Read Online EllRay Jakes Is Magic by Sally Warner - Free Book Online
Authors: Sally Warner
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“That, and the right equipment, and a whole lot of practice.”
“So, you’ll tell Mom what I decided?” I ask, looking at my knees again.
I hate the thought of disappointing my mom—more than anything, just about.
“I’ll take care of it,” Dad says. “Why don’t you goon upstairs and jump in the shower? I have a few things to take care of in here, and then I’ll come tuck you and Alfie in.”
“But don’t say anything to Alfie about leaving the lights on,” I remind him. “Because I think she needs at least one more night before she backs down.”
“Got it,” my dad says with one quick nod. “See, I do listen to you, son. Now, scoot.”
And I scoot.
14
MAN-TO-MAN
Grown-ups call Wednesday “Hump Day” because it’s in the middle of the Monday to Friday work week. You have to get over it—the invisible “hump”—to be able to coast down the other side of the hill toward Friday and, best of all, the weekend.
I think it’s the same for kids, because Wednesday mornings are always a pain.
1. It’s hard to get up on time.
2. It’s hard to pry your little sister out of the bathroom so you can at least brush your teeth.
3. It’s hard to find a shirt you want to wear that’s clean, or nearly clean.
4. It’s hard to get all your school stuff together so you don’t forget anything and get in trouble in front of the whole class.
But today, Wednesday, I wanted to get to school early enough to talk to the principal, so I pulled it together. And here I am, one of many kids swarming up Oak Glen Primary School’s wide front steps.
And there
he
is, planted right in the center of the middle step where he “sees all,” as he sometimes tells us at assemblies. “Mr. Jakes!” he calls out through his beard.
But today, instead of ducking my head, waving hello, and hurrying past him, as usual, I stop.
“Penny! David. Hey, Kelli, what’s up? Bryce,” the principal is calling out. “What’s happening, Mai? What’s shakin’, bacon?”
I clear my throat a couple of times, the way my half-friend Kevin sometimes does to get attention. But the principal can’t hear me AHEM
-ING over the roar that surrounds us. “Excuse me,” I say, but my voice is still too quiet for him to hear.
“Looking good, Leonard,” he yells. “Morning, Miss Daisy Liu!”
“Excuse me, Your Honor,” I shout in a way-too-loud voice. A couple of older kids turn, point, and laugh.
So does the principal. “‘
Your Honor
,’” he sayslike he’s quoting me. “That’s a good one, EllRay! You’re priceless, d’you know that? How can I help you, son?”
“I can’t be in the talent show on Friday,” I tell him louder than I’d like to.
“And why is that?” he asks, focusing his famous laser-beam look at me. “Cold feet?”
“Huh?”
“Stage fright,” he explains, telling me what the expression means.
Oh. That’s what Dad thought, too. And he was right, even if I didn’t admit it.
“No,” I tell the principal, staring at his beard to make talking to him easier. “It’s because my two illusions are meant for small groups, like one or two people, not a big assembly. No one will be able to see them. So I have to—to step aside,” I say, using my dad’s words. “Sorry,” I add, trying to look like I mean it.
“And yet you tried out for the show with those two tricks,” the principal points out, petting his beard.
“I had to think up something fast,” I explain. “I mean, the whole talent show idea
was
kind of last-minute.”
Wait. Does that sound like I’m criticizing him?
“I like to come up with something fun for my students toward the end of the year, when things start to sag a little,” the principal tells me, like he’s talking man to man. “Only there’s no money left in the PTA Special Events Fund. So a talent show seemed like a good option.”
“You mean because it’s
free
,” I say. “That’s fine, except my illusions won’t work. Like I said before, they’re
“So, you’ll tell Mom what I decided?” I ask, looking at my knees again.
I hate the thought of disappointing my mom—more than anything, just about.
“I’ll take care of it,” Dad says. “Why don’t you goon upstairs and jump in the shower? I have a few things to take care of in here, and then I’ll come tuck you and Alfie in.”
“But don’t say anything to Alfie about leaving the lights on,” I remind him. “Because I think she needs at least one more night before she backs down.”
“Got it,” my dad says with one quick nod. “See, I do listen to you, son. Now, scoot.”
And I scoot.
14
MAN-TO-MAN
Grown-ups call Wednesday “Hump Day” because it’s in the middle of the Monday to Friday work week. You have to get over it—the invisible “hump”—to be able to coast down the other side of the hill toward Friday and, best of all, the weekend.
I think it’s the same for kids, because Wednesday mornings are always a pain.
1. It’s hard to get up on time.
2. It’s hard to pry your little sister out of the bathroom so you can at least brush your teeth.
3. It’s hard to find a shirt you want to wear that’s clean, or nearly clean.
4. It’s hard to get all your school stuff together so you don’t forget anything and get in trouble in front of the whole class.
But today, Wednesday, I wanted to get to school early enough to talk to the principal, so I pulled it together. And here I am, one of many kids swarming up Oak Glen Primary School’s wide front steps.
And there
he
is, planted right in the center of the middle step where he “sees all,” as he sometimes tells us at assemblies. “Mr. Jakes!” he calls out through his beard.
But today, instead of ducking my head, waving hello, and hurrying past him, as usual, I stop.
“Penny! David. Hey, Kelli, what’s up? Bryce,” the principal is calling out. “What’s happening, Mai? What’s shakin’, bacon?”
I clear my throat a couple of times, the way my half-friend Kevin sometimes does to get attention. But the principal can’t hear me AHEM
-ING over the roar that surrounds us. “Excuse me,” I say, but my voice is still too quiet for him to hear.
“Looking good, Leonard,” he yells. “Morning, Miss Daisy Liu!”
“Excuse me, Your Honor,” I shout in a way-too-loud voice. A couple of older kids turn, point, and laugh.
So does the principal. “‘
Your Honor
,’” he sayslike he’s quoting me. “That’s a good one, EllRay! You’re priceless, d’you know that? How can I help you, son?”
“I can’t be in the talent show on Friday,” I tell him louder than I’d like to.
“And why is that?” he asks, focusing his famous laser-beam look at me. “Cold feet?”
“Huh?”
“Stage fright,” he explains, telling me what the expression means.
Oh. That’s what Dad thought, too. And he was right, even if I didn’t admit it.
“No,” I tell the principal, staring at his beard to make talking to him easier. “It’s because my two illusions are meant for small groups, like one or two people, not a big assembly. No one will be able to see them. So I have to—to step aside,” I say, using my dad’s words. “Sorry,” I add, trying to look like I mean it.
“And yet you tried out for the show with those two tricks,” the principal points out, petting his beard.
“I had to think up something fast,” I explain. “I mean, the whole talent show idea
was
kind of last-minute.”
Wait. Does that sound like I’m criticizing him?
“I like to come up with something fun for my students toward the end of the year, when things start to sag a little,” the principal tells me, like he’s talking man to man. “Only there’s no money left in the PTA Special Events Fund. So a talent show seemed like a good option.”
“You mean because it’s
free
,” I say. “That’s fine, except my illusions won’t work. Like I said before, they’re
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