Free Puppet Pandemonium by Diane Roberts Page A

bite of her chocolate volcano cake.
    Mom had laughed, her cheeks dusted with flour. “If I win enough blue ribbons, I might run.”
    I'd become one of the most popular kids in the fifth grade. My dad didn't need to buy a movie theater after all. I was the guy with a different dessert every day.
    We checked everything out. There were homemade quilts, polished rocks, Indian jewelry, leather boots and saddles, and a million other things that people had made to sell. There was even a guy dressed up like an old-time cowboy handing out pens that said,
Don't Mess with Texas
.
    Hannah had to go off with her family, so Murray and I wandered around the rest of the exhibits. We even saw the gigantic stage that had been constructed for the play and that would also serve as the platform for the awards ceremony.
    “Want to have that guy over there draw our caricatures?” Murray asked.
    “Yeah!” I said. We told the artist we wanted us both in the picture. The guy drew us riding bucking broncos. It was hilarious.
    “Let's give this to Hannah,” I said.
    “She'll probably pencil herself in,” Murray said with a grin.
    Soon I found my parents and Gram, and we all sat in the yard chairs that Dad had brought for us and watched the sky fill up with a million colors.
    Gram leaned over and whispered to me, “These small towns sure know how to put on a party, don't they?”
    I was thinking the same thing.

F ranklin Elementary and Buffalo Gulch drew straws to decide who would perform their play first on Saturday night. Franklin won the draw. We were ready. The costumes had been made, the scenery was in place, and we'd learned our lines. Bubba had agreed to be stage manager and, to my surprise, had engineered a fantastic set. He'd chosen his own workers, and they had nailed, painted, sanded, and built the best backdrops I'd ever seen. Everyone in our class told him over and over how great everything looked.
    Mr. Sims was as proud as a peacock about all ourhard work. I think he was so caught up in the spirit of the festival that he wanted to win the trophy as badly as our class did. He jumped around like a flea, asking each one of us a million times, “Is everything proceeding according to our plans? Do you need anything? How's it going?”
    Gram had come to most of our rehearsals. She'd never interfered in what I was doing or the directions I gave the kids. She let me make my own decisions and my own mistakes. When something really turned out good, I'd look in the back of the auditorium and she'd give me a thumbs-up. When something went wrong— and it did a couple of times—she just smiled and let me and Waldo work it out. I had used Waldo to do all the directing. The kids listened to him and did everything he said. They didn't even bother talking to me.
    Friday morning, Murray and I ran across the street to pick up Hannah on the way to school. Mrs. Wilson came to the screen door with a sad look on her face. Hannah stood behind her.
    “What's wrong?” I said, trying to peek inside.
    Hannah stepped out from behind her mom. She was covered in red polka dots. They matched her hair.
    Murray gasped.
    “Stand back. I've got chicken pox,” she said. “I can't be in the play”
    I was horrified. If anyone deserved to be in the play,it was Hannah. She had worked harder than any of us to make things go well. Her speech about the American flag was the best. It was going to be the showstopper. Tears ran down her cheeks. I hadn't known she even knew how to cry. “My life is ruined forever.”
    “Now, Hannah,” Mrs. Wilson said. “Your life is not ruined forever. Maybe Baker can get someone to do your part for you.”
    I shook my head. “No one could learn all her lines by tomorrow.”
    “There's one person who could do it,” Hannah said with a sniffle. “You.”
    “Me?” I slapped my hand on my chest.
    “Yes, you! You could do it, Baker. You know my lines already.”
    “I can't be Betsy Ross!”
    “Why not?” she said. “You'll