Oddest of All Read Free Page B

single afternoon. It hasn’t happened yet, but I’m sure it’s just a matter of time.
    I spend the entire weekend thinking about what Mikey has said, and I come up with a bold plan, which is to pass Tiffany a note asking if she wants to grab a slice of pizza at Angelo’s after school. I am just getting up my nerve to do it—there are only five minutes of class left—when Mr. F. says, “So, what do you think the queen should have done then, Murphy?”
    How am I supposed to know? But I blush and don’t hand the note to Tiffany after all, which wouldn’t have been so bad, except that Butch Coulter sees I have it and grabs it on the way out of class, and I have to give him the rest of my week’s lunch money to get it back.
    Tuesday I try a new tactic. There’s a little store on the way to school where you can pick up candy and gum and stuff, and I get some on the way to school, and then kind of poke Tiff in the back during social studies class, which is about the only time I see her, to ask if she wants a piece of gum. Only before she can answer, Mr. Fessenden comes up from behind and snatches the whole pack out of my hand. So that was that.
    Then, on Wednesday, it’s as if the gods are smiling on me, which is not something I am used to. Tiffany grabs my arm on the way out of social studies and says, “Can I talk to you for a second, Murphy?”
    â€œSure,” I say. This is not very eloquent, but it is better than the first thought that crosses my mind, which is, “Any time, any where, any moment of the day.” It is also better than “Your words would be like nectar flowing into the hungry mouths of my ears,” which was a line I had come up with for a poem I was writing about her.
    She actually looks a little shy, though what this goddess-on-earth has to be shy about is more than I can imagine.
    She hands me a folded-over set of papers, and my heart skips a beat. Can this be a love letter? If so, it’s a really long one.
    â€œI wrote this skit for drama club, and I thought maybe you would do it with me next Friday. I think you’d be just right for the part.”
    My heart starts pounding. While it seems unlikely that the part is that of a barbarian warrior prince, just doing it means I will have an excuse to spend time with Tiffany. I mean, we’ll have to rehearse and . . . well, the imagination staggers.
    â€œYes!” I say, ignoring the facts that (a) I have not yet read the script and (b) I have paralyzing stage fright.
    She gives me one of those sunrise smiles of hers, grabs my arm and gives it a squeeze, and says, “Thanks. This is going to be fun.” Then she’s gone, leaving me with a memory of her fingers on my arm and a wish that I had started pumping iron when I was in first grade, so my biceps would have been ready for this moment.
    Mikey moves in a second later. “Whoa,” he says, nudging me with his elbow. “Progress! What did she say?”
    â€œShe wants me to do a skit with her.”
    He shakes his head. “Too bad. I thought maybe you had a chance. How’d she take it when you told her no?”
    I look at him in surprise. “I didn’t. I said I would do it.”
    Mikey looks even more surprised. “Murphy, you can’t go on stage with her. You can’t even move when you get on stage. Don’t you remember what happened in fifth grade?”
    As if I could forget. Not only was it one of the three most humiliating moments of my life, but according to my little brother it has become legendary at Westcott Elementary. Here’s the short version: Mrs. Carmichael had cast me as George Washington in our class play, and I was, I want to tell you, pretty good during rehearsals. But when they opened the curtain and I saw the audience . . . well, let’s just say that when my mother saw the look on my face she actually let out a scream. She told me later she