Allison Marks - Benny Feldmans All-Star Klezmer Band

Benny Feldmans All-Star Klezmer Band

To Lois, our dear friend

All-Star

Klezmer Band

Allison and Wayne Marks

First published in 2020 by Green Bean Books,

c/o Pen & Sword Books Ltd,

47 Church Street, Barnsley, S. Yorkshire, S70 2AS

www.greenbeanbooks.com

Allison and Wayne Marks 2020

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

Paperback edition: 978-1-78-438555-2

Harold Grinspoon Foundation edition: 978-1-78-438559-0

ePUB ISBN: 978-1-78-438556-9

Mobi ISBN: 978-1-78-438557-6

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data available

1

Ms. Krumholtzs voice jolted eleven-year-old Benny Feldman from his early-morning fog. The sixth-grade class in Room 610 settled down as she read the morning announcements: Bring in your cans for the winter food drive. Lets beat those seventh-graders this year! Dont forget that Monday is our field trip to the Geary Potato Chip Factory. Your personal essays are due next week absolutely no extensions!

It looked like the start of another typical day at Sieberling School. And that was okay with Benny. Typical was predictable. Typical meant he might be able to make it through the next seven hours without drawing unwanted attention.

Ms. Krumholtzs final piece of news made Bennys heart race like a metronome stuck on warp speed. I almost forgot. The school talent show will be happening in March. The sign-up sheet will be posted on the bulletin board next to the library.

So much for typical , Benny thought.

The class erupted into chatter. Amanda Grayson, who sat to Bennys right, squealed with delight. She had been twirling batons since the age of two. At least once an hour she mentioned a video of her performance at the Regional Junior Majorette Competition. Flipping her purple marker in the air, she caught it behind her back without looking, spun it between her fingers, and turned to Benny.

97,838 views, Amanda said, monitoring the videos popularity on her phone. Are you going to be in the talent show this year? Of course, that would mean you have some kind of talent.

Does she have to say that to me every year?

In fifth grade Amanda had won second place with her Star-Spangled Salute to the Presidents.

Wait until you see my new routine, she said. So whats your answer? Are you going to be in the talent show or not?

Bennys face turned crimson and his palms began sweating. He started to reply but then shrugged and buried his face in his science book, pretending to be fascinated by the properties of sedimentary rocks.

To Bennys left, Jason Conroy bragged about his new electric guitar. Its a Gibson Flying V with a wicked psychedelic design on the front, he said, cradling a notebook and pretending to strum it while his left hand moved up and down an imaginary fretboard. He glared at Benny, who froze like a startled deer in Jasons blue-eyed headlights. Dropping his head, Benny stared at a diagram of the water cycle.

Remember how my band rocked the house last year? Jason said. Ill be sure to save you a seat in the front row next to all my other adoring fans. Youre coming to the talent show, right?

Benny nodded and returned to his textbook.

Avoiding the talent show was not an option. Sam, Bennys nine-year-old brother, snagged third place last year with his juggling act. The crowd gave him a standing ovation for keeping two apples and a banana in the air for three minutes while hopping on one foot. Now in fourth grade, Sam had been working on adding a kiwi to his routine.

Bennys parents would never allow him to skip the show unless he was sick. Really sick. Head-in-the-toilet sick. He started practicing fake coughs when the bell rang.

In the art room, Benny concentrated on molding a lump of clay into a menorah. If he finished it on timeand if it looked like a menorahhe planned to give it to his parents for Hanukkah, which was a couple of weeks away. Right now the clay resembled a nine-tentacled sea creature ill-equipped to hold a shamash candle. His best friend, Ollie Broadleaf, kneaded his clay into a nutcracker. He was easily the most talented artist in the school.

You really are a master at sculpting, Benny said. Seriously, that looks just like the figurines at the mall gift shop. Youre the class Michelangelo.

Thanks, your octopus is pretty great, too, Ollie said.

Benny laughed. Its supposed to be a menorah. You know, the special candleholder used during Hanukkah.

Well, thats the most exceptional Hanukkah octopus Ive ever seen.

I guess sculpting isnt my thing.

From the far end of the long table, Jason perked up his ears. So what is your thing? he asked. The room went silent. All eyes bored into Benny.

Here we go again.

Jason repeated the question, his voice rising. You heard me. What is your thing? What can you actually do ?

Bennys eyes watered behind his thick black-rimmed glasses. His throat tightened as the class awaited his response. He said nothing.

Mind your own business! Ollie shouted. Benny bowed his head and aimlessly poked at his misshapen project.

For the rest of the school day, Benny relived Jasons taunts. When the final bell rang, he looked forward to the solitude of his room at home.

Passing by the library on his way out of school, Benny glanced at the talent show sign-up sheet. Rappers, poets, comedians, actors, gymnasts, and ballet dancers filled the lines. At the top, his food-juggling brother had scrawled Sam Feldmans Flying Fruits. Below that in slanted letters was Jasons band, The Neanderthal Four, followed by Amanda Graysons Twirling Tribute to the Fifty States.

Benny stared at the last few empty lines and reached for a black felt-tip marker in his back pocket.

Hurry up! a girl shouted. Are you just going to stand there? My bus leaves in five minutes.

This is an awful idea. A monumental mistake. A disaster of catastrophic proportions , Benny told himself. He began to put the marker away when a familiar voice made him stop cold.

Dont worry, folks. Benny cant do anythingother than be the Amazing Exploding Grape.

It was Jason. He had given Benny this nickname in first grade. Over time the name had faded until Benny thought it had disappeared. But everything had changed last year. Now Benny couldnt go a day without someone bringing back the name that wouldnt go away.