EllRay Jakes Is Not a Chicken (7 page)

“Oops,” I say, and then I drop Jared's sandwich on the ground, and I stomp on it. “Sorry, Jared,” I tell him, not sounding sorry at all.

Jared is halfway to his feet, looking really, really mad, and also hungry, but there is no way he can complain without looking dumb in front of everyone, including a few girls—Emma, Heather, and Annie Pat—who are watching us from a nearby table with worried eyes.

After all, Jared made a “mistake,” spilling his milk, and I made a “mistake,” dropping the sandwich on the ground and stomping on it, so we're even, right?

But I know that somehow, somewhere, I'm going to have to pay
double
for this.

I just hope it's not until next week, that's all.

“Why is Jared so mad at you?” Emma asks me just before I am probably about to get thumped on
THURSDAY
, because of the sandwich thing the day before.

It is eight fifteen, and school hasn't even started yet.

“He's not mad,” I tell her. “I don't know.”

That is two different answers to the same question, but Emma can handle it. “Why don't you have a meeting with him and find out?” she suggests.

This is a very embarrassing conversation
.

Also, boys do not solve their problems by having meetings. That's much more a a girl thing, in my opinion. And all of a sudden, I can feel my juices racing, my heart pounding, and my hands getting clenchy.

In other words, I am about to lose my temper—with Emma!

“Well, why don't you have a meeting with your mom to find out why your
hair
is so curly?” I ask, even though I like curly hair.

Especially Emma's, which is long and brown and tangly and always smells good. I don't know how girls do that.

Emma touches her hair, and her eyes get wide, and she steps back, surprised. “Don't get mad at
me
,” she says in a shaky voice. “I was only trying to help, that's all.”

“Well, stop trying,” I tell her, turning to walk away—because it's time to go wash my hands for a while, and
nobody
can help me.

Especially not a girl.

It is now just after lunch, and I am on my way to the front of the class to talk about the three layers of soil in our experiment jars.

But Ms. Sanchez turns her back to the class for a second—and I land flat on my face on the floor.

It's because I had to walk past Jared, that's why. He tripped me!

Okay. There are three things you can do when you fall flat on your face in front of the whole class:

“Oh, EllRay, sweetie, are you all right?” Ms. Sanchez asks, racing to my side. I know it's her, because I recognize her shoes.

Ms. Sanchez just called me “sweetie” in front of the whole class
.

I will never live this down.

This week just keeps getting more and more terrible!

“‘
Sweetie
,'” Kevin whispers, cackling. This will be my nickname from now on, I just know it.

“Uh-h-h,” I say, which is supposed to mean,
“Sure, I'm fine!”
Only it's hard to explain that from flat on the floor when there isn't any air in your lungs. I try to sit up.

“Jared
tripped
him,” Annie Pat cries.

“On purpose,” Emma says.

Oh, great! Emma has already forgiven me for making fun of her hair, and I didn't even apologize yet. Now I feel worse than before.

Thanks a lot, Emma.

“I did not trip him,” Jared objects. “I was stretching, that's all, and EllRay got in the way of my foot.
Ow
,” he says a little late, rubbing it.

Ms. Sanchez ignores everyone but me. “Are you all right, EllRay?” she asks again, her voice as soft as a mom's.

“I'm fine,” I say, struggling to stand up.

After I am on my feet again, I look around the room. Jared is waiting for me to tell on him, but I don't, and he looks confused.

“Do you think you should go see the nurse?” Ms. Sanchez asks me.

“Nuh-uh,” I tell her. “I just want to talk about soil and its components, that's all—so I can get credit for doing this very interesting experiment.”

“Well, if you're sure,” Ms. Sanchez says, still looking worried.

“I'm positive,” I tell her, and I hobble the rest of the way to the front of the class.

“I have an announcement to make,” a serious-looking Ms. Sanchez says to us later that afternoon, after recess, and we instantly hold still in our seats, because you can never tell. “I've been picking up some bad vibes lately,” Ms. Sanchez says, looking hard at us.

We have learned by now that “bad vibes” is her way of saying that something in our class feels wrong to her, but she can't say exactly what.

Hearing this announcement, we all relax a little, because—what else is new? There is always
some
bad vibe floating around our class.

 

1.Sometimes, one of the girls gets her feelings hurt, or a couple of girls get into their version of a fight, and the whole class suffers. Girls know how to spread their misery around better than boys, who like to keep things secret.

2.Or sometimes, we hear about something bad that has happened outside of school, in some other kid's family—like someone getting sick, or even someone dying, which is what happened to Corey's grandma before Christmas. That also makes bad vibes, of course, because deep down, we all sort of care about each other. Also, I think we're afraid some of the bad might rub off on us.

3.And when we heard last fall that Ms. Sanchez's dog died, those dead dog vibes made us sad for days. Even kids like me who don't get to have a dog, because Alfie's allergic. Those vibes were the worst of all.