Like Carrot Juice on a Cupcake (6 page)

“Bunny Son: Nicholas Rigby.”

Lots of other kids got parts, too.

Katie and Nora and Adam

were cousin cottontails,

which made me happy.

Because I could spend those afternoons with them.

But I was a little worried about my part.

“You don’t think I have a solo, do you?”

I asked Pearl.

“You might!” she said, very excited.

“Your part is the first one listed!

It must be big!”

“I don’t want a solo!” I said.

Because singing a Christmas song quietly in music class

with someone else

was
not
the same

as singing all by myself

on the school stage

in front of an enormous crowd.

As the day went on,

I hated my role more and more.

Because every time Nicholas walked by my desk,

he said,

“Hey there, Mama!”

And

when Ainsley sat down for lunch with me and Pearl,

she said, “How’s your little baby?”

So everyone at the table laughed at me.

Including Pearl!

And
then
,

in the middle of history,

Nicholas passed me a note.

He’d drawn a picture of me

wearing an apron and saying,

“Would you like a fresh carrot, dear?”

That was the first picture of Nicholas’s

that I ever ripped up.

After all that,

I thought my day
had
to get better.

But then

Mrs. Quaid handed out

the script.

“I think you’re going to
love
this,”

Mrs. Quaid kept saying

as she gave the script to each cast member

at the very end of school.

So I thought I’d love it!

As soon as I got home,

I lay on my bed

and read it all the way through.

And

I did
not

love it.

It got worse and worse

with every page!

As soon as I’d finished,

I ran to the living room

and shook that script at my parents.

I’d already told them about being cast.

Now I told them,

“I can’t be Mama Rabbit!”

“Of
course
you can,” my mom said.

“You were born to be a star,” my dad said.

Then he asked to see the script.

I handed it to him and said,

“Look at page nine!”

He opened to the first page instead.

“You have the very first lines!” he said.

Then he laughed and read them aloud:

“‘It was the best of carrots,

it was the worst of carrots.’”

My mom laughed, too.

“Why is that funny?” I asked.

“It’s a spoof

of
A Tale of Two Cities
,” my mom said.

“Do you know those opening lines?

‘It was the best of times,

it was the worst of times.’”

“Of course I don’t know them!” I said.

“I’m in fourth grade!”

“See how great it is to be in a show?” my dad said.

“You’re learning already!”

“You were supposed to turn to page nine!” I said.

He turned to page nine, and I pointed

at the horrible solo Mama Rabbit sings.

All alone, onstage.

In front of the whole audience.

My parents
knew
how I felt

about singing in front of people.

But they still
grinned
when they saw that solo.

“We’re so proud of you,” they said,

for the millionth time that afternoon.

And then my dad said,

“It’s to the tune of ‘Oh My Darling, Clementine’!

Don’t you love that song?”

“Not really,” I said.

But my parents paid me no attention.

They each held up one side of the script,

and then they sang one verse of my solo together.

They sang:

“‘Oh my darling, oh my darling,

oh my darling, Bunny mine.

I am lost without you by me.

How I miss you, Bunny mine.’”

They grinned and clapped for themselves

when they’d finished.

I glared at them.

“What a sweet solo,” my mom said.

“You’re not even
trying
to understand!”

I said.

“I don’t want
any
solo.

And I
definitely
don’t want a sweet one!”

“You’d rather have a
mean
solo?” my dad said.

“Yes!” I said. “Look at the words!

Mama Rabbit is separated from her son,

so her heart is broken.

The whole play,

she
longs
for her bunny!

I have to
long
for Nicholas Rigby!

And at the end of the play,

I have to
hug
him!

I am
not
doing that!”

“Nicholas Rigby,” my mom said.

“He’s the really good artist, right?”

I shrugged.

I didn’t feel like saying anything nice about Nicholas.

And then the phone rang.

I stomped away from my frustrating parents

and picked it up.

A voice I loved said,

“Hello?”

“Pearl!” I shouted,

so glad she’d called.

She’d
understand why I had to quit the play!

Even if she’d gotten me into it in the first place.

I wanted to tell her
everything
.

Plus,

I was hoping she’d say

that she shouldn’t have laughed

when Ainsley asked about my baby.

Instead,

she said,

“Eleanor?”

And I said,

“Yes, of course! It’s me.

Did you think it was my mom?”

She laughed a little and said,

“Oops!

I meant to call Ainsley!

I forgot to tell her something!

I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?

Mom said I could only make one call before bed.”

And then she hung up.

I stared at the dead phone.

Why wasn’t Pearl calling
me

with her one call?

Why was she practically hanging up on me,

lightning-fast,

instead?

My dad walked by then,

whistling my solo.

“
This
is the worst of times,”

I told him.

Then, still fully clothed,

I got in bed

and pulled my covers over my head

and tried to force myself

to sleep.