Big Cherry Holler - Adriana Trigiani [8]
As team captain, Etta must collect the consolation prize: a case of Pepsi for their next school party and a check for ten dollars.
“Etta, what is your class going to do with the check?”
“Well, if we won the twenty-five dollars, we were going to buy a set of Nancy Drews. Since we only got the ten, we’ll probably just get a Weekly Reader magazine or something. The Pepsi’s nice, though.”
“Well, good luck with all that,” Dan says, and winks at the camera. The theme music plays through. “Let’s do the Good-bye Wave from Kiddie Kollege! See ya next week!” our host says in the same professional tone he uses when he’s signing off the six o’clock news or starring on a commercial for Morgan Legg’s Autoworld. He places a giant yellow cardboard dunce cap on Etta’s head, as she is captain of the losers, a tradition that began when the first Kiddie Kollege aired. The giant dunce cap is so big it covers Etta’s eyes. Billy, pressure off, has revived. He jumps in front of Dan and the kids and puts his face in the camera, barking out greetings to his kin—every Skeens and Sizemore in the Cumberland Gap gets a personalized greeting. He and Jane flail their arms so hard, it looks like they’re washing a car. The three automatons from Kingsport stand in front of the question wheel (which I believe should be set on fire and destroyed) and wave like movie stars. We are all relieved when the cameraman makes a slashing motion across his throat to stop this nightmare (at least he knows how we feel).
“You guys did great!” I tell them peppily.
“We lost real bad,” Jane says, looking at the ground.
“I can’t add in my head,” Etta says sadly.
“Mrs. Mac, do you have them peanut-butter balls?” Billy asks. Finally, a child that can shake off catatonia and defeat with his sweet tooth. We know our way out of the studio, and it’s a good thing. Perky Kim has disappeared. Even a television producer out of Bristol, Tennessee, knows when to remove herself from the stink of failure.
Even though we lost, the tension is gone, so the ride home is more fun than the ride over. The blue hills of Tennessee give way to our familiar black mountains as we curl through the darkness in our big green van with the Sacred Heart of Jesus painted on the side. A lot of good the religious shield did us. And what about the Saint Anthony medal that Father Schmidt gave to Etta for good luck? Did he forget to bless it? Where was Saint Anthony, the patron saint of lost things, when my daughter forgot how to add?
The kids are gathered around Fleeta in the back of the van while she tells them a ghost story. Etta has already forgotten all about Kiddie Kollege, and that makes me happy. Preparing for that stupid show was an ordeal, anyway. No more cramming for questions tacked on that godforsaken wheel. No more flash cards. No more watching the show every week and taking notes. Etta’s moment in the sun came and went in the same night. The kids eat pepper sandwiches, chewing slowly; Fleeta cackles like a witch. Occasional passing headlights cast weird shadows on her and make her even more scary. Mrs. White has tucked her raincoat into a