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Towards the end of practice, several things start to come undone.  A costume goes missing.  So do two of the middle school kids.  And Mrs. O falls victim to a prank.  Apparently, someone is tired of practicing today.  

Mrs. O sets her script down on a chair on the stage while she walks over to a couple of students to give them stage directions.  I witness her setting her script down before my attention is averted for a few moments.  When she returns to the chair, she discovers that the scene we are currently working on is missing from her stack of papers.  The entire script didn’t disappear.  Just one scene.  

Perturbed, she frowns.  “Where is the rest of my script?” she calls out.  

She searches under the chair and glances around at the surrounding floor.  No loose papers greet her eyes.  And no one responds with an answer.

Frustrated, she moves on to the next scene.  But two of the actors, Sarah and Donovan, don’t show up.  Several people search for them.  They are nowhere to be found.  Finally, after a few moments, I am drawn to a room off the back of the stage by a pounding sound.  And what appears to be two voices yelling, “Help!”

I find the door to the room locked.  I open it and discover our two missing middle schoolers.  Someone locked them in this room together.  The three of us head for Mrs. O.  Once the kids have explained how they were searching for their missing costumes when they were suddenly locked inside the costume room, I begin to be suspicious.  One other boy, Gavin, showed up without his costume to practice the last scene.  He said he couldn’t find it in the costume room.  Is he the one behind these pranks?  

Mrs. O searches the crowd of faces surrounding her.  “Who locked Sarah and Donovan in the costume room?”

Suddenly, I hear the buzz of many voices excitedly discussing this juicy bit of information.  Confused, I glance down at Everett who is standing at my elbow.  

“What’s all the fuss about?”

He tugs on my sleeve, so I bend over.  Into my ear, he whispers, “Everyone knows that Sarah has a crush on Donovan.  They think that they were in the costume room, you know…” he implies.

“I know what?”

“Kissing, Mom,” he hisses.

I remember that Sarah and Donovan did appear a little flushed when I opened the door.  But they also looked quite upset.  I imagine they were envisioning themselves being locked in that room overnight. 

“Hmm,” I respond noncommittally.  But then I feel the need to instruct my son.  “I think that’s an unfair assumption to make.  It’s not nice to gossip about people.”

“I know, Mommy,” he responds petulantly.  “I wasn’t.  I’m just telling you what everyone else is thinking.”

“Huh.  Okay.  Glad to hear it.”

Mrs. O is frustrated by the lack of answers.  Her script scene is still missing.  As are three costumes.  So is the identity of the prankster.  Finally, she gives up for the night.

“Everyone, let’s clean up.  It’s almost time to leave anyway.  I need a group of people to search for the costumes.  And someone else to locate the culprit.”

Several kids go off in groups of three at my suggestion to look for the costumes.  I instruct them all to make sure one person remains outside any room they enter while the other two search the room.  Just to avoid anyone else getting locked inside a room.  Before leaving, Mrs. O and I will double check every room to make sure no one gets stuck in the building overnight.  

Finally, the three costumes are discovered hidden in a drawer in the costume room.  Suspicious.  The exact three costumes that were needed for those two scenes are all shoved into the same drawer?  

It seems we have a troublemaker amongst us.  And I’m putting my money on Gavin.  I will be keeping an eye on him in the future.  Tonight, he is all mild manners and innocent smile, but I wonder if something more diabolical lurks beneath that peaceful façade.

After the little guys’ practice, I head to the high school to pick up my older children.  But after several minutes of waiting in the van near the school entrance – and a couple of unanswered text messages – I park my vehicle in the lot before climbing from it to head out in pursuit of Kookie, Janna, and Emmie.  My boys pile out of the van and follow me, close on my heels.  We enter another auditorium a few minutes later. 

Kookie and Emmie are standing together near the edge of the stage.  I see a girl with long, midnight hair that is straight as a board and flows all the way down her back past her bottom.  She wanders past my son and Emmie.  The girl reaches out and lays a hand on his shoulder.

“Hi, Jungkook,” she purrs.  Then she sniffs as she looks at Emmie. “Hi, Amy.”

Emmie grits her teeth.  I can practically hear those molars grinding.  But she refrains from saying anything.  She simply quirks one honeyed brow at the girl.  I can see it amplified through the lens of her glasses.

“Julieta, her name is Emmie,” Kookie corrects the rude girl as he shrugs his shoulders in an attempt to dislodge her hand. 

It falls away from his shoulder.  “Amy.  Emmie.  Whatever.  I was close.”

“You’re right, Joanie,” Emmie responds.

A wave of irritation flows over Julieta’s face.  I’m pretty sure she’s the one gritting her teeth now.  “Julieta,” she grinds out through clenched teeth.

“Oh?” Emmie responds. 

She is a very sweet girl most of the time, but occasionally Emmie can be quite fearsome when somebody steps on her tail.  And this Julieta has clearly been dancing all over it for quite a while.  My advice to her?  Don’t wake a sleeping tiger.

Emmie suddenly turns towards my son and exclaims, “Oh, Kookie, we should go!  Your mom must be waiting for us in the parking lot.  Do you think she’s going to insist that I eat dinner with you tonight too?”

He gives her a quizzical look, but I ascertain what she’s up to immediately, and I decide to join forces with her as she claims her territory.

“Absolutely!” I call out.  “Of course, I’m going to insist you eat with us tonight, Emmie.  Tonight.  And every night,” I add for dramatic flourish.  “You know you’re like a daughter to me.”

I watch as all the blood drains out of Julieta’s already pale face.  That’s okay with me.  I didn’t like her putting her hand so possessively on my precious son.  And any girl who could be that snotty to Emmie isn’t worthy of my Kookie.

“You know that dinner just isn’t the same without you, my dear.”  I’m laying it on thick as I smile sweetly at Emmie. 

The girl I’m hoping will be my daughter-in-law someday.  As long as she can distract Kookie from beautiful, inconsiderate girls like this one here.  Although, I’m pretty sure he’s wise enough to steer clear of such a paragon of incivility.  After all, he was quick to come to Emmie’s defense.

For just a moment, Emmie glances up at me in surprise.  But then her face breaks forth in a wide smile.  “Well, there’s no one’s cooking I’d rather eat than yours, Mrs. Franklin.”

Now what on earth can I possibly say to such an outrageous compliment?

I’m sure I have no idea.  So I simply smile at her and lead the way to my van.

––

Later that evening, I head out to the kitchen to get my husband some dessert.  I recall my hidden stash of pecan balls.  And I know there’s still a huge tub of buckeyes in the fridge.  Behind the massive piles of tortillas and some iceberg lettuce.  I must disguise all sugary treats as something healthy if they’re to have any chance of surviving more than two days in our house.

As I walk through the living room, I hear Janna and Everett getting into another stupid fight.  I step into the kitchen just in time to witness this altercation.  She has caught him drinking Reddi-Wip straight from the can.  

Her reaction?  To grab the can from his grasp.  She is unsuccessful.  She instead knocks it to the floor.  In her attempt to liberate the can from its assailant, she claws his neck, and he screams.  A cacophony of whining – Everett – and harsh words – Janna – follows.

My reaction comes close on the heels of theirs.  I spear them both with my best mom glare.  “Emmie and No” – short for Noel – “will not be staying over again until you two learn how to get along.  So, you had better figure it out.”

Janna and Everett have been friends with Emmie and Noel their entire lives.  When Everett was tiny, he dubbed Noel “No” and it’s stuck ever since.  Janna and Emmie had a good laugh when they discovered BTS’s song N.O.  Clearly, it had been written for Noel.

An hour later, I find Janna peacefully teaching Everett how to make macaroni and cheese on the stovetop.

“You know,” I grin down at them, “if I didn’t know better, I would almost think you two were getting along.”

Janna waves her hand at me.  “Mom, stop making things up.”

Chuckling, I head for the other room.  On the threshold, I turn back.  “Why are you making mac and cheese this late at night?”

“Duh, Mom.  We need something for lunch tomorrow.”  That was Janna.

“Ah, I see.”  I pause for a moment to smile at them.  “I’m just glad to see that the hostilities have ended for this moment of shared peace.  Perhaps you two should collaborate more often.”

“Don’t get carried away, Mom,” Janna remarks with a grin.

If I was closer to her, I’d swat her lightly with a kitchen towel.  She’s only safe because my feet are already in the living room.  At least, I don’t have to assemble their lunches anymore.

Did I mention that I make my children pack their own lunches?  Personal responsibility, you know?