by Sally Warner
“I always knew you were magic, EllRay,” Ms. Sanchez says, hugging me tight.
“Thanks,” I say, wriggling away. “And thanks for helping me. It was fun.”
“For me too, sweetie,” Ms. Sanchez says.
And a few kids—even some older ones—high-five and fist-bump me as the principal introduces Jared and Stanley’s act.
They changed songs, by the way.
I stumble to my seat in the audience, and the rest of the talent show whizzes by. It includes:
1. Jared and Stanley’s hip-hop dance, which is even better than before.
2. A girl doing gymnastics on a mat while a sparkly light ball twirls behind her.
3. Those older fifth-grade girls, all dressed in pink, dancing so hard to the “Barbie Girl” song that the principal starts looking nervous.
4. A bunch of sixth-grade boys dressed up like zombies, doing the old “Thriller” dance.
And those are just the acts I remember.
The Oak Glen Primary School Talent Show was fun.
And I got to be part of it!
19
WOO-HOO!
“Woo-hoo!” Kevin shouts fifteen minutes later, as he and I barrel into our classroom after school has let out. “Look at all the food, dude.”
Some third-grade parents were busy decorating the room during the talent show. They put out platters of yummy-looking food, and my stomach growls the second I see it. Lots of little hamburgers and turkey burgers are piled up high, hot dogs have been cut in half—to make eating more of them easier, I guess. And the sandwiches are cut in quarters the fancy way, in triangles. And there’s lots of other food, too—including a big bowl of fruit salad, and a huge sheet cake with dozens of roses marching across it like a bunch of frosting soldiers. I have never seen so many roses on a cake.
Everyone will get one, with no fighting. Alfie will be so happy!
I hardly ate a thing today, I was so nervous. Also, like I said, I was trying to keep my shirt clean. But forget that now. Mustard, ketchup, punch, frosting—bring it on.
“It’s beautiful,” Annie Pat says, screeching to a stop and clasping her hands as she looks around. “All yellow and white.”
“Like a field of flowers,” Emma adds, her eyes shining.
Twisted crepe-paper streamers loop all across the ceiling, and flower-bouquetlike bunches of yellow and white helium balloons—helium!—hover in each corner of the room. Maybe we’ll each get to bring one home.
And you should see the real flowers. There’s pretty music, too—like ice skating music. Alfie is already whirling around in circles.
“Girls line up over here,” one of the moms calls out. “We made a little veil for each of you. And boys, you line up over there for your boutonnieres.”
“What’s that?” Jared asks in his most suspicious voice. “Because I am not gonna wear a veil, even for cake.”
“It’s just one little flower you pin to your shirt,” another mom tells him, laughing. “But you don’t need to wear it if you don’t want to.”
I’ll look at it, at least. Flowers are okay. Outside, anyway.
“How do I look?” Kry says, whirling around to face us. A short poufy white veil sprouts from the top of her head.
“Me next,” a bunch of girls—including Alfie—are saying, lining up for their veils.
I guess they all get to be pretend brides during this party, at least—which is kind of a scary thought. There aren’t as many boys lined up over at the boutonniere table, that’s for sure.
“EllRay,” someone says in a quiet voice.
I turn around, and—Corey’s standing there! My best friend! He smells like chlorine, and his freckles look extra speckly, like they’re waiting to be counted again.
“You’re here,” I say, smiling. “What happened to swim practice?”
Corey smiles back at me. “Mom let me leave early when she figured out how much I wanted to come to the party. I don’t know what she told my coach. I’ll worry about that later. But I missed the talent show,” he says, looking sad. “How did it go?”
“Okay,” I tell him, trying to be modest.
“EllRay was great, and so were Jared and Stanley,” Kevin says, appearing at our sides. “Hey,” he says to Corey, grinning like it’s old times.
Maybe Kevin can be friends with both Jared and me! Even though we’re “opposites.”
“I’m glad they didn’t cut the cake yet,” Corey says, looking at the food tables with hungry eyes. A couple of dads—including mine!—are guarding the tables from all the kids who are now in the room. “Not yet, big guy,” the other dad says to Jared, who was probably about to dive onto the hamburger platter with his mouth open, like a great white shark.
“Ms. Sanchez and the moms get to go first,” my dad tells Jared—and all the other kids, including me, who are eyeing the food as if we haven’t eaten in a week.
“And here she is!” a mother exclaims, as Ms. Sanchez enters the room. She looks as pretty as she did onstage.
“Good heavens,” she says, her engagement ring hand pressed against her chest. “You girls look adorable,” she adds, laughing as she sees all the little veils.
“And here’s your party veil,” Emma’s mom says, bringing it over. Emma’s mom and my mom pin it carefully to Ms. Sanchez’s hair, and our teacher spins around, showing it off to everyone.
“It’s not every day a person has a wedding shower,” Annie Pat’s mother says, her drooly, red-haired baby perched on her hip. “The children really wanted to honor you. They love being in your class so much.”
I like it better when people say “kids” instead of “children,” but whatever.
“Eat something, Ms. Sanchez,” Jared begs. “So we can go next. After the moms, I mean.”
“Yeah,” Stanley says, like he’s seconding a motion. “Please,” he adds, catching a look from one of the moms.
“All right, you poor captive children,” Ms. Sanchez says with a laugh. She goes to one end of the long food table and takes a plate.
“And the mothers go next,” Stanley’s plaid shirt–wearing dad reminds us, like he’s directing a square dance.
So they line up, too. “I’m little. I’m with her,” Alfie announces, pointing up at my mom. Alfie is not about to miss out on any food. TRUTH.
Us kids are all keeping an eye on the food platters. We’re all worried that there won’t be enough—or that the kids who go through the line first will hog everything, and run off cramming hamburgers and hot dogs into their mouths as fast as they can.
But they won’t get the chance, because the dads are policing the table. Some of them are even serving up food with long, pinchy tongs.
“Don’t worry,” my dad calls out. “There’s plenty more where this came from!”
And pretty soon, everyone is busy eating and drinking—at our desks, which have probably never had so much fun before in their entire lives.
Poor desks!
20
COUNT ON IT
And that’s when Ms. Sanchez’s future husband—okay, Mr. Timberlake—enters the room. “Sorry I’m late,” he calls out to Ms. Sanchez, who blows a kiss in his direction.
Ew. Mushy. He’d better not kiss her for real.
He heaps his plate high with our food and goes straight to Ms. Sanchez’s side.
“It’s time for the present,” one of the moms announces.
“Hooray!” the parents cheer. A few of them even clap their hands, but not us kids. We know what the present is, so we just keep eating and drinking.
There’s ice cream floating in the punch, did I say?
And out from the supply closet comes a big wrapped gift. “For us? What could it be?” Ms. Sanchez asks.
I actually feel sorry for her! I mean, a vacuum cleaner? Even if she and her new husband can dance around with it?
But she and Mr. Timberlake look really happy when they open it, which is just sad. I never want to grow up if it means that getting a vacuum cleaner
is the best thing that happens to you all day. And one present for two people? What’s up with that?
“Thanks,” they’re telling everyone, sounding like they mean it.
“We have something for you, too, Ms. Sanchez,” Cynthia announces loudly, as if the wedding shower book was all her idea and she didn’t keep saying how hard it was going to be to make it. “We did it all by ourselves,” Cynthia adds. “Fiona will go get it for you.”
And Fiona trots off looking for the cardboard box she brought with her today. She comes back a few seconds later holding a gift-wrapped package with a big, fancy, white-and-silver bow on it. “Here,” she says shyly, handing the present to Ms. Sanchez.
“We know nothing about this,” one of the moms calls out, holding up her hands to show how innocent the grown-ups are. And they laugh.
“Help me open it?” Ms. Sanchez asks Mr. Timberlake, and together, they tear off the wrapping paper. And there’s our book. “Oh,” Ms. Sanchez exclaims, holding it up for all to see.
Fiona really did great, I think as I stare at the cover. It shows a beautiful bride who looks like a cross between Ms. Sanchez and Barbie, and, as promised, lace ruffles outline the edges of the picture. Glued-down pearls are scattered all around.
Alfie looks like she’s about to grab that book and run for the door, it’s so pretty.
“I love it,” Ms. Sanchez tells us, holding it to her chest and giving Fiona a special look that says without words how much she likes the cover.
“But that’s not all,” Cynthia says, still in charge. “Because inside, we each wrote what we like about you.”
“And we gave you some advice about getting married,” Emma adds.
“Oh, boy. This I gotta see,” one of the mothers says.
“Maybe someday we’ll share it with you,” Ms. Sanchez tells the parents. “But we get to read it first. After all, the children made it for us.”
For you, Ms. Sanchez. For you.
“So let’s get on with the party,” she says, holding the wedding book tight. She takes a peek inside, and a sunny smile spreads across her face—like the yellow frosting decorating Alfie’s golden-brown face.
“We’re good for another ten minutes, anyway,” Stanley’s dad announces. “Because the custodian says we need to start cleaning up pretty soon.”
“Aww,” a few kids groan. But most of the food is gone, and the presents have been handed over, so why hang around?
“Scrape your plates when you’re done, everyone, and then put them in the recycling bag,” the recycling mom calls out. I think it’s Fiona’s mother. She looks a little Fiona-ish. “Punch cups, too,” she adds.
“Punch cups, three,” Corey says to Kevin and me, being goofy.
“Punch cups, four,” Kevin chimes in.
My two best friends are back. For now, anyway.
It’s magic!
And even though my new illusions are stashed away in my mom’s car, in my new-old briefcase, I suddenly feel like there is magic all over the place. Because apart from my two friends and me being tight again, isn’t it also magic that Fiona, the shyest girl in our class, is now standing in the middle of a bunch of admiring kids, all because of the art she made?
And isn’t it magic that I turned from a shrimpy, goof-up kid into a magician who didn’t hurl or keel over during the all-school talent show?
Me, EllRay Jakes!
And isn’t it magic that my dad came through for me the way he did?
MAGIC all over the place!
And it’s only April.
I can tell that Ms. Sanchez loves our book. It’s her best present by far. She’s reading even more of it now, in fact, and flashing each of us that special look she gave Fiona a few minutes ago.
Hey, she’s walking in my direction! “Hello, there,” she says when she reaches me. “A little bird told me that this book was your idea. We can’t thank you enough.”
We.
“That’s okay,” I mumble, staring at my sneakers. “I hope you like it. Everybody worked on it,” I add, remembering to be fair.
Ms. Sanchez sinks down, pins a daisy boutonniere to my good shirt, then puts her arm around my shoulder. She gives it a squeeze. “I’ll remember you forever, Mr. EllRay Jakes,” she says, speaking softly into my embarrassed ear. “I’m glad we have more time together before we have to say good-bye. Who knows what fun our class will still have? But when the time finally comes, remember that I’ll always be here for you—just down the hall from wherever you are. Or someone like me will be down that hall, if they’re lucky.”
“Really?” I say, looking up into her sparkly brown eyes.
“Really,” she promises. “You can count on it.”
“Well, okay, then,” I say, trying to make a joke out of it. “I guess you can go ahead and marry that guy.”
“Thanks, sweetie,” she whispers, giving me another hug.
She calls me “sweetie” sometimes. I’m just now getting used to it.
Ms. Sanchez stands up, straightens her skirt, and goes off to talk to somebody else.
But that’s all right, because no one can ever take this day away from me.
ABRACADABRA!
