Dream Annie Dream Read online

  Dedication

  For all the dreamers

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Act I: Annie

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Act II: The King and I

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Act III: Alice in Wonderland

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Books by Waka T. Brown

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Chapter 1

  You can be anything you want to be.

  My sixth-grade teacher’s parting words to the graduating class of Iron Hills Elementary rang in my ears, even over the deafening roar of the rocket motors.

  I could be anything I want to be, and this fine summer morning, I was an astronaut.

  “Blue skies. Winds are steady. In T-minus ten seconds we have blastoff. Ten, nine, eight, seven . . .”

  “Chibi!” a voice called out from ground control. “Chibi!”

  Since my name isn’t Chibi, I ignored it.

  “. . . six . . .”

  “Chibi!” Ground control was annoyingly loud and insistent this morning.

  “Five . . . oh, forget it. Rocket launch aborted,” I mumbled to myself. My mom calling for our cat totally did not work with my make-believe trip to the moon. It was hard enough, at twelve, pretending anything, and my mom’s interruptions didn’t help.

  To be fair, it’s not completely her fault. After all, I am kind of too old for these games, but Jessie, I mean Jessica, and her mom are late picking me up and this sycamore tree is the best place for me to watch for their car. And this is where Jessie and I used to pretend, when we were little kids, that we were pilots, or astronauts, or princesses stuck in our towers. So I guess I just slipped back into it out of habit.

  Even though it wasn’t 9:00 a.m. yet, it felt like the sun’s rays were arms pushing down on me as heat waves rose from the ground, threatening to press me into a sweat sandwich. My hair was already sticking to my neck and the rash on the backs of my legs was starting to itch. We don’t have AC—well, we do, but we don’t use it unless we absolutely have to—so the inside of my house isn’t any better. At least in this tree there’s shade and a breeze.

  I had brought my tattered copy of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland up with me and had been planning on reading it while I waited for Jess . . . ica. Although I knew the story by heart, I still giggled at its sheer silliness—her expanding and shrinking! Flamingos used as croquet mallets! But, before I knew what happened, my imagination was off and running in another direction, and I soon found myself inside an abandoned yet still fully functional spaceship. I flipped a page to see if it could offer any hints as to how to resume countdown mode.

  “Chibi!”

  My mom’s voice pulled me from my launch again.

  “Okaasan, Chibi koko ni iru yo!” I yelled back as I glanced down at my gray-and-white tuxedo cat sharpening her claws on the trunk of the tree. “Chibi’s right here!”

  I snapped off one of the fuzzy broad sycamore leaves from a branch and shoved it between the pages where I had stopped reading. I stuffed the book inside the back of my jean shorts and clambered down.

  Honk!

  Not a moment too soon, either, because my ride had just pulled in!

  I scooped Chibi up mid-scratch and gently set her down inside our rickety screen door.

  “Ah, arigatou! Jessie-chan no okaasan ni yoroshiku ne!” my mom hollered out after me.

  “Yeah, okay. Bye!” I jumped down the front steps toward my friend’s car.

  Jessie opened the car door for me, and I slid inside, my sweaty legs squeaking against the beige leather seats. I sighed as a blast of cool air hit my face.

  Being in the Kellys’ fancy car—a Chrysler Fifth Avenue is what it was called—was what I imagined a limousine was like, or . . . Apollo’s chariot! I read a lot of mythology last year, and sure, the Kellys’ Fifth Avenue wasn’t pulled by fiery horses, but being inside it felt like I was floating in the sky.

  My mom waved from the front porch and Mrs. Kelly waved back as we drove away. For the next five weeks, Monday through Friday, this would be our routine. Theater camp instead of school (thank goodness), and a posh ride instead of the school bus.

  Which reminded me. “My mom says hi . . . and thanks.”

  “Well, you tell her ‘Hi . . . and you’re welcome!’ right back, okay?” Mrs. Kelly chuckled as she steered us around the corner.

  I liked how Jessie’s mom never seemed to mind how our carpool arrangement was kind of one-sided and not in her favor. With my dad at work today, my mom didn’t have a car to drive us in. And the one we had was nowhere near as nice as this one that glided over streets like a boat in still waters, the potholes barely registering on the wheels. I sank into the sofa-like “Corinthian leather” seats (I didn’t really know what that meant, except that Jessie made sure to point them out when her family bought the car).

  Did I just say “Jessie”? I meant Jessica.

  “Hi, Jessica!” I finally greeted my best friend. She was no longer “Jessie,” as she had been since the day we met in kindergarten. That’s when we became best friends because she liked dinosaurs and so did I! Now that we were finished with elementary school, she decided she would be Jessica from now on.

  My friend’s blue eyes twinkled, and her freckles seemed to sparkle on her cheeks when I called her by her new name (or was that because she was wearing blush?!). It had only been a few weeks since the last day of school, but she already seemed older. Her sandy blond hair was pulled back in a neat French braid and her bangs were curled, teased, and shellacked in place with a healthy dose of Aqua Net hairspray.

  I wished my hair would do that, only it wouldn’t. If I curled it—even when I used hairspray—within hours it would resume its natural state: a stick-straight black waterfall that tumbled just below my shoulders. Except for when I had it up in a ponytail, which was almost always in the summer to keep it from glomming onto my neck with sweat.

  With her new hairstyle, my friend was much more like a “Jessica” now than a “Jessie.”

  “Hi, Annie.”

  Annie. It felt weird to hear Jessica say my new name, too.

  I used to be Aoi Inoue, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that it’s easier for people to pronounce “Arnold Schwarzenegger” than it is to pronounce a short name like mine.

  I could count the number of people who could pronounce my name correctly on one hand even though it’s really easy. Three syllables—Ah. Oh. Ee. A-o-i. See? Piece of c
ake.

  But for my six years of elementary school, “Ooey!” “A-OK!” and “Owie!” were the names I answered to. But not anymore.

  And my last name, Inoue? That was a disaster, too.

  “I know you?” they asked. “In owie?”

  My dad discovered, though, that if we pronounced it “Enoway,” it sounded vaguely Irish, which people seemed more comfortable with than “Ee-no-oo-eh.”

  So, on this first day of summer theater camp, 1987, I declared that I was Annie Enoway. Together with my new old friend Jessica Kelly, I was shedding my elementary school past and was on my way to becoming anything that I wanted to be.

  Chapter 2

  I am a sunny-side-up egg.

  A skillet, cast iron, heated up over the blue flames of a gas stove. Two eggs, cracked with one hand, plopped into smoking bacon fat.

  I sizzled and twitched as my clear gooey insides whitened and gelled. I flung my arms into the air like the grease that spat and hissed out from the pan. My sunshine-yellow yolks, runny at first, hardened as I finished cooking.

  “Two eggs, sunny-side up!” Jessica yelled.

  “Yes!” I leapt up from the stage floor, as black as the skillet I was frying in. Jessica stood up to take my place.

  “No fair!” pouted Ben Prescott, the puny green-eyed boy who had been in theater camp with us for the past several years. Although he looked taller, and maybe not as puny as he used to be, he was clearly still a baby, whining over the fact that Jessica and I had always ruled, and still ruled, at these improv games.

  Not that it was a competition or anything.

  But as Jessica took the stage, our theater camp director, Ms. Tracy, clapped her hands.

  “Very nice, Annie! Very realistic egg frying. Now, before we continue, I have an announcement to make.”

  Jessica sat back down next to me and we focused all our attention on Ms. Tracy. Tall, pale, dark-haired, and dressed entirely in black, Ms. Tracy looked like she was born and raised in the theater. She oozed drama.

  Silence fell over us as we waited for the news. Jessica’s mom had mentioned something exciting might be coming up and we both had our guesses. We didn’t dare jinx it, though, by hoping for it too much.

  “As you all know, the Topeka Repertory Theater puts on a summer production every year. While in the past it had only been for adults and actors sixteen and older, this year we’re putting on the play Annie, so . . .” Ms. Tracy paused here for maximum suspense. Entirely appropriate since this was theater camp.

  Jessica and I held our breath.

  “. . . we’re opening auditions up for actors older than ten.”

  Squeeeee!! Unlike the older, more established Topeka Civic Theatre, Topeka Repertory had only been around for a few years. But it quickly established a name for itself when it wowed everyone with its flashy and professional production of Oklahoma! last summer. You’d think that Kansans wouldn’t be all that excited to see a musical about the even-less-exciting state immediately to our south, but after that show, every actor in town wanted to be part of Topeka Repertory.

  Jessica grabbed my hands. We couldn’t stop ourselves from squealing and wriggling and stomping our feet. Annie the movie had come out a few years ago, and the rags-to-riches story about the spunky little redheaded orphan was our absolute favorite. Between the two of us, we’d seen it at least twenty times. We knew all the songs by heart. We sang them at recess, at home, and even in the sycamore tree because dreaming and imagining we were Broadway stars was easier up there, for some reason.

  In true Ms. Tracy fashion, she inhaled deeply and drew herself up tall, raising her hand in a flowing swoop over her head. When she lowered her arm gracefully, like a ballerina would, we all quieted down as we exhaled along with her.

  “Now, TRT plays are real productions. You must prepare for your audition and even then, you might not get the part you wanted. You might not even get a part at all.”

  At this point, her eyes seemed to rest on me. But only for a split second. So fast that I might have imagined it. In fact, I’m sure I did.

  Ms. Tracy gathered a stack of papers from a nearby stool and began passing them out. “Auditions are next week. There’s more information on this sheet, but make sure to complete it and have it ready by . . .”

  As Ms. Tracy rambled on and Jessica read through the handout next to me, a rumpled and frazzled lady who had just huffed and puffed her way into the theater caught my attention. She was probably the same age as my mom and Mrs. Kelly, but there was nothing motherly about her. Her mousy brown hair was a partially grown out, chin-length perm, and her oversized faded camo-green G.I. Joe T-shirt was half tucked in, half out. She wiped the sweat off her forehead with her sleeve before she interrupted.

  “Hey, sorry I’m late. Town’s changed since I was here last. Not the heat, though, Jesus Christ, it’s still hotter than hell here—”

  “Mrs. Glick!” Ms. Tracy turned with a flourish and held out her arm toward the guest like she was the Queen of England. “Everyone, it is my honor to mention the most exciting part of TRT’s summer production. We have a bona fide Hollywood director on board! Please, let us all welcome—”

  “Sam! It’s Sam,” the director mumbled gruffly, her voice low and gravelly like one of the back roads that led out past the cow pastures on the outskirts of Topeka. “Mrs. Glick was my mother, not to mention the fact that I’m not married, thank God. What a train wreck that woulda been!” Perhaps realizing she was veering off topic, Sam cleared her throat and continued. “Yeah, so. It’s been a while since I’ve done theater, and like Tracy here said, I was out in LA for a while. But now I’m back and, uh . . . Guess I’ll see some of you next week? Cool.”

  And with that, Sam not-Mrs.-Glick shuffled out of the theater.

  Wow! Quick and to the point and didn’t talk to us like we were a bunch of babies. I could tell she was the Real Hollywood Deal.

  I looked down at my audition form.

  You can be anything you want to be.

  Those words rang in my head again.

  The truth is, I want to be so many things, but at this moment, more than anything else . . .

  I want to be Annie.

  Little Orphan Annie.

  Chapter 3

  “Tadaima!” I announced my arrival home as soon as I bounded up our front porch steps and into my home sweet hotter-than-Hades. But not even the late-June Kansas heat could quell my excitement about playing Annie in this year’s community theater production.

  My little brother, Tak, careened down the stairs, his black hair sticking up like little demon horns. He would have toppled headfirst if I hadn’t been there to stop his forward momentum.

  “Oof!”

  But instead of “Sorry” he hollered “Cowabunga!!!” and leapt as far as his five-year-old legs would catapult him. Luckily, the sofa was there to catch him as he face-planted into its faded floral cushions.

  My mom sighed from the kitchen. “He’s been like this all day,” she told me in Japanese, too tired to even practice her English. “How was theater camp?”

  “It was great!” I sat down at the table and answered my mom in English, too excited to use my Japanese. “I’m going to be Annie!”

  My mom frowned. She was not on board with my name change, but after hearing my real one butchered at the elementary school graduation ceremony, she relented. Pretty sure the way the principal pronounced my name ended up meaning something like “evil demon” or “bug guts” in Japanese (not that I know how to say either).

  “Can’t I call you ‘Aoi’ at home at least?” My mom began chopping an onion into slices so thin you could almost see through them.

  “Nope! In fact, you should call me Annie even more. To help me get in character.”

  “‘Character’? Dou iu imi?” My mom paused.

  I sighed. I didn’t know how to explain “c
haracter” in Japanese. “You know, like Little Orphan Annie? The movie we saw all together a few years ago?”

  We saw few enough movies together as a family that my mom remembered.

  “You mean the curly redheaded girl who gets adopted by the rich bald man?”

  “Yep!” I pulled the folded paper from my shorts pocket. I smoothed it out, moved the junk mail and three days’ worth of newspapers that cluttered the kitchen table, and set it down on the small patch where I’d made some space. “Can you sign this?”

  Tak bounced into the kitchen. “You don’t look anything like that Annie girl.”

  I rolled my eyes. “There are things called wigs, butt-head.”

  “You’re the butt-head,” Tak retorted as he turned around and slapped his bottom at me.

  My mom was actually reading the form rather than just signing it like she usually does.

  The screen door rattled. “I’m home!”

  “Daddy!” Tak stopped slapping his butt to run full speed toward the front door.

  Our dad let go of the handles on his square black leather work satchel just in time to swoop Tak into his arms and use the little demon’s forward momentum to swing him high in the air.

  “Can we play basketball?” Tak pleaded.

  “Ooh, can we?” I chimed in. I knew we should have let Dad change out of his shirt and tie first, but . . .

  “I need Aoi to help with dinner.” My mom appeared in the entryway of the kitchen, her dark silhouette blocking the sun behind her like a fun-squashing villain.

  “No fair! I want to help with dinner!” Just as quickly as Tak had greeted Dad, he ran back into the kitchen. “Aoi always gets to help with dinner.”

  “Okay, Annie, I guess you’re with me!” My dad loosened his tie and stepped outside again. I scooted close behind him, both of us trying not to notice my mom’s accusing glare. I know we should have felt bad about leaving the little goblin inside with her, but Tak wasn’t exactly great at moving out of the way for cars or not having meltdowns when he missed his shots (which was almost always).

  I grabbed the basketball from the corner of the front porch and then rushed across the street with my dad. Our neighbors had a hoop and didn’t mind when anyone used it.