EllRay Jakes Rocks the Holidays! (12 page)

San Diego? Pasadena?
Cucamonga
?

Ms. Sanchez laughs. “Well, Los Angeles, as it happens. In fact, my mother’s side of the family were landowners here in California long before it was even a state,” she says. “Only she brought us up never to boast. Not that the man trying to insult me would have known anything about Old California history, or
Los Californianos.
”

“I hate him,” I tell her.

“You don’t have to hate people like that, sweetie,” Ms. Sanchez says, smiling. “Just hate what they say. And feel sorry about those empty minds they have to lug around all day long.”

“But—you’re getting married next summer,” I remind her. “And then you won’t even
be
Ms. Sanchez anymore. You’ll be Mrs. Timberlake, only not the famous one.”

“He’s famous with me, EllRay,” she says, laughing. “And I’ll still have brown skin. But in my heart,
I will always be Yvette Carolina Angela Sanchez Verdugo. And proud, too, no matter how modest and polite my mama was. And I’d be just as proud if my family had come here much more recently, by the way.”

“Your skin’s more caramel than brown,” I say, trying to think how Fiona the artist would describe it in official crayon colors.

And I’m also thinking that
my
name,
Lancelot Raymond Jakes
, may be weird, or even the “EllRay” part, but at least it’s not long.
That
long, anyway. It would take forever to write it! “Wait a minute. I’m almost finished,” I picture Ms. Sanchez saying, whenever she has to write her name.

“My skin color is brown, EllRay. Just like yours,” Ms. Sanchez insists.

“I guess it is,” I say. And a warm, happy,
proud
feeling spreads through my chest.

Maybe Principal James did choose me to emcee for some complicated grownup reason of his own, or maybe it was pure accident. But I’ll do a good job anyway.

“And you, young man, are going to do a fine job
at the assembly tomorrow morning,” Ms. Sanchez says, reading my mind as usual. “Listen,” she adds, inspired. “I have a special marker we can use. First thing tomorrow morning, I’ll print the four songs you have to announce on the palm of your hand.”

“But what about the introduction?” I ask. “Hello to a Winter Wonderland Welcome in Oak Glen, California,” I say, trying again.

“That would work just fine,” Ms. Sanchez tells me. “But I’ll write down the correct sentence now, so you can practice it tonight. If you want to.”

She prints fast, then glances up at the wall clock. “Oops,” she says, surprised. “Your mom will be waiting for you, sweetie. Tell her I’m sorry I kept you so long, okay?”

“Okay,” I say.

But
I’m
not sorry.

Not even one little bit.

16

“We’re supposed to wear red today,” I yell into Mom and Dad’s bedroom about five seconds after I wake up on Friday morning. “I forgot to tell you.”

“Way-y-y ahead of you, EllRay,” Mom says, coming out of her room. She is holding a newly-ironed red sweatshirt as if it is a masterpiece she just finished painting.

And who—besides my mom—irons a sweatshirt?

That’s how important today is to her. And to Dad. And maybe even to Alfie.

“Red enough for you?” Mom jokes. “Listen,” she adds, seeing my surprise. “I’m the room parent, remember. I’m the one who sent out the e-mail last week about wearing a red top, if possible.”

Alfie stumbles out of her bedroom, rubbing her eyes. “Where’s mine?” she asks Mom.

“Still on the ironing board,” Mom says.

“You mean we’re gonna be dressed alike?” I say, but Mom just laughs.

“You
know
Miss Alfie would never wear a plain old sweatshirt,” she tells me, shaking her head. “Hers has a beautiful brown angel on the front, with lacy white wings that stick out a little. It’s adorable.”

Alfie beams. “My angel’s got a sparkly halo, too,” she tells me. “If Santa Claus
is
spying on me, he’ll think I look cute. And
good
, EllWay, because of the halo. So no tattling.”

“Nervous?” Mom asks me, draping the red sweatshirt over my arm with care. “Did you get a good night’s sleep?”

“I got a
bad
night’s sleep,” I inform her. And it’s true, because I had weird dreams all night long. I don’t remember them, but I could use a nap. And I haven’t even had breakfast yet.

“Well, let me finish up with Alfie’s outfit, then I’ll scramble some eggs. You need some protein in that tummy,” Mom tells me.

I’m afraid that if I put
anything
in “that tummy,” as Mom called it, there’s gonna be a tummy-related
disaster. Maybe all over the Oak Glen Primary School stage.

BLAR-R-R-R-T!

But I’m too tired to argue with her, so I keep my mouth shut.

“All right, everyone,” Ms. Sanchez calls out, clapping her hands to get our attention after the last in-class rehearsal. “It’s time to walk to the auditorium.
Quietly
,” she adds, raising a warning finger. “Muffle your jingle bells, ladies.”

And the girls clasp their bells to their chests so they won’t give away our class’s noisy surprise.

We are feeling excited for three reasons. First, today is different from other school days. Second, we are about to perform onstage, in front of a lot of strangers. And third, winter break is about to start. And you can add a fourth excitement for me, because I’m the emcee.

As she promised, Ms. Sanchez used a special pen to print short versions of the four acts on one of my palms.

And on my other palm, she printed, very small, “Welcome to Wonderland!” and “Thanks for coming!” This is followed by “NICE AND SLOW.”

Now, all I have to do is to
not sweat
, because I want to be able to read her writing. And because
I want to do a good job.

I really do! I know that now.

Maybe I
am
a natural leader! Who knows? But if I am, I have to start someplace.

Who cares what Principal Hairy James’s reason was when he said that either Kevin or I had to be the emcee? And who cares why Kevin told me I should do it?

None of that matters anymore.

“Dude, listen,” Kevin McKinley whispers as we work our way down the main hall, which is still decorated with those Frisbee-sized snowflakes.

“What?” I say, interrupting my silent practice.

“I figured out your last challenge,” he says. He has a funny look on his face, like he wants to apologize ahead of time for something.

“I already did three,” I remind him.

“Tell him,” Jared urges in his version of a quiet voice.

“Yeah. Tell him,” Stanley says, grinning like a hyena.

Oh. So that’s how it is. Jared and Stanley are running things, now!

A couple of girls are looking at us as we whisper and walk, but we ignore them.

“Okay,” Kevin says, his voice shaking a little. “At the end of the show, right after you say, ‘Thanks for coming,’ you have to yell out a swear.”

“A good one, too,” Jared says.

He means a
bad
one. A bad swear word.

I’m doomed.

If I
do it
, I’m doomed.

This challenge is definitely coming from Jared, and maybe from Stanley, too. Not Kevin. And it’s more of a dare than a challenge, if you ask me. Because this is not something I would ever want to do.

Anyway, my deal was with Kevin.

And doing a dare was not part of that deal.

Jared pokes Kevin in the back to make him speak, like Kevin is a ventriloquist’s dummy. “You have to yell it real loud, and in front of everyone,” Kevin whispers, right on cue. In case I didn’t get it.

But I got it.

Kevin looks miserable, though.

“Listen,” I whisper back, trying to talk only to him. “It’ll wreck the whole show.”

“Who cares?” Jared says, butting in. “You’re not so great,
EllRay.
Just because you get to be the emcee.”

He sounds jealous! And he would just
love
to see me get in trouble.

“I know I’m not so great,” I tell him—and Stanley, and Kevin. “But the class
practiced
,” I remind them. “And the girls are really excited about dancing. And Ms. Sanchez got all dressed up. And our parents are gonna be there.”

“Not
my
parents,” Jared says.

Oh, right.

They almost never come to anything.

Jared and Stanley are messing with Kevin
and
me. Not only me. But how do I get Kevin to see that?

And they’re doing it because they think they can. No other reason.

I need to stop the clock, I think, my heart thunking as we plod down the hall.

I need time to figure out all the reasons why this is so wrong, in so many ways.

And I need time to explain everything to Kevin, including how sorry I am about what happened, and how cool it was being friends with him.

But also about why I’m not gonna yell out the swear, even if it means having no friends at all except Corey.

I mean, I’m not
perfect.
It’s not like I wouldn’t do something goofy and random! But it would have to be my own idea. And not hurt anyone else. And it wouldn’t be
this
.

Only I can’t stop time, because I am not a
Die, Creature, Die
superhero.

And we’re almost at the auditorium.

The show is about to start.

“They made me do this,” Kevin whispers again, speaking so only I can hear. “But just say the swear, so they’ll still like me. And then you and I can be friends again.”

I try to look him in the eye. “But listen, I can’t—”

“But nothin’,” Stanley says, giving me a shove.