage, will travel
was Gram's motto. It said that on a magnet she kept on her fridge. And it was true, too. She and her stage traveled all over Seattle,entertaining kids and adults. Everyone knew her. We had been working together all summer when we both learned my job was about to fizzle out.
“You'll never believe it,” I'd said to Sam during recess the day before. “My dad took a new job. Looks like I'll be starting fifth grade in Texas. Is that the pits or what?”
He groaned. “No way. Who's gonna play first base if you leave?”
“You know I wouldn't let the Seattle Seagulls down on purpose,” I said glumly. “Moving isn't my idea.”
“Awwww, man, I can't believe it.”
“Me either,” I said, feeling even worse now that I'd told Sam. “But there's not much I can do about it. There's already a For Sale sign stuck in our yard.” And my director's job? It would disappear like a puff of smoke.
Dad had this weird idea that living in a small town would be great for our family. When he found out his computer company had an opening near Franklin, Texas, his hometown, he applied for it. Moving would mean no more Seagulls, no more Sam, no more puppet shows, and the worst part, no more Gram. But she was her usual cheery self about it.
“Baker, we'll just have to adjust, that's all. I'll come and visit you often. Who knows?” she said, shrugging. “I might even bring Ricky to meet some Texas kids.”
“Promise?”
“You've got my word on it.” She gave me an extra-high five. We were now on our way to the Londonderry Mall puppet theater to give our last show together, and I wanted it to be the best one ever. Sam planned on meeting us there. I was nervous. Seems like when you want everything to work out perfectly something always goes wrong. Gram called it Murphy's Law: if something is going to go wrong, it will. But so far, so good.
“Wow, the mall's packed today,” I said, looking out the car window.
“Labor Day sales bring out lots of people,” Gram said. “Last-minute school shopping.”
My mom had told me we'd go shopping in Texas. Not only did last year's cords and shirts not fit, they were too heavy for the Texas heat. As long as
Similar Books
