CHAPTER 5: Jason

Hi. I'm not an official Baby-sitters Club member, but Jessi Ramsey still asked me to give her some notes for her journal about Carnival, so here goes. Today was the read-through. It was very interesting, getting to know the story we'd be doing, and learning about the characters in general. Before the read-through actually started, Mr. Cheney took Pete Black and me aside, and told us who would be doing the voices for which puppets, so it wouldn't turn into an episode of Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood. (Speaking of which, those of you who say you never wished he'd dropped his shoe at least once, you're full of it.) We were told that I'd be doing the voices of Carrot Top and Marguerite, and Pete would be doing the voices of Renardo and Horrible Henry. For our respective characters, Pete's using a French accent, and I'm using my own voice and making my accent thicker. We've also got the voices for the puppets figured out: a really nasal, childlike one for Carrot Top; a deep, simple-minded one for Horrible Henry, a French accent for Renardo, and a stuffy, falsetto British accent for Marguerite. I can't wait to see what the puppets look like.

Anyway, the read-through was, in my opinion, the most interesting rehearsal yet...

I was sitting on a bench outside SMS, drinking a Diet Coke, and waiting for Bebe and DM to arrive. (Yes, "DM" is short for David Michael. He doesn't mind if Bebe and I call him that.) As I read my script, I could feel a real connection to Paul Berthalet, the character I was playing. You see, he was very bitter and angry because a leg injury during the war had robbed him of his dancing, so to put it bluntly, he was literally forced to become a puppeteer.

That wasn't the only reason why I felt like I could relate to Paul, though. The real reason is because even though Kristy Thomas and her family have said that they appreciated me coming to Andrew's aid after his bike accident, I still felt out of place here. Now, don't get me wrong—Stoneybrook is a lot nicer than Long Island, and the other kids have started to treat me better, but I still feel like something's missing, mostly because I never knew my real dad.

A minute or so later, I saw Bebe and DM coming up the street. "Hi, you guys," I called, waving, as I ran to meet them. On the way, I drank the last of my soda and threw the can in the recycling bin.

"Hey," Bebe said as the three of us headed toward the auditorium.

So far, the only ones there were the SHS kids—namely Kristy's older brothers, Sam and Charlie. The others would arrive later. I saw the Stoneybrook Day students, Shannon Kilbourne and Bart Taylor, arrive as I opened the door to enter the auditorium, and waved to them. While the three of us found seats and got our scripts and music out, I happened to look across the room, and saw Jessi Ramsey's dreadlocks. And I'll tell you, they were beautiful.

By the way, I don't mean to sound racist, but dreads look better on black people than on white. White people, in my opinion, should never have them. I read somewhere that Vanilla Ice did once, as did Billy Idol, and did they look ugly! The only exceptions are the guys in Korn, Perry Ferrell from Jane's Addiction, and Mike Bordin, the drummer in Faith No More.

"Hi, Jessi," I said. I wondered if she'd seen me checking her hair out. I know Bebe did, because when I waved to Jessi, I saw Bebe giving me the "You like her, don't you?" look.

Just then, the little kids started arriving, and making a lot of noise. Of all of them, I'd probably have to say that Karen was the loudest.

"Hi, Jason! Hi, Jason!" she squealed, running up and throwing her arms around my waist. Her two friends, Hannie Papadakis and Nancy Dawes, were waiting for their turn to do the same thing. They never got the chance to do so, because Mr. Cheney entered the auditorium. Kristy came over and gently pulled Karen away from me. For a kid that small, she can sure knock the wind out of someone.

"Welcome, everybody," Mr. Cheney said as soon as we'd quieted down and taken our seats. "This, of course, is the read-through. For those of you who don't have scripts yet, you'll have to share with someone until we can make extra copies."

Then the read-through got underway. It was quite an interesting story, mainly Marco's speech prior to "Sword, Rose & Cape", something like, "Don Marco de Heminez y Juarez", or something like that. The entire time, I thought to myself, Who talks like this? I'm pretty sure Sam thought the same thing. Also, I'm no expert, but if you try saying something like that to a girl, chances are, she'll look at you like you're on drugs. (Note to self: ask Charlie Thomas for his opinion.)

After we finished the first act, we got a five-minute break. On my way back from the water fountain, I saw DM going over his lines. Apparently, he wasn't quite sure how an Italian accent was supposed to sound, so I thought I'd help him out.

"Hey, DM," I said. "How's it going?"

"Oh, pretty good. You know, I've never heard an Italian accent before in my life," DM confessed. "Any ideas?"

"Hmm," I said. "Ever seen The Godfather? The Sopranos? Goodfellas?"

"Huh?"

"I'll take that as a no," I said. "Okay, try this: 'Ay, Marco, wake up, you got a visitor!'"

"'Ay, Marco, wake up, you got a visitor!'" he repeated.

"Good, now try some hand movements," I said, waving my hand around like the guy who owned a pizzeria at the mall back on Long Island. If he's not Italian, I don't know who is.

"Oh, like this?" DM asked, demonstrating.

"Aye. Something like that."

"Hey, Bebe!" DM called out.

Bebe came over to us. "Yeah?" she asked.

"Watch this," I told her. "Show her, DM."

"'Aaay, Rosalie, I know who she is! 'Ay, Marco, wake up, you got a visitor!'" DM shouted, hand-waves and all. He really did look like a pint-sized version of your average Mafia gangster. In fact, I actually thought to myself, Sopranos: The Next Generation. That's how good of a job he did.

Bebe was so impressed, she hugged him. "I want to take you home with me!" she exclaimed. "That was perfect!"

DM grinned and blushed, and that pretty much got him through the rest of rehearsal.

I still can't get over DM's demonstration of his accent, and I'd bet anything that he's driving his family nuts with it. I just hope Kristy doesn't accuse me of turning her little brother into a pint-sized Michael Corleone. If she does, please give her my apologies, and tell her I was just doing DM a favour by giving him a few pointers.

On a more personal note, when I heard that SMS was going to do this, I was debating on whether or not I should audition. Mum says I should learn to try new things, or else I'd never know what I was missing out on. I'm glad I listened to her, and I think I'm going to enjoy this play.