The Saturday Boy

“Thanks for the ride.”

“You’re welcome. Oh, and Derek?”

“Yes?”

“The next time you write your father could you tell him Ms. Dickson is thinking of him?”

Out of the corner of my eye I could see my aunt Josie standing on the front stoop. You can tell my mom and my aunt Josie are sisters because they look exactly the same when they’re getting impatient.

“I really gotta go now. My aunt’s waiting.”

“What are you doing talking to me then? Shoo! Shoo!”

I got out of the car. I’d never heard Ms. Dickson talk like that—like a regular person, I mean. Usually no matter what she says she sounds like a teacher. I waved good-bye to her as she drove away.

6

WE HAD OUR FIRST meeting for A Christmas Carol in the middle school cafeteria which meant I had to hoof it all the way from Ms. Dickson’s classroom at the end of the fifth grade hallway to the other end of the school past the auditorium and along the hallway that connected the two buildings and I know that might not sound far but it was. Believe me.

Mr. Putnam was late and Violet and I had to listen to all the middle schoolers talk about middle school stuff, which, after a while, was really starting to terrify me. Dances? Permanent records? My mind whirled. I was pretty sure no one had even tried to tell us about those things. Violet and I sat there, not really looking at each other or saying anything. I was getting tired of listening to middle school stuff.

“Did you watch Zeroman last night?” I asked Violet.

“What’s that?”

“Zeroman. You know. The TV show?”

“Oh. No.”

“You probably watch Jenny Rainbow and the Starlight Pony Squad, right?”

“No.”

“A Dog Named Cat?”

“No.”

“What do you watch then?”

“Nothing.”

“Cable out?”

“No.”

“What’s wrong with your TV?”

“Nothing,” said Violet. “We don’t have one.”

She might have said more things after that but I stopped listening. I couldn’t help it. Not seeing Zeroman was one thing, but not having a TV at all? What did her family do to pass the time—read? Talk to each other? It just didn’t seem right. I was still wondering what Violet and her family did without a television when the cafeteria doors banged open and Mr. Putnam entered.

Everything about him was big. He was tall and wide and big around the middle. His voice was big. Even his beard was big. The air seemed to get out of his way when he moved. He sat at an empty table, cracked his knuckles, and opened his briefcase. He took out a bundle of papers and held it up.

“This, ladies and gentlemen, is a copy of the script,” he boomed. “In time you will each have your own to work from but since I seem to have broken the copy machine, today we have six.”

Some of the middle schoolers laughed. Mr. Putnam stroked his beard and cracked his knuckles again.

“Come, gather round, gather round,” he said, waving us all to the table. “Most of you were probably too busy to notice but we are joined today by Monsieur Derek Lamb and Mademoiselle Violet Gardener from Ms. Dickson’s fifth-grade class. Please join me in welcoming them.”

My cheeks got hot and I put my head down a little. I was starting to wonder if this whole thing was a mistake when the strangest thing happened—Mr. Putnam and all of the middle schoolers stood up and clapped their hands!

A kid next to me who I’d never seen before even put his hand out so I could shake it. Some of the girls were giving Violet hugs and Violet had a big smile on her face and was hugging them back. Mr. Putnam thumped me on the back and I swear my skeleton almost jumped out. It was weird. I didn’t think anyone had been that happy to meet me before.

That afternoon we did a read-through, which is where you just sit and read the script out loud for the first time. Me and Violet were in only one scene and it was a small one. It was the one where the Ghost of Christmas Past takes Scrooge back in time to when he was a little boy trapped alone in a schoolhouse on Christmas Eve and had to be rescued by his sister. I was going to be Young Scrooge, and as if being rescued by a girl wasn’t bad enough, Young Scrooge is so happy that he embraces her. I had a pretty good idea of what embracing was but wasn’t completely sure. I hoped it wasn’t what I was thinking of.

“Trouble with the script, Mr. Lamb?”

Mr. Putnam was looking at me with a raised eyebrow. I’d noticed a lot of people had been looking at me like that lately.

“Um… embracing?”

“Yes?”

“That’s like hugging, right?”

“Yes. Only more so.”

So it was what I was thinking of. Great. Couldn’t Young Scrooge and his sister fist-bump or high-five instead? Couldn’t they just shake hands? What kind of weirdo hugged his sister, anyway? It didn’t seem right. Violet and all the others were looking at me, waiting for me to do something.

“Right. Okay. Embracing. Got it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course! I love embracing things. I’m like a professional embracer.”

Mr. Putnam’s eyebrow came down as the other one went up. I’d never seen that before. He stroked his beard and cracked his knuckles. There was a funny little grin on his face and I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

“Seriously,” I said. “I’ll embrace you right here.”

He put up his hands.

“Easy, tiger,” he said. “We hardly know each other.”

Some of the middle schoolers laughed and Mr. Putnam was smiling and that’s how I knew it was okay and they weren’t being mean. He was just being funny. I sort of laughed a little then, too, even though I didn’t really get it. After the read-through this kid named Desmond asked Mr. Putnam when the next practice would be and he said, “Desi, me boy… jocks practice. But actors, oh… actors rehearse!”

Mr. Putnam rolled the r the way Senora Cruz likes us to when we’re doing Spanish. I couldn’t do it right. Either I wouldn’t roll the r enough or I’d roll it too much and end up spitting on someone by accident. Don’t ask me how it happened but it did.

The rehearsal ended and I walked with Violet out to the front of the school and we sat on a bench by the turnaround. Mr. Putnam had given us a script to share and Violet had her nose in it, reading scenes we weren’t even in. I’d also caught her paying attention during the read-through while I’d been trying unsuccessfully to solve her television problem.

“So what do you do?” I said.

“About what?”

“About not having a TV,” I said. “I mean, how does that even happen?”