Read Online Ellray Jakes Walks the Plank by Sally Warner - Free Book Online
Authors: Sally Warner
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of the class. “Hi,” I tell everyone. “My announcement is about this hand-held video game I like to play. It’s called
Die, Creature, Die.
”
A couple of girls in my class look instantly bored, like they were just touched with a magic wand, and Cynthia looks confused. But most of the boys are surprised and excited to hear me talking about this game. They like it, too.
Ms. Sanchez just looks surprised. “ TICK-TOCK , EllRay,” she says, which is Ms.-Sanchez-speak for “
Hurry up.
”
“So, I really like this game,” I tell everyone again, speeding up a little. “Only I’m not very good at it. Not like Stanley and Kevin, anyway.”
Stanley and Kevin sit up straighter in their chairs and try to look modest.
“In fact, I’m almost terrible at it,” I say. “But
Die, Creature, Die
is the newest game I have, and it’s really fun to play. And my ‘personal best’ is getting better, and that’s what this announcement is about.”
Ms. Sanchez relaxes a little, but most of the rest of the kids in class just look confused.
“
Big deal
,” Cynthia cough-says into her hand.
“In case you didn’t know,” I say, talking over her, “‘personal best’ means how much you improve at something, competing only against yourself. And improving takes time. You have to keep working at stuff to get better. You have to keep on trying, no matter how bad things look.”
“Very good, EllRay,” Ms. Sanchez says in a quiet voice as she beams at me.
“And another thing,” I add, before she can call me sweetie again, or suggest that I sit down, “is that nobody can take your personal best away from you. Not if you don’t let them. Like, if someone else is having trouble with
their
game, well I’m sorry,but that’s their problem. No matter how perfect they usually are.”
Cynthia Harbison slides down low in her chair.
“The end,” I say, because I can’t think of how else to finish my speech.
And I walk back to my chair—on bouncier feet this time.
A few of the kids in my class wriggle in their seats, as if they are silently saying,
“Huh? What was that about?”
But a couple of kids have figured it out.
“Well,
I
have an announcement to make, too,” Ms. Sanchez says. “It’s about a certain young man I know. Now, this young man happens to be such a gentleman that when his four-year-old sister accidentally killed someone else’s pet fish, he took the blame for it, regardless of how bad that made him look.”
There is another wriggle in our class, and the kids look at the empty fish bowl as if they expect Zip magically to reappear and take a final bow. Maybe with little wings and a halo like a cartoon angel, I don’t know.
“And yes,” Ms. Sanchez continues, still not looking at anyone in particular. “This young man may once have forgotten to bring a book he borrowed back to class, but nobody’s perfect, are they?”
Cynthia clamps her lips shut until they are just a skinny pink line. You can tell this is not
her
favorite saying.
“But this particular young man had a lot on his mind that day,” Ms. Sanchez is saying. “And, may I mention, he obviously loved that book. Why, he finished the entire thing during spring break! I could tell that by looking at the very fine map he drew.”
Now
I’m
the one sinking down in my chair, because she is talking about
Treasure Island.
And my map. And me.
“This is also a very loyal young man, ladies and gentlemen,” Ms. Sanchez continues as my cheeks get hotter. “He doesn’t blame others when he makes a mistake. He is a valued member of this classroom community. And as far as the principal and I are concerned, his reputation is spotless.”
The principal! Spotless!
“And now,” Ms. Sanchez says, “because this isa democracy, I’d like for you all to elect a member of this class to go out and buy our next class mascot with this money.” And she gets a five dollar bill out of her purse. “But it has to be a goldfish,” she adds quickly,
Die, Creature, Die.
”
A couple of girls in my class look instantly bored, like they were just touched with a magic wand, and Cynthia looks confused. But most of the boys are surprised and excited to hear me talking about this game. They like it, too.
Ms. Sanchez just looks surprised. “ TICK-TOCK , EllRay,” she says, which is Ms.-Sanchez-speak for “
Hurry up.
”
“So, I really like this game,” I tell everyone again, speeding up a little. “Only I’m not very good at it. Not like Stanley and Kevin, anyway.”
Stanley and Kevin sit up straighter in their chairs and try to look modest.
“In fact, I’m almost terrible at it,” I say. “But
Die, Creature, Die
is the newest game I have, and it’s really fun to play. And my ‘personal best’ is getting better, and that’s what this announcement is about.”
Ms. Sanchez relaxes a little, but most of the rest of the kids in class just look confused.
“
Big deal
,” Cynthia cough-says into her hand.
“In case you didn’t know,” I say, talking over her, “‘personal best’ means how much you improve at something, competing only against yourself. And improving takes time. You have to keep working at stuff to get better. You have to keep on trying, no matter how bad things look.”
“Very good, EllRay,” Ms. Sanchez says in a quiet voice as she beams at me.
“And another thing,” I add, before she can call me sweetie again, or suggest that I sit down, “is that nobody can take your personal best away from you. Not if you don’t let them. Like, if someone else is having trouble with
their
game, well I’m sorry,but that’s their problem. No matter how perfect they usually are.”
Cynthia Harbison slides down low in her chair.
“The end,” I say, because I can’t think of how else to finish my speech.
And I walk back to my chair—on bouncier feet this time.
A few of the kids in my class wriggle in their seats, as if they are silently saying,
“Huh? What was that about?”
But a couple of kids have figured it out.
“Well,
I
have an announcement to make, too,” Ms. Sanchez says. “It’s about a certain young man I know. Now, this young man happens to be such a gentleman that when his four-year-old sister accidentally killed someone else’s pet fish, he took the blame for it, regardless of how bad that made him look.”
There is another wriggle in our class, and the kids look at the empty fish bowl as if they expect Zip magically to reappear and take a final bow. Maybe with little wings and a halo like a cartoon angel, I don’t know.
“And yes,” Ms. Sanchez continues, still not looking at anyone in particular. “This young man may once have forgotten to bring a book he borrowed back to class, but nobody’s perfect, are they?”
Cynthia clamps her lips shut until they are just a skinny pink line. You can tell this is not
her
favorite saying.
“But this particular young man had a lot on his mind that day,” Ms. Sanchez is saying. “And, may I mention, he obviously loved that book. Why, he finished the entire thing during spring break! I could tell that by looking at the very fine map he drew.”
Now
I’m
the one sinking down in my chair, because she is talking about
Treasure Island.
And my map. And me.
“This is also a very loyal young man, ladies and gentlemen,” Ms. Sanchez continues as my cheeks get hotter. “He doesn’t blame others when he makes a mistake. He is a valued member of this classroom community. And as far as the principal and I are concerned, his reputation is spotless.”
The principal! Spotless!
“And now,” Ms. Sanchez says, “because this isa democracy, I’d like for you all to elect a member of this class to go out and buy our next class mascot with this money.” And she gets a five dollar bill out of her purse. “But it has to be a goldfish,” she adds quickly,
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