Mrs. Morengo continued. “And if anybody is disappointed at not getting this opportunity, remember that you fourth graders will have many chances to shine over the next two years.” But not to shine on television. The shiniest—that is to say, the worst—shining of all. “I’ve decided that our Puff for this first concert of the year will be—” Mason Dixon. “Brody Baxter.” If Mason hadn’t already been sitting down in his place on the second riser, he might have fallen down, fallen clear off the riser again, overcome by the tidal wave of relief that washed over him. Brody turned around to flash a delighted grin at Mason, his face alight with joy. Brody had thought it was an honor just to carry Puff home to be mended (actually, to be eaten alive—but Brody hadn’t known that at the time and still didn’t know it). Now Brody was having conferred upon him the far greater honor of being Puff himself. “So let’s practice ‘Puff’ right now with Brody starting us off on the first verse,”
