EllRay Jakes Rocks the Holidays! (11 page)

“EllRay,” Ms. Sanchez says at two-thirty, just after recess. “Can you stay after school for just a bit?”

It is an hour before class lets out for the day, and we are each working on a Personal Timeline, even though tomorrow is the last day of school before Christmas vacation. I mean before Winter Wonderland vacation. But I guess Ms. Sanchez is determined to get some schoolwork done today.

A timeline is a graph that uses a line to show the passage of time. We get to make any kind of timeline we want, which is pretty cool. I am making a timeline of the third grade so far, from September to now. Emma McGraw wants to be a nature scientist someday, so she is making a timeline showing the life of a typical mouse. Spoiler alert: it does not have a happy ending.

Corey Robinson—the champion swimmer—
is making a timeline that will start when he first learned to dog-paddle. It will probably end in the future, at the Olympics. And Cynthia Harbison is doing a timeline she is calling “Cynthia Harbison’s History of the Universe,” only I don’t think she’ll finish in time to hand it in.

“I thought you and I might run through what you’re going to say at the assembly tomorrow morning,” Ms. Sanchez says.

“Sure. But can you call my mom and ask her to pick me up late?” I ask.

See, Mom’s driving me home today because of the rain. But I know she won’t mind picking me up later than usual, She and Alfie will probably go out for hot chocolate at Grounds for Fun, Mom’s favorite place to hang with other writers. “Can you please tell her that I want hot chocolate, if she gets any? With whipped cream on top?” I ask.

“Will do,” Ms. Sanchez says, making an invisible check mark in the air. “And I’ll give her my order as well,” she adds, joking.

“Mom would get something for you,” I tell her. “Really. She’d be happy to.”

“I know she would, sweetie,” Ms. Sanchez says,
laughing. “She’s a peach. I guess it runs in the family.”

“Huh,” I say, trying to figure out whether or not that is a compliment.

But I decide to decide that it is.

I think that’s the best way to handle comments like that, when you’re not sure.

“Okay,” Ms. Sanchez says after the last kid has shuffled out the door. “Only one more day to go, Mr. Jakes, and then we’re
off
. For seventeen whole days!”

“Huh,” I say again, even though Dad doesn’t like me to say “huh” at home. I’m supposed to say, “Oh,” I guess. Only I don’t really get the difference. They’re both just sounds.

But—Ms. Sanchez seems so happy about school letting out! I mean,
I’m
glad that school’s going to be over for so long. But I didn’t think a teacher would be happy about it. Not
our
teacher.

We’re not that bad, are we? Us kids?

Won’t she miss us, at least a little?

“Listen, EllRay,” Ms. Sanchez begins. “Our assembly is going to start at around nine-thirty tomorrow morning, so right after attendance, we’ll do one last run-through of the song, and then begin our calm, orderly trek to the auditorium.”

“Okay,” I say, even though I think she was being sarcastic with that last part.

“Then we’ll probably all say the Pledge of Allegiance,” she says. “And Principal James will welcome everyone to Oak Glen Primary School. Then he’ll introduce
you
, the emcee.”

“Okay,” I say again, starting to feel kind of hot and tingly.

I am really going to have to do this.

“So, what were you planning to say?” Ms. Sanchez asks, tilting her head. The shiny black hair in her bun is falling down a little, the way it does at the end of the day, and her brown eyes look tired. But she is paying close attention to me.

“I was gonna say ‘Hi,’” I tell her. “And then I was gonna say, ‘Here are the kindergarten kids, singing something just for you.’ And, like, do that for all the grades.”

Ms. Sanchez thinks for a few seconds. “Maybe a
little more preparation might not be a bad thing,” she finally suggests.

That means more preparation would be a
good
thing. Grownups sometimes say things backward. You have to learn to translate.

“How much preparation?” I ask. Because I’m no good at memorizing things—especially stuff I’m going to have to say in front of a zillion people. Including strangers.

“Just a little,” she assures me. “For instance, you need a nice, short opening, and a good strong closing so people will know
An Oak Glen Winter Wonderland
is really and truly over, and they can go home. And, as you said, there should be a brief introduction for the song each of the four grades will perform.”

Ms. Sanchez really wants me to do a good job. I can tell!

This makes me feel happy and nervous at the same time.

“I don’t have to tell any jokes, do I?” I say.

“Heavens, no,” Ms. Sanchez says, shaking her head. “Just, ‘Hello, and welcome to
An Oak Glen Winter Wonderland
. Right into the mic, and
speak
slowly.
Because rushing through the words is the number-one mistake most people make when speaking to a crowd. Now, you give it a try.”

“
Hello-o-o
!” I say, my voice sounding robot-slow as I form the first word. “Welcome to a Winter Wonderland. In Oak Glen,” I finish. And then I wonder where I went wrong. It seemed so easy when she said it.

“Welcome to
An Oak Glen Winter Wonderland
,” Ms. Sanchez tells me again.

“Okay. I got it. ‘Hello,” I say, shouting the word. “And welcome to a Winter Wonderland! At Oak Glen Primary School! No, wait.”

“That would work just fine, EllRay,” Ms. Sanchez says, smiling. “That’s basically right.”

“But I want to be
exactly
right,” I tell her. “My dad’s gonna be there! And my mom. And Alfie,” I add.

I think Ms. Sanchez gets it about my dad. “Well, if you want to memorize the first part exactly,” she says, “just remember that O comes before W in the alphabet. See? ‘Oak Glen’ comes before ‘Winter Wonderland.’”

“Hello, Oak Glen! And welcome to a Winter Wonderland,” I
SHOUT
again—a moment before stomping my foot. “Dang!” I say, scolding myself.

“But see, that was just fine, too,” Ms. Sanchez tells me. “And then if you add a nice, loud ‘Thanks for coming!’ at the end of our song, you’ll be home free. It’s not like you have to be word perfect.”

Hey. Is she giving up on me already?

“I don’t even get why he chose me, anyway,” I mumble. “Or why
you
chose me,’ I add, my voice
getting stronger. “I mean, why you chose me and Kevin to take the envelope to Principal James’s office. You could have chosen anyone! A girl would have begged to take it. She would have been
honored.
”

Emma. Annie Pat. Fiona. Kry. Cynthia.

Ms. Sanchez looks up, as if the answer might be written on the ceiling. “I can’t honestly remember why I chose you that day,” she finally says.

And I believe her. I really do.

15

I take a deep breath before speaking again. “But you do know why the principal wanted Kevin or me to be the emcee, don’t you?” I say, daring to look her in the eye.

“I’m not sure—” she begins, protesting.

“It’s because we have brown skin, right?” I say, interrupting Ms. Sanchez for the first time in my life. “I mean, I think the
principal’s
the one who came up with the idea of maybe calling the assembly Diversity Day,” I add, my heart pounding. “You know, at the P.T.A. meeting. My dad told me. And me and Kevin are just about the only diversity the principal’s got. In the third grade, anyway.”

“It just happened to work out that way this year,” Ms. Sanchez says, shaking her head. “But maybe skin color
was
on his mind when he chose you,” she tells me. “I don’t know, EllRay. I honestly don’t
think it was, but I can’t speak for Principal James. You could always ask him. But would it be such a bad thing if it was true? Principal James wants more diversity at Oak Glen. And he knows you’ll do a fine job. So why
not
you?”

“You don’t know what it’s like,” I say, looking away.

“I don’t know what it’s like?” she asks. “EllRay, please, I, Yvette Carolina Angela Sanchez Verdugo, don’t know what it’s like being singled out because of the color of my skin?”

OOPS
. Big-time. “Verdugo?” I ask, just for something to say.

“Verdugo was my mother’s maiden name,” she explains. “And that’s the traditional way to say it. But I go by Sanchez, to make things easier for people.”

“Oh. But you’re barely even brown,” I say, trying too late to defend myself.

“And you’re not as brown as Kevin,” Ms. Sanchez says. “And Kevin’s not as brown as Mrs. Jenkins in the office. It’s not a contest, EllRay.”

“Did kids used to pick on you when you were little?” I ask, afraid of what her answer might be.
Because we all really like Ms. Sanchez. Who would ever have wanted to be mean to her?

They wouldn’t dare!

Ms. Sanchez frowns, scaring me for a second. “Are kids picking on
you
, EllRay? Because of your skin color, I mean?”

“No,” I say. “If they yell at me, it’s for other reasons. Like, maybe I get on someone’s nerves. Or I hog the kickball. Or I step on their foot.”

Or I hurt their feelings in front of other kids.

“Well, they’d better not
not
pick on you,” she says, looking kind of fierce for the prettiest teacher at Oak Glen Primary School.

“But they picked on
you
?” I ask again.

And she nods. “I was born in the nineteen eighties, EllRay, and things had changed for the better by then, at least a little. But there were still plenty of bad times,” she tells me. “I think things are better now, though. Not perfect, but better.”

“That’s good, I guess,” I mumble.

“So, yes, children did pick on me,” Ms. Sanchez says, a faraway look in her eyes. “
Un poquito
. A little. My older brothers came in for more of it, I’m
sure. But there were a couple of bad names kids still used, even then,” she tells me. “And once, an adult told me to go back where I came from.”

“Why? Where did you come from?” I ask, curious.