Karen's Surprise Read online

  “Who Will Be the Turkey?”

  Nancy and I were friends again right away. There was no reason not to be. We did not have to worry about tryouts anymore. It did not matter that Nancy could cry. And I did not need to learn how to cry. We would not get to show off any of our acting skills. Boo.

  After school that day, I went to Nancy’s house to play.

  “I think,” Nancy said as she put on a pair of high heels that had been in her dress-up box, “that pulling names out of a hat is silly. What will happen if Natalie gets the part of Samantha? She can’t act at all.”

  “I think it is silly, too,” I agreed. (I put a long dress on over my jeans.) “But I guess Ms. Colman knows what she’s doing. She wants everyone in our class to have a chance to play a big role. Even the shy kids who might not try out for a big role. She’s just being fair.”

  Nancy sighed. Dressing up was not much fun that day.

  We were depressed.

  “Tomorrow,” said Nancy, sitting on her bed, “we will have the drawing.”

  “Yeah.” I sat down next to her.

  “There are seventeen people in our class,” Nancy went on. “I will probably not draw Samantha’s name out of the hat. You probably won’t, either.”

  “No,” I agreed. But then I thought of something. “You know what? One of us might. We all have a chance. What if I get to be Samantha and you don’t? Or what if you get to be Samantha and I don’t?”

  “Will you be mad if I get to be Samantha?” asked Nancy.

  “I will be sad,” I admitted. “But I will not be mad. Because drawing Samantha’s name will just be luck.”

  “Maybe you will get to be the other girl in the family. Melissa. That would be okay.” Nancy paused. “Oh, no! What if one of us gets to be Samantha and the other one has to be a vegetable?”

  “It would be awful!” I exclaimed. “Hey, what if a boy draws Samantha’s name? How could Ricky Torres play Samantha?”

  “I think he would have to draw again, for a boy’s part,” said Nancy.

  “Yeah…. We’ll probably both be vegetables,” I added gloomily.

  * * *

  Ms. Colman held the drawing first thing the next morning. I was very, very, very nervous. So was everyone else. Even Pamela Harding.

  Before Ms. Colman passed the hat around the room, she said, “Anyone who draws the part of one of the Thanksgiving foods in Act II will also play an Indian in Samantha’s dream in Act I. We need Indians. So some of you will play two parts. Are you ready? Then let’s begin.”

  Ricky Torres drew first. He got the part of the grandfather in the family!

  Natalie Springer drew second. She was going to play a pea. And an Indian.

  Then darn old Pamela drew, and guess what part she got.

  “Samantha! I’m Samantha!” cried Pamela.

  I looked at Nancy. I felt like crying.

  The drawing continued. When it was all over, Hannie was going to play Samantha’s mother, Nancy was going to play a baked potato (and an Indian), and I was going to play … the turkey. The turkey. (And an Indian, of course.)

  “Karen’s going to be the turkey!” hooted Jannie. (Jannie is one of the girls who hangs around with Pamela now. She says she is Pamela’s best friend.)

  “Well, Karen is a turkey!” said Leslie. (She also thinks she is Pamela’s best friend.)

  “Karen deserves to be the turkey,” added Pamela.

  Everyone was laughing.

  “Okay, settle down,” said Ms. Colman. At least she was not laughing.

  Neither was Hannie or Nancy. Still, it was a gigundo bad day.

  The Song of the Vegetables

  “It is so, so stupid! It is the stupidest thing I ever heard of!” I cried.

  Kristy looked at me seriously. Andrew and I were at the big house for the weekend, and I was telling Kristy about our Thanksgiving play. We were in her room. We were sitting cross-legged on her bed, facing each other.

  “Can you believe I have to walk across the stage dressed like a turkey? A roasted turkey?”

  “Well,” said Kristy, “I don’t think being the turkey is so silly. After all, the turkey is the most important part of the Thanksgiving dinner.”

  “That’s true,” I replied.

  “But I think it’s silly that all you have to do is walk across the stage. What will be happening in the play then?”

  “Not much. Samantha and her family will be at the back of the stage. They are supposed to be fixing dinner. And every time they say a food — like carrot or turkey or something — the food walks across the stage.”

  “Well, that is definitely silly,” said Kristy. “It seems like such a waste to make all those costumes if the food is just going to walk from one side of the stage to the other. The food parts don’t seem very important.”

  “I know,” I replied glumly.

  “Maybe you could think of a way to make the food more important. What else could the food do?” asked Kristy.

  “Sing?” I suggested.

  Kristy did not say anything. Then we both began laughing.

  “Singing vegetables!” exclaimed Kristy. When we calmed down, she added, “You know, that isn’t a bad idea. In fact, it’s a good one.”

  “Thanks,” I said. (Kristy is such a nice big sister.) “I really could write a song for the food. I could write a song about each kind of food and how it is important to the feast.”

  “That sounds great,” Kristy told me.

  “The food people could have a whole singing number to themselves. That would show Pamela.”

  “Picky Pamela?” asked Kristy. (Kristy met Pamela once — when I made the mistake of inviting Pamela to a sleepover party.)

  “Yeah, Picky Pamela,” I replied. I grinned. “Boy, I better get to work on my song right now. We’re going to start writing our play on Monday after recess.”

  I left Kristy and ran to my room. I sat at my table with a pad of paper and a lot of pencils. Then I put on a baseball cap. I felt like a real writer. I was not sure if I could write a song, but at least I could write a poem. If Ms. Colman liked my idea, then maybe my class and I could write the music for it later.

  I thought and thought. I decided that sometimes all the food should sing together, but that each kind of food should also have a couple of lines to sing alone. (That is called a solo.) A solo would let everyone feel important. Finally I began to write. This was the beginning of the song:

  Hello, hello

  And here we come.

  We are your Thanksgiving food—

  Yum, yum!

  That was not bad. Next I wrote some lines for the pumpkin pie, the two cranberries, the squash, the pea, the celery stick, the baked potato, the apple (for the apple pie), the carrot, and finally for me — the turkey.

  I wrote the turkey part last. Kristy had said the turkey was the most important food at a Thanksgiving dinner. So I saved the best for last.

  I was also getting an idea. It was a wonderful, exciting idea. But I would have to keep it a secret for a long time.

  Pecan Pie and Sweet Potatoes

  I finished my song after dinner on Saturday. I read it from beginning to end. I liked it so much that I read it again — and again.

  I felt very happy with what I had done, so I ran downstairs to find Nannie.

  She was reading a book in the living room.

  “Hi, Nannie,” I said.

  Nannie looked up. She smiled at me. Then she put her book on a table and patted her lap.

  I climbed up. I felt very safe in Nannie’s lap.

  “I’m coming here on Thanksgiving,” I told her. “We can have Thanksgiving together.”

  “I know,” said Nannie. “I’m glad.”

  “What are we having for Thanksgiving dinner?” I asked.

  “Let’s see,” said Nannie. (She loves to cook.) “Turkey, of course, and peas with little onions, rice, salad, and for dessert, apple pie with ice cream.”

  “Will there be turkey stuffing?” I asked.


  “Definitely,” said Nannie.

  “Yum. Ooh, Nannie, can you please, please, please make your special sweet potatoes? And a pecan pie? Especially the pie. I love pecan pie.”

  “Okay,” agreed Nannie. “Pecan pie. And maybe sweet potatoes.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “Boy, Andrew and I are going to be very busy on Thanksgiving.”

  “You certainly are.”

  “You know, we have to watch the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade on TV. I hope we have time to see it before Mommy’s dinner. We want to see all of it. Especially Santa Claus at the end. Then we will eat our first meal, and then we will come over here and eat our second meal.”

  “Karen,” said Nannie, “don’t be disappointed if you can’t do everything you want to.”

  “I won’t,” I said. That was because I was sure Andrew and I would be able to see the parade and then eat two dinners.

  “Good girl,” said Nannie.

  “What are you reading?” I asked her. “Is it a grown-up book?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh.” I like to read, but not grown-up books. “Would you like to hear my poem for the Thanksgiving play?” I asked.

  “Of course.”

  So I read my poem to Nannie. But I did not tell her about my secret idea.

  Disney World

  On Monday, I had a hard time waiting for recess. We were going to begin working on our play right after recess. And then I could tell Ms. Colman and my friends about the song I had written.

  At recess, Hannie and Nancy and I stood by the swings and talked.

  “Guess what,” said Hannie. (She did not wait for us to guess.) “My grandparents are coming over for Thanksgiving. Our family will be like the family in our play. A mother and a father, two sisters, one brother, and two grandparents. I am so glad my grandparents are coming.”

  “I don’t have any real grandparents,” Nancy reminded us. “But Grandma B is coming over.” (Grandma B is a grandmother Nancy adopted. She lives at Stoneybrook Manor, which is a home for old people. Grandma B is just as good as a “real” grandma.)

  Natalie Springer and Ricky Torres wandered over to us.

  “What are you guys talking about?” asked Natalie. Natalie hates being left out of anything.

  “Thanksgiving,” I replied.

  “Oh! Guess where I am going for Thanksgiving!” cried Natalie. (She didn’t give us time to guess, either.) “I’m going to my cousins’ house. They live in Massachusetts. I’ll get to spend the night with Uncle Ned and Aunt Rosie and Jeffrey and Sally and Amy.”

  “My cousins are coming to my house for Thanksgiving,” said Ricky. “Only I don’t like them too much. Christopher is three and breaks my things, and Nate is one and cries all the time.”

  “Too bad,” spoke up a voice.

  Hannie and Nancy and Ricky and Natalie and I looked around.

  There were Pamela and Jannie and Leslie. It was Pamela who had said, “Too bad.” But she looked like she did not mean it.

  “I,” said Pamela, sounding important, “am going to my grandparents’ for Thanksgiving.”

  “Big deal,” said Ricky.

  “My grandparents live in Florida. Near Disney World.” (Leslie and Jannie gave the rest of us big, smug smiles.) “So on Wednesday night we are going to fly to Florida. Then we will have Thanksgiving on Thursday. We will spend Friday and Saturday at …” (Pamela paused to make sure she had our attention) “Disney World. Then on Sunday we will fly home.”

  “Ooh,” said everyone except me.

  I said, “Hmphh. I guess you have not heard what I get to do on Thanksgiving Day.”

  “What?” asked Natalie.

  “I am going to eat two dinners. One at my mother’s house and one at my father’s.”

  “Two dinners in one day?” exclaimed Jannie.

  “Really?” said Leslie.

  “Yup,” I replied and sat down on a swing. I felt pleased with myself. Everybody thought that two dinners in one day was much more unusual than going to Disney World.

  Well, Pamela did not think so. She just said, “You’ll get fat.”

  Jannie and Leslie laughed. Natalie did not know whether to laugh or not.

  I said, “I’ve already been to Disney World. I don’t need to go again. But, Pamela, you know what the best ride at Disney World is?”

  “What?” asked Pamela.

  “Space Mountain. It is a wild roller coaster. I think you should go on that ride first. But make sure that before you do, you eat a huge snack.”

  Everybody laughed. Even Leslie and Jannie. They were all laughing at what I had said to Pamela.

  Karen’s Good Idea

  As soon as recess was over, Ms. Colman said to our class, “Okay, everybody. Settle down. We have work to do.”

  Pamela was still mad at me for making fun of her trip to Disney World. Especially after Ricky told her she would be a barf-face if she rode on Space Mountain. She kept calling me a turkey.

  But when Ms. Colman said, “Settle down,” we settled down.

  “Now,” Ms. Colman went on, “we will begin writing our play. We all know what the play is about. Who can think of a way to begin it?”

  My hand shot up.

  “Yes, Karen?”

  “Well, I don’t have a way to begin the play — ”

  “Turkey!” whispered Pamela to Leslie. She pointed at me.

  “ — but I have an idea for Act II. See, I was thinking that the people who are going to play food, like turkeys,” I said, turning around to look at Pamela, “should have bigger parts. All we have to do right now is walk across the stage. I think we will be wasting our costumes. So I wrote a song for the food. Well, it’s just a poem now, but we can make it into a song. Everybody would get a solo in the song, and sometimes we would all sing together.”

  “Class?” said Ms. Colman. “What do you think of Karen’s idea? Would you like to hear her poem?”

  “Yes!” cried a lot of voices. (I think they were the food voices.) So I began to read my poem.

  Hello, hello

  And here we come.

  We are your Thanksgiving food —

  Yum, yum!

  I am a cranberry!

  So am I!

  I am a pumpkin,

  So I’ll be the pie!

  I read all the verses to my poem. When I finished, the food people began to clap. So did some of the others. (Not Pamela, of course.) And Ms. Colman was smiling.

  “I’m glad I’m a cranberry now,” said Hank Reubens.

  “I’m glad I’m a pea,” said Natalie.

  “I can’t wait to sing my baked potato song!” exclaimed Nancy.

  Wow, I thought. Kristy had been right. Everyone just needed to feel more important.

  “How many people want to use Karen’s song in our play?” asked Ms. Colman.

  Eleven hands were raised. That was more than half of our class!

  “Fine,” said Ms. Colman. “I think I’ll ask Mrs. Noonan” (she is our music teacher) “if she can turn Karen’s poem into a song. And then I’ll ask Mrs. Brown” (she is one of our gym teachers) “if she can make up a dance to go with the song.”

  A song-and-dance number! I could not believe it!

  I guess Nancy could not, either. She called out excitedly, “Ms. Colman! Ms. Colman! That is perfect because I take dancing lessons!”

  Pamela slouched in her seat. She would not get to sing or dance in the play. And I knew she wanted to.

  We worked on our play for awhile. Then Ms. Colman handed each of us a piece of paper. On the paper were descriptions of the costumes we would need. (We were in charge of making our own costumes. Our parents were allowed to help.)

  When school was over, Pamela whispered, “Tur-key,” in my ear. I did not care anymore.

  Olives and Hot Apple Cider

  “Karen, hold still,” said Mommy. Only it sounded like she said, “Kem, hode stiw.” That was because her mouth was full of pins.

  Mommy was working on
my costume. It was a Tuesday evening. Dinner was over. I had finished my homework. And Mommy had said, “Karen, I’ve been sewing your turkey costume. Tonight I need you to try it on. I need to measure some things.”

  So I was standing on a chair in the kitchen. I was wearing a boring, old brown costume. My arms were going to be cooked, brown turkey wings, and my legs were going to be cooked, brown turkey drumsticks. But my head was going to stick out of the top of the costume. I thought that was silly. Turkeys don’t have people heads with blonde hair.

  But I did not say that to Mommy. She had already helped me put together my Indian costume. Now she was making the turkey suit by herself. She said it was very hard.

  “Mommy? What are we going to have for Thanksgiving dinner?” I asked her.

  Mommy took the pins out of her mouth. “We will have turkey and butternut squash and wild rice and cranberry relish. And for dessert we will have baked apples with cream and a pumpkin pie.”

  “That’s a lot of food for four people!” I said.

  “I think it’s nice to have a choice of food to eat on Thanksgiving,” Mommy replied. “You don’t have to eat everything.”

  I thought for a moment. Then I asked, “Can we have olives at dinner, too? I want the black kind, the ones with no pits, and also the green kind with the red stuff in them. We can put them in the special olive dish.”

  “Maybe,” said Mommy. “We’ll see.”

  “And can we also have your special apple cider? The hot kind? With the cinnamon sticks floating in it? Puh-lease?”

  “Do you really like my hot apple cider?” asked Mommy.

  “I love it!”

  “Then I’ll make it. I’ll get the olives, too.”

  “Oh, thank you! And you know what else? Andrew and I have to see the Thanksgiving parade before dinner. We want to see the whole thing, so we can see Santa Claus at the end.”

  “Honey, I don’t know about that,” said Mommy. “We have to eat early. You and Andrew need time to go to Daddy’s and get your tummies ready for another big meal.”