“And he-e-e-ere is Flossie,” Ms. Nelson called from behind the whiteboard.
Wendy waddled into the bright classroom, her flippers slap-slap-slapping on the linoleum floor. A couple of people tittered, and were instantly shushed by others. Wooden faces regarded her, some with the sort of stiff smiles that adults assume at programs like these—Wendy remembered them well—and others were busy peering for their own kids. But there in the back sat Alejo, who leaned forward a little. And yes, there was that special smile, and a gleam in those dark eyes that she could feel all the way across the room, as if he was encouraging her.
Her throat tightened a little, and she turned her head. Ms. Nelson motioned violently: go, go, go.
Wendy cleared her throat.
“Welcome to Flossie’s Barnyard,” she read. “Tonight is a special night. As you know, we are all gathered to raise funds for rescue homes for animals taken from fire, flood, and quake disaster areas. I am going to introduce all my friends in the barnyard, and they will have a surprise for you! Prancy the Pony, would you like to start?”
Prancy marched out front, her pony costume bright pink with enough sparkles and glitter to put a seventies disco ball to shame.
In a shrill voice she reeled out her poem, adding flips of her long yarn mane, and swishing her long tail. A queen bee in the making, Wendy thought as Prancy finished triumphantly, to thunderous applause.
“Thank you, Prancy the Pony!” Wendy said, and after Prancy took a bow, Wendy said. “And now, we’ll have Bruno the Bear!”
Prancy still stood in the middle of the stage, swishing her glittery mane and tail.
Ms. Nelson hissed at Prancy to come behind the board. “It’s Skyler’s turn now!”
Prancy flounced—and ran smack into Bruno the Bear, who plopped onto a well-padded rear. “You pushed me, Kaydin!” Bruno cried.
“I did not,” replied the girl, throwing her sparkling mane back.
Wendy had been in so many programs that she knew what was coming next: Prancy, the stage hog, would turn the bump into a drama, and poor Bruno, who did not want to be out in front on all those eyes, was about to decamp, maybe even crying. The recital would be a disaster, and—yes, a quick glance, and she could see Sam’s frightened eyes in his squirrel head. He was a step away from panic.
Wendy swooped down, and pulled the little boy to his feet, then holding his hand, she tugged him forward so that Ms. Nelson could hustle Prancy back behind the whiteboard. Wendy said, “Bruno, show us how abig scary brown beardoes a poem!”
Bruno rallied, and pulled his hand away. He bellowed his poem, as behind Wendy she heard Ms. Nelson trying to calm down her restless barnyard. Bruno finished off his poem in record time, and then turned and stomped back, uttering a growl and waving his paws bear-like.
“Oh, Bruno, you are the bravest bear,” Wendy cried. “Thank you.” And she led the clapping.
The next child performed without a problem, and the one after that. It looked like the recital was back on track. Wendy could tell at a glance which child belonged to which family. They clapped the hardest for their kid.
But when she announced Bonnie the Butterfly, no child came out. Wendy saw a woman half-start up, and a man whispering as he yanked her down again. Others around them stirred. The willing collaboration of audience in the imaginary barnyard was beginning to break into uncomfortable or restless adults.
Wendy twirled around, and took a quick peek beyond the whiteboard divider. Ms. Nelson had knelt down and was talking earnestly to a child in a butterfly outfit.
Uh oh, right behind the little butterfly stood Sam. His shoulders were right up under his ears. Panic was spreading.
Time to furnish a distraction! Wendy took another turn, flapped her wings, and felt the audience looking at her. It was desperate measures time! And she knew what to do: be ridiculous. “We are busy in the barnyard,” Wendy said. “But there isalwaystime for a chicken dance!”
Everyone stared, and someone tittered, and was shushed.
Wendy shook off embarrassment. All those years of jazz dance and modern dance and even some ballet were right there in her muscles. “Who will clap for me?” Wendy asked, and crooked her elbows so her unlikely orange wings stuck out. “Squawk! Bucka-buck!” If she was going to do this, she was going toownit.
“Squawk bucka-buck! Squawk bucka-buck!” She stomped, giving them a simple beat.
Two or three people clapped in a scattered manner, but they quickly found the beat. Flapping her wings, she did an easy shuffle-ball-change, the basic jazz steps. With the heavy costume, and her gigantic front swinging, not to mention the flippers, she didn’t dare get too crazy. But when she let out a squawk and a high kick, a whoop sounded from one of the teens in the audience, causing general laughter.
That was the stuff to give them! She did not dare look at Alejo; Bill would have been furious. She’d done a little routine once before, at an office party, to cover for a hostess who had managed to drop a tray of drinks and ran off weeping. Bill’s voice echoed in her mind,Did you have to make a fool of yourself? Do you have any idea how much harm that could do me with the senior partners?
The clapping got louder, dispelling the horrible memory. Her gaze flew straight to Alejo—to discover him grinning from ear to ear as he clapped with gusto. Of course Godiva’s son wouldn’t worry about what people thought! Wendy grinned, knowing that if Godiva had been present she probably would have joined in, or at least would have made chicken noises to encourage Wendy.
Her heart buoyant, she worked back and forth along the ten feet or so between the teacher’s desk and the white board—and on her second round, she saw Ms. Nelson gesturing violently, mouthing the word READY! As she pointed at a child in a moose head.
Wendy nodded, whirled into the middle of the little stage space, and executed a very clumsy curtsey. It had to look ridiculous in that horrible costume. People laughed, and the rhythmic clapping broke into applause.
Then she said, “Our barnyard has all kinds of friends. Let’s have Mei-Mei the Moose come to greet you next!”
