Free Take Two! by John J. Bonk Page B

deciding my fate. “Tone-deaf!” ringing in the balcony. “Tone-deaf!” echoing off the
     walls.
    “Come stand by the piano.” Mrs. Sternhagen waved me over. “Try singing it along with me.”
    This can’t be happening
. I felt like one of her slow second-graders.
    She plunked out the melody and croaked, “Give my regards to Broadway…” I joined in, sounding a little shaky. “Remember me
     to Herald Square –” My voice cracked. Puberty kicking in, but they’d probably take that into consideration. “Tell all the
     gang at Forty-second Street that I will soon be there.” I was back on track. “Whisper of how I’m yearning…” Sternhagen cut
     out and it was all me, belting it out. “To mingle with the old time throng…” Back to full tempo, really working the stage.
     “Yeah, give my regards to old Broadway” –
wow ’em with a big finish and they’ll forgive you for anything
– “and say that I’ll – be – there – hair –
looong
!”
    I fell to one knee, holding that last note for days. “The money note” Aunt Olive called it, and I milked it for every penny
     it was worth. When my breath finally ran out I scrambled to my feet and took a quick bow.
    Dead silence.
    “It’s ere long, Mr. Grubbs, not
hair
long,” Mrs. Sternhagen finally said, sounding unimpressed. “It means
before
long.”
    “My mistake.”
    “Well, at least you got through it.”
    I stood there smiling into the dark auditorium, waiting for positive feedback – or
any
feedback.
    “Thank you, Dustin, very much,” Miss Honeywell said in a cheery voice. “Everyone who auditions will be cast in one capacity
     or another. So if you don’t hear from us it simply means we don’t need to have you read from the script. Okay, sugar?”
    “Okay.”
Sugar
.
    “Uh, just FYI, I’m getting over a little cold,” I lied, “so my throat’s still a little scratchy. “And I never heard the piano
     part before. I could sing something else if you like.”
Oh, gawd, I was turning into Darlene
.
    “That’s all we need for today,” Miss Honeywell told me. “That was very nice.”
    Very nice? Translation: You stunk up the place
.
    Mrs. Sternhagen hung her head when I passed her on my mile-long trek to the wings. I must’ve bombed big-time. Just as tears
     were stinging my eyes, more of Dad’s advice flashed in my head:
Play up your strengths and they won’t notice your weaknesses. Funny never fails!
    “Wait!” I did an about-face and steamrolled my way to center stage.
    “Yes, Mr. Grubbs? What now?”
    I recognized that voice –
it’s Mr. Lynch! Don’t let it throw you
.
    “Well…?” he grumbled.
    “Okay, three lawyers, an aardvark, and a substitute teacher walk into a bar –”
    That’s when a bright orange basketball came sailing out of the balcony and hit me right between the eyes.

Chapter 9
SLUDGE
    I was too wound up Thursday night to get any shut-eye. My audition disaster was on constant replay in my head – every time
     I closed my eyes I saw that basketball coming at me. And that “tone-deaf” comment really stuck in my craw -whatever that is.
In a matter of weeks I’d plummeted from a triple threat to a double – to hardly a threat at all!
I’d finally started drifting off, when my mind jumped to the field trip the next day. The plan was to hook up with Dad on
     Friday after the Shedd Aquarium visit, and spend the whole weekend with him. Just the two of us – well, and the entire city
     of Chicago. That required mega sleep, but I was vibrating with excitement.
    So I clamped my eyes shut and refused to think a single thought about A, the audition; B, the field trip; or C, Dad. But somehow
     I got to thinking about D, what superpowers I’d want most.
Okay, stop! This is stupid
. I squinted at the 3:04 AM blazing on my digital clock.
If I fall asleep right this second I could still get four and a half good hours. Ready, set, sleep
. Unfortunately, I was still deciding between X-ray vision and