Ellray Jakes the Dragon Slayer (13 page)

“I do,” Dad says, reaching over to rub my head with the flat of his hand, something he likes to do. It’s the mushiest he gets with me. “One of the best. You’re
LOYAL
and
BRAVE
. And forgiving, I hope. But the thing about character is that it isn’t just handed to you when you’re born, and that’s that. You have to keep working on it your whole life long.”

“I’ll have to
work
on it?” I almost yelp.

Like I don’t have
enough
to do? All that homework? And being a good friend to Corey and Kevin? And teaching Alfie stuff, and secretly protecting her from dragons like Suzette Monahan—even if that means dinging up my character a little?

“Hey, don’t worry about it, dirty-sock boy,” Dad says, adjusting my sheet. “You’ll do great. And listen, I’m going to pay for those broken eyeglasses, by the way—except for maybe two allowances from you. Or half of four allowances, so you won’t ever be totally broke. How does that sound?”

“Okay,” I say, relieved. Because I have a lot of expenses—like candy, comic books, and models of dinosaurs, just to give you a few examples.

“But what about today?” Dad asks, getting back to his apology. “I’m sorry I let you down, son.”

“That’s all right,” I say, leaning against him in the dark. “And sorry about the socks.”

“I was just guessing,” Dad admits. “So, do you accept my apology?”

“Yeah,” I say. “I mean,
yes
. I accept your apology.”

“And we’re good?”

“We’re better than good,” I tell my dad. “We’re
super
good.”

“Then good night, EllRay,” Dad says, rubbing my head once more. “And—”

“
Don’t let the bedbugs bite!
” we say together.

18

“EllRay, pay attention,” Mom tells me on Monday afternoon from the front seat of our car—which is still old, but at least has a new battery in it.

Outside our car it is raining a little, but a big storm is on the way, Mom told me this morning. So, as planned, she picked me up from Oak Glen. We are waiting again in the line of cars in front of Kreative Learning and Playtime Day Care. “Sorry. What?” I say, sliding my handheld video game under my backpack, because I know what’s coming.

“Dash inside and get Alfie, okay?” Mom says, catching my eye in the rearview mirror.

Grown-ups like to say “dash” when they’re talking about
you
running around in the rain, I have noticed. As if you won’t get wet if you dash.

“Okay,” I say, not bothering to argue. Because the truth is, I’m kind of curious about how things
went for Alfie today with her friends Gnarly, Moany, and, most of all, the dreaded Suzette Monahan.

And I’ll be able to find out better if I see it with my own eyes.

“What’s Alfie wearing today?” I ask, so I can spot her faster. And a
ZING
of sadness goes through my chest as I remember the wadded-up pink jacket under her bed, nestling among the dust bunnies. That jacket was almost brand-new, and it used to be her favorite thing to wear. She said it made her feel like cotton candy.

It’s strange how one kid—jealous Suzette, calling it “poop jacket” that day, but wanting it later—could ruin something for Alfie that way. You’d think cotton candy would win out over rabbit poop any day of the week.

But real cotton candy can’t stand up to anything, I think, remembering the feeling of a big, cloudy, almost prickly bite of it dissolving into sweetness in my mouth.

It’s sweet for just a second, but still.

“I don’t remember what Alfie had on this morning when I dropped her off,” my distracted Mom says, fiddling with the radio. “Something
cute, knowing her. She was asking where her striped sweater was this morning, so maybe she’s wearing—”

“That’s okay. Never mind,” I interrupt as politely as possible, opening the car door. “It’s not like I won’t recognize my own sister.” And I duck my head and dash toward the day care front door.

“Hi, EllRay,” the teacher with the clipboard says as I squeeze in past all the excited kids wanting to go home.

“There’s my daddy!” one little boy shouts, and the teacher confirms the sighting, checks his name off her list, and watches him scamper—
dash
—to his car.

“Bye, Vlad,” the teacher shouts after him, which gives me something to think about as I make my way through the main playroom. Some goofy parents named their kid Vlad? Like the
vampire
? What is wrong with grown-ups?

Maybe “EllRay” and “Alfleta” aren’t so bad after all!

I was hoping Alfie and her friends would be jammed into the playhouse in the covered play area,
considering the rain. Instead, though, a couple of other girls and a very small boy are playing there. “No, you have to be the
dog
,” one of the girls is saying to the boy, who looks like he cut his own hair today with those snub-nosed scissors they make you use in preschool. Boy, is his mom going to be surprised.

I imagine informing those three kids that Suzette Monahan wets her bed.

Naw, they wouldn’t care.

I stand under the patio roof and stare out through the raindrops at the yard. Two soggy boys are using the swings, probably trying to remember how to pump. They are flutter-kicking their chunky little legs and bending forward a lot, but they’re not getting anywhere. “Push us,” one of the boys calls, spotting me.

“Can’t,” I yell back. “I’m looking for Alfie Jakes.”

“She’s over
dere
,” the other boy says.

He’s looking toward the far corner of the yard.

And out from behind the bush near the rabbit hutch come four little girls, their arms linked—but more in an “
I’m not letting go no matter what!
”
kind of way than a “
La-di-dah, we’re having so much fun!
” way. There’s a big difference.

Suzette leads the line, of course, wearing a navy blue jacket with the hood up. She is followed by Alfie and the other two friends, Moany and Gnarly. Or Gnarly and Moany. I can’t tell them apart yet. Maybe it’ll be easier once Alfie invites them over to play.

Hey. I’ll have to work on that.

But—Alfie’s wearing her pink jacket again!

It’s wrinkled, and definitely wet, but she’s wearing it with confidence. That little jacket seems to glow in the gloomy playground like it’s lit up from inside.

Ha!
In your face
, Suzette Monahan.

Alfie’s getting there! Her pride is growing—a little, at least.

She
is
a rose.

Suzette twists her skinny body as she runs, whipping her followers around like the tail of a dragon. The little girl on the end—the one with the halo of blonde hair—loses her grip and goes flying off the line.

“Bye, Arletty,” Suzette sings out, running hook-armed now with the two other girls in a giant figure eight. It’s like she’s trying to make them dodge the raindrops.

Arletty scrambles over to the covered patio, laughing. “Hi, Alfie’s Brother,” she says, looking up at me.

“Hi,” I say. “Are you okay?”

“I’m all
wet
,” she tells me, sounding surprised as she looks at her arms and legs.

Now, Suzette is running even faster,
ZIG-ZAGGING
like a guy on a football field trying to run the ball closer to the goalpost without getting clobbered.

And—there goes Moany, tumbling off the end of the line. She collapses in a giggling heap, despite the rain.

“Mona,” Arletty shouts, holding out her arms. And Mona jumps to her feet and runs to join us.

Now, it’s just Alfie and Suzette, out in the rain.

Suzette pauses to stare at Alfie, as if coming up with a new plan to fit this unexpected and unwelcome situation. Then she clamps her linking arm tight, stands in one place, and starts whirling. It’s like she and Alfie are on ice skates, they’re moving so fast. It’s just a pink and navy blue blur. Who is going to let go first?

“
Come on, Alfie. You can do it. Hold on
,” I whisper under my breath.

“Al-fie! Al-fie!” Mona and Arletty cheer.

Suzette’s navy blue hood flies back as she spins—and then so does she, bouncing once on her rump—like one of Oak Glen Primary School’s unofficial
dodgeballs. “
OW
,” she cries, but she doesn’t sound hurt. Not really. You can tell.

Still, Mona and Arletty rush back out into the rain, probably wanting to help Suzette to her feet.

But Alfie gets there first.

She’s actually helping Suzette stand up! She’s brushing off Suzette’s rump!

If that was Jared or Stanley out there, I think, scowling, I’d let them just sit in the rain all afternoon. I’d let them
melt
.

Well, maybe.

I wouldn’t brush off their rumps, though. That’s for sure.

But Alfie’s not me. I guess she gets to decide these things for herself.

“Alfie,
c’mon
,” I yell, trying to grab her attention away from the eight-armed hug-fest that seems suddenly to be happening in front of my very own eyeballs. “Mom’s waiting in the car!”

“Okay, EllWay,” Alfie calls out. And she gives Suzette, Mona, and Arletty a final squeeze, one big enough to last them all until tomorrow. Whatever is going to happen
then
.

My head aches just thinking about it.

And Alfie and her pink jacket rush toward me, as sweet as can be.

Sweet for the moment, anyway.

Like—a mouthful of cotton candy.

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