Read Online EllRay Jakes Rocks the Holidays! by Sally Warner - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sally Warner
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anything about Old California history, or
Los Californianos.
”
“I hate him,” I tell her.
“You don’t have to hate people like that, sweetie,” Ms. Sanchez says, smiling. “Just hate what they say. And feel sorry about those empty minds they have to lug around all day long.”
“But—you’re getting married next summer,” I remind her. “And then you won’t even
be
Ms. Sanchez anymore. You’ll be Mrs. Timberlake, only not the famous one.”
“He’s famous with me, EllRay,” she says, laughing. “And I’ll still have brown skin. But in my heart,I will always be Yvette Carolina Angela Sanchez Verdugo. And proud, too, no matter how modest and polite my mama was. And I’d be just as proud if my family had come here much more recently, by the way.”
“Your skin’s more caramel than brown,” I say, trying to think how Fiona the artist would describe it in official crayon colors.
And I’m also thinking that
my
name,
Lancelot Raymond Jakes
, may be weird, or even the “EllRay” part, but at least it’s not long.
That
long, anyway. It would take forever to write it! “Wait a minute. I’m almost finished,” I picture Ms. Sanchez saying, whenever she has to write her name.
“My skin color is brown, EllRay. Just like yours,” Ms. Sanchez insists.
“I guess it is,” I say. And a warm, happy,
proud
feeling spreads through my chest.
Maybe Principal James did choose me to emcee for some complicated grownup reason of his own, or maybe it was pure accident. But I’ll do a good job anyway.
“And you, young man, are going to do a fine jobat the assembly tomorrow morning,” Ms. Sanchez says, reading my mind as usual. “Listen,” she adds, inspired. “I have a special marker we can use. First thing tomorrow morning, I’ll print the four songs you have to announce on the palm of your hand.”
“But what about the introduction?” I ask. “Hello to a Winter Wonderland Welcome in Oak Glen, California,” I say, trying again.
“That would work just fine,” Ms. Sanchez tells me. “But I’ll write down the correct sentence now, so you can practice it tonight. If you want to.”
She prints fast, then glances up at the wall clock. “Oops,” she says, surprised. “Your mom will be waiting for you, sweetie. Tell her I’m sorry I kept you so long, okay?”
“Okay,” I say.
But
I’m
not sorry.
Not even one little bit.
16
LAST CHALLENGE
“We’re supposed to wear red today,” I yell into Mom and Dad’s bedroom about five seconds after I wake up on Friday morning. “I forgot to tell you.”
“Way-y-y ahead of you, EllRay,” Mom says, coming out of her room. She is holding a newly-ironed red sweatshirt as if it is a masterpiece she just finished painting.
And who—besides my mom—irons a sweatshirt?
That’s how important today is to her. And to Dad. And maybe even to Alfie.
“Red enough for you?” Mom jokes. “Listen,” she adds, seeing my surprise. “I’m the room parent, remember. I’m the one who sent out the e-mail last week about wearing a red top, if possible.”
Alfie stumbles out of her bedroom, rubbing her eyes. “Where’s mine?” she asks Mom.
“Still on the ironing board,” Mom says.
“You mean we’re gonna be dressed alike?” I say, but Mom just laughs.
“You
know
Miss Alfie would never wear a plain old sweatshirt,” she tells me, shaking her head. “Hers has a beautiful brown angel on the front, with lacy white wings that stick out a little. It’s adorable.”
Alfie beams. “My angel’s got a sparkly halo, too,” she tells me. “If Santa Claus
is
spying on me, he’ll think I look cute. And
good
, EllWay, because of the halo. So no tattling.”
“Nervous?” Mom asks me, draping the red sweatshirt over my arm with care. “Did you get a good night’s sleep?”
“I got a
bad
night’s sleep,” I inform her. And it’s true, because I had weird dreams all night long. I don’t remember them, but I could use a nap. And I haven’t
Los Californianos.
”
“I hate him,” I tell her.
“You don’t have to hate people like that, sweetie,” Ms. Sanchez says, smiling. “Just hate what they say. And feel sorry about those empty minds they have to lug around all day long.”
“But—you’re getting married next summer,” I remind her. “And then you won’t even
be
Ms. Sanchez anymore. You’ll be Mrs. Timberlake, only not the famous one.”
“He’s famous with me, EllRay,” she says, laughing. “And I’ll still have brown skin. But in my heart,I will always be Yvette Carolina Angela Sanchez Verdugo. And proud, too, no matter how modest and polite my mama was. And I’d be just as proud if my family had come here much more recently, by the way.”
“Your skin’s more caramel than brown,” I say, trying to think how Fiona the artist would describe it in official crayon colors.
And I’m also thinking that
my
name,
Lancelot Raymond Jakes
, may be weird, or even the “EllRay” part, but at least it’s not long.
That
long, anyway. It would take forever to write it! “Wait a minute. I’m almost finished,” I picture Ms. Sanchez saying, whenever she has to write her name.
“My skin color is brown, EllRay. Just like yours,” Ms. Sanchez insists.
“I guess it is,” I say. And a warm, happy,
proud
feeling spreads through my chest.
Maybe Principal James did choose me to emcee for some complicated grownup reason of his own, or maybe it was pure accident. But I’ll do a good job anyway.
“And you, young man, are going to do a fine jobat the assembly tomorrow morning,” Ms. Sanchez says, reading my mind as usual. “Listen,” she adds, inspired. “I have a special marker we can use. First thing tomorrow morning, I’ll print the four songs you have to announce on the palm of your hand.”
“But what about the introduction?” I ask. “Hello to a Winter Wonderland Welcome in Oak Glen, California,” I say, trying again.
“That would work just fine,” Ms. Sanchez tells me. “But I’ll write down the correct sentence now, so you can practice it tonight. If you want to.”
She prints fast, then glances up at the wall clock. “Oops,” she says, surprised. “Your mom will be waiting for you, sweetie. Tell her I’m sorry I kept you so long, okay?”
“Okay,” I say.
But
I’m
not sorry.
Not even one little bit.
16
LAST CHALLENGE
“We’re supposed to wear red today,” I yell into Mom and Dad’s bedroom about five seconds after I wake up on Friday morning. “I forgot to tell you.”
“Way-y-y ahead of you, EllRay,” Mom says, coming out of her room. She is holding a newly-ironed red sweatshirt as if it is a masterpiece she just finished painting.
And who—besides my mom—irons a sweatshirt?
That’s how important today is to her. And to Dad. And maybe even to Alfie.
“Red enough for you?” Mom jokes. “Listen,” she adds, seeing my surprise. “I’m the room parent, remember. I’m the one who sent out the e-mail last week about wearing a red top, if possible.”
Alfie stumbles out of her bedroom, rubbing her eyes. “Where’s mine?” she asks Mom.
“Still on the ironing board,” Mom says.
“You mean we’re gonna be dressed alike?” I say, but Mom just laughs.
“You
know
Miss Alfie would never wear a plain old sweatshirt,” she tells me, shaking her head. “Hers has a beautiful brown angel on the front, with lacy white wings that stick out a little. It’s adorable.”
Alfie beams. “My angel’s got a sparkly halo, too,” she tells me. “If Santa Claus
is
spying on me, he’ll think I look cute. And
good
, EllWay, because of the halo. So no tattling.”
“Nervous?” Mom asks me, draping the red sweatshirt over my arm with care. “Did you get a good night’s sleep?”
“I got a
bad
night’s sleep,” I inform her. And it’s true, because I had weird dreams all night long. I don’t remember them, but I could use a nap. And I haven’t
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