lab with Madison behind them. She was on her way to see Egg’s sister at that very moment.
Mariah and Madison had been excused from their second-period classes so they could meet about the play. It wasn’t a big deal since Madison’s second period was Mr. Gibbons. He said she could make up the work later. Mariah had her second period free.
Madison couldn’t wait to tell Mariah how she and Mom had collected so many key props over the weekend.
She was prouder than proud.
“Buenos días!” Mariah said when they met up in the newspaper room.
“Buenos días,” Madison answered back. “I love the new hair color.”
Mariah had painted streaks of red all over her head. She liked to change the color just enough so she made an impression—but didn’t get sent to Principal Bernard’s office. In addition to a dress code, Far Hills Junior High had rules about dyed hair, pierced body parts, and even tattoos. The rule was: DON’T. One time Mariah had a henna tattoo on her shoulder and she’d been sent home to change into a shirt with longer sleeves.
“It’s fuchsia, actually.” Mariah ran her fingers through her hair. “Madison, you would look awesome with blue—or maybe even green streaks. Ya wanna try?”
Madison chuckled. “Uh … NO.”
She was daring with her ideas, but when it came to her hair, Madison wasn’t brave at all. She didn’t even like getting a haircut.
“I have to meet with the eighth-grade prop person at the end of this period, so we better hurry.” Because she was president of the junior high art club, Mariah had extra responsibilities. She was always doing extra work for the club, for shows, and for teachers she liked. Sort of like how Madison felt about Mrs. Wing.
“Okay, let’s start.” Madison pulled out her list and named all the things she was able to gather.
“Check you out,” Mariah said. “Art club is painting the set backdrop after school today. I got four teachers to help and the shop teacher volunteered, too. Did I tell you? We’re painting it to look like Broadway. A New York City skyline.”
The tribute to Mrs. B. Goode would last three separate evenings, but they’d use the same backdrop for all three shows. The first performance was The Wiz selections. The following night, the eighth grade was doing selections from Guys and Dolls. The next night would be the ninth grade doing a medley of New York City tunes. Madison was pleased since a city backdrop made an ideal Emerald City.
“You’re so good at this,” Madison said. “And you’re so good at being an artist.”
“Well, I don’t know about that.” Mariah smiled. She pointed to her head. “I mean, I do paint my hair. You’re artistic, too, you know.”
Madison blushed.
“Anything bizarre happen at rehearsals yet?”
“Well …” Madison said softly. “Rehearsals are fine.”
“Come on. What’s the matter?”
“Oh, nothing. I’m just not used to it, that’s all.”
“Used to what?”
“Well, sometimes I don’t really feel like I’m a part of the show. I know I’m helping, but I still feel so helpless. Like every time we’re at rehearsal, Mr. Gibbons makes me go down to get something in the basement or tells me to go deliver papers to the administrator or has me sit and prompt lines all by myself in the audience. Meanwhile everybody else is goofing around and having a great time.”
“Being stage manager is hard,” Mariah said. “People think it’s way harder to stand up onstage and sing a song—”
“It is hard to get up onstage and sing,” Madison chimed in. “I know I get all panicky whenever I try to do that.”
“Yeah, but it’s still not as hard as what we do, right? Like planning costumes and making sure all the set pieces are where they should be. Where would Mr. Gibbons be without us doing all this?”
“It just makes me feel …” Madison wasn’t sure how to say it. “I feel so out of it.”
“I hear ya. Kids in my class think I’m out of it, too,
Mariah and Madison had been excused from their second-period classes so they could meet about the play. It wasn’t a big deal since Madison’s second period was Mr. Gibbons. He said she could make up the work later. Mariah had her second period free.
Madison couldn’t wait to tell Mariah how she and Mom had collected so many key props over the weekend.
She was prouder than proud.
“Buenos días!” Mariah said when they met up in the newspaper room.
“Buenos días,” Madison answered back. “I love the new hair color.”
Mariah had painted streaks of red all over her head. She liked to change the color just enough so she made an impression—but didn’t get sent to Principal Bernard’s office. In addition to a dress code, Far Hills Junior High had rules about dyed hair, pierced body parts, and even tattoos. The rule was: DON’T. One time Mariah had a henna tattoo on her shoulder and she’d been sent home to change into a shirt with longer sleeves.
“It’s fuchsia, actually.” Mariah ran her fingers through her hair. “Madison, you would look awesome with blue—or maybe even green streaks. Ya wanna try?”
Madison chuckled. “Uh … NO.”
She was daring with her ideas, but when it came to her hair, Madison wasn’t brave at all. She didn’t even like getting a haircut.
“I have to meet with the eighth-grade prop person at the end of this period, so we better hurry.” Because she was president of the junior high art club, Mariah had extra responsibilities. She was always doing extra work for the club, for shows, and for teachers she liked. Sort of like how Madison felt about Mrs. Wing.
“Okay, let’s start.” Madison pulled out her list and named all the things she was able to gather.
“Check you out,” Mariah said. “Art club is painting the set backdrop after school today. I got four teachers to help and the shop teacher volunteered, too. Did I tell you? We’re painting it to look like Broadway. A New York City skyline.”
The tribute to Mrs. B. Goode would last three separate evenings, but they’d use the same backdrop for all three shows. The first performance was The Wiz selections. The following night, the eighth grade was doing selections from Guys and Dolls. The next night would be the ninth grade doing a medley of New York City tunes. Madison was pleased since a city backdrop made an ideal Emerald City.
“You’re so good at this,” Madison said. “And you’re so good at being an artist.”
“Well, I don’t know about that.” Mariah smiled. She pointed to her head. “I mean, I do paint my hair. You’re artistic, too, you know.”
Madison blushed.
“Anything bizarre happen at rehearsals yet?”
“Well …” Madison said softly. “Rehearsals are fine.”
“Come on. What’s the matter?”
“Oh, nothing. I’m just not used to it, that’s all.”
“Used to what?”
“Well, sometimes I don’t really feel like I’m a part of the show. I know I’m helping, but I still feel so helpless. Like every time we’re at rehearsal, Mr. Gibbons makes me go down to get something in the basement or tells me to go deliver papers to the administrator or has me sit and prompt lines all by myself in the audience. Meanwhile everybody else is goofing around and having a great time.”
“Being stage manager is hard,” Mariah said. “People think it’s way harder to stand up onstage and sing a song—”
“It is hard to get up onstage and sing,” Madison chimed in. “I know I get all panicky whenever I try to do that.”
“Yeah, but it’s still not as hard as what we do, right? Like planning costumes and making sure all the set pieces are where they should be. Where would Mr. Gibbons be without us doing all this?”
“It just makes me feel …” Madison wasn’t sure how to say it. “I feel so out of it.”
“I hear ya. Kids in my class think I’m out of it, too,
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