Of Mice and Nutcrackers: A Peeler Christmas Read Free Page A

Gonsalves warmly.
    I can’t decide what I want to be when I grow up, but Miss Gonsalves is one option. She’s smart and she wears neat clothes and is never
never
upset. And she’s gorgeous. If I end up like Miss Gonsalves, I’ll be pretty happy.
    She likes me too. She likes everyone. That’s what’s so great about her. She even smiles when Michael pushes his way into class, slams his books on the desk, and frowns like a thundercloud.
    Essa used to sit in front of Michael. She said she could feel how angry he was, all the time. “It was like a furnace,” she said. Of course Miss Gonsalves likes Essa, who is the smallest grade 7 you ever saw. Smaller than you, if you’re reading this by yourself. Smaller than most grade 4s. Michael could pick her up and carry her under one arm like a bread stick. Not that Miss Gonsalves would let him.
    Zillah sits in front of Michael now. Zillah, all in black, who never says a word. She doesn’t seem to notice the anger.
    *
    “Places!” I call. “Patti and Michael, we’ll start where the clock strikes midnight.” I check the stage. The nutcracker doll is on one of the “onstage” desks, and the grandfather clock – actually an old chest of drawers, with a big cardboard clock face taped on top – is at the back, near the blackboard. “Now, Patti, it’s Christmas Eye and everyone’s asleep. You’ve been woken up. You go downstairs in the middle of the night, and suddenly you see your godfather sitting on top of your old clock. How do you feel?”
    “Surprised?” lisps Patti.
    Michael laughs again. “You think?” he says. “This old geezer comes out of my clock, I’d be surprised too.”
    The class laughs. I feel stupid. “Let’s see if we can get all the way through the magic spell,” I say. “Let’s go. Patti, downstage center. Brad, get ready. You’re on in a minute. For now you’re under the table. Michael, you’re –”
    “On top of the clock,” he says, in a loud voice. Another laugh.
    “Right. That’s, um, upstage center. Okay, Patti, take it from your line ‘Oh, oh, oh.’ And – action.”
    The music changes now: deeper, slower. You know this bit. It’s really famous.
Dweedle-dweedle-dee, dee-doo-dee, dah doo dee, dah-dah-dah, doo-doo-doo, doh-doh-doh, dah-dee-dah-dee-doh.
    Well, that’s the way I hear it. I don’t read music.
    Jiri looks excited. He recognizes the tune. He elbows his way forward. Oh, no. I hold up my hand to stop him, but he’s onstage now, facing Patti like I told him to, smiling, and following his musical cue with enthusiasm.
    “Welcome, Princess, to the North.
I… uh … welcome you to … ding it!”
    Jiri always says “ding it!” when he’s upset.
    Michael sighs. Patti frowns. The music stops.
    “Wait!” I call. “We’ll try that again. Jiri! Remember what we talked about last time?”
    He hangs his head now. He remembers. “Not my cue yet?”
    “Not yet,” I say. “You’re at the very end of the play. That dance music comes back a few times. Remember?”
    “It is the correct music?”
    “Oh, yes. You got the music part right.”
    He beams.
    “But it’s the wrong time. You must wait. Stand next to me, and I’ll tell you when to go on. Okay?” “Sorry, Jane. Ding it!” he says. Ding it! is right.
    Miss Gonsalves catches my eye. In her face is a hint of worry – the first I’ve ever seen.
    “Nice try, Jiri!” she says brightly.

I:45. Second-last period of the day. Geography. Miss Gonsalves sits on her desk, legs crossed neatly.
    “What’s latitude?” She spins her globe around and around. A couple of hands go up. Not mine. I stare at the clock. Thirty minutes until our
Nutcracker
rehearsal.
    “How would you define latitude, Patti?”
    “Is it … width?” Patti sprays gently.
    “Width?”
    “Well, the lines on the globe go sideways.”
    “So that longitude would be height? Is that it?” Miss Gonsalves laughs. A beautiful gurgling laugh, very infectious. Justin, in paisley today,