EllRay Jakes Is Magic (14 page)

“And for my final trick,” I tell everyone loudly, to quiet the excited conversations that have sprung up, “I present to you this empty flower pot.” I pick it up, then rattle my wand around inside the flower pot to show just how empty it is. “Ms. Sanchez?” I say, handing the empty pot to her. She examines it inside and out and nods at the audience, and I take it back.

“But what is this?” I say, putting my magic wand inside the pot, X-side down. I press the tip of the wand down hard against the bottom of the pot, and it latches on tight—because there are really strong magnets hidden in both the pot bottom and the end of the wand.
“Abracadabra!”
I say.

I tug on the wand, and up pops the huge, colorful bunch of feather flowers that were crammed down under the pot’s false bottom. “Ta-da!” I say, and I hand the now-blooming flower pot to Ms. Sanchez, who gasps loudly into the microphone, holds out the flower pot up high for everyone to see, then presses her hand to her forehead as if she might faint from astonishment.

And everyone is clapping like crazy! Even the principal, who has never seen these two tricks before.

Somewhere out there, my mom, my dad, and my sister are clapping, too. Alfie’s probably telling the person sitting next to her that I’m just faking.

Ms. Sanchez and I bow, and the curtain closes as the audience keeps cheering.

I DID IT
. I’m the new King of the Mountain! For a few minutes, anyway.

“That was amazing, EllRay,” Ms. Sanchez says, handing me back the scarf and the flower pot as Miss Myrna rolls away my magic table, and Jared and Stanley take the stage. Jared looks like he’s about to pass out, and Stanley’s hip-hop pants hang so low that they look like they’re going to fall off—which would be a big hit with most of the audience. But the principal made him staple them to his shorts, so I know they won’t.

“I always knew you were magic, EllRay,” Ms. Sanchez says, hugging me tight.

“Thanks,” I say, wriggling away. “And thanks for helping me. It was fun.”

“For me too, sweetie,” Ms. Sanchez says.

And a few kids—even some older ones—high-five and fist-bump me as the principal introduces Jared and Stanley’s act.

They changed songs, by the way.

I stumble to my seat in the audience, and the rest of the talent show whizzes by. It includes:

And those are just the acts I remember.

The Oak Glen Primary School Talent Show
was
fun.

And I got to be part of it!

19

“Woo-hoo!” Kevin shouts fifteen minutes later, as he and I barrel into our classroom after school has let out. “Look at all the
food
, dude.”

Some third-grade parents were busy decorating the room during the talent show. They put out platters of yummy-looking food, and my stomach growls the second I see it. Lots of little hamburgers and turkey burgers are piled up high, hot dogs have been cut in half—to make eating more of them easier, I guess. And the sandwiches are cut in quarters the fancy way, in triangles. And there’s lots of other food, too—including a big bowl of fruit salad, and a huge sheet cake with dozens of roses marching across it like a bunch of frosting soldiers. I have never seen so many roses on a cake.

Everyone will get one, with no fighting. Alfie will be so happy!

I hardly ate a thing today, I was so nervous. Also, like I said, I was trying to keep my shirt clean. But forget that now. Mustard, ketchup, punch, frosting—
bring it on.

“It’s
beautiful
,” Annie Pat says, screeching to a stop and clasping her hands as she looks around. “All yellow and white.”

“Like a field of flowers,” Emma adds, her eyes shining.

Twisted crepe-paper streamers loop all across the ceiling, and flower-bouquetlike bunches of yellow and white helium balloons—helium!—hover in each corner of the room. Maybe we’ll each get to bring one home.

And you should see the real flowers. There’s pretty music, too—like ice skating music. Alfie is already whirling around in circles.

“Girls line up over here,” one of the moms calls out. “We made a little veil for each of you. And boys, you line up over there for your
boutonnieres.
”

“What’s that?” Jared asks in his most suspicious voice. “Because I am
not
gonna wear a veil, even for cake.”

“It’s just one little flower you pin to your shirt,”
another mom tells him, laughing. “But you don’t need to wear it if you don’t want to.”

I’ll look at it, at least. Flowers are okay. Outside, anyway.

“How do I look?” Kry says, whirling around to face us. A short poufy white veil sprouts from the top of her head.

“Me next,” a bunch of girls—including Alfie—are saying, lining up for their veils.

I guess they all get to be pretend brides during this party, at least—which is kind of a scary thought. There aren’t as many boys lined up over at the
boutonniere
table, that’s for sure.

“EllRay,” someone says in a quiet voice.

I turn around, and—Corey’s standing there! My best friend! He smells like chlorine, and his freckles look extra speckly, like they’re waiting to be counted again.

“You’re here,” I say, smiling. “What happened to swim practice?”

Corey smiles back at me. “Mom let me leave early when she figured out how much I wanted to come to the party. I don’t know what she told my coach. I’ll worry about that later. But I missed the
talent show,” he says, looking sad. “How did it go?”

“Okay,” I tell him, trying to be modest.

“EllRay was great, and so were Jared and Stanley,” Kevin says, appearing at our sides. “Hey,” he says to Corey, grinning like it’s old times.

Maybe Kevin
can
be friends with both Jared and me! Even though we’re “opposites.”

“I’m glad they didn’t cut the cake yet,” Corey says, looking at the food tables with hungry eyes. A couple of dads—including mine!—are guarding the tables from all the kids who are now in the room. “Not yet, big guy,” the other dad says to Jared, who was probably about to dive onto the hamburger platter with his mouth open, like a great white shark.

“Ms. Sanchez and the moms get to go first,” my dad tells Jared—and all the other kids, including me, who are eyeing the food as if we haven’t eaten in a week.

“And here she is!” a mother exclaims, as Ms. Sanchez enters the room. She looks as pretty as she did onstage.

“Good heavens,” she says, her engagement ring hand pressed against her chest. “You girls look
adorable,” she adds, laughing as she sees all the little veils.

“And here’s
your
party veil,” Emma’s mom says, bringing it over. Emma’s mom and my mom pin it carefully to Ms. Sanchez’s hair, and our teacher spins around, showing it off to everyone.

“It’s not every day a person has a wedding shower,” Annie Pat’s mother says, her drooly, red-haired baby perched on her hip. “The children really wanted to honor you. They love being in your class so much.”

I like it better when people say “kids” instead of “children,” but whatever.

“Eat something, Ms. Sanchez,” Jared begs. “So we can go next. After the moms, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Stanley says, like he’s seconding a motion. “Please,” he adds, catching a look from one of the moms.

“All right, you poor captive children,” Ms. Sanchez says with a laugh. She goes to one end of the long food table and takes a plate.

“And the mothers go next,” Stanley’s plaid shirt–wearing dad reminds us, like he’s directing a square dance.

So they line up, too. “I’m little. I’m with her,” Alfie announces, pointing up at my mom. Alfie is not about to miss out on any food.
TRUTH
.

Us kids are all keeping an eye on the food platters. We’re all worried that there won’t be enough—or that the kids who go through the line first will hog everything, and run off cramming hamburgers and hot dogs into their mouths as fast as they can.

But they won’t get the chance, because the dads are policing the table. Some of them are even serving up food with long, pinchy tongs.

“Don’t worry,” my dad calls out. “There’s plenty more where this came from!”

And pretty soon, everyone is busy eating and drinking—at
our desks
, which have probably never had so much fun before in their entire lives.

Poor desks!

20

And that’s when Ms. Sanchez’s future husband—okay, Mr. Timberlake—enters the room. “Sorry I’m late,” he calls out to Ms. Sanchez, who blows a kiss in his direction.

Ew.
Mushy. He’d better not kiss her for real.

He heaps his plate high with our food and goes straight to Ms. Sanchez’s side.

“It’s time for the present,” one of the moms announces.

“Hooray!” the parents cheer. A few of them even clap their hands, but not us kids. We know what the present is, so we just keep eating and drinking.