Almost Starring Skinnybones (11 page)

The play started fifteen minutes late.

It went well.

Albert Ruppert was the star.

  
10
  

I
was just
about to leave the auditorium when I heard him call.

“Alexander! Wait!”

Mr. Tilton came hurrying up behind me. His face looked real intense. Like there was something important on his mind.

As soon as I turned around, he began shaking my hand.

“Thank you, Alexander,” he said solemnly.

“You’re welcome, Mr. Tilton,” I replied, trying not to look confused.

He put his hands on my shoulders and stared at me a second. Then he gave me a hardy bear hug—like we were two Alaskan fur traders who hadn’t seen each other for a long time. What the heck was going on here?

“That was a wonderful thing you did for Albert tonight,” he said at last.

Oh. So
that
was it.

“You could have starred in that play yourself, Alexander,” he continued earnestly. “You know it. And I know it.”

I nodded in agreement. “I know it.”

“You didn’t, though, did you?”

I shook my head no.

“And do you know why you didn’t, Alexander?”

This one was trickier. To be honest, I still wasn’t completely sure.

“Because you’re an unsung quiet hero, that’s why.”

Quickly I gave another nod. “Right.”

“I don’t know how you did it. But somehow you were able to get Albert to play the part himself,” he went on. “And in my book that makes you one of a handful of sensitive souls who go behind the scenes and quietly save the day.”

I smiled. All of a sudden I felt a little bit like the Lone Ranger.

Mr. Tilton smiled too. “My hat’s off to you, Alexander,” he said. Then he bowed. “The quiet hero. The very best kind.”

“Er, thanks. My hat’s off to you, too, Mr. T.”

I’ve never been a hero before. Especially not a quiet one. Up until now I’ve never been a quiet anything.

I can tell you one thing though. Being a quiet hero is a lot harder than it sounds. I mean, it’s bad enough that you have to go behind the scenes and quietly save the day. But the worse part comes when you have to stand around and grit your teeth while someone else gets all the glory. I’m serious. The Lone Ranger is probably down to his gums by now.

I didn’t mind giving Albert the glory the night of the play so much. I probably wouldn’t have remembered all the lines anyway. And besides, part of me was sort of proud of myself.

But by the next week, Albert Ruppert had really started getting on my nerves. He just wouldn’t let it die, you know? He kept strutting around the cafeteria and squeezing me out of my place at the lunch table again. On Monday and Tuesday I sat with my tray sideways while he plopped himself down wherever he wanted.

“Hey, Ruppert! Over here!” someone would yell as soon as Albert walked into the lunchroom. “Hey, Scrooge, we’ve got a place for you!”

Then everybody would slide down and I’d get shoved into the wall.

“Move over, Frankovitch! Move down!”

After that, I had to listen as kids congratulated him and asked him ridiculous questions like was he going to be an actor when he grew up, and would he still remember them when he got to be a movie star?

But even that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was the smug look on his face. Like he was King Albert. King of the whole school.

I gritted my teeth about a thousand times.
A quiet hero, a quiet hero
, I’d think to myself. Sometimes I’d start humming the Lone Ranger theme song.

Thursday was the day I finally cracked.

The lunch table was almost filled when I got there. It took me forever to squeeze in and make a little place for myself. I had just started to open my milk when I saw Albert standing at the end of the table with his tray.

“Hey, Frankovitch! Move, so Al can sit down!” called Raymond Vellenburg. “You just took his seat.”

I just kept opening my milk.

“
Now
, Alex,” ordered Chad Jones. “Move it. We promised Albert we’d save him a seat, and you just took it.”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw King Albert start down the aisle with his tray. He stopped right behind me. Then he stood there waiting. Waiting like a vulture for my seat. I couldn’t believe it! Hadn’t I done enough for the jerk? Hadn’t I let him be Scrooge? Did I owe him my seat, too?

Something inside me snapped. I jumped up and threw my tray on the table behind me.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Albert! Here! Sit! I forgot! You’re the star. You deserve it!”

Albert didn’t even look at me. He just turned his head and put his tray on the table where mine had been. Geez! He was going to do it! He was actually going to take my seat!

“Hey, I’ve got an idea, Al!” I went on. “As long as you’re sitting there, why don’t you tell these guys some more about the play?

“Why don’t you tell them why it was fifteen minutes late? That’s a funny story, don’t you think?”

I slapped him on the back. “Don’t you, Albert old buddy?”

Slowly, he turned around on the bench and looked up at me. His shoulders slumped over in defeat. I had him, and he knew it.

I gave him a nasty little grin. “What’d you say, Al? Do you want to tell them, or should I?”

He never stopped looking at me. Never even
blinked. He just sat there staring until finally he spoke.

“What took you so long, Alex?” he whispered.

The words stung. Worse than if he’d hit me. I can’t explain it any other way.

I sat back down.

I didn’t tell.

I don’t see Albert much these days. Once in a while at noon, but that’s about it. We look at each other sometimes. Then we look away.

Right now I’m just sort of letting my life get back to normal. I’m not going to end up on a cereal box. Not this time anyway.

Brian and I are best friends again. Annabelle Posey and I are still worst enemies. I accidentally drew a mustache on her art project, and she reported me to the office.

Ned the Bully is still Ned the Bully. Last week he told me my face smelled. Then he took me by the shoulders and jumped me up and down a few times. I felt a little silly, but nothing was broken.

I ended my fan club right after the play. Ernest and Fluffy had started goofing off in the meetings.
Besides, Ernest insisted on bringing his potty seat, and there was just something degrading about it.

I’d like to start another club someday. I don’t know what kind yet. Something I can be president of, though. I’m sure I’ll want to be president.

I’ve stopped thinking about being a star. At least for now I have. I’m sort of in a rest period. In between dreams, you might say.

When you’re in between dreams, you get to lean back and relax and stop trying so hard. Trying to be somebody, I mean. It’s not as exciting as being a television star, but it’s not that bad, either. You just have to learn to be satisfied with the way you are for a while. Not forever. Just until you’re finished resting.

That’s what I’m doing right now. I’m trying to be satisfied just being me.

Plain old me.

Plain old Alex.

Plain old Alex “The Greatest Quiet Hero of All Time” Frankovitch.