Maryellen just toyed with her food. The minute dinner was over, she went outside, even though Mom had set up tray tables in the living room so that everyone could have dessert in front of the TV while they watched The Lone Ranger. Hearing her brothers and sisters all shout “Hi-yo, Silver!” along with the Lone Ranger as he called out to his horse made Maryellen feel as lone as the Ranger—and lonely and lonesome, too.
So she was glad when, after a little while, Dad and Scooter came outside. “Hi, sport,” Dad said to her. “Want to help Scooter and me wash the car?”
“Yes!” said Maryellen. She loved getting the car—and herself—wet and sudsy. Dad handed her a bucket and a sponge, and she went to work washing the taillights. They were her favorite parts of the station wagon to wash because they reminded her of giant eyes, and the big tail fins reminded her of enormous, arching silver eyebrows.
“Rather a chilly atmosphere at dinner tonight, I thought,” said Dad as he untangled the hose. “What’s going on?”
“I had a big fight with everybody at rehearsal today,” Maryellen said, “and I quit the show. Since it’s my show, they can’t really do it without me, so the whole thing is off.”
“Hmm,” said Dad. “That’s too bad. I guess that means that your birthday party is off, too.”
“Yes!” said Maryellen, indignant. “It’s so unfair. It’s terrible. I’m getting cheated out of my party, and none of it was my fault. Wayne ruined everything. I wanted the show to say something serious and important about polio, and he just made fun of it.” She sighed. “I guess maybe it was a silly idea, anyway. I mean that my show could really do any good.”
Dad squirted the car with the hose for a minute or two, and then he said, “You know, your show sort of reminds me of our bomb shelter.”
“It does?” asked Maryellen. She wrung out her soapy sponge so that the water fell on her flip-flops to cool off her feet. “How?” She knew that bomb shelters were places for people to go to in case an atomic bomb fell. At school, there was no bomb shelter, so during air-raid drills, the students sat under their desks or crouched in the hallways with their arms crossed over their heads. At home, Dad had made a bomb shelter in a dug-out area underneath their house. Sometimes, she and Beverly played in the bomb shelter. Dad didn’t mind as long as they didn’t drink up the water, eat up the food, or use up the batteries in the flashlights he’d put there in case of emergency. Maryellen couldn’t see how the bomb shelter was like her polio show at all.
“If an atomic bomb fell on Daytona Beach, it would wipe out everything here,” said Dad. He nodded toward the bomb shelter as he swooshed a rag in the bucket of soapy water. “Our bomb shelter would probably be useless. But it’s the most I can do to try to protect us. It’s all I can do, so it’s worth my effort. And your polio show is worth your effort, Ellie, because even if it isn’t much, it’s something that you can do. Something is always better than nothing. Trying is always better than giving up, right?”
“So you think I shouldn’t cancel the show?” said Maryellen. “Is that what you’re saying?”
“Not exactly,” said Dad, wringing out his rag. “I’m asking you if the real reason you’re canceling the show is that you think it won’t do any good.”
“Well, partly I’m canceling it because it isn’t at all what I wanted it to be,” said Maryellen. “I wrote a script, which no one appreciated at all! They just wanted to show off dancing and singing and lassoing Scooter. I had to give in and give in and give in, and now my part of the show is nothing.”
“Ah, your pride is hurt,” Dad said gently. “Was the purpose of the show to give you a chance to be a big famous star?”
“No!” said Maryellen. Then she said slowly, “Well, I did sort of want people to think of me as someone who could make a difference in something important. So I guess I wanted to be a little bit famous. Is that bad?”
“Not at all,” said Dad.
“The purpose of the show was to raise money for the March of Dimes and to encourage people to be vaccinated,” said Maryellen.
“I see,” said Dad. “That is a worthwhile purpose.” He turned away, picked up the hose, and gave Scooter a hose-shower-bath, which Scooter loved.
Maryellen sighed. In all the disagreement and excitement, she’d forgotten that what was truly important was the reason for the show: to fight polio.
“I think it’s too late to uncancel the show now,” she said. “I pitched a big fit. Probably no one even wants to do the show with me anymore.”
“Maybe,” said Dad. “You won’t know unless you ask.”
Maryellen hesitated. Then she blurted out, “It will be so humiliating. I’ll have to call everyone, and apologize, and say that I’m canceling the cancellation, and ask them to come tomorrow.”
“Think you can do it?” asked Dad.
Maryellen shrugged and shook her head. “I dunno.”
“Well, I think you can,” said Dad, squirting the hose at her feet so that she had to smile.
“I’ll give it a try,” she said.
“That’s my girl,” said Dad. “You know what they say in show biz: The show must go on. Good luck.”
“Thanks,” said Maryellen. She took a deep breath. “Here goes nothing.” She walked inside as if she had cement blocks on her feet instead of wet flip-flops, dreading apologizing to Carolyn and Beverly. What would she say?
But it turned out to be easy. As soon as Maryellen said that she was sorry, her sisters hugged her and said they were thrilled that the show was not cancelled. Carolyn celebrated by pounding out “Shake, Rattle and Roll” as loudly as she could on the piano, and Beverly danced wildly all around the living room. Tom and Mikey hadn’t understood that the show was off in the first place, so they reacted calmly to the news that the show was on. They mostly just seemed glad that Maryellen was her usual nice, cheery self again.
Next Maryellen called Karen Stohlman, who let out a piercing shriek of joy and forgave her immediately and immediately insisted on calling Angela and Karen King and telling them the good news. Luckily, no one had taken down any of the posters. So that left only one more thing to do, one more person she had to tell. Actually, she thought, squaring her shoulders, two.
It had been a long, long time since Maryellen had cut through the hedge between her house and the Fenstermachers’. She felt nervous. Through his bedroom window, she could see Davy gluing together pieces of a model airplane. It was reassuring to see that Davy still loved airplanes, as he had back when he and Maryellen were best friends.
Probably Davy wouldn’t even remember their secret signal, Maryellen thought sadly. But she tapped on Davy’s window anyway: Tap, tappety, tap, tap. Tap, tap.
Davy flung his window open. “What’s up, Doc?” he asked, just like the old days.
“Hey,” said Maryellen. “Sorry I was such a pain before. We’re going to do the show tomorrow, and I hope you still want to be in it. So, please come. I mean, only if you want to.”
“Okay,” said Davy without hesitating.
Maryellen felt flooded with relief and gratitude. “Good,” she said. “Now, about Wayne. He’s a pain, but everyone thinks that he’s a funny pain.