Stars and Sparks on Stage (6) (Clubhouse Mysteries) - Softcover

Sharon M. Draper is a New York Times bestselling author and recipient of the Margaret A. Edwards Award honoring her significant and lasting contribution to writing for teens. She has received the Coretta Scott King Award for both Copper Sun and Forged by Fire, and was most recently awarded the Charlotte Huck Award for Stella by Starlight. Her novel Out of My Mind has won multiple awards and was a New York Times bestseller for over three years. She lives in Cincinnati, Ohio, where she taught high school English for twenty-five years and was named National Teacher of the Year. Visit her at SharonDraper.com.

Stars and Sparks on Stage

ZIGGY’S BATHROOM, HOT AND STEAMY FROM THE torrent of water that poured into his shower, was filled with mist and music. Ziggy’s enthusiastically loud singing voice echoed through the room. He sang as much as he could remember of “On Top of Old Smoky” while he lathered himself with his favorite shower gel. It smelled like grapes. While he rinsed off, he sang several verses of “My Darling Clementine.”

“IN A CAVERN, IN A CANYON,

EXCAVATING FOR A MINE,

LIVED A MINER, FORTY-NINER

AND HIS DAUGHTER CLEMENTINE.

OH MY DARLING, OH MY DARLING,

OH MY DARLING CLEMENTINE!

YOU ARE LOST AND GONE FOREVER,

DREADFUL SORRY, CLEMENTINE!”

As he toweled himself dry, he wondered who Clementine was and what had happened to her, marveling how the words to songs sometimes didn’t make much sense. He got himself dressed for school, choosing a bright red T-shirt and purple cut-off shorts. He continued to sing, this time trying out his favorite Jamaican folk song. He always sang his own crazy version of the popular words.

“DAY-O, DAY-O,

DAYLIGHT COME AND ME WANNA GO HOME.

DAY-O, DAY-O,

DAYLIGHT COME AND ME WANNA GO HOME.

COME MR. SILLY MAN, PEEL ME A BANANA.

DAYLIGHT COME AND ME WANNA GO HOME.

COME MR. SILLY MAN, PEEL ME A BANANA.

DAYLIGHT COME AND ME WANNA GO HOME.”

Still humming, he hurried down the stairs to the kitchen, taking two steps at a time and almost bumping into his mother.

“What be the hurry, my singin’ son?” she asked as she hugged him. Ziggy and his family had moved from Jamaica to Ohio when he was a little boy.

“The tryouts for the school talent show are after school today, Mum!” Ziggy told her as he packed his lunch box with three pickles, three bananas, three soft taco shells, and a small jar of orange marmalade. “The Black Dinosaurs are going to enter the competition. First prize is two hundred dollars!”

“And what would the Black Dinosaurs be doin’ with that much money?” she asked. She said nothing about his strange choices for lunch—she had long ago given up trying to understand what Ziggy liked to eat. Today it would be banana-pickle tacos covered with marmalade.

“We’re gonna fix up the clubhouse! We’re gonna buy a card table and some lawn chairs that aren’t broken. Maybe get some paint for the walls. Carpet! Cable TV! A video game player! A computer with Internet access!” His mother rolled her eyes. “Okay, okay. You know I get carried away, Mum. But we do want to get some stuff to make it just a little bit nicer. The Black Dinosaurs deserve the best! Plus we’ll have a little left over to buy CDs and stuff.”

The Black Dinosaurs was the name of the club Ziggy and his friends Rashawn, Rico, and Jerome had started during one summer vacation. They had built a clubhouse in Ziggy’s backyard, and they had meetings when they felt like it—usually on Saturdays during the school year. Sometimes they met just to goof off and eat pizza, and sometimes they tried to solve neighborhood mysteries.

“Don’t you think you should win the competition before you start spending the money?” Ziggy’s mother asked with a chuckle.

“Oh, we’ll win, Mum,” Ziggy said with confidence. “We’ll win for sure. Didn’t you just hear me singing?” He ate a cold piece of pizza and drank a cup of warm chicken soup for his breakfast.

His mother laughed out loud. “Yes, son, I heard you singing. Loud and clear. Have a great day at school, and good luck at the tryouts.”

Ziggy waved good-bye and headed out the door, bursting into song once again. He headed down the street, his arms swinging beside him in rhythm with the music.

“SHE’LL BE COMING ’ROUND THE MOUNTAIN WHEN SHE COMES.

SHE’LL BE COMING ’ROUND THE MOUNTAIN WHEN SHE COMES.

SHE’LL BE COMING ’ROUND THE MOUNTAIN,

SHE’LL BE COMING ’ROUND THE MOUNTAIN,

SHE’LL BE COMING ’ROUND THE MOUNTAIN WHEN SHE COMES.”

Ziggy was so caught up in his singing that he didn’t notice when Rico, Jerome, and Rashawn tiptoed behind him. They put their hands to their mouths, stifling their giggles as they followed Ziggy, imitating his every move. Ziggy continued to sing at the top of his lungs.

“SHE’LL BE WEARING RED PAJAMAS WHEN SHE COMES.

SHE’LL BE WEARING RED PAJAMAS WHEN SHE COMES.

SHE’LL BE WEARING RED PAJAMAS,

SHE’LL BE WEARING RED PAJAMAS,

SHE’LL BE WEARING RED PAJAMAS WHEN SHE COMES.”

“Red pajamas?” Rashawn finally said, as he bumped into Ziggy. “Who’s gonna be wearing red pj’s?”

“And what’s her name?” Rico asked with a laugh. “Nobody knows her name! All you ever hear is she!”

Ziggy stopped, turned, and made a funny face, and the four friends burst into laughter. “You been followin’ me? Tryin’ to take notes so you can sing as good as Ziggy at the tryouts?”

“Yeah, right,” Jerome said, bumping Ziggy on the other side.

The four boys lived on the same street and usually walked to school together in the morning. The school building, which was only a couple of blocks away from where the boys lived, had been built more than a hundred years ago. It was large and brown and scary-looking at night, but in the daytime the boys had decided it just looked old and tired.

“I thought we were going to sing as a group—a quartet,” Rico said.

“We are,” Jerome answered with excitement. “The four of us are gonna be so good at the talent show that some big-time recording dude will probably try to cut us a CD!”

“Yeah!” Rashawn added. “And offer us a million-dollar recording contract!”

“And we’ll have our pictures on the cover, mon!” Ziggy said, posing as if for a camera.



“You think we ought to practice a little more for the tryouts first?” Rico asked sensibly. The boys had been practicing their singing routine for weeks now. They had added dance moves and had even talked about costumes for the show.

“Good idea, mon!” Ziggy said cheerfully. “Let’s go behind the school before the bell rings and make sure we’ve got our act together. We don’t want anyone to copy our moves!”

The boys ran eagerly toward the school, all four of them loudly singing more crazy verses to “She’ll be Coming ’Round the Mountain.” Ziggy started out, and the other three boys joined in.

“SHE’LL BE EATING FRENCH-FRIED CARROTS WHEN SHE COMES.

SHE’LL BE EATING F’RENCH-FRIED CARROTS WHEN SHE COMES.

SHE’LL BE EATING FRENCH-FRIED CARROTS,

SHE’LL BE EATING FRENCH-FRIED CARROTS,

SHE’LL BE EATING FRENCH-FRIED CARROTS WHEN SHE COMES.”

“SHE’LL BE RIDING ON A SKATEBOARD WHEN SHE COMES.

SHE’LL BE RIDING ON A SKATEBOARD WHEN SHE COMES.

SHE’LL BE RIDING ON A SKATEBOARD,

SHE’LL BE RIDING ON A SKATEBOARD,

SHE’LL BE RIDING ON A SKATEBOARD WHEN SHE COMES.”

“SHE’LL BE SMELLING LIKE A MONKEY WHEN SHE COMES.

SHE’LL BE SMELLING LIKE A MONKEY WHEN SHE COMES.

SHE’LL BE SMELLING LIKE A MONKEY,

SHE’LL BE SMELLING LIKE A MONKEY,

SHE’LL BE SMELLING LIKE A MONKEY WHEN SHE COMES.”

The sillier the verses got, the more the boys laughed as they sang. When they got to their school, they ran to the back of the building instead of waiting at the front door with the other students. Tall grasses grew in the ragged field behind the building. In the distance, their gravel-covered track waited for runners, and the old wooden bleachers sat empty. Most of the athletic areas of their school were sadly in need of repair. They were not quite broken, but they were very old and cried out for modernization.

Ziggy and his friends paid no attention, however, to the grass-covered athletic areas, but stayed close to the building where there was more dusty ground than flowers. The shadow of the school building made it cool and shady where they stood.

“You ready to try our four-part harmony?” Rico asked.

“Yeah, mon!” Ziggy said excitedly. “Let’s do it.”

Jerome, who had a beautiful baritone voice, started out by giving them a note. Each boy then used it to find his own place in the four-part harmony. “Let’s try ‘Home on the Range,’” he said. “We’ll start with the refrain. Ready?”

“Ready,” the others said, paying close attention.

“Home,” Jerome sang in a voice that was pretty close to baritone.

“Home,” chimed in Rashawn’s deep bass. Sometimes his voice cracked, but he was proud of how he could usually reach the low notes.

“Home.” Rico’s shaky tenor mixed in perfectly.

Finally Ziggy added his voice. “Home,” he sang in a voice that was not quite tenor and not quite baritone, but always loud and enthusiastic. But he was on key, and the other boys nodded in approval as Ziggy hit the right note.

“HOME, HOME ON THE RANGE,

WHERE THE DEER AND THE ANTELOPE PLAY,

WHERE SELDOM IS HEARD,

A DISCOURAGING WORD,

AND THE SKIES ARE NOT CLOUDY ALL DAY.”

“Hey, now!” Jerome said with enthusiasm. “We sound really good!”

“Oh, yeah!” they all said in agreement, slapping hands.

“Should we sing that one for the tryouts?” Rico asked.

“We’ve got all day to decide,” Rashawn said. “Let’s get to class now.”

Just then the bell rang and the four friends gathered up their book bags and scrambled to enter the building from the front. None of them noticed the car that was parked in the tall grass behind the athletic stands.