Don't Tap-Dance on Your Teacher (4 page)

I crutched into class.

Everybody stared at me as I made my way to my desk.

I showed all the kids how to use my crutches.

I told them about my busted body. And how I'd have to miss the talent show.

I didn't look at Emma when I said that part.

While I let some of the other kids try my crutches, Emma came over.

“I'm really sorry about your accident,” she said. “Does it hurt a lot?”

“Not so much,” I said. “I'm sad about the show, though.”

“I really wanted to dance for Mrs. Herman,” Emma said.

“Wait a minute, Emma,” I said. “Just because I can't dance doesn't mean that you shouldn't.”

Emma sighed. “How can I be a dancing elephant
and
a dancing mouse? It will look silly.”

“No it won't!” I said.

I felt pretty bad. I never thought that my crutches would keep Emma from dancing. And I knew how much she liked Mrs. Herman.

“Come on, Emma,” I said. “You can do it!”

“I guess I could just dance the mouse part,” Emma said.

“That's great!” I said. “I mean—you'll be great!”

Emma looked at me a long time.

She has black, smart eyes.

They're the kind of eyes that can see inside you.

Just like a doctor with an X-ray machine.

 

By afternoon time, I was kind of tired of those crutches.

After a while with those pokey sticks, your armpits get awfully sore.

It took me a long time to crutch to the talent show in the auditorium.

Right in front of the stage there was a big table with flowers and cookies on it. Mrs. Herman was sitting there.

“My goodness, Roscoe,” she said as I crutched past. “What on earth happened to you?”

“I busted my body,” I said.

Mrs. Herman gave me a gentle hug. “You watch yourself, you old rascal.”

I nodded. I didn't know what to say.

It felt like a cheating hug I didn't really deserve.

“You watch your old rascal self too,” I said at last.

Ms. Diz showed us the row of chairs where our class was going to sit.

“Those of you who are going to be in the talent show, follow me backstage,” she said.

Thomas and Coco and Emma started to go.

Thomas was going to whistle “Skip to My Lou” on his skateboard.

And Coco was going to sing a Raffi song.

Coco does not sing very in tune.

But she makes up for it with loudness.

I started to follow Emma backstage.

“Roscoe,” said Ms. Diz. “You can stay here, since you're not going to be dancing.”

“But what if Emma gets nervous or something?” I asked.

“All right, then.” Ms. Diz waved for me to come along.

Slowly I crutched my way up to the stage.

Behind the giant red curtain, lots of kids were warming up for their acts.

Emma tied on her tap shoes. She'd
brought mine along too.

“They were in your cubby,” she said. “I don't know why I brought them. Guess I was hoping for a miracle cure.”

She poked her head out from behind the curtain.

When she pulled back, her eyes were scared.

“There's too many people!” she whispered.

I peeked out too.

I saw Mrs. Herman and Ms. Diz and my class and Max's class and the principal and Mr. Oshkosh.

Mr. Oshkosh gave me a wave.

Then he pointed to his leg.

His LEFT leg.

I yanked my head back in.

“It's not so many people, really,” I said.
“Just the whole school.”

Sometimes I do not exactly have a way with words.

The crowd got very quiet.

I peeked out again.

Mr. Goosegarden, the principal, was standing near the edge of the stage.

“We are here today,” he said, “to honor the career of our wonderful teacher, Mrs.

Herman.”

His voice got a little lower. “Let me remind you that it takes a lot of courage to step onstage in front of an audience. I want you to give these talented students the respect they deserve.”

He went on for a while longer.

Speeching is probably the main job of principals.

At last the show got started.

Emma and I watched from the side of the stage.

We laughed when some kids in the pre-K class jumped on bubbles while music played.

It was an unusual talent, for sure.

But mostly we just watched without talking.

We watched the baton twirler.

And the girl who could stand on her head for two minutes.

And the boy who said “Pick a card, any card” to Mrs. Herman, but then he couldn't guess which one she'd picked until he got halfway through the deck.

We watched. And we clapped.

And we waited for it to be Emma's turn.

It was a long, quiet, guilty wait.

Finally it was time.

The CD player came on with our “Mice and Elephants” music.

The curtain opened.

Emma swallowed. Then she tapped across the stage.

I leaned on my crutches and crossed my fingers.

The music was loud and echoey.

Boy, that was a giant audience.

From the stage, it looked like a monster with too many heads.

When the tinkly mouse part of the music played, Emma made teensy tapping steps.
She even smiled a little.

When the elephant part of the music played, Emma just stood there. Waiting.

Since I wasn't there to stomp.

To tell you the truth, it did look just a little bit silly.

You could tell an elephant was supposed to be on the stage too.

The elephant stomping part stopped. The tinkly music came back.

And Emma started dancing her mouse part again.

She was tapping her heart out.

Being the very best mouse she could be.

And I was hiding behind a curtain.

Being a chicken.

The elephant music came back.

Emma stopped tapping.

She wasn't smiling anymore. In fact, she
looked a little sad.

I could hear kids whispering, and I thought about the big boys watching Emma dance all alone.

Without an elephant in sight.

I dropped my crutches.

I kicked off my sneakers.

I shoved on my tap shoes.

And I tapped right onto that stage.

Emma stared at me. Her mouth made an O shape.

I think maybe she was in chalk.

That's when you can't believe what your eyes are saying.

“I'm cured!” I whispered. “It's a miracle!”

The elephant music played on.

I clomped like a pro.

The mouse music played.

Emma twinkle-tapped like she'd been dancing forever.

We tapped and clapped and twirled.

I was so busy making noise with my feet, I forgot all about the big boys.

I forgot all about my busted body and my broken left appendix.

I forgot all about whether tap dancing was just for girls or just for boys or maybe just for everybody.

I also forgot all about the edge of the stage.

I twinkle-tapped right off that stage like a giant flying mouse-elephant-boy.

I probably would have busted my whole body for real.

If I'd landed on the floor.

But lucky for me, old Mrs. Herman saved the day!

Her guest-of-honor table was right next to the stage.

So instead of the floor, I landed on her table.

And her. A little bit.

I knocked over her coffee cup and crumbled her cookies.

But I just kept on tapping away.

Because the show must go on.

Mrs. Herman kept saying, “Oh, my! Oh, my!”

Maybe she was just amazed at my fancy footwork.

Or maybe it was because I sort of tapped on her sweater sleeve a couple times.

Finally the music ended and it was time for our bows.

I did a great one. Except I sort of got tangled in my tap-shoe ties.

And plopped right into Mrs. Herman's lap.

Everybody clapped like crazy.

I looked up at Emma on the stage.

She waved at me and smiled.

Then she did an elephant clomp, just for fun.

She made a glorious pachyderm.

That evening, Mrs. Herman called my house.

She asked my mom how my busted body was.

After that, I had a little bit of explaining to do.

Mom called Mr. Oshkosh after I told her the whole story.

I told him I was sorry for faking a smushed body.

He said he'd had a feeling I would make a full recovery.

Dad and Mom talked to me for a long time.

About how I should do what makes me happy.

Not what other people think is right for me.

And they explained how there's no such thing as boy stuff or girl stuff.

Then I explained that sometimes they make me more confused when they are trying to un-confuse me.

Especially when it's complicated things like boys and girls.

Dad said not to worry. Because he's still trying to figure that stuff out.

Mom laughed. Then she threw a pillow at him.

Sitting here in time-out, I have figured out one thing, at least.

I'm going to take lots more tap classes.

And guess what?

After the show, Dewan and Gus both asked me how they could sign up for tap lessons.

And Wyatt actually asked if he could try my tap shoes on.

So I let him.

He said he wanted to see if the tappers would be good for smushing ants.

But I could tell he liked that
clickety-clack
noise as much as I do.

Well,
almost
as much.

I like it so much I am going to keep taking dance lessons forever and ever, I think.

Emma says she will too.

She was right about how much fun we'd have.

Emma is almost always right.