EllRay Jakes Is Magic (11 page)

“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 too small. So I’ll have to step aside,” I tell him again.

I like saying “step aside.” It sounds better than “quit.”

“No one’s going to be stepping
anywhere
at this point, except onto the auditorium stage this Friday afternoon,” the principal says, a that’s-that look settling on his hairy face. “And you’re our show’s only magic act,” he adds. “Don’t worry, EllRay. You’ll do fine. Just relax.”

Whenever someone tells you to “just relax,” exactly the opposite happens.

So far, Hump Day isn’t going so great.

“I
won’t
do fine,” I say, not backing down. “I’ll do
awful.
And I can’t relax! I’ll be a flop. Everyone will laugh at me, or boo me off the stage. And I’ll never live it down, ever—for three more years. Even
my dad
understands,” I add, bringing out my best ammunition. Because I think the only thing that really counts with teachers and principals is kids’ parents.

And that’s messed up.

“Your dad,” the principal says, echoing my words.

“Dr. Warren Jakes,” I remind him.

They’ve talked before. The principal looks like he’s getting a headache.

He sighs. “Well, EllRay, I understand what you’re saying, and I’m sorry,” he says. “I’d like to let you off the hook, believe me. But the program is already being printed up, and your name’s on it.”

That’s no reason at all! Programs are just pieces of paper, and I’m a
person.
“You could make an announcement saying sorry, but there’s no time for my magic act,” I say, almost begging, as a couple of sixth-graders shove past me.

DO. NOT. CRY
, I tell myself, making it an order.

“Tell you what,” the principal says. “When I introduce your act, I will explain about the tricks being meant for smaller venues. And then you can go
ahead and do them.”

Venues
? Now, I don’t know
what
he’s saying—except that he’s not gonna let me out of this stupid talent show.

“And rest easy,” the principal assures me. “No one is going to boo. Not at
my
school.”

His
students.
His
school. What is up with this guy?

“I really don’t wanna do it,” I say, my voice barely there. “Please don’t make me.”

“What was that?” the principal says, cupping a big hand behind one of his ears as he leans over to get down to my shrimpy level. “I didn’t hear that last part.”

“Nothing,” I mumble. “It was nothing.”

I’m
nothing. He’s not even
trying
to understand. And he thinks he’s such a great principal, saying hi to everyone!

“Then you’d better run along to class,” he tells me. “And don’t worry about Friday, EllRay. You’ll do
great.
”

15

“Okay,” Fiona says, taking charge for once, even though she is usually the shyest kid in our class. It is Thursday lunch, which is the deadline to hand in our pages for Ms. Sanchez’s wedding shower book. We are all huddled around the girls’ picnic table. “Who goes first?” she asks.

“Here’s mine,” Kry says, putting a piece of paper on Fiona’s sweater, which she has spread on the table to keep our pages clean.

“What’s your wedding advice?” Cynthia asks. Kry is the only girl Cynthia looks up to. I guess that’s why she asked.

“It says,
‘Play outside with your husband every day,’
” Kry reports. “But what I wrote about why I like Ms. Sanchez is private.”

Good, I think—because I feel the same way.

“I’ll go next,” Heather says, eager to get it over
with. “My advice is,
‘Don’t ever cut your hair short. My mom says that men love long hair.’
”

Huh. I never knew ladies had official ideas about stuff like that.

“Next?” Fiona asks.

Kevin clears his throat. “Here’s my advice,” he says. “
‘Save up. Don’t spend all your money.’
My dad helped me with that one,” he adds, making a face.

Ms. Sanchez and that guy she’s marrying—okay,
Mr. Timberlake
, but the one who runs a sporting goods store, not the famous one—both have jobs, so they must already be pretty rich. But whatever.

“Good,” Fiona says, straightening the pile of papers as if she’s the teacher. “Stanley?”

“I think Ms. Sanchez saw him writing it this morning,” Cynthia says, tattling.

“She did not,” Stanley says, glaring at Cynthia through his smudged glasses. “Anyway, mind your own business. My advice is,
‘Make chocolate chip cookies for Mr. Timberlake every week.’
”

I think that’s some very good advice.
Excellent
advice. And oatmeal cookies are good, too—if you leave out the raisins.

“Corey?” Fiona asks.

“Okay,” Corey says, blushing underneath his freckles. “My advice says,
‘Call your husband “honey” and “sweetie” and “darling” a lot, in case you forget his name.’”

“Ooo, ‘darling,’” Stanley jeers. “
Smoochy, smoochy
,” he adds, kissing his hand.

“You and your hand,” I say, teasing him. Corey’s my best friend, so Stanley should lay off. “What’s up with that? Are you in love with your hand, Stanley? Kissy, kissy, kissy?”

A couple of girls giggle.

“Shut up, EllRay,” Stanley mumbles, even though we aren’t allowed to say that.

“Yeah. Shut up,” Jared says. “Here’s my advice for Ms. Sanchez.
‘Don’t fight in front of your kids.’
”

I feel kind of bad about that one, because Jared’s parents
do
fight in front of their kids. And their kids’ friends. I heard them do it once. I wanted to go home—and I hugged my own mom and dad when I got there.

“That’s a good one,” I tell Jared.

“What’s yours?” Jared challenges me, in case
I’m making fun of him—which I’m not.

I am instantly so embarrassed that my ears buzz. But of course this won’t be anywhere near as bad as the talent show tomorrow, I remind myself. “My advice says,
‘Learn how to play your husband’s favorite video games. And do whatever you want at night,’
” I add, thinking of my parents.

“Also good ones,” Corey congratulates me.

“No, they aren’t,” Heather scoffs. “They’re
opposites
! Because how is Ms. Sanchez going to play her husband’s video games
and
do whatever she wants at night? He should do what
she
wants, for a change.”

“She could do both,” Corey says, defending me. “Maybe playing video games is what Ms. Sanchez really likes to do.”

I kinda don’t think so. But I still think she could follow both pieces of advice.

“Cynthia?” Fiona says, probably to change the subject—even though she’s usually so scared of her that she almost turns invisible when Cynthia and Heather are around. I guess being chosen to do the fancy cover for our class’s book has made her braver, somehow.

“Okay,” Cynthia says, looking important. “Here’s
my
advice.
‘Instead of saying, “For richer or poorer, for better or worse,” which my mom says is in the wedding vows, you should say, “For richer and richer, for better and better.” Because why go asking for trouble?’
”

“Good advice,” her assistant Heather says, nodding her head.

Which proves that she would congratulate Cynthia on
anything.

“But it’s
long
advice,” Emma says, frowning. “And I don’t think you can go changing stuff that’s in the Bible,” she adds.

“It’s not
in
the Bible,” Cynthia tells her, her nose in the air. “Heather checked. Someone just made it up. What’s your wedding advice for Ms. Sanchez, if you’re so smart?”

“Mine is,
‘Get lots of pets so you can practice for having babies,’
” Emma tells us. “Because I think they should have more than one. Baby, I mean.”

Emma is an only child, she told me once. I guess that’s why she thinks that.

I should lend her Alfie for a while.

Annie Pat laughs. “That’s funny,” she says. “Because my advice is,
‘Go to the beach whenever you can. And only have one baby.’
”

And Annie Pat’s mom has a baby at home!

Annie Pat and Emma are best friends, but they gave
OPPOSITE
advice about having babies. That’s strange.

“And here’s my advice,” Fiona says.
“‘Always wear darling shoes.’”

“Good one,” Emma says, smiling.

The girls in our class are all big fans of Ms. Sanchez’s clothes—especially her shoes, which are mostly high heels.

“Everyone who hasn’t turned their paper in yet has to get it to me by the end of the day,” Fiona announces to the rest of the kids. “Or they won’t be in the book. But don’t let Ms. Sanchez catch you writing stuff down,” she warns. “Or you’ll wreck the secret.”

“What about the cover?” Cynthia asks. “Let’s see it.”

“You can’t, because it isn’t done yet,” Fiona says.
“The glue for the lace and pearls hasn’t dried. But I’m finishing it tonight.”

“Ooh. Lace and
pearls
,” Annie Pat says, her eyes wide.

“You
better
finish,” Cynthia says, just to keep in practice for being mean, I guess.

“Yeah,” Heather says. “I second that. Maybe we should vote on it.”

“Nah,” Cynthia says, and Heather blushes.

Jared looks worried.

“What’s the matter?” I ask him.

“I dunno,” he says, shaking his big head. “I think some of our advice is kind of weird.”

“Well, but so are we,” Emma says, laughing.

“You, maybe,” Cynthia says.

“It’s okay,” I tell Jared. “Ms. Sanchez is pretty much used to us. I think she’ll
expect
weird.”

“And she’ll love the book,” Kry—the optimist—assures him.

“Yeah,” Jared grumbles. “She’ll like it the way some parents say they like their kids’ scribble-scrabbles, when they put them up on the fridge with magnets. But everyone will laugh at us.”