EllRay Jakes Is Magic (13 page)

But I probably
will
have to get permission to have someone come up on stage with me. My dad says a magician usually calls this person “my lovely assistant,” so I guess it had better be a girl or a woman. But I’m not gonna call her “my lovely assistant,” that’s for sure.

I mean,
EW
.

“I made you some scrambled eggs,” my mom tells me at breakfast, smiling.

“She made some for me, too,” Alfie pipes up from the kitchen table.

“I don’t think I can eat,” I tell Mom, fidgeting with the buttons on the dress-up shirt she ironed for me last night. Why can’t I wear a regular T-shirt? It’s just kids who are going to see me perform!

And
all the teachers, I remind myself, my heart starting to pound.
And
a bunch of parents.

But does Mom really think I’ll still look this
sharp by two o’clock this afternoon? She’s a dreamer! But I guess I already knew that. That’s probably what writers are.

“You have to keep up your strength, EllRay,” Mom tells me, giving me a squeeze. “Today’s your big day.”

“Don’t remind me,” I beg.

“Today’s my big day, too,” Alfie says, since she hates being left out of anything. “I’m just as much a person as EllWay, Mom,” she continues. “We both come up to
here
, don’t we?” she says, patting the top of her head.

Alfie can say these really goofy things and still make sense, in a way. “It’s her gift,” my dad sometimes tells Mom and me.

“You’re right, honeybun,” my mom says, laughing. “But each of us gets an extra-special day every so often, and this one is EllRay’s. And the rest of us will help celebrate it. That’s what families do.”

“
Mom
,” I say. Can’t she change the subject? I choke down a bite or two of scrambled eggs and then mess up the rest so it looks like I’ve eaten more. I cover what is left with half a piece of toast.

“She means I’m coming to the talent show too,”
Alfie informs me, her mouth full of eggs.

“You
are
? Because it’s really not that big a deal,” I say.

Alfie at the talent show. Anything could happen!

“And I’m coming to the wedding shower too,” Alfie says. “Because Mom is on the committee, and there’s gonna be
cake.
With fwosting woses.”

Frosting roses.

“Huh,” I say.

But the truth is, I don’t mind Alfie coming to the talent show
or
the wedding shower. Some kids in my class already know her, and I kind of like showing her off. That’s how cute she is. But like I said before, don’t tell her.

I just wish the talent show and the party weren’t happening on the same day. Why can’t life spread things out better? Most days are so
boring
!

“Your dad’s giving you his old briefcase for your magic supplies,” Mom says as I get up from the table. “It’s at the bottom of the stairs. He had to leave early this morning to get some work done, so he could join Alfie and me later on at school.”

“Huh,” I say again. I think my brain is stuck.
But it’ll be pretty cool carrying a briefcase full of magic to school.

If only I didn’t have to
do
anything this afternoon.

If only we could cut straight to the cake.

“And now,” I hear the principal say into a microphone at two o’clock that afternoon, “I welcome you all on this lovely April day to Oak Glen Primary School’s Talent Show.”

“Yay-y-y-y!”
the audience roars, and the performers—who are all backstage—look at each other. Our eyes are wide with either excitement or fright.

I wish Corey and his freckles were here! But he had to leave just after lunch. We will be going by grade, so at least Jared, Stanley, and I won’t have to perform after the sixth-graders. Three of the sixth grade girls are already warming up in the shadows. They look like they could be in a music video, only they have more clothes on. Still, try competing with that!

About twelve kindergarten kids are already onstage, behind the closed curtain. They are wearing long, construction paper dog ears that are tied around their heads with yarn. Their teacher and Miss Myrna are struggling to keep them quiet and in two neat rows. “Now, nobody get the yips,” I hear Miss Myrna say.

“First,” the principal announces to the audience, “I present to you some gifted members of Oak Glen’s very own kindergarten class. They will treat us all to their version of ‘You Ain’t Nothin’ but a Hound Dog.’ So put those hands together!” he says, and the audience claps their hands.

The music begins, and the little kids start dancing like crazy, flapping their arms and pretending to wag invisible tails. Eleven of them do, anyway. One boy in the back row just stands there frozen, staring out at the audience with horrified eyes. I guess that’s “the yips.”

I’m with you, kid.

They amble offstage after taking their bows, even the once-frozen boy, who is now smiling like he won a race, and they take their seats in the audience. Most of them are still wearing their construction
paper dog ears. They’ll probably have them on all weekend. Alfie would.

The first- and second-graders’ acts go by pretty fast. First, a couple of tiny girls sing a song from
Lion King
while three boys stomp around, pretending to be wild animals.

Next, in front of the curtain, a few little girls do the hula to loud Hawaiian music. Fake flowers circle their heads the way they do on Alfie’s pink plastic horse, though the girls’ tucked-in T-shirts and sneakers kind of ruin the effect. As the girls step and sway, and their grass skirts swish, three boys pretend to play plastic ukuleles. One of them is rocking out like he’s a finalist at an air guitar contest.

“Yay-y-y-y!”
everyone in the audience cheers as they curtsy and bow.

And—it’s time for the third grade to perform.

I’M UP NEXT
.

18

Time is going by very s-l-o-w-l-y now, and there is a roaring sound in my ears.

What if I hurl onstage? Will
that
count as talent, Mr. Principal?

I’d have to move if that happened!

Miss Myrna has set up a table with a white cloth on it behind the curtain. My two new illusions are on it, waiting for me. I even get to use a microphone, but I probably won’t remember what I’m supposed to say.

And Mom and Dad and Alfie are somewhere out there in the audience.

At least my dress-up shirt still looks pretty good. I skipped lunch, that’s why.

“Now,” the principal says, “for your viewing pleasure, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, I present a magic act that will astound you. You will
have to watch carefully, though, because these tricks are small, so they might be hard to see. But before we begin, I need a volunteer from the audience to assist our young magician.”

“Me! Me! Me!”
I hear a bunch of little kids yell, but the principal and I have worked this out in advance.

“Who is that I see volunteering?” the principal says, peering out at the audience. “Why, it’s our very own Ms. Sanchez!”

“Really?”
I hear Ms. Sanchez say from where she is sitting.

And everyone laughs, because they can tell she didn’t know her name would be called.

I imagine Ms. Sanchez hurrying up onto the stage and standing next to the principal.

Still hidden by the curtain, I walk onto the center of the stage like I am heading to the principal’s office—in trouble and doomed.

Been there. Done that. “Bought the T-shirt,” as my dad always adds.

“Without further ado,” the principal says, “I give you Oak Glen Primary School’s only magician, EllRay Jakes!”

And the curtain parts. Ms. Sanchez walks over to join me, her heels clicking on the scuffed-up stage. She looks extra pretty today, probably because of the party later. She’s wearing a yellow dress.

“Good afternoon, and welcome to my world of magic,” I boom into the microphone in my deepest, most magical voice, the one my dad helped me find last night.

Ms. Sanchez smiles her encouragement, and I suddenly remember every reason from the past year why I like her so much. I’m gonna
miss
her next year.

“First,” I say, “I present to you this completely empty, but very beautiful, bag.”

And I pick up the big, bright red magic change bag. It has gold dragons on the outside, and it is black inside, and it has a zipper at the bottom. Long tassels dangle from each end of the zipper. I show the bag to everyone, including Ms. Sanchez, of course.

“It’s empty,” she announces in a loud, clear voice.

A change bag is made out of silky cloth. It hangs from a wood circle that the magician holds using the long wood handle attached to it. There
is a hidden compartment inside the bag which can only be opened by a flat metal switch under the change bag’s handle, right next to the bag. But Ms. Sanchez can’t see any of this.

“I will now unzip the bottom of this bag,” I say, “to show you that it truly is empty. Ms. Sanchez?” I say, swinging the unzipped bag her way again. “Will you please stick your arm through this bag and show the audience how empty it is?”

And her arm goes through the dark inside of the bag and comes straight out the bottom. “Totally empty,” she announces, waving hi to the audience while she’s at it.

And everyone
LAUGHS
.

Ms. Sanchez pulls her hand out of the bag. I zip it back up.

“But what’s this?” I ask everyone, working the metal switches under the handle to open up the hidden compartment. “Why, it’s a beautiful scarf!”

And from out of the hidden compartment I pull a long, skinny, rainbow-colored scarf.
“Yay-y-y-y!”
people cheer, and I bow to Ms. Sanchez and hand it to her in a fancy, magical way.

She really looks surprised! She puts her hand
to her chest, staggers back a couple of steps, then recovers. Then she wraps the scarf around her neck a few times like a model in one of my mom’s magazines.

I
knew
Ms. Sanchez would be a good “lovely assistant”!

I wish Corey was here to see this.

I put down the change bag, and I pick up an empty plastic flower pot and a magic wand tipped at each end with a golden band. Dad drew a little
X on one band, but I’m the only one who knows it’s there.