EllRay Jakes Rocks the Holidays! (10 page)

I would have to move away from Oak Glen
forever
. Maybe to some foreign land.

You can do this, I tell myself as Jared’s horrible fingers are almost touching me. Just hang in there, dude. Just—

BRI-I-I-N-N-N-G!
goes the buzzer.

And I, EllRay Jakes, have officially been saved by the bell.

I have
completed my challenge
.

I drop to the sand with a
thunk
and just lie there, trying to remember how to move. I see some legs walking up to me. “I guess you did it, dog,” Kevin’s voice says.

I think I almost hear some admiration in his words!

And then he’s gone.

“C’mon, EllRay,” Emma urges. “We gotta get to class.” She sounds both confused and worried.

I guess boys are a mystery to her.

It’s because we do stuff for different reasons than girls do, that’s the thing.

Our reasons are good. Theirs are random.

“Yeah. C’mon,” Corey says. And he hauls me to my feet.

Corey is abnormally strong, even though he’s a skinny guy. It’s probably because of all that swimming. His muscles are hiding out, but they’re
there.

“You gotta walk, EllRay,” he tells me. “Left, right. Left, right. Move!”

“How long was I hanging there?” I ask as I scuffle my too-heavy feet through the sand, my sore arms hanging down like logs.

My hands are
killing
me. Each one feels as big as a bunch of bananas.

Hot
bananas.

And I’ve got blisters! They’re popping up like grapes.

“I dunno,” Corey says. “A couple of minutes, maybe?”

“It had to be ten minutes,
easy
,” I argue with as much strength as I can pull together. “Maybe even fifteen.”

“Whatever you say, dog,” Corey says. But I can tell he’s just humoring me.

Who cares, though?

I did it!

13

“What’s with all the blisters, buddy?” Dad asks me at dinner Wednesday night, reaching over to examine my hands. “Your mom mentioned you were hurting.”

“I’m okay,” I tell him. “We were just playing. You know, grabbing stuff.”

“It looks like you’ve been out chopping down Christmas trees,” he jokes. “Which reminds me,” he adds, raising a finger. “I thought it might be fun for us to harvest our own tree this weekend, after the assembly—EllRay’s big day—is behind us.”

“It’s not my big day,” I object. “And you’re not coming, are you? You just went to the P.T.A. meeting. Don’t you have to work?”

“Of course I’ll be there,” Dad says. “I moved some appointments around. I don’t want to miss seeing you do us proud, son.”

Do us proud
.

Does he mean
our-family
-us, or
the-community
-us?

I can’t ask. But either way,
YOW
.

Too much pressure.

“What do you mean, ‘harvest our own twee’?” Alfie asks, frowning.

“You know,” Dad explains. “Saw it down ourselves. There’s a Christmas tree farm not too far out of town. There was a feature in the local paper about it.”

“That sounds like fun,” Mom says. She likes having a real, live—well, dead—Christmas tree in the house each year. “I could pack a picnic,” she adds. “And we can take some pictures.”

Events are very well photographed in our family, thanks to my mom. First time crawling, first steps, first days of school, birthdays, new clothes. Special assemblies, for sure. You name it, and Mom’s been there with a camera.

Alfie’s fork droops. “Saw it down?” she asks, sounding like Dad has just suggested going out and strangling a turkey for our holiday dinner. “Instead of buying it at the Christmas twee store?”

“But Alfie,” I say, trying to reason with her. “Where do you think all the trees in the Christmas tree stores come from? Christmas tree farms, that’s where. People make their living growing them. So it’s the same thing, really.”

“No. They come from the North Pole,” Alfie says, like she’s answering an especially lame riddle. “
Weally
,” she adds, determined to have the last word.

Mom, Dad, and I exchange quick, secret looks, trying silently to figure out what to say next to avoid one of her meltdowns. “Well, moving on,” Mom finally says. “Who wants some dessert? We have applesauce or ice cream.”

Guess which one I choose?

It is now Thursday morning, the day before the big assembly,
An Oak Glen Winter Wonderland.
But I have a feeling that
today
is going to be a big day, too—because I’m pretty sure Kevin’s going to come up with a Thursday challenge for me.

What’s it gonna be?

It’s raining out,
hard
, so at least my poor hands will get off easy this time.

“Let’s go through our song, girls and boys,” Ms. Sanchez says after taking attendance. Each class has just started practicing its song, so there won’t be time for a big group rehearsal. But since I will be the emcee for the first assembly, I know what the songs will be. Ms. Sanchez gave me a list so I could learn how to announce them.

So, perfect! There’s nothing about religion—or sugar—in any of the songs, which I guess will make Principal James and any grouchy parents happy.

Ms. Sanchez says the words to a song are called “lyrics.” “Jingle Bell Rock” has some weird lyrics, no offense. I’ve heard the song before and one of the first lines says, “Blowing up bushels of fun.” I’m not even kidding! I’m surprised we’re allowed to sing about blowing things up, much less at Christmastime. I mean, at Winter Wonderland time. But us boys will probably sing that line the loudest.

KA-BLAMMM-O
!

“EllRay. Listen up,” Kevin whispers as Fiona McNulty passes out the lyrics—which we are supposed to have memorized by tomorrow,
ha, ha
. “Challenge number two, dude. You have to say ‘I love you’ to Fiona when she hands you the paper.”

“
What
?” I say, trying not to squawk. “Dude. This is really challenge number three, counting the emcee thing.”

“And you have to say it so she can hear you,” Kevin adds, ignoring my argument. “
No whispering
.”

A couple of guys—Jared and Stanley, anyway—must have been given the heads-up on this second challenge, because they’re grinning big-time, watching and waiting.

So, I guess they’re in on what’s happening, now.

And Fiona and her weak ankles are getting closer.

Look. I like Fiona McNulty just fine, especially when we’re doing art. You get good ideas just from spying on what she does. But
Kevin’s
the one who kind of likes her. So this is just weird!

And now, she is nearing my desk.

And I have to say I love her.

Only doing this, and then completing the final challenge, using Kevin’s messed-up arithmetic, will balance things out between me and him.

And then we can be friends, and everything will blend together again.

She’s getting closer
.

Closer.

Closer.

She hands one of the papers to Emma, who sits
next to me. Fiona is acting important, I notice—as if she has been appointed Ms. Sanchez’s official Vice Teacher. Maybe permanently.

“Here you go, EllRay,” she says, handing me a piece of paper.

I guess the jingle hop
has
begun.

“Thanks, Fiona,” I say. “I love you. Have a nice day,” I add, all in the exact same tone of voice.

Fiona, who is already handing the lyrics to Kry Rodriguez, stops.

She just
stops
.

And then she backs up a few steps, as if she has thrown herself into reverse.
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

“
What
did you just say to me?” she asks. It’s like my words just gave her an electric shock.

Well, she’s not the only one. I can’t even feel my face.

“I said, ‘Thanks, Fiona,’” I tell her, studying the words to the song.
Supposedly.

“I mean after that,” Fiona says.

“After that, what?” I ask, looking up at her and blinking, to show how innocent I am.

Hey. I said it once. No one said anything about saying it
twice
.

“What did you say after that?” she asks.

“I said, ‘Have a nice day,’” I tell Fiona.

She narrows her eyes. “You’d better not be making fun of me, EllRay Jakes, or you’re gonna get it,” she whispers.

Right. What’s she going to do? Crayon all over me with feathery strokes until I apologize?

But I have to admit, she looks like she’s on the edge of hurt feelings. “I’m not making fun,” I tell her quietly.

And that’s the solid truth. I’m not.

I’m just trying to complete this challenge.

“Fiona! Finish up,
if you please
, so we can all start singing,” Ms. Sanchez calls out. And Fiona shoots me one last look.

I sneak a glance at Kevin, who is shaking with silent laughter. He gives me a thumbs-up, though.

He would be high-fiving Jared and Stanley, if he could.

But who cares? I completed the second—
third!
—challenge.

14