Take Two! by John J. Bonk

the ability to fly when the sun came up.
    The bowl of lukewarm oatmeal I wolfed down for breakfast reminded me of the workhouse gruel the orphans in
Oliver!
ate – setting off stomach pangs. But staring at the two pitiful raisins at the bottom of the bowl, I decided I wasn’t going
     to give up hope about being in the musical.
Movie stars are always telling stories about how they loused up their audition but still got the part!
Plus, everybody knows I can act. And I totally saved last year’s show – the school owed me. (Not to mention, they really
     needed boys.)
    Okay, maybe I was just kidding myself, but I needed a positive attitude to get through the weekend. So with renewed confidence
     (sorta) I held out my empty bowl to Mom and uttered Oliver’s famous line:
    “Please, sir, I want some more.”
    “I’m late for work. Grab a granola bar if you’re still hungry.”
    We both rushed around the house collecting our things and met up at the kitchen door, where she handed me a sealed envelope.
     “This has emergency money and phone numbers in it. So don’t lose it, whatever you do.”
    “Mom, have you seen my book,
An Actor Prepares?”
I was rummaging through my overloaded backpack. “I need tons to read for that two-hour bus ride.”
    “I think I saw it in your brother’s room yesterday when I was changing his sheets.”
    Cripes!
He probably scribbled on all the pages so the library will sue me. But I didn’t have time to deal with Gord-zilla.
    “Listen, Dustin, if you want to cut your visit with your father short – for any reason, just call,” Mom reminded me for the
     thousandth time. “Or if you just feel like talking. Or if you’re going to be late meeting me at the Greyhound bus station
     on Sunday… or get sick… or just feel like talking…”
    “You covered that one twice. Don’t be doing your mom thing and calling every two seconds checking up on me, okay? Promise?”
    “I promise.” She stuffed a tissue packet and a small bottle of hand sanitizer into my jacket pockets. “But don’t hold me to
     it. I am your mother after all.” There was a long, desperate hug. I felt as if she were sending me off to war.
    When I got to school I made a quick bathroom pit stop to make sure I was drained of all liquids before the long trip. It took
     me a second to realize I was staring at a missing-dog flier that was posted over the urinal. It was Futterman’s weird dog,
     Shatzi.
Hmm. Must’ve gotten fed up and flown the coop
. Someone had drawn a moustache and an eye patch on the pooch’s picture with black marker. Kids can be so cruel.
    By the time I got to the buses they were already packed, and some kid in a humongous GOT MUSIC ? sweatshirt was sitting next to my best friend.
    “Jeez, Wal, thanks for saving me a seat!” I said sarcastically.
    “First come, first serve. You snooze, you lose. The early bird gets –”
    “The worm. I know. Man, you’ve been hanging around my family too long, with their crazy sayings.” I glared at the giant lump
     taking up
my
seat with a hard, threatening look. “You’re an eighth-grader, right?”
    And then it spoke. “Lester Moore.”
    “Aren’t you supposed to be on the other bus?”
    “It was too crowded. I got special permission from Miss Sedgwick to ride on this bus, if you must know.”
    “Take a chill pill. I just asked.”
    “Get this,” Wally said. “Les has been going to our school for two years, but we never met till last summer in band camp.”
Band camp, ugh!
“He’s an awesome French horn player and he might join my quintet. I’m thinking of calling it Opus Five.”
    “Fascinating.” I waited for more to come out of my mouth but nothing did, so I continued down the aisle.
    Les Moore. His name was an oxymoron – more or less. According to Mr. Lynch, that’s when contradictory words are combined,
     like deafening silence or jumbo shrimp. Not sure if it really applied in this case, but from what I could tell, Les Moore
     was