EllRay Jakes and the Beanstalk (7 page)

16

Just An Ordinary Afternoon

It's Henry's mom, Mrs. Pendleton—and she looks as if she can't believe what has been happening in her own backyard.

Believe it, Mrs. Pendleton.

“What in the world is going on out here?” she asks, marching down the tile steps as if that's what they were invented for. “I leave you kids alone for a
few minutes
, to make some cookies, and what happens?”

“What kind of cookies?” Fly asks from the mud, actually interested.

“He played a bad twick on me,” Alfie says, still lying on the driveway and starting to cry again. “But EllWay saved me.”

“Twick” means “trick,” I guess.

“Alfie! Sweetheart,” Mrs. Pendleton says, seeing her for the first time. She rushes to my little sister's side and scoops her into her arms. “I didn't know you were here.” She smoothes Alfie's hair back, inspects her tear-streaked face, then clutches her close once more.

“She's lying,” Fly calls out from the mud, shaking me off now like a flea or a mosquito, something that bothered him for a while, but no biggie.

He looks like a wreck, though, I'm happy to report.

In fact, he looks
TERRIBLE
.

“Don't call Alfie a liar, Fly,” Henry says, his voice hard. “You could have knocked her teeth out, dude. Or broken one of her bones. Fly sent Alfie shooting straight down those stairs, Mom. On a
board
.”

And Alfie looks up at Henry with shining eyes, of course.

Oh, great,
I can't help but think. This was all the encouragement she needed.

“Then you're a liar, too,
Henry
,” Fly says, trying for some of his old swagger. “You're all against me—for no reason!
I'm going home
.”

And he stalks over to his skateboard like it's a loyal horse that has been waiting for him all this time.

“You're not going anywhere until I say so,” Mrs. Pendleton tells Fly, giving him the same stink-eye he's given me more than once. “But I
am
calling your mother, Fly. She can leave work early, if necessary, and come pick you up. For now, you go inside and take a shower, young man. In the downstairs bathroom. A
one towel
shower.”

She's so mad that I think I'd just shake myself dry, if I was the kid she was talking to.

“And then what am I supposed to wear?” Fly asks, his hands actually on his hips, he's so mad at everyone.

Him! Mad!

“I'll see if I can find some old clothes for you to throw on,” Mrs. Pendleton says.

“
Old clothes
?” Fly asks, like he can't believe what he just heard.

“And they're getting older every second you keep standing here,” Mrs. Pendleton says. “Now, scoot.”

And Fly scoots.

“Are you okay, EllRay?” Mrs. Pendleton asks, hurrying over where I'm standing ankle-deep in mud.

“I'm fine,” I say, but my throat is actually starting to feel a little achy from where Fly almost choked me. Just the idea of it is enough to hurt, I guess.

Or maybe my throat is aching because I'm trying not to cry.

Now, of all times! When everything is okay!

But Alfie could have really been hurt. The thought of it is catching up with me again.

“EllRay! Your poor arms, and your chin! You're
bleeding
,” Mrs. Pendleton says, and a hand goes straight to her chest, which is something moms do when they're horrified by some kid emergency. “You need first aid. What in the
world
?” she says again.

“I—I sort of skidded when I fell,” I tell her. “But I don't think I need any first aid. Anyway, my mom's a pretty good patcher-upper.”

“Well, if you're sure,” Mrs. Pendleton says, then she turns to Henry, as if this is all his fault.

“Henry didn't do anything wrong, Mrs. Pendleton. I promise,” I say. “He was just trying to teach me how to ollie.”

“He did stuff
right
,” Henry's biggest fan chimes in, beaming up at him.

Poor Henry.

“Well, I guess we'd better go home,” I tell Mrs. Pendleton, like this has been just an ordinary afternoon, but now we have to leave.

I don't even want to
think
about what's going to happen when Mom sees us—much less what will happen when Dad gets home.

I am in so much trouble.

“You tell your mama how sorry I am about all this,” Mrs. Pendleton says. “Tell her I'll be calling as soon as I get
that
one sorted out,” she adds, glancing toward the house, where I guess Fly is in the middle of his one towel shower.

“Okay. I'll tell her,” I say.

When I can get a word in edgewise, that is.

17

Brave

“Thank you, Cynthia, for reading us your paper about ‘Cinderella,'” Ms. Sanchez says on Friday afternoon. “I'm sure we all agree with you about how important it is that a person's shoes fit well, especially if they're glass slippers,” she continues. “And we will keep our fingers crossed that your own handsome prince will find you some day, and that then, you'll be richer than anyone else in this room, if that's truly your wish.”

“It is truly my wish,” Cynthia says, and there's a serious expression on her face as she and Heather nod their heads, so I guess she means it.

I feel sorry for the prince.

Corey went first. I think Ms. Sanchez took pity on him so he could get it over with. He was so pale when he read his paper on “The Tortoise and the Hare” that you could count every freckle on his face, but he made it through without fainting.

Reading in front of the class can be very scary for some kids, but it's only medium-scary for me. I worry that I'll get an embarrassing word to read aloud, like
abreast
, which really means side by side, or
ass
, meaning donkey. I also worry that I'll get a word I don't know how to pronounce.

But when I'm reading something
I
wrote, I know all the words. So I'm good.

I missed school yesterday, by the way, because Mom said I had to get my scrapes and bruises checked out by the doctor. Then I was supposed to “take it easy,” which is not as much fun as it sounds when you're not allowed to watch TV or DVDs or play video games, much less practice your skateboard skills—because that skateboard is
GONE
. Dad didn't say for how long. Until I'm thirty, I'm guessing. And the thought of a thirty-year-old man riding a skateboard is just
sad
, especially if he's wearing a suit and a tie
.

It wasn't that my dad was mad at the
skateboard
, or even all that angry about the fight, strange as it seems. He kind of understood about the fight, once Henry and Alfie explained it to him.

Instead, Dad was mad at me for two other reasons. Big ones, he said.

1. I disobeyed him about going over to Henry's when Fly was there.
   
2. I brought Alfie with me without asking official, in-person permission first.
   

Everything bad that happened to Alfie and me was because of those two things, he explained on Wednesday night after Mom patched me up the best that she could. I went to bed that night with gauze wrapped around my arms and legs like I was a mummy, and parts of my legs were stuck to the sheet in the morning. It was
gross
.

I couldn't wait to tell Corey about it!

I guess that's what I get for sliding across a driveway like a human Zamboni.

Yesterday, Thursday, the doctor did a better bandaging job than Mom, but the “flesh-colored” bandages are not
my
flesh color, so they look patchy and weird. Also, the stuff he splashed onto my scrapes hurt. I got a tetanus shot, too.
OUCH
.

I was kind of surprised the doctor didn't give me rabies shots while he was at it, considering that it was mad dog Fly Reilly at the other end of the fight. But I didn't make that suggestion to the doctor, believe me.

So now it's Friday, and here I am, waiting for Ms. Sanchez to call on me to read aloud about “Jack and the Beanstalk.” When she does, everyone can stare at me as much as they want—for a few minutes, at least.

There are two rumors that have been bouncing around Oak Glen Primary School all day, ever since the kids saw my banged-up, bandaged self. The boring one, the truth I told Corey, is that I got hurt saving my little sister, then I got into a fight with the guy who tried to hurt her—even though it was more rolling in the mud than fighting. The girls like that rumor. The other rumor, the one
I
like best, is that these are skating injuries—that I had to bail in the middle of either an airwalk grab or a 50-50 grind, and I paid the price.

Yeah,
that's
what happened!

And that's why I can't take part in the skating contest after school today, even though I'll make a special guest appearance. Maybe they'll make me the judge, since I'm supposedly such a pro.

Watch out, Tony Hawk!

“Kevin McKinley,” Ms. Sanchez says, announcing the next person to read. A few kids wriggle in their seats, maybe because of his gory drawing—and because he chose a story none of us knows. Except Jared, probably. Kevin's new best friend.

If Kevin and I had been better friends lately, I could have asked him about the story. But
no-o-o
.

“All right,” Kevin says, striding to the front of the class. His brown skin looks sharp next to the yellow shirt he's wearing. New, I think.

He clears his throat before starting to talk, of course.

“My story is called ‘The Boy Who Left Home to Find Out About the Shivers,'” Kevin begins. “But its other name is ‘The Boy Who Wanted to Learn What Fear Was.' It's real old. It's about this boy who was never afraid,” he tells us. “So he got bored, because he wanted to learn what it was like to be scared. Someone pretended to be a ghost, but the boy wasn't scared at all. He pushed the pretend ghost down the stairs. After that, the boy had to leave home—and leave his father and brother, too. Sometimes heroes have to do that. And then he had a bunch of scary adventures.

“Badder and badder things happened to him,” Kevin continues. “Some of the things are too bad to talk about in front of girls. But the boy kept complaining that nothing scared him. Finally, the boy decided to spend three nights in a haunted castle. If he did that, he would get all the treasure there and also marry the king's pretty daughter whether he wanted to or not. But he stayed there anyway.

“The boy had some really extreme adventures in the castle, but still nothing scared him, and he was bored even when some heads and legs fell down the chimney the second night! It was no big deal for him. That's what my drawing is about,” he tells us, holding it up for inspection.

By now, most of the girls and a couple of the boys—including me—are looking nervous about where this story is going. But Ms. Sanchez seems okay, I'm relieved to see, and she's read it before.

“The last night in the haunted castle,” Kevin says, “there was even a coffin in the boy's room, and the dead body tried to strangle him! But
still
he wasn't scared.

“So the boy got all the treasure, which was cool, but he also had to marry the king's daughter, even though they were way too young. But that's when he learned about the shivers, because his new wife got so tired of him complaining all the time about being bored that she threw ice water on him one night when he was asleep. But he never did learn what fear was. And the lesson is, don't get married too soon.”

Kevin clears his throat again before reading the last part of his story, the personal part. “Here is why this story is special to me,” he says, sneaking me a look. “A lot of stuff scares people now, like war, or bombs, or terrorists, or being poor, or getting beat up, or even worse. That stuff scares me, too, so I'm not like the boy in the story who was scared of nothing. Also, I don't get bored very often.

“But I decided I needed to have a few scary adventures, the same way that boy did. I wanted to keep my regular friends, but also hang with some new people, too. I wanted to try stuff even if it freaked me out. Because I think that's how guys learn to be brave these days, since we're not allowed to spend three nights in haunted castles. The End.”

Oh
, I think, watching Kevin walk back to his seat, eyes down. Why didn't he just say so? He could have told me what he was up to. I wouldn't have liked it, because—
Jared
? And Kevin might never be friends again with Corey and me the same as before. But I would have felt a whole lot better if I'd known.

I even
get
it, kind of. Maybe Kevin is scared of skating, even though his cousin is good at it, so he jumped at the chance to try something shivery and new. And he has
always
been a little scared of Jared and Stanley. Especially Jared.

Maybe Jared was Kevin's version of the beanstalk.

Cynthia's hand shoots up in the air. “What is the
point
of that story?” she asks before Ms. Sanchez even calls on her. “Because I don't think the point is that you should never get married. That bad boy never learned any lessons, and he got all the money—
and
the beautiful princess. He didn't deserve her! I don't blame her for dumping ice water all over him.”

“Ideas? Anyone?” Ms. Sanchez asks the class. She sounds tired.

To my surprise, my hand goes up. And I hardly ever raise my hand in class.

“Yes, EllRay?” Ms. Sanchez says, an encouraging look on her face.

“The point of Kevin's story is that it was important to
him
. And that is a good enough reason for him to choose it,” I tell Cynthia—and the whole class, even Kevin, to let him know that I understand what happened with us. A little, anyway.

“Good answer,” Ms. Sanchez says, smiling big. “As I told EllRay in our private conference, girls and boys, it's a matter of making each story your own.”

“You never said that to
me
,” Cynthia mutters, her arms folded across her chest, and Heather nods, frowning.

“Maybe I never got the chance to say very much at all,” Ms. Sanchez tells her, lifting her eyebrows but still smiling. “Now, EllRay Jakes. It's time for you to tell us about ‘Jack and the Beanstalk,' and how you made
that
story your own.”

My heart starts
POUNDING
. But I've already learned that I can be at least
kind of
a hero, I tell myself, clutching my paper in a death-grip as I walk stiffly to the front of the class, my knee aching and my scrapes hot and stinging underneath their bandages.

I read that same paper I'd written earlier, about how Jack stole a bunch of stuff from the giant, who finally—thanks to Jack—fell off the beanstalk and died. But I changed the ending. Here's the new one.

“Why is this story special to me? I decided I still like it, even though Jack turned into a robber. Stories don't always turn out the way you thought. But if you leave out Jack's life of crime, you still have the beanstalk, and that's cool. Also Ms. Sanchez told me there can be lots of beanstalks a kid has to climb in his life. Or her life. Sometimes you don't even know it, but when you make yourself do something scary or hard, you may be climbing one.

“The thing I learned for myself is that there can be lots of different giants to battle in your life, too, even if you're a kid! And the worst giant might not be the guy you thought it was going to be. Giants can sneak up on you, so you have to keep your eyes open. The End.”