Such a bustle ensued that you might have thought
goose the rarest of of all birds; a feathered phenomenon,
to which a black swan was a matter of course . . .
To stop himself from scratching, P. Martin squeezed his arms against his sides and sat on his hands. A class production? Memorizing lines? Performing in front of the entire school -- and parents?
"Why can't we just move now?" he begged his mother the moment he flew into the house and shed off his backpack. "Uncle Scout did and all his kids have adjusted just fine."
"And, so will you," she said and made him pick up his backpack, reminding him of The WhiteHouse Rules, and start his homework.
During dinner, she wagered that Kestrel might be cast as Scrooge due to his nasty temperament, but P. Martin argued otherwise. "He wouldn't know redemption if it flapped him in the face," he'd said and described how, in music class, Kestrel and his cronies harped on about "hovering over a plump, juicy Christmas goose, you know, the one the size of a moaning moose."
Just like the ghosts, their voices haunted him. P. Martin thrashed all night. He dreamt of a spotlight, more glaring than the sun, blinding him and veering him off course. He crashed into a power line and awoke to a bevy of parents thronging around his bed, chittering about how he was that poor green thing, the one who washed away in the rain. Given his luck, Mrs. Whimbrel would cast him as the Christmas goose.
. . . as Mrs. Cratchit, looking slowly all along
the carving knife, prepared to plunge it in the breast . . .
Fortunately, the music teacher must have mentioned something to Mrs. Whimbrel, because Mrs. Whimbrel did not cast Kestrel as Scrooge, the role he claimed he'd win, but as the Ghost of Christmas Past. James Vireo, who had eventually returned to school, was Tiny Tim. No surprise there. Grace Christie Rose was Mrs. Cratchit and weeped when she saw the cast list posted on the board. She almost lost the part when she persisted in flittering about James Vireo, saying, "My son, my son."
"Yes!" P. Martin uttered as soon as he saw he'd been assigned to the stage crew. Unfortunately, Sterling Wheeler was also assigned to the crew, and he was just as bad as Kestrel. Only different. Sneakier. When Kestrel -- and Jaeger, for that matter -- had their eye on something they wanted, they just grabbed it. Sterling, on the other hand, waited until he thought no one was looking and -- well -- just stole it.
As the production date grew closer, P. Martin grew more and more frustrated. It seemed all Mrs. Whimbrel cared about was that one holiday performance and forgot about all other subjects. He missed geography -- although, he had to admit, she did talk about London, England and the British Isles. But he was anxious to learn more about South America, especially Brazil where his Uncle Scout always went during the winter months, and the Amazon. He loved geometry, and science, recording and charting the daily weather, reading the barometric pressure, studying cloud formations, weather patterns, and, most of all, the Laws of Motion.
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