EllRay Jakes is a Rock Star! (10 page)

He nods. “I do,” he tells me. “But I want you to promise me that you'll stay out of the girls' restroom—for at least another week.”

Now, he
is
joking. “For the rest of my life,” I promise.

“Well, okay then,” he says.

“Are you gonna tell my parents?” I ask, looking out the window at the rain.

“Oh,” he says, “I think we can keep this between us, don't you?”

And I nod yes, of course, because I really, really think we can.

Really.

My mom is amazed when I say we have to leave early for school today because I need her to drive me to the supermarket. “Why?” she asks.

“I gotta buy something,” I mumble. “With my saved-up allowance and Christmas money.”

Alfie is listening in, naturally.

“Lancelot Raymond Jakes,” my mom says, frowning. “Don't you dare tell me I was supposed to make cupcakes for that party today.”

“We get to have cupcakes too, at my day care,'cause it's Valentine's Day,” Alfie says, almost drooling at the breakfast table. “Pink, with chocolate sprinkles, I hope.”

“It's not cupcakes,” I tell Mom. “It's flowers. I have to buy this special kind of flowers for someone.”

“Oh,
EllRay
,” my mom says, her brown eyes shining with romance and other embarrassing things. “Of course I can take you to the store. Who are the flowers for, honey? Or is it a great big secret?”

“Are they for me?” Alfie asks, frowning. “Because I like candy best, not toopid flowers.”

“They're for someone at school, okay?” I say, thinking that Cynthia would be really happy to see me suffering so much just because of her—and because of that tourmaline, which she handed over first thing yesterday morning.

I'll give her that much credit.

“I know. They're for Ms. Sanchez,” my mom says like she has solved a riddle. She sounds thrilled. “Well, I think that's just about the sweetest thing I ever heard.”

“They're not for Ms. Sanchez,” I say, trying not to yell.

“Then they're for
SOME GIRL,
” Alfie exclaims. “Ooo,” she says, and she starts kissing the back of her hand again and again.

“EllRay,” Mom says, astonished. “Really?”

“Don't get all excited,” I tell her gloomily. “It's not what you think.”

But I can't tell her I'm bringing flowers to school because I'm basically being blackmailed, can I? She'd get even
more
excited, then. And not in a good way.

My dad walks into the kitchen like he's going someplace important, and he kisses my mom and pours himself a cup of coffee. “Today's the day,” he says.

As if any of us needed reminding.

“It certainly is, Warren,” my mom says, and she instantly changes his mood by putting his coffee cup on the counter, then whirling him around the kitchen in a pretend dance.

“Me too!” Alfie cries, trying to jam herself between them.

“I'm gonna just go brush my teeth,” I tell everyone, but I don't think they hear me.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” Ms. Sanchez says above the excited, special-day buzz everyone is making. “And happy Valentine's Day!”

The girls are all dressed up, of course, but the boys just look normal.

All except me, because I'm the kid who's holding a drippy bunch of blue flowers in his lap. And now there's glitter all over my pants. I'll probably sparkle all day long.

Thanks a lot, Cynthia.

“As you know,” Ms. Sanchez says, “we won't be opening our valentines until the end of class, when we'll also be having a little party, thanks to our wonderful parent volunteers. But it looks as though EllRay has a special valentine that just can't wait. EllRay?” she says, sounding both encouraging and ready to thank me.

She thinks the flowers are for her
.

And so does everyone else.
Almost
everyone.

Cynthia and Heather are grinning like crazy, of course.

Well, I might as well get this over with. I walk to the front of the class. “These are for—for Cynthia Harbison,” I say, forcing myself to say her name, and I
SQUINCH
my eyes shut like a bolt of lightning is about to strike me down right here in front of Ms. Sanchez and her third grade class. “Happy Valentine's Day, Cynthia,” I manage to add, in case Cynthia thinks that's part of the deal.

Ms. Sanchez—and most of the other kids—look totally stunned.

“For
me
?” Cynthia squeals, gasping to show how surprised she is, and she races to the front of the class like she's got little jet engines in her shoes.

What a faker!

“Take 'em,” I mutter, and she does.

“Oh, thanks,” she exclaims, and head down, I hurry back to my seat before she even
thinks
of hugging or kissing me, in case that was part of her terrible plan. “I don't know what to say,” Cynthia continues, looking as though she's about to start saying a
lot
. It's as if she's just won a huge award or something.

“You don't need to say a thing,” Ms. Sanchez tells her briskly. “Please take your seat, and we'll put those flowers in some water right after I finish taking attendance.”

I just hope the other kids do, too. Especially the boys.

“Okay,” Cynthia says, looking sorry that she can't drag out her minute of glory a little longer. “Ohh,” she says, sniffing the flowers noisily as she goes back to her seat.

I hope she gets glitter up her nose!

“Dude,” Kevin whispers to me, looking confused and disappointed. “Dude.”

“I'll tell you later,” I whisper back.

“That was some fancy bunch of flowers you gave Cynthia this morning,” Ms. Sanchez says that afternoon at the Valentine's Day party, after taking a dainty nibble of her pink-frosted cupcake.

We also have pink lemonade to drink. This is a very girly celebration, in my opinion, but the food's good if you close your eyes and forget about the color.

“I assume it was a trade?” Ms. Sanchez asks. “For her crystal?”

I take a huge bite of my cupcake, because I can't figure out whether or not this is a trick question. Will I get in trouble again if I answer it? Or if I
don't
answer it? Or will I get Cynthia in trouble?

Sometimes it's tough being me!

“I dunno,” I finally say, hoping I don't have a dab of frosting on my nose—the way Cynthia does.
SCORE
.

She just went prancing by holding her flowers.

“And can I assume a few lessons have been learned?” Ms. Sanchez asks, but she sounds more jokey than strict.

So I get up enough nerve to say, “Excuse me, but do you mean
are you physically able
to assume that?” Just to tease her.

Maybe it's the sugar, like my mom's always saying.

“Point taken, Mr. Jakes,” Ms. Sanchez says, laughing. “
May
I assume a few lessons have been learned?”

“You may,” I say, eyeing the few leftover cupcakes on the long table.

“You're something else, do you know that?” she tells me, still smiling.

And however she means what she just said, I decide to take it as a compliment. “Thanks,” I say, smiling back at her. “You too. Happy Valentine's Day, Ms. Sanchez.”

It is now Friday night, and my mom and my dad—who counted and inspected every crystal yesterday, and then shook my hand and actually hugged me tight—are busy getting ready to go out for dinner. Mom made a special dinner for Alfie and me. She even got two DVDs for us to chose from, with Monique, our sitter, acting as referee.

Monique's okay. She knows how to crack her knuckles and dance.

I just put Alfie's “required valentine” on her dinner plate, and I'm pretty sure she'll like it.

1. Her valentine is at least four times as big as the one I made for Mom.

2. It shows two fuzzy kittens sitting in a basket, and Alfie loves kittens, big surprise.

3. And there is paper lace all around the edges.

4. Also, I used silver duct tape to stick two candy bars onto it!

Alfie comes sneaking into the kitchen with her hands behind her back. “Happy Valentine's Day, EllWay,” she says, mispronouncing my name as usual. And then she hands me something.

A purple amethyst.

“But
shhh.
Don't tell Daddy,” she whispers. “I went into his office and took it. But he's got tons, so that's all wight.”

“Alfie,” I say, “it's
not
all wight. I mean, all
right.
We gotta put this back fast!”