“What isn’t, according to you?” Vijay shot back as Derek cued up the song to the spot where Gary came onstage.

“Let’s see… math… chess… computer games… eating… did I say math?”

“Okay, okay,” Derek said. “Let’s go through your part again, Gar.”

Gary moaned, suffering with the effort of having to stand up and trudge over to the hall doorway for his entrance. “Do we have to? We’ve already done it twice.”

“It’s called rehearsal,” Vijay said impatiently. “Practice makes perfect.”

“Speak for yourself,” said Gary drily. “Once is plenty for me. I’m always perfect the first time.”

“Modest, too,” quipped Derek. “Okay, here goes.”

He pushed the play button and the music came on. As the voice spoke its ghoulish words, Gary walked stiffly into the room. He was wearing a black satin cape Vijay had brought over to use as a costume. Now he walked in like Frankenstein—stiff arms raised, hands bent like claws, mouth opening and shutting as if he was mechanically speaking along with the voice on the recording.

Then, on cue, he broke into something like a chicken dance—except that Gary had a unique style of moving his body. The effect was funky, yet funny—in fact, it was perfect—just as Gary had said!

“Don’t change a thing about it,” Derek said, applauding when the music faded out and the dance was done. “Gary, you’re a natural!”

“An unnatural natural!” Vijay chimed in.

“Ha! That’s a good one,” Gary said. “Okay, I’m done. See you onstage at the talent show, guys.”

“Oh no.” Derek stopped him. “You’ve got to show up a couple more times for run-throughs next week, when my neck is better and I can dance again.”

“Don’t push your luck with me, Jeter. Consider yourselves lucky I showed up once.”

“You’re on the hook, Gar,” Derek reminded him. “A promise is a promise.”

“Hmmm,” said Gary. “Whatever. Right now I’m out of here—that’s all I know.”

“Don’t worry, Gary,” said Vijay as Gary headed for the door. “You are going to be a smash hit!”

“Yeah, right,” said Gary. “We’ll all be lucky if we’re not the laughingstock of the whole school after this.” He turned and left, shutting the front door behind him.

“Don’t listen to him,” Vijay said. “You saw what a hoot he was, dancing like that.”

“He was, wasn’t he? Let’s just hope he doesn’t decide to get creative and change things before the performance.”

That evening the whole Jeter family drove to Westfield Dance Studios to watch Sharlee perform in the school’s semiannual recital. Derek was in a good mood—glad to get his mind off things. For tonight, he could be nervous for his sister instead of himself.