“Why not sing with them?” Father Chee says.
But I don’t want to sing with them. I know I should sing because I am one of The Korean Divas for Christ—even if I am not actually Korean by birth, only by association—and also I shouldn’t ask people to do something that I am not willing to do, which I fully realize, but the truth is I’m not really feeling up to the task of rock-starring in front of all my classmates, especially after my mother’s death, and so the bickering continues amongst The Korean Divas for Christ, until I change the subject and simply help them translate “(You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural Woman.”
While Father Chee jogs me home, he says, “You have to realize that you are the only white person many of our church members have had any meaningful contact with. Walking into an English-speaking high school like yours terrifies them.”
“I can understand that,” I say. “Believe me.”
“But if you would sing with them—behind you, a true diva—I think they would sing at the variety show.”
“I’m not a true diva,” I tell him. “I’m just a crappy English teacher who uses R & B as a teaching tool.”
“Well then, I will pray that Jesus sends us a true diva to lead The KDFCs, so that they will feel confident enough to participate in your variety show,” Father Chee says, and then he suddenly stops running, so I stop pedaling.
I’m straddling Donna’s bike.
We look at each other.
“Are you okay?” FC asks me.
“Yeah,” I say.
“Are you sure?”
“No. But I’m moving forward.”
“You are out of your room. This is good.”
“Because Bobby Big Boy needs me.”
“Many people need you, Amber.”
“One thing at a time, FC.”
“You are stronger than you think.”
“Hug?” I ask, because I can’t take too many compliments right now.
“Of course,” he says, and then hugs me all fatherly.
“Will you pray for me?” I ask.
“Every day,” FC says, smiling at me. “Almost every hour.”
And then I ride my bike back to Donna’s house and cook chicken in a pan, slice that hooey up, and make a chicken salad with honey-mustard sauce and kick-ass croutons.
When Donna gets home, we eat.
“How was your first day back?” Donna asks me.
“Ricky Roberts is going to Stump the Mathematician onstage April twenty-fourth, Friday night, in the Childress High School Auditorium so that we can raise money for Amber Appleton.”
“For Bobby Big Boy,” I say. “We’re doing a variety show to pay for BBB’s operation.”
“You are, eh? Prince Tony went for that?”
“Franks backed it big-time. Do you know any reallive divas?”
“Divas?”
“To be The KDFCs’ front woman. They won’t perform without an English-speaking front woman because they are too embarrassed of their English, even though I taught them pretty well.”
“Why don’t you be their front woman?” Donna asks me.
“Hello? Have you ever heard me sing?”
“Something will turn up,” Donna says. “I talked to Dr. Weissmuller.”
“So did I,” I said.
“So you know that BBB is fine.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Until we get the biopsy anyway.”
“One thing at a time,” Donna says with some honey mustard sauce dribbling down her chin.
When we pick up BBB, his belly is shaved and stitched up, and he is wearing a little lamp shade on his head.
I carry BBB to Donna’s car, and we take B3 home.
Bobby Big Boy is a little sluggish at first, and doesn’t dig wearing the lampshade one bit—I know because he claws the hell out of it within the first forty-eight hours—so we eventually take it off, and BBB is eating and crapping merrily in no time at all.
CHAPTER 55
A week later, I call Dr. Weissmuller after school and he tells me that my dog is cancer free.
BBB and I celebrate by taking a bike ride over to the Methodist Retirement Home.
We hit Alan’s Newsstand, and Alan says, “I’m sorry about what happened to your mother, and I bought two tickets to The Save Bobby Big Boy Variety Show.”
“From whom?” I ask.
“Kids have been asking me for a week to buy tickets. Must have been three hundred kids asked me already. Better be a good show.”
“It’s going to be the bomb,” I tell him as I pay for the Snickers and the hot chocolate with some of the lunch money Donna has been giving me.
“The what?” Alan says.
“You won’t be disappointed,” I say, even though I don’t even know what the hell The Five are cooking up.
And then BBB and I are stashing Donna’s bike behind a bush and offering Door Woman Lucy the regular bribe to get B Thrice into the building.
“You get the Snickers and hot chocolate I sent you?” DWL says to me.
“Yeah, thanks,” I say.
“Ain’t right, what’s been happening to you. Ain’t right at all.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Your little boyfriends been ’round here selling tickets to some show they say you puttin’ on.”