Ellray Jakes Walks the Plank (11 page)

“You don’t have to remind me,” I say, wondering when she is gonna take it home, for pete’s sake.

“Do you see the geode?” she asks, being more exact this time. “That’s you, EllRay Jakes.”

Huh? Gee, thanks a lot!

“I’m a
rock
?” I manage to ask.

“I mean, if people were rocks, I’d say you were that geode,” she explains. “A little rough on the
outside, at least lately, but beautiful and precious on the inside.”

Beautiful and precious? And I thought “sweetie” was bad!

“Please don’t tell that to the kids, okay?” I say, mumbling again.

But Ms. Sanchez just laughs. “Being beautiful on the inside is
much
better than being rough and hard all the way through, the way some people seem to be. At least lately,” she points out.

“It’s not as good as being a
crystal
all the way through, though,” I say.

“Well, not many people are as good as that,” Ms. Sanchez tells me. “Only a very few, in fact.”

Ms. Sanchez is one of them, I think—but of course I could never tell
her
that. She’d think I was kissing up to her.
Smo-o-o-ch.

YUCK!

“I want you to listen to me, EllRay Jakes,” Ms. Sanchez says, leaning forward. “Your reputation is your most precious possession. You have to protect it. You must fight for it. You cannot surrender it so easily, whatever the reason.”

“But I don’t
have
a good reputation,” I blurt out. “Not anymore. Not since the dead fish thing, and the book I forgot to bring back. Not to mention sometimes getting in trouble for bothering my neighbor during Sustained Silent Reading, and forgetting to get official permission slips signed, and stuff like that. I’m getting
famous
for messing up.”

“I’m not saying there isn’t room for improvement,” Ms. Sanchez admits, uttering those dreaded words. “But I
am
saying you’re a wonderful boy all the same. Just don’t give up on yourself, EllRay. I have great hopes for you, and so do your mom and dad.”

“Okay,” I say, sneaking a look at the wall clock and hoping Ms. Sanchez isn’t going to ask me again who spilled the water—because now, I’m still not sure what I’d tell her.

Grown-ups don’t know how hard it is sometimes to be a kid.

Also, I am hoping there is still time for me to eat my sandwich, because my stomach is actually
growling
—the way Cynthia did on the playground that day. “May I please be excused?” I ask, as if Ms. Sanchez is my mom, and we’re sitting at the dinner table.

“Yes,” Ms. Sanchez says. “You certainly may. But I’m going to make an announcement at the end of class today.”

“What kind of announcement?” I ask, my heart suddenly bouncing around in my skinny chest like a marble in a shoebox.

“Wait and see,” Ms. Sanchez says.

“And now,” Ms. Sanchez says later that afternoon, about twenty minutes before school is over for the week, “we have a few items of business to take care of. First, I’ll ask Annie Pat and Corey to hand out the latest progress reports for you to take home and get signed. I’d like them back first thing Monday morning, ladies and gentlemen.”

The progress reports are in licked-shut envelopes, of course, with our names printed in big letters on the front.

I am going to remember to get that thing signed by Monday, I promise myself. No matter
what
it might say inside! I want to show Ms. Sanchez that I can do it.

“Silence, please,” Ms. Sanchez says when the progress reports have all been handed out. “Next, there’s an announcement I’d like to make.”

Cynthia sits up straight in her chair and folds her hands on the desk in front of her like she’s getting ready to hear me get all the blame for spilling that water.

Ms. Sanchez is about to tell everyone how beautiful and precious I am, I think, horrified. “No, wait!” I hear myself say.

Ms. Sanchez stares at me. “You’d like to say something?” she finally asks.

“I guess,” I say, and I walk with concrete feet to the front of the class. “Hi,” I tell everyone. “My announcement is about this hand-held video game I like to play. It’s called
Die, Creature, Die.
”

A couple of girls in my class look instantly bored, like they were just touched with a magic wand, and Cynthia looks confused. But most of the boys are surprised and excited to hear me talking about this game. They like it, too.

Ms. Sanchez just looks surprised. “
TICK-TOCK
, EllRay,” she says, which is Ms.-Sanchez-speak for “
Hurry up.
”

“So, I really like this game,” I tell everyone again, speeding up a little. “Only I’m not very good at it. Not like Stanley and Kevin, anyway.”

Stanley and Kevin sit up straighter in their chairs and try to look modest.

“In fact, I’m almost terrible at it,” I say. “But
Die, Creature, Die
is the newest game I have, and it’s really fun to play. And my ‘personal best’ is getting better, and that’s what this announcement is about.”

Ms. Sanchez relaxes a little, but most of the rest of the kids in class just look confused.

“
Big deal
,” Cynthia cough-says into her hand.

“In case you didn’t know,” I say, talking over her, “‘personal best’ means how much you improve at something, competing only against yourself. And improving takes time. You have to keep working at stuff to get better. You have to keep on trying, no matter how bad things look.”

“Very good, EllRay,” Ms. Sanchez says in a quiet voice as she beams at me.

“And another thing,” I add, before she can call me sweetie again, or suggest that I sit down, “is that nobody can take your personal best away from you. Not if you don’t let them. Like, if someone else is having trouble with
their
game, well I’m sorry,
but that’s their problem. No matter how perfect they usually are.”

Cynthia Harbison slides down low in her chair.

“The end,” I say, because I can’t think of how else to finish my speech.

And I walk back to my chair—on bouncier feet this time.

A few of the kids in my class wriggle in their seats, as if they are silently saying,
“Huh? What was that about?”

But a couple of kids have figured it out.

“Well,
I
have an announcement to make, too,” Ms. Sanchez says. “It’s about a certain young man I know. Now, this young man happens to be such a gentleman that when his four-year-old sister accidentally killed someone else’s pet fish, he took the blame for it, regardless of how bad that made him look.”

There is another wriggle in our class, and the kids look at the empty fish bowl as if they expect Zip magically to reappear and take a final bow. Maybe with little wings and a halo like a cartoon angel, I don’t know.

“And yes,” Ms. Sanchez continues, still not looking at anyone in particular. “This young man may once have forgotten to bring a book he borrowed back to class, but nobody’s perfect, are they?”

Cynthia clamps her lips shut until they are just a skinny pink line. You can tell this is not
her
favorite saying.

“But this particular young man had a lot on his mind that day,” Ms. Sanchez is saying. “And, may I mention, he obviously loved that book. Why, he finished the entire thing during spring break! I could tell that by looking at the very fine map he drew.”

Now
I’m
the one sinking down in my chair, because she is talking about
Treasure Island.
And my map. And me.

“This is also a very loyal young man, ladies and gentlemen,” Ms. Sanchez continues as my cheeks get hotter. “He doesn’t blame others when he makes a mistake. He is a valued member of this classroom community. And as far as the principal and I are concerned, his reputation is spotless.”

The principal! Spotless!

“And now,” Ms. Sanchez says, “because this is
a democracy, I’d like for you all to elect a member of this class to go out and buy our next class mascot with this money.” And she gets a five dollar bill out of her purse. “But it has to be a goldfish,” she adds quickly, seeing the gleam in a few kids’ eyes as they are obviously thinking,
“Rat!” “Tarantula!” “Bright green snake!”

Emma raises her hand. “I nominate EllRay Jakes to buy our class’s official new fish,” she says when Ms. Sanchez calls on her.

This is really nice of Emma, considering that Annie Pat, Emma’s best friend, wants to be the marine biologist—a fish expert—when she grows up, like I said before. But Annie Pat doesn’t even look mad.

Kevin’s and Corey’s hands go up at the same time. “I second the nomination,” Corey says, after Ms. Sanchez calls his name.

“Are there any other nominations?” Ms. Sanchez asks.

Heather Patton looks at Cynthia, as if asking whether or not Cynthia wants to compete against me for this honor, but Cynthia has just about
disappeared, she has slumped so low in her chair.

She’s staring straight ahead—at nothing. But perfectly, of course.

I actually feel sorry for her.

“Then we’ll vote,” Ms. Sanchez says, glancing at the wall clock to see how much time we have left. “All in favor of EllRay Jakes selecting our next goldfish this weekend say ‘
AYE
.’”

And a ragged chorus of “ayes” floats around the room.

“Opposed?” Ms. Sanchez asks, and I wait for the “nays” to boom out.

Only there aren’t any.

Cynthia and Heather may be
thinking
“nay,” but that doesn’t count.

“Then EllRay it is,” Ms. Sanchez says, smiling as she hands me the five dollars. “Don’t you lose that, mister,” she whispers so softly that only I can hear.

“I won’t,” I whisper back, smiling so wide that it feels like my ears might fall off. This is the first time I have ever won an election! It feels
good.

The end-of-school buzzer sounds, and, too late, Annie Pat claps her hands over her sensitive pink ears.

“Get those progress reports signed this weekend, people,” Ms. Sanchez calls out over the uproar that is us, getting ready to escape Oak Glen Primary School for a beautiful and precious weekend.

“Okay,” a couple of dutiful kids call out.

But me and my friends are already halfway out the door—and on to the next fun thing.

I
am
going to remember to get that progress report signed, though.

And I won’t lose Ms. Sanchez’s five dollars, no matter what.

And I’ll buy our class the best official new fish possible.

People are counting on me!