lines loudly from backstage. Because of my dad’s poor eyesight and the bad lighting, a lot of King Kevin’s lines were a little off.
“My dear queen, however shall our poor son find happiness?” came out as “My dreary queen, however shall our poor son find hamburgers?”
Bob-o didn’t miss a single one of his cues, but he would probably have been beheaded anyway for nose picking while on duty.
The biggest surprise was that the shrubs were the absolute hit of the show. The first time we came out in our costumes, the audience broke into spontaneous applause. All that attention ignited the hidden ham in the six of us, and instead of being the quiet little bushes we’d been during rehearsals, we suddenly turned into the dancing, entertaining bushes Mrs. Hunn had so fervently hoped for.
Fennimore was the ringleader. At first I thought he’d lost his mind. He was absolutely outrageous.
“Follow me,” he’d whisper at each of our entrances. And that’s exactly what we’d do. Follow him around the stage doing whateverhe came up with—wiggling our behinds, leaping and spinning, and doing something he later told me his mother had taught him, called the bunny hop.
When the curtain fell to thunderous applause, King Kevin slunk off in embarrassment while Queen Lana fumed. “That moronic audience missed half of my lines, they were so busy being amused by a bunch of hammy little crudballs in bathing caps.”
My father whisked my mother away for a celebratory lunch when it was over. I stayed behind for the cast party, and afterward Fennimore and I walked home together.
“Can you believe Brudhauser lost his voice?” I said.
“Forget about him teasing us anymore,” Fennimore said. “We’ve got something good over him now.”
“Man oh man, Fennimore, you sure are funny ,” I said.
“Yeah?”
“Definitely. The shrubs would have stunkwithout all that stuff you came up with.”
“You know, I think your mom might have been right about those green boxer shorts, though. If we’d worn them, we probably would have gotten even more laughs,” he said.
“Could be. But Lana would have had a royal cow if we’d been any funnier.” I laughed.
“You know what else your mom was right about?” Fennimore said. “This haircut. Believe it or not, I kind of like it now.”
“Really?” I said. “I mean, yeah, actually, I guess it does look pretty cool in a way.”
“Okay, no offense, but you , on the other hand, look way better with hair,” Fennimore said. “Don’t you think?”
“Believe me, I’m growing it back as fast as I can,” I agreed.
“Hey, you want to come over now and see that blue-footed boobie I was telling you about before?” Fennimore asked when we got to my corner.
“You know there’s no such thing,” I said. “You just made it up ’cause you like the way it sounds.”
“Did not.”
“Did so.”
“Come on, I’ll show you. One thing though. There isn’t anything good to eat at my house. No snicker dillies or anything like that.”
“Snicker doodles,” I corrected.
“Whatever,” he said.
Turns out Fennimore was telling the truth about the boobie, and about the snacks too. There was plate of rice cakes waiting on the table when we got there.
“These are only good for one thing,” he said, picking up a rice cake. “Watch this.”
He held it like a Frisbee and sailed it across the dining room all the way into the living room, where it skidded to a stop on the top shelf of the bookcase.
“Cool,” I said.
“Wanna try?” he asked, handing me acake. “Ten points for the top shelf, five for any of the others.”
I threw it across the room toward the bookcase, but as it sailed through the archway, Fennimore’s mother came around the corner and it hit her square in the forehead.
“What in the world!?” she cried out. “Guy, you’ll have to forgive me if I lose my temper in front of company now.”
I felt my face turning bright red. I was in trouble
“My dear queen, however shall our poor son find happiness?” came out as “My dreary queen, however shall our poor son find hamburgers?”
Bob-o didn’t miss a single one of his cues, but he would probably have been beheaded anyway for nose picking while on duty.
The biggest surprise was that the shrubs were the absolute hit of the show. The first time we came out in our costumes, the audience broke into spontaneous applause. All that attention ignited the hidden ham in the six of us, and instead of being the quiet little bushes we’d been during rehearsals, we suddenly turned into the dancing, entertaining bushes Mrs. Hunn had so fervently hoped for.
Fennimore was the ringleader. At first I thought he’d lost his mind. He was absolutely outrageous.
“Follow me,” he’d whisper at each of our entrances. And that’s exactly what we’d do. Follow him around the stage doing whateverhe came up with—wiggling our behinds, leaping and spinning, and doing something he later told me his mother had taught him, called the bunny hop.
When the curtain fell to thunderous applause, King Kevin slunk off in embarrassment while Queen Lana fumed. “That moronic audience missed half of my lines, they were so busy being amused by a bunch of hammy little crudballs in bathing caps.”
My father whisked my mother away for a celebratory lunch when it was over. I stayed behind for the cast party, and afterward Fennimore and I walked home together.
“Can you believe Brudhauser lost his voice?” I said.
“Forget about him teasing us anymore,” Fennimore said. “We’ve got something good over him now.”
“Man oh man, Fennimore, you sure are funny ,” I said.
“Yeah?”
“Definitely. The shrubs would have stunkwithout all that stuff you came up with.”
“You know, I think your mom might have been right about those green boxer shorts, though. If we’d worn them, we probably would have gotten even more laughs,” he said.
“Could be. But Lana would have had a royal cow if we’d been any funnier.” I laughed.
“You know what else your mom was right about?” Fennimore said. “This haircut. Believe it or not, I kind of like it now.”
“Really?” I said. “I mean, yeah, actually, I guess it does look pretty cool in a way.”
“Okay, no offense, but you , on the other hand, look way better with hair,” Fennimore said. “Don’t you think?”
“Believe me, I’m growing it back as fast as I can,” I agreed.
“Hey, you want to come over now and see that blue-footed boobie I was telling you about before?” Fennimore asked when we got to my corner.
“You know there’s no such thing,” I said. “You just made it up ’cause you like the way it sounds.”
“Did not.”
“Did so.”
“Come on, I’ll show you. One thing though. There isn’t anything good to eat at my house. No snicker dillies or anything like that.”
“Snicker doodles,” I corrected.
“Whatever,” he said.
Turns out Fennimore was telling the truth about the boobie, and about the snacks too. There was plate of rice cakes waiting on the table when we got there.
“These are only good for one thing,” he said, picking up a rice cake. “Watch this.”
He held it like a Frisbee and sailed it across the dining room all the way into the living room, where it skidded to a stop on the top shelf of the bookcase.
“Cool,” I said.
“Wanna try?” he asked, handing me acake. “Ten points for the top shelf, five for any of the others.”
I threw it across the room toward the bookcase, but as it sailed through the archway, Fennimore’s mother came around the corner and it hit her square in the forehead.
“What in the world!?” she cried out. “Guy, you’ll have to forgive me if I lose my temper in front of company now.”
I felt my face turning bright red. I was in trouble
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