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the back of the auditorium.
    â€œExcuse me, Mr. Janson!”
    â€œUh-oh!” Jazzy said, clutching Leonardo.
    â€œTell me she doesn’t want to sing tomorrow too!”
    â€œNo, I think she’s pissed!” Jazzy whispered.
    I thought the punishment was over, but I guess it had just begun.
    Sarge stormed down the auditorium aisle and brazenly approached Mr. Janson, who was putting papers in his duffel bag. Students who were leaving hung back, watching.
    â€œYou mean to tell me that I sat through three hours of music rehearsal and ‘lights up, lights down,’ and I didn’t get to watch my own child run through her performance even one time?”
    â€œMa!”
    â€œI’m sorry, Mrs. Shapiro. I had no idea we’d run over schedule. This year’s show had more musical numbers than last year’s.”
    â€œBut the dramatic and comedic pieces deserve attention too.”
    â€œYou’re right, but I feel it’s more important the kids geta good night’s rest for the show tomorrow.”
    â€œShe forgot to take her Prozac,” I whispered to some of the students that had gathered.
    But Sarge ignored my comment. “How is she supposed to get a good grade if she isn’t prepared?”
    â€œShe’s going through menopause,” I whispered. “Mood swings!”
    â€œListen, Mr. Janson—,” she continued.
    â€œI’ll let her and the others have a few minutes onstage before the show. Don’t worry, Mrs. Shapiro. I have the utmost confidence that Trixie will be great tomorrow.”
    â€œReally, you think she’s talented?”
    â€œMa! The school is closing!”
    â€œFirst rate,” Mr. Janson said offhandedly, zipping his duffel bag.
    â€œDid you hear that, Trixie? He said my baby’s so good she doesn’t need rehearsal,” she said, patting me on the back like I was one of her third-graders.
    â€œI think she deserves an A for her performance!” I whispered to Mr. Janson, as Jazzy and I followed Sarge out.
    Â 
    When I got home, I called Sid on his cell phone.
    â€œTrixie? I can’t hear you,” he shouted over the sounds of kids partying and loud music. “Hey, dudes—I’mtrying to talk to my sis!”
    â€œSid?”
    â€œLet me go outside,” he said.
    â€œI’d like your advice,” I began.
    â€œYou want to know what kids wear to a Phish concert?”
    â€œNo—”
    â€œWhere to get a fake ID?”
    â€œListen—”
    â€œHow to cut class?”
    â€œExactly!”
    â€œYou’ve had perfect attendance since kindergarten.” He laughed. “Let me guess. Talent Night?”
    â€œSarge told you?”
    â€œActually I read it in USA Today .”
    â€œBut I’m freaking out. I can’t do it!”
    â€œYou’ll rock!” he exclaimed. “You’re a natural.”
    â€œBut this is the first time I’ll be performing without you!”
    â€œWell, it’s about time.”
    â€œBut Sid—”
    â€œListen. Just imagine I’m onstage with you.”
    â€œCould you be?” I begged.
    â€œNo, but I’ll be in the audience.”
    The audience! The thought of my brother grinning at me in the front row only terrified me further. “Oh, Sid, you can’t!”
    â€œI wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
    â€œDon’t you have a wet T-shirt contest to judge or something?”
    â€œI cleared my schedule for you, Shrimp.”
    â€œBut you’re allergic to school,” I reminded him. “I bet you don’t even know where Mason’s auditorium is.”
    â€œOf course I do. I used to sneak a smoke in the prop room. So no fear, girl. This is one class project I’m not going to miss.”
    Â 
    Before going to bed, I scrutinized myself in the mirror, the round hairbrush held tightly in one hand, the stuffed animals in their places. I felt a burst of