Everyone else looks like they think I have the plague or something.
“Listen, to top it all off—and this is no bullcrap story—my dog might have cancer. He had to have an operation last night, which I can’t afford. Now I know a dog is not a person or anything, but I went ahead and said I’d pay for it all, and I’m broke. So I need to raise—like—two or three grand. I don’t even know if BBB made it or not—I find out later today—but I have to pay regardless, and I’m assuming he did, because he’s a fighter.”
“BBB has cancer?” Jared says, and sounds truly concerned.
“Damn,” Chad says.
“I’m so sorry,” Ty says.
“So I’m thinking of setting up a variety show and selling tickets to raise money to pay for my dog’s operation. I can get Prince Tony to give us the auditorium, no sweat,” I say. “I just need to find some acts. Who’s with me?”
“You want us to perform?” Jared asks.
“Yeah, or find performers,” I say.
“I’ll give you money,” Lex Pinkston says. “I have some in the bank. It’s yours.”
“No. I don’t want anyone to give me money. I want to raise it for myself. I’m not a charity case.”
“What’s a variety show?” one of the football players asks.
“How will we find acts?”
And then everyone is talking all at once—sounding very confused.
Until Franks loudly says, “I’m in!”
Everyone gets quiet.
All of the boys look at Franks and he nods confidently.
“Cool,” I say.
“I’m in,” Ty says.
“Hell yeah,” Chad says.
“Why not?” Jared says.
“Ricky Roberts is in—yeah-shhhh!”
And then all of the boys present agree to help.
“First thing to do is shut off those Xboxes, because this is going to take some planning,” I say.
Lex shuts off all of them.
“Franks, you’re the sales and marketing teacher, so how do we make this kind of money?” I ask.
“Well, we need to advertise all over town and include as many people as we can in the show. It’s all about inclusion. People will give because of the situation. People like dogs. Yours is a sympathetic story. But the more people we include in the show, the more parents and community members will buy tickets and make donations. I have a special folder in my car, it’s red and it has a lot of ideas for advertising in it. It says ‘Advertising Ideas’ on the front. Would you mind going and getting it for me, Amber?” Franks says, and then holds out his keys toward me.
“Sure,” I say, and then take his keys.
I leave the room and go to Franks’ car—an old rusty Jeep with a hardtop—in the faculty parking lot, but when I key in, there is no red folder on the front seat. There is no folder of any color in the car at all—not on or under any seat. I check the glove compartment and the trunk, just to make sure, but there is no folder, period, so I walk back toward Franks’ room feeling sorta annoyed, because I want to get this plan rolling.
When I return, Franks has the boys all fired up.
Lex tells me that the football team is going to do a secret performance.
“What are you going to do?” I ask him.
“You’ll see.”
“I’ve got a little something planned for you,” Chad says from Das Boot.
“I’m going to do math problems on stage!” Ricky says.
“I can do the lighting and stage stuff,” Ty says, because he is the head of the theater’s stage crew.
“Jared’s performing with me,” Chad says.
“What?” Jared says.
“Don’t be a wuss,” Chad tells his brother. “Maybe we’ll get prom dates, eh? Girls dig what we’re going to do onstage.”
“Umm,” Jared says. “I don’t—I’ll handle finances and incoming money.”
“And do that thing we are going to do onstage, because you are a Fox brother and not a wimp,” Chad says pretty aggressively from Das Boot.
But then the homeroom warning bell sounds and everyone scatters.
“There was no red folder in your car,” I tell Franks, and then give him back his keys.
“That’s weird,” he says, and then eats a few peanut M&M’s from his desk drawer.
“What did you tell the boys when I was out of the room?”
“Just brainstormed ideas for acts. That’s all.”
“So will you be the faculty advisor for The Save Bobby Big Boy Variety Show?”
“Sure,” he says.
“Can we make an announcement over the loudspeaker this morning?”
“Sure,” Franks says.
“All right. Let’s go tell Prince Tony.”
Franks and I go up to the main office, and Mrs. Baxter goes nuts when she sees me.
“Amber, come here!” she screams, and then runs around her desk to plant some lipstick on my cheek and give me a big old hug. “I’m so sorry for your loss. I’ve been so worried about you. Did you get the flowers I sent you?”
“Yeah, thanks,” I say, even though I chucked all the flowers without even reading one damn card. “Do you like variety shows?”
“What?” she says.