by Sally Warner
Stanley is almost rubbing his hands together like a cartoon bad guy, he is so happy with his fiendish plan.
“Yeah,” Jared says. “Here we are. So let’s see you go in there and wash your hands, EllRay! Slowly. And then I’ll bring that rock back tomorrow.”
“It’s a crystal,” I say again as I stand up straight and get ready to push open the heavy door with the big GIRLS sign on it.
“Whatever, dude,” Jared tells me. “Go for it!”
Annie Pat is laughing quietly inside the otherwise empty bathroom. I’m scared even to look around the place, since it is so much against the rules for me to be in here. But I do take a peek.
It looks pretty much the same as the boys’ bathroom, only messier. I guess when girls are alone, they’re neat. When they’re together, watch out!
No wonder our custodian has a bad temper.
“What’s so funny?” I ask Annie Pat, my heart pounding so hard I can hear it.
“I told those big girls I was about to barf all over the floor, and they ran,” she tells me, still giggling. “Now, wash your hands, or at least run the water, and I’ll start screaming and yelling so Jared will think he’s getting a really good deal out of this. Eeeee!” she wails in a high and horrified voice just as I get the water running.
It sounds so real that I turn to stare at her, my heart pounding.
“OUT,” she roars, in a different, sixth-grade-sounding voice this time. “This is the girls’ bathroom, you dummy! Let’s get him!”
“Yeah, get him,” she says again in a different voice.
Annie Pat should be in the movies or something, she’s so good.
I wave my wet hands in the air to shut her up, grab a paper towel to dry my hands, slam-dunk the towel into the trash, and hustle out the bathroom door—into the main hall, where it looks like Emma has just told some little first-grade girls that they have to wait another minute before using the bathroom.
“But I can’t wait!” one of them is squealing as she jumps up and down in distress. So I hold the door open for her like a gentleman.
“Thanks,” she and her friend say, racing into the bathroom.
“He did it,” Stanley says, almost looking disappointed.
“You did it,” Jared says, slapping my hand. “Those girls in the bathroom were really mad! It sounded like they were gonna get you good. You got your rock, dude,” he adds, heading off down the hall. “Tomorrow.”
“It’s a crystal,” I yell after him—even though another rule around here is no yelling in the halls.
But they were right—I did it! And I’ll get all six crystals back.
“Congratulations,” Emma says, as if she can read my mind.
“Mr. Jakes?” a lady’s voice says, and I turn around, my worn-out heart thudding hard once more.
A woman steps out of the doorway opposite the girls’ bathroom. I think she’s one of the fifth grade teachers, and she’s been spying on us. Listening in, anyway.
“Would you care to explain yourself?” she asks. “What on earth were you doing in the girls’ bathroom?”
Emma and Annie Pat look like statues, they’re so scared. But they don’t have to worry. I’m not gonna get them in trouble, too. I owe them.
And even if I didn’t owe them, I wouldn’t say a word, because—this is my fault.
I started the whole crazy thing when I gave away my dad’s crystals.
Just because I wanted something to brag about.
“Cat got your tongue, Mr. Jakes?” the lady asks, staring at me hard, like she really thinks there might be an invisible cat hanging from my mouth.
“I guess,” I mumble.
“Hmph,” she says, almost snorting. “Well, come along with me, young man, and we’ll see what the principal has to say about this.”
The principal!
Not again.
I was only trying to make things right with my dad, and now:
1. I have to make Annie Pat something cool to put in her aquarium so her fish won’t be bored.
2. I have to give Emma money for half a candy bar for her mom.
3. I have to wade through all of Kevin’s junk after school.
4. And I have to bring Cynthia very expensive-sounding flowers tomorrow, on an official romantic day for girls, and she wants me to give them to her in front of the whole class, which I can’t even stand to think about doing.
5. And on top of all that, I’m in trouble with the principal?
I will never look another crystal in the face again for as long as I live!
16
OOPS
“Well, Mr. Jakes—so we meet again,” the principal says, smiling.
He’s actually smiling! I guess he likes having kids dragged into his office.
Okay, I wasn’t really dragged, but I might as well have been. It’s not as if I have a choice about being here.
“Please take a seat,” the principal says.
I’m so scared that I forget his actual name. I can spell principal, though, because Ms. Sanchez always reminds us, “The principal is your pal, do you see? The word ends in P-A-L.” Like that’s a really fun thing. HAH.
The principal does try to be nice and say hi to every kid in the morning. He usually calls us “Mister” and “Miss,” probably because he thinks that will make us act better.
But I had to go into his office once already this year, and that was one time too many, in my opinion.
And—do you honestly think my dad’s not gonna hear about this?
“So, EllRay,” the principal says, petting the side of his beard. “I hear you strayed into the girls’ restroom. What’s up with that?”
“I’m sorry. I made a mistake,” I say, trying to look him in the eye so he’ll think I’m telling him the truth.
“Well, yes, you did make a mistake,” he says. “But are you trying to tell me that you didn’t realize it was the girls’ restroom?”
“That’s right,” I say, nodding. “I forgot to read the sign on the door.”
“And what about all your classmates who were gathered in the hall?” he asks. “High-fiving you and so on. Was that a mistake, too?”
WHOA! Are there spy cameras in the halls, now?
“Let me tell you what I think happened,” the principal says, not waiting for me to answer his question. “I think it was a dare, Mr. Jakes. I think one of the other boys dared you to go in there, and you took him up on it.”
“But nobody in the girls’ restroom got embarrassed,” I tell him quickly. “We made sure of that.”
“We?” he asks, pouncing on the word.
Oops. “I meant ‘me,’” I tell him, because I don’t want to get Annie Pat and Emma in trouble, too. Or Jared and Stanley, either. Because what good would that do?
Also, I’d never get my dad’s smoky quartz crystal back if I told on Jared.
The principal stops petting his beard. He clears his throat. “Ms. Sanchez told me all about the situation with your father’s crystals, EllRay,” he says.
Whoa. What a squealer she is!
“But why?” I say, and it comes out like a squawk. “That’s between my dad and me, and I’m trying to make it right.”
“Glad to hear it,” the principal says. “And I applaud you for those efforts, but not when they affect your behavior at Oak Glen.”
“I know. I’m sorry,” I tell him again.
But really, I’m starting to feel kind of mad.
“Why did you give your father’s crystals away?” the principal says.
“Ms. Sanchez already asked me that,” I tell him. “I just got a little excited, that’s all. I’m only eight,” I remind him, trying for once to look even smaller than I already am, which is pretty small.
“But what were you hoping to get in return?” the principal asks.
“Respect!” I say, and thunder booms outside.
“You have to earn respect,” the principal says. “You can’t buy it by carrying out dares or giving away crystals, E
llRay.”
“But how are you supposed to earn respect when you don’t have anything to earn it with?” I ask him, my words tumbling out like those little candies in the machine at the supermarket—the machine that always gives you the wrong color candy, as if by magic. “I’m too short to be chosen first in sports,” I say, pointing out the obvious. “And I’m not all that great at anything yet except having fun, to tell the truth. So I was trying to use my dad’s stuff to get respect, the way everyone else in my class does lately. The boys, anyway. But the whole thing backfired.”
“Ah,” the principal says.
“I wanted the kids to see how great my dad is,” I say. “Even though he’ll never buy a humongous TV like Corey’s dad or an ATV with flames on it like Jared’s dad.”
“Some kids do a lot of bragging about their folks in primary school, even these days,” the principal agrees. “Just the way some kids do a lot of complaining about them in middle school and high school. But you have to learn to stand alone, Mr. Jakes—and be judged on your own merits.”
I don’t really know what he’s trying to say, so I keep my mouth shut. That is usually the best thing to do at times like these.
Just another hint!
The principal laughs. “You’re a good kid, EllRay. And you—you—have a LOT to be proud of now.”
“Like what?” I mumble, staring down at my sneakers.
“Like, you’re a good friend,” he says. “For instance, look how loyal you’re being to the other kids involved in that restroom caper. And you try to make things right when you mess up. That takes guts.”
“I mess up a lot,” I admit reluctantly. “So I guess I have lots of guts inside me.”
“Everyone makes mistakes,” the principal says. “But not everyone takes responsibility for their mistakes the way you do. You’re a stand-up guy. I admire you, Mr. Jakes. I think your father is a very lucky man.”
I peek at him to see if he is joking. He looks pretty serious, but it’s hard to tell with that beard covering so much of his face. “You do?” I finally ask.
He nods. “I do,” he tells me. “But I want you to promise me that you’ll stay out of the girls’ restroom—for at least another week.”
Now, he is joking. “For the rest of my life,” I promise.
“Well, okay then,” he says.
“Are you gonna tell my parents?” I ask, looking out the window at the rain.
“Oh,” he says, “I think we can keep this between us, don’t you?”
And I nod yes, of course, because I really, really think we can.
Really.
17
VALENTINE’S DAY
My mom is amazed when I say we have to leave early for school today because I need her to drive me to the supermarket. “Why?” she asks.
“I gotta buy something,” I mumble. “With my saved-up allowance and Christmas money.”
Alfie is listening in, naturally.
“Lancelot Raymond Jakes,” my mom says, frowning. “Don’t you dare tell me I was supposed to make cupcakes for that party today.”
“We get to have cupcakes too, at my day care,’cause it’s Valentine’s Day,” Alfie says, almost drooling at the breakfast table. “Pink, with chocolate sprinkles, I hope.”
“It’s not cupcakes,” I tell Mom. “It’s flowers. I have to buy this special kind of flowers for someone.”
“Oh, EllRay,” my mom says, her brown eyes shining with romance and other embarrassing things. “Of course I can take you to the store. Who are the flowers for, honey? Or is it a great big secret?”
“Are they for me?” Alfie asks, frowning. “Because I like candy best, not toopid flowers.”
“They’re for someone at school, okay?” I say, thinking that Cynthia would be really happy to see me suffering so much just because of her—and because of that tourmaline, which she handed over first thing yesterday morning.
I’ll give her that much credit.
“I know. They’re for Ms. Sanchez,” my mom says like she has solved a riddle. She sounds thrilled. “Well, I think that’s just about the sweetest thing I ever heard.”
“They’re not for Ms. Sanchez,” I say, trying not to yell.
“Then they’re for SOME GIRL,” Alfie exclaims. “Ooo,” she says, and she starts kissing the back of her hand again and again.
“EllRay,” Mom says, astonished. “Really?”
“Don’t get all excited,” I tell her gloomily. “It’s not what you think.”
But I can’t tell her I’m bringing flowers to school because I’m basically being blackmailed, can I? She’d get even more excited, then. And not in a good way.
My dad walks into the kitchen like he’s going someplace important, and he kisses my mom and pours himself a cup of coffee. “Today’s the day,” he says.
As if any of us needed reminding.
“It certainly is, Warren,” my mom says, and she instantly changes his mood by putting his coffee cup on the counter, then whirling him around the kitchen in a pretend dance.
“Me too!” Alfie cries, trying to jam herself between them.
“I’m gonna just go brush my teeth,” I tell everyone, but I don’t think they hear me.
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” Ms. Sanchez says above the excited, special-day buzz everyone is making. “And happy Valentine’s Day!”
The girls are all dressed up, of course, but the boys just look normal.
All except me, because I’m the kid who’s holding a drippy bunch of blue flowers in his lap. And now there’s glitter all over my pants. I’ll probably sparkle all day long.
Thanks a lot, Cynthia.
“As you know,” Ms. Sanchez says, “we won’t be opening our valentines until the end of class, when we’ll also be having a little party, thanks to our wonderful parent volunteers. But it looks as though EllRay has a special valentine that just can’t wait. EllRay?” she says, sounding both encouraging and ready to thank me.
She thinks the flowers are for her.
And so does everyone else. Almost everyone.
Cynthia and Heather are grinning like crazy, of course.
Well, I might as well get this over with. I walk to the front of the class. “These are for—for Cynthia Harbison,” I say, forcing myself to say her name, and I SQUINCH my eyes shut like a bolt of lightning is about to strike me down right here in front of Ms. Sanchez and her third grade class. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Cynthia,” I manage to add, in case Cynthia thinks that’s part of the deal.
Ms. Sanchez—and most of the other kids—look totally stunned.
“For me?” Cynthia squeals, gasping to show how surprised she is, and she races to the front of the class like she’s got little jet engines in her shoes.
What a faker!
“Take ’em,” I mutter, and she does.
“Oh, thanks,” she exclaims, and head down, I hurry back to my seat before she even thinks of hugging or kissing me, in case that was part of her terrible plan. “I don’t know what to say,” Cynthia continues, looking as though she’s about to start saying a lot. It’s as if she’s just won a huge award or something.
“You don’t need to say a thing,” Ms. Sanchez tells her briskly. “Please take your seat, and we’ll put those flowers in some water right after I finish taking attendance.”
I think Ms. Sanchez knows exactly what happened.
I just hope the other kids do, too. Especially the boys.
“Okay,” Cynthia says, looking sorry that she can’t drag out her minute of glory a little longer. “Ohh,” she says, sniffing the flowers noisily as she goes back to her seat.
I hope she gets glitter up her nose!
“Dude,” Kevin whispers to me, looking confused and disappointed. “Dude.”
“I’ll tell you later,” I whisper back.
18
PROUD
“That was some fancy bunch of flowers you gave Cynthia this morning,” Ms. Sanchez says that afternoon at the Valentine’s
Day party, after taking a dainty nibble of her pink-frosted cupcake.
We also have pink lemonade to drink. This is a very girly celebration, in my opinion, but the food’s good if you close your eyes and forget about the color.
“I assume it was a trade?” Ms. Sanchez asks. “For her crystal?”
I take a huge bite of my cupcake, because I can’t figure out whether or not this is a trick question. Will I get in trouble again if I answer it? Or if I don’t answer it? Or will I get Cynthia in trouble?
Sometimes it’s tough being me!
“I dunno,” I finally say, hoping I don’t have a dab of frosting on my nose—the way Cynthia does. SCORE.
She just went prancing by holding her flowers.
“And can I assume a few lessons have been learned?” Ms. Sanchez asks, but she sounds more jokey than strict.
So I get up enough nerve to say, “Excuse me, but do you mean are you physically able to assume that?” Just to tease her.
Maybe it’s the sugar, like my mom’s always saying.
“Point taken, Mr. Jakes,” Ms. Sanchez says, laughing. “May I assume a few lessons have been learned?”
“You may,” I say, eyeing the few leftover cupcakes on the long table.
“You’re something else, do you know that?” she tells me, still smiling.
And however she means what she just said, I decide to take it as a compliment. “Thanks,” I say, smiling back at her. “You too. Happy Valentine’s Day, Ms. Sanchez.”
It is now Friday night, and my mom and my dad—who counted and inspected every crystal yesterday, and then shook my hand and actually hugged me tight—are busy getting ready to go out for dinner. Mom made a special dinner for Alfie and me. She even got two DVDs for us to chose from, with Monique, our sitter, acting as referee.
Monique’s okay. She knows how to crack her knuckles and dance.
I just put Alfie’s “required valentine” on her dinner plate, and I’m pretty sure she’ll like it.
1. Her valentine is at least four times as big as the one I made for Mom.
2. It shows two fuzzy kittens sitting in a basket, and Alfie loves kittens, big surprise.
