Raising the Stakes by Trudee Romanek Read Free Book Online Page A

instruments and rhyming lyrics that tell the story.
    Faith says, “Maybe we should try Dr. Seuss style instead. Nigel would be great at those wacky characters.”
    “It’s too late to switch,” says Mark. “Besides, another team did an awesome job of Seuss at regionals two years ago. Everybody’d compare us to them.”
    “Too bad,” mutters Vern.
    “Style is really hard,” says Ziggy. “At least we’ll score higher points for attempting it.”
    It’s true. Lots of teams do the optional Character event instead, but it’s easier. Everyone knows you won’t get to nationals if you don’t do Style.
    “We have to do it better,” I say. I look around at them and stand up. “And I know we can. Let’s go again.”
    Asha ignores me. “Mr. J., what did you think of that scene?” she asks.
    He rubs his chin for a second. “It had some strong characters,” he says, “but—”
    “Mr. Jeffries?” a scratchy voice calls over the intercom. “The school board is on line two for you.”
    “I’ll take it in the drama office,” he says, heading for the door. He turns. “Try another one, with, uh…food taster.” Our Style ask-for is a medieval occupation.
    In the huddle, it hits me that maybe this is my chance to give some constructive criticism before Mr. J. gets back, since he doesn’t seem to want to offer much himself.
    “I’ll be the queen,” says Asha. “And I think Nigel should be the food taster. Mark, you want to be the enemy?”
    He nods.
    “Mark could seem like he’s loyal,” I suggest, “but actually be sneaky and power hungry. He might want to poison the queen and take over.”
    Mark says, “I could bribe Nigel with gold coins to get the poisoned food onto the royal table.” We all agree that works.
    “Should I be the young prince, the queen’s son?” asks Vern.
    “Yeah, maybe her teenage son,” says Asha.
    “Ooh, how about a typical teenager,” I say, “who’s embarrassed by his mother and shy around girls and stuff? That could be fun.” The others nod.
    We settle a few more details, and off we go.
    Ziggy and Faith set a simple tune, and Hanna starts singing: “Today’s the day, a feast we will see, a hey anon, what hey. And foods from all around there will be, a hey anon, today.” The rest of us file into the scene, all royal posture and long swishy skirts, as Hanna continues: “The knights and maids will gather ’round, a hey anon, what hey. While wine and song and joy abound, a hey anon, today.” She starts into her nonsense chorus. “What hey anon, what ho anon, anon, anon, what hey.”
    I have to stop this.
    The others are joining in: “What hey anon—”
    “Wait,” I call over their singing. “Hold on a sec.”
    They look at me like I’ve lost my mind.
    “What are you doing?” demands Asha.
    I take a deep breath and turn to face her.
    “There are major problems,” I say. “We have to stop.”
    “Four years I’ve been on this team,” she says, “and we’ve never stopped before. Mr. J. always tells us to keep going so we get practice fixing a scene that goes bad.”
    “But Asha—” I begin.
    “Chloe,” Faith cuts in sharply, “let it go.”
    I shake my head at them both. “If we never learn how to start scenes the right way,” I say, “then they’ll all go bad. Hanna,” I go on before Asha can stop me, “the improv book says that every scene needs to tell the audience right away where we are, what the relationship is between the characters and why the action’s important or why anyone should care. You’ve got to fit at least one of those three things into your first verse, before the chorus.”
    Hanna looks around at the others and then at me.
    “That’s hard to do in rhyme,” she says.
    “I get that,” I say, “but even if you only manage to say ‘ruler’ or ‘queen’ and gesture to Asha, then we know who she is, right?”
    “I—I guess so.”
    “Great. Let’s start over.”
    We stand there, looking at each other awkwardly,