by Sally Warner
And the three of us are quiet for a few minutes as we slurp up our noodles.
Well, my mother doesn’t slurp, she winds the noodles around her fork. But that’s hard. Only grown-ups can do it.
I clear my throat, because I have something important to say—and my dad being gone means that this is the perfect time to say it. “We should get an ATV,” I say, looking at my plate. I try to sound like an ATV is something our family obviously needs, only we have forgotten to buy one before now.
“Yeah,” Alfie agrees. “And we should put it in my room so I can watch anything I want. In the middle of the night, even.”
Mom dabs at her lips with her napkin, which doesn’t even have any spaghetti sauce marks on it, even though we have been eating for almost five minutes. She smiles. “I don’t really see that happening, sweetie,” she says to Alfie. “You watch enough TV as it is.”
“Not a TV,” I say quickly, before Alfie can start arguing. “An ATV. That’s an All-Terrain Vehicle.”
“Boo,” Alfie murmurs, losing interest.
“I know what an ATV is, EllRay,” my mom tells me. “And I can’t really see your father buying one, can you?”
“Yes, I definitely can,” I say. “It would be useful when we’re collecting rocks. You can have an ATV and still love the environment, you know.”
“But don’t you think your father’s more likely to spend any extra money we might have paying bills, or put it into your college savings accounts?” she asks me. “Or even into our retirement fund?” she adds, not looking very hopeful.
Alfie looks up. “Only grandmas and grandpas retire,” she informs us. “They’re old. And you’re not old, Mommy. Not that old.”
Alfie’s kissing up—for no reason. Just to keep in practice, I guess.
“Well, thank you, Miss Alfie,” Mom says. “But your daddy and I will be old, someday.”
Alfie looks at her, horrified. “No,” she says. “I don’t want—”
“An ATV,” I interrupt, because we are straying from the topic, as Ms. Sanchez so often tells us. “For the desert and the mountains and the beach. Lots of people have them.”
“Name one,” my mom challenges me.
“Jared’s dad,” I tell her.
“Ahhh.”
She says it like that because Jared and I have had some problems in the past.
In the past few weeks, even.
I can tell my mom thinks I’m jealous of Jared and his ATV. Which I am, a little.
“Jared’s lucky,” Alfie says sadly, speaking to her last few noodles.
“You’re telling me,” I mutter.
“Well,” Mom says, “I’ll pass the suggestion along to your father when he gets home, EllRay.”
“How about asking him when he calls tonight?” I suggest—because that way, my dad will have a chance to get used to the idea.
Maybe he won’t say no right away, at least.
“If I get the chance,” Mom promises. “But don’t get your hopes up. And finish your delicious salad.”
4
KIND OF CRAZY
“Hi, Dad?” I say later that night when my mom hands me the phone. Alfie has already gone to bed, or she’d be hogging the whole conversation.
“Hello, son,” my father says. His voice does not sound very far away, which makes me feel nervous because of what I am about to suggest.
“How’s the conference going?” I say, wanting to be polite before asking for an ATV when it’s not even Christmas or my birthday—and when I can’t even drive yet.
“It’s going fine,” Dad tells me. “I’m presenting my paper tomorrow morning.”
“Well, I don’t want to bother you,” I say, still being super polite. “I just thought maybe we should buy an ATV when you get home. With flames.”
I think saying “we” was a good idea, and so was saying the whole thing really fast.
“Flames?” my dad says, as if he has just now started paying attention to what I am saying. “What’s this about flames?”
“Pretend flames,” I say quickly, before he calls the fire department long distance.
“They’re decals, really. On the sides of our new ATV.”
“What new ATV?” Dad asks, sounding confused.
“The one you should buy when you get home,” I tell him patiently. “For driving in the desert when we’re collecting rocks.”
“Why?” my dad asks, shuffling some papers. I can hear him do it!
“You’re not even paying attention,” I complain.
“Yes I am,” my dad says. “You want me to buy a new ATV when we already have a perfectly good Jeep. A classic. It’s practically vintage, son.”
“That just means old,” I tell him. “And our Jeep doesn’t have any flames on it. It’s rusty, too.”
“We can spray-paint some flames on,” Dad says, laughing. “Just you and I, EllRay.”
“Really?” I say, because this sounds like a very un-Dad activity.
“Sure,” my dad says. “Why not? If we’re careful, and wear masks while we’re spraying.”
Being careful and wearing a mask is not the way I would spray-paint flames on a Jeep, if I had a choice, but it’s better than nothing. “And not Alfie?” I ask.
“Not a chance, if you can keep it under your hat,” Dad says. This means I should keep my mouth shut and not go blabbing anything about spray paint to my little sister. “This is going to be fun, EllRay,” my dad says, like I need telling. “We’ll go shopping for the paint when I get home, and you can choose the colors. How does that sound?”
“Good,” I say, suddenly feeling like I don’t even know my own father. We’ve hardly ever done anything like this before, that’s why. Something alone, and kind of crazy, just to make me happy. “Thanks,” I mumble into the phone.
“You’re welcome, son,” Dad says.
“’Night,” I tell him.
“Good night, EllRay. And sleep tight,” my dad says.
So, that’s good, I think, hanging up the phone.
But I still don’t have anything big to brag about.
5
MY CRYSTAL-CLEAR IDEA
On Monday night before bed, as my mom is giving Alfie her usual three-towel bath, I wander into Dad’s home office to look around—because I kind of miss him.
Also, I usually don’t get to go in there unless I’m in trouble.
Even though almost anyone would think that being a geology professor is boring, my dad’s office is pretty cool. The wall opposite his desk is completely covered with wood shelves that are so narrow an apple would feel fat sitting there. All my dad’s favorite small rock specimens are on these shelves, and each one is carefully labeled. The rocks are from all over the world—Asia, South America, North America—and he collected each specimen himself.
My dad has been everywhere.
My favorite shelves are the ones nearest the window, because those hold the crystals. Dad put the crystals there so that sunlight will shine on them first thing in the morning. He says it’s a nice way to start the day.
Crystals grow on or in rocks, and they are like diamonds, only better—because they’re much bigger, and they come in so many different colors: blue, green, red, orange, and yellow. Even the gray and brown crystals are awesome, not to mention the clear ones that are like ice that never melts.
And crystals look like somebody carved them, only they grew that way. Nature was the carver.
But my dad was the guy who collected them, and he has a story for each one.
My dad’s rock specimens are his life scrapbook, practically.
I just wish some of the kids in my class could see them. Maybe then they’d stop bragging about their dads’ ATVs, and their money, and their solid gold jewelry, and how everything’s a contest that they are winning.
The kids in my class would see how AWESOME my dad’s crystals are.
And I would win.
That’s when I get my crystal-clear idea.
I will borrow
six of my dad’s crystals—only six!—from his office this very minute, and sneak them up to my room. Then I’ll put each crystal in its very own white tube sock for protection, so they won’t get knocked around inside my backpack when I take them to school tomorrow.
But before that, I’ll spread out the other crystals on my dad’s shelf so Mom won’t see any empty places in case she goes into the office before he gets home late tomorrow night.
Then tomorrow, Tuesday, I will ask Ms. Sanchez if I can show everyone the crystals, and talk—okay, brag—about them, and she will say yes, because crystals are so scientific and beautiful. Everyone in my class will be totally AMAZED and IMPRESSED, and it will be the best Tuesday I ever had in my life. I might even get extra credit!
Then I will take all the crystals home tomorrow afternoon and sneak them back onto the shelf so they will be there when he gets home. He will never know that six of his crystals took a field trip to Oak Glen Elementary School—to make both him and me look good.
There is no way this plan can go wrong!
6
RARE AND VALUABLE
I walk to the front of the class on Tuesday afternoon.
I am holding my backpack against my chest with very cold hands.
“Aren’t we a little old for show-and-tell?” Cynthia asks in her most sarcastic voice.
“We’re never too old to learn something new,” Ms. Sanchez says. “And EllRay has some truly beautiful things to show us. Mr. Jakes?” she says, pretending to introduce me to the class.
“Hi,” I mumble. I feel very embarrassed and shy, even though I know secret stuff about almost all the kids sitting in front of me:
1. How Jared Matthews sometimes sleeps with masking tape on his hair to make it lie flat.
2. How Stanley Washington has already started saving up for contact lenses.
3. How Emma McGraw sometimes wishes she had a baby brother or sister, or at least a pet.
4. How Fiona McNulty doesn’t really have weak ankles, even though she says she does.
“Hi,” a couple of kids say, curious in advance.
“What do you have to share with us?” Ms. Sanchez asks, trying to give me a hint about what to say next.
But I have it all planned—and rehearsed. I plunk my backpack on Ms. Sanchez’s desk and unzip it. “I brought six rare and valuable crystals to show you today,” I say, and I pull out the six bulging tube socks. I set the socks in a straight line on the desk.
“Those are just boys’ socks,” Cynthia announces to the class. “And they aren’t rare or valuable. They’re smelly, that’s all.”
“Would you care to wait out in the hall while we listen to what EllRay has to say, Miss Harbison?” Ms. Sanchez asks in her iciest voice.
“Sorry,” Cynthia mutters, shooting me a dirty look.
“Okay,” I tell everyone. “I brought six RARE and VALUABLE crystals that my dad went all around the world to find for his collection. He’s in Utah right now, in fact, doing important stuff. And here’s the first crystal,” I say, carefully shaking it out of its sock, which I labeled last night with a permanent marker.
“OOH,” a couple of girls in the front row say, staring at the crystal.
“This is called a topaz,” I say, holding it up. It looks like see-through gold, even though topazes are often brown. This topaz’s sides are so perfectly smooth that they look like someone polished them. “It’s from Brazil, in South America,” I tell everyone. “And it got this way all by itself.”
“No way,” Jared cough-says in the back row.
“Way,” I say coolly. “And next is another crystal from Brazil. It’s called a tourmaline.” And I hold up a beautiful crystal that looks like a piece of the sky, it is so clear and blue. “Tourmalines are also found in some places in the USA, but like I said, my dad found this one in Brazil. Which is where the Amazon River is,” I add, inspired. “With piranhas and everything. Not to mention all the snakes.”
Fiona McNulty shudders, probably thinking about those piranhas and snakes. The kids in my class are quiet now, and they are staring at the last four tube socks with hungry eyes. They never knew crystals were this cool! They never knew I was this cool. Or my dad.
“And here is an aquamarine crystal,” I say, holding a blue-green crystal up to the light. It looks like solid swimming pool water. “This crystal is from Pakistan, which is right next to India. Pakistan is pretty dangerous now because of the politics. And it was probably dangerous when my dad went there, too, but he didn’t even care!”
I sneak a peek at Jared. He looks impressed by my dad’s bravery.
A little, anyway.
Ms. Sanchez taps at her watch, which means that I should hurry up.
“And my number four crystal is called a garnet,” I say, holding up a dark red crystal formation.
“Ooh,” the girls in the front row say again.
“This crystal is from India, where there are Indians,” I tell everyone. “But not the same kind of Indians as in our country, where they are called Native Americans.”
Ms. Sanchez should be giving me even more extra credit for this, I think—because it’s history, geography, and science—all at the same time!
“And my number five crystal is called smoky quartz,” I say, holding up a clear gray formation that looks like a wizard could turn it into a crystal ball that really works, if he wanted to. “It’s from Nevada, which is only one state away from here,” I say. “And I’ve gone rock-collecting there with my dad, and we saw a rattlesnake once. And also a tarantula,” I add, even though we really saw the tarantula in Arizona. I don’t have any Arizona crystals with me, but I think that big hairy spider should still count for something.
“Did the snake bite you?” Annie Pat Masterson asks, her dark blue eyes wide.
“Almost,” I say, like it was nothing—even though in real life, the snake was in the road and I was in the car.
But if I’d gotten out of the car, it could have bitten me.
If it hadn’t already been run over.
“Last but not least,” I continue, “is the Herkimer diamond, which is fancy quartz, not really a diamond. It’s from Herkimer, New York, which is also in the United States.” And I hold up something that looks like it might be the biggest diamond in the world. It’s almost as large as an orange! Well, a tangerine, anyway.
Stanley Washington’s eyes look like they’re about to drop out on the floor, he is so impressed.
“Wow,” Kevin McKinley says, looking as though he’s about to start clapping.
Corey Robinson seems proud just to know me.
“And that’s the end of the crystals I brought,” I tell everyone, trying to sound modest. “Only these are just six from my dad’s collection—which is huge.”
And when I pick up the crystals and walk back to my chair, my sneakers can’t even feel the floor, my whole body is so happy and proud. I feel like a rock star!
“Thank you, EllRay,” Ms. Sanchez calls after me. “And I’ll be sure to thank Professor Jakes, too, the next time I see him,” she adds.
Uh-oh! Ms. Sanchez is very polite. Too polite, sometimes.
“No, that’s okay,” I tell her quickly. “I’ll do it for you.”
“Now, gather up your things, boys and girls,” Ms. Sanchez tells everyone after glancing up at the clock. “Because the final buzzer is about to sound. And don’t forget to review your spelling words for the test tomorrow—including these two new words: crystal and formation.” And she writes the two words on the board.
I cannot believe something I brought to school will make it onto an official spelling test. C-r-y-s-t-a-l. F-o-r-m-a-t-i-o-n.
I just hope I spell those two words right on the test, that’s all!
7
WHAT AM I SAYING?
Some of the kids in my class crowd around me the very second the final Tuesday afternoon buzzer buzzes—even Jared and Stanley.
This is so cool. My wish has come true! I have never been the most impor
tant person in the room before, and it feels great.
In fact, I wish this feeling could last forever!
“Can I touch one of the crystals?” Annie Pat asks.
“Sure,” I say, because touching a crystal can’t hurt it. “Which one?”
“The red one,” she tells me. “Red is my new favorite color.”
“That’s the garnet,” I remind her, hauling the lumpy formation out of its sock again.
Annie Pat touches the garnet with her fingertip as if it might have magical powers. “Um, can I hold it?” she asks. “Just for a minute?”
And suddenly, I know how to make this good feeling last a few minutes longer. “You can keep it—”
“. . . for five whole minutes,” I was about to say, but Annie Pat is so excited that she interrupts me.
“Forever?” she asks, like I have just given her a princess crown. She is jumping up and down.
“Sure,” I tell her.
What am I saying? That crystal belongs to my father!
“Ooh, what about me?” Cynthia asks, pouncing like a cat going after a grasshopper. “Can I have that baby blue one?”
“It’s called a tourmaline,” I remind her, my heart crashing around in my skinny chest as I try to think of what to do next. But I can’t exactly say no, can I? I mean, I just gave the garnet to Annie Pat!
“And Emma can have the aquamarine crystal,” I announce, amazed at my own generosity as I hand over a third crystal.
Three down, three to go. I’m doomed.
“Oh, thank you, EllRay,” Emma whispers, cradling the blue-green crystal with both hands.
“EllRay?” Ms. Sanchez says quietly, appearing at my elbow as if a genie just rubbed a magic lantern. “May I have a word with you in private, please?”
“Sure,” I say, shrugging to show everyone how not-nervous I am when our teacher asks me this question. I walk over to her desk, where she has been tidying up—and eavesdropping, obviously.
