Good Graces - Lesley Kagen [128]
I yell after her, “Break a leg,” because that’s what Willie told me you’re supposed to say to a performer before their show. I think it’s mean, but I also wish just a little bit that could happen. My sister would be so much easier to keep track of if she was in a cast.
Once all the kids have filed up onto the stage, Debbie announces to the crowd, “Let the talent show begin!”
For the next hour, everybody in the neighborhood gets to hang up their troubles and be entertained by seventeen kids who do all sorts of talent like baton twirling and tap dancing and card tricks. Troo is excellent with her Jerry doll. Her lips move only a couple of times. Mary Lane swings across the monkey bars four times without stopping and Mimi Latour sings Ave Maria. Because she has a true calling, that’s extremely good holy singing on Mimi’s part so it will be close between her and Troo for Queen.
I don’t take part in the contest. I tell everyone I have a sore throat. I do that because my impression of a munchkin singing the We Represent the Lollypop Guild song, if I do say so myself, is dynamite. Real TNT. I couldn’t do that to my sister. Or to myself. I don’t want to wake up with worms in my bed.
When it’s the boys’ turn, they are good, too. Artie is excellent with his yo-yo tricks, especially that three-leaf clover one, but I think Willie O’Hara is a shoo-in for King. His jokes have us all in stitches.
This is his best one:
“Did you hear about the Polack who thought his wife was tryin’ to kill him because he found a bottle of polish remover on her dressin’ table?”
Now that everybody’s done giving it their best shot, we can’t wait to hear who the winners are.
“Attention, please,” says Barbie, the old counselor. Since she is the boss of the playground, she’s the one who’s got the crown in her hands. It’s made out of gold or something. Not like the tiara the girl is gonna get, with sparkling rhinestones. “It’s time to announce this summer’s King of the Playground.” She unfolds a piece of paper and says, “Congratulations . . . Willie O’Hara!”
You can tell everybody thinks that’s a great choice because they’re hip, hip hurraying!
Troo is standing next to me in front of the stage, looking very sure of herself when Barbie says, “And the Queen this summer is . . .”
That’s when my sister does something that I will never forget until my dying day. Instead of running up onto the stage to receive the tiara that I think she’s sure to win, Troo cuts Barbie off by shouting, “Wen . . . dy! Wen . . . dy! Wen . . . dy!” and then I join in, too, and before you know it everybody else in the neighborhood, even the mothers and fathers and the hoods who are hanging out near the fence, are chanting along with us.
Maybe it’s because another summer has slipped by and we all know Wendy doesn’t have many more left. Or maybe it’s because she looks so pretty in her frilly dress with her shiny hair and the new Cracker Jack ring I slipped on her finger before the party. Whatever the reason, what can Barb do? She tears up the piece of paper she has in her hand with the real Queen’s name on it, throws it up in the air and announces, “For the second year in a row . . . may I present her Royal Highness Miss . . .”
Wendy Latour. You’d think she’d be shocked and shy, but she isn’t. She acts like she knew all along that she was gonna be the one. After she glides up those stage steps and lets Barb take off her old rhinestone crown and put the new one on, Wendy waves and throws a load of Dinah Shore kisses to her adoring subjects.
And then the Do Wops burst into Rock Around the Clock and all of us grab partners and start dancing.
When Henry takes me by the hand, he calls me Peaches ’n Cream and I almost faint, that’s how good it feels to dance with my pale future husband. I don’t even care that Troo gives me that dumb smoochy face when she bops by with Artie doing the jack. Even though it’s a fast song, Dave and Mother are waltzing next to Henry and me. (Practicing for the wedding, I think. Mother