EllRay Jakes is a Rock Star! (3 page)

Annie Pat bites back a smile, and so do Corey, Stanley, and I.

And Fiona's afraid to say anything to Cynthia, because she and Cynthia aren't exactly equal. Cynthia's already won that contest.

“Now, today is even more fun than before,” Emma says, bending low over her frog. Or green meatball. Whatever it is.

“Finish up, people,” Ms. Sanchez calls out, sounding happy. I guess she's proud of the perfect heart she just cut out.

And so we do. Finish up, I mean.

“Where's Dad?” I ask my mom when Alfie and I sit down to dinner that night—at six o'clock, as usual.

“Oh, EllRay,” Mom says, carrying a bowl of spaghetti to the table. “Don't you ever listen to me? I told you this morning. He's speaking at a conference in Utah over the weekend, and then going hiking with a buddy. He'll be home late Tuesday.”

“He went to Utah?” Alfie says, almost squawking the question. “Without
me
?”

“Why? What would you do in Utah?” I ask my little sister. “We don't know anyone there.”

“I'd have fun, that's what,” Alfie says, staring hard at the spaghetti bowl. “I always have fun. Do I have to eat salad too, or can I just eat this?” she asks my mom. “I had carrot sticks for lunch,” she reminds her.

Alfie is an optimist, which means she is another positive thinker. She's only four, exactly half my age, so she hasn't had that much experience with life yet.

“You have to eat salad too,” Mom tells her.

“Okay,” Alfie says. “But don't put anything weird on it.
Please
,” she adds quickly, seeing the look on our mother's face.

Mom frowns. “Just because it's Friday night and your father is away for the weekend,” she says, “that doesn't mean important things such as manners can go flying out the window.”

“Yeah,
EllWay
,” Alfie says, trying to kick me under the table. That's Alfie-speak for EllRay.

“She was talking to
you
,” I tell her, moving my legs away.

“I'm talking to both of you,” Mom says, putting some bare salad in a little bowl for Alfie, and then tossing the rest of the torn-up lettuce with salad dressing. “There,” she says, sitting down. “You may begin.”

And the three of us are quiet for a few minutes as we slurp up our noodles.

Well, my mother doesn't slurp, she winds the noodles around her fork. But that's hard. Only grown-ups can do it.

I clear my throat, because I have something important to say—and my dad being gone means that this is the perfect time to say it. “We should get an ATV,” I say, looking at my plate. I try to sound like an ATV is something our family obviously needs, only we have forgotten to buy one before now.

“Yeah,” Alfie agrees. “And we should put it in my room so I can watch anything I want. In the middle of the night, even.”

Mom dabs at her lips with her napkin, which doesn't even have any spaghetti sauce marks on it, even though we have been eating for almost five minutes. She smiles. “I don't really see that happening, sweetie,” she says to Alfie. “You watch enough TV as it is.”

“Not a
TV
,” I say quickly, before Alfie can start arguing. “An ATV. That's an All-Terrain Vehicle.”

“Boo,” Alfie murmurs, losing interest.

“I know what an ATV is, EllRay,” my mom tells me. “And I can't really see your father buying one, can you?”

“Yes, I definitely can,” I say. “It would be useful when we're collecting rocks. You can have an ATV and still love the environment, you know.”

“But don't you think your father's more likely to spend any extra money we might have paying bills, or put it into your college savings accounts?” she asks me. “Or even into our retirement fund?” she adds, not looking very hopeful.

Alfie looks up. “Only grandmas and grandpas retire,” she informs us. “They're old. And you're not old, Mommy. Not
that
old.”

Alfie's kissing up—for no reason. Just to keep in practice, I guess.

“Well, thank you, Miss Alfie,” Mom says. “But your daddy and I will be old, someday.”

Alfie looks at her, horrified. “No,” she says. “I don't want—”

“An
ATV,
” I interrupt, because we are straying from the topic, as Ms. Sanchez so often tells us. “For the desert and the mountains and the beach. Lots of people have them.”

“Name one,” my mom challenges me.

“Jared's dad,” I tell her.

She says it like that because Jared and I have had some problems in the past.

In the past few weeks, even.

I can tell my mom thinks I'm jealous of Jared and his ATV. Which I am, a little.

“Jared's lucky,” Alfie says sadly, speaking to her last few noodles.

“You're telling me,” I mutter.

“Well,” Mom says, “I'll pass the suggestion along to your father when he gets home, EllRay.”

“How about asking him when he calls tonight?” I suggest—because that way, my dad will have a chance to get used to the idea.

Maybe he won't say no right away, at least.

“If I get the chance,” Mom promises. “But don't get your hopes up. And finish your delicious salad.”

“Hi, Dad?” I say later that night when my mom hands me the phone. Alfie has already gone to bed, or she'd be hogging the whole conversation.

“Hello, son,” my father says. His voice does not sound very far away, which makes me feel nervous because of what I am about to suggest.

“How's the conference going?” I say, wanting to be polite before asking for an ATV when it's not even Christmas or my birthday—and when I can't even drive yet.

“It's going fine,” Dad tells me. “I'm presenting my paper tomorrow morning.”

“Well, I don't want to bother you,” I say, still being super polite. “I just thought maybe we should buy an ATV when you get home. With flames.”

I think saying “we” was a good idea, and so was saying the whole thing really fast.

“Flames?” my dad says, as if he has just now started paying attention to what I am saying. “What's this about flames?”

“
Pretend
flames,” I say quickly, before he calls the fire department long distance.

“They're decals, really. On the sides of our new ATV.”

“What new ATV?” Dad asks, sounding confused.

“The one you should buy when you get home,” I tell him patiently. “For driving in the desert when we're collecting rocks.”

“Why?” my dad asks, shuffling some papers. I can hear him do it!

“You're not even paying attention,” I complain.

“Yes I am,” my dad says. “You want me to buy a new ATV when we already have a perfectly good Jeep. A classic. It's practically vintage, son.”

“That just means old,” I tell him. “And our Jeep doesn't have any flames on it. It's rusty, too.”

“We can spray-paint some flames on,” Dad says, laughing. “Just you and I, EllRay.”

“
Really
?” I say, because this sounds like a very un-Dad activity.

“Sure,” my dad says. “Why not? If we're careful, and wear masks while we're spraying.”

Being careful and wearing a mask is not the way
I
would spray-paint flames on a Jeep, if I had a choice, but it's better than nothing. “And not Alfie?” I ask.

“Not a chance, if you can keep it under your hat,” Dad says. This means I should keep my mouth shut and not go blabbing anything about spray paint to my little sister. “This is going to be fun, EllRay,” my dad says, like I need telling. “We'll go shopping for the paint when I get home, and you can choose the colors. How does that sound?”

“Good,” I say, suddenly feeling like I don't even know my own father. We've hardly ever done anything like this before, that's why. Something alone, and kind of crazy, just to make me happy. “Thanks,” I mumble into the phone.

“You're welcome, son,” Dad says.

“'Night,” I tell him.

“Good night, EllRay. And sleep tight,” my dad says.

So, that's good, I think, hanging up the phone.

But I still don't have anything big to brag about.

On Monday night before bed, as my mom is giving Alfie her usual three-towel bath, I wander into Dad's home office to look around—because I kind of miss him.

Also, I usually don't get to go in there unless I'm in trouble.

Even though almost anyone would think that being a geology professor is boring, my dad's office is pretty cool. The wall opposite his desk is completely covered with wood shelves that are so narrow an apple would feel fat sitting there. All my dad's favorite small rock specimens are on these shelves, and each one is carefully labeled. The rocks are from all over the world—Asia, South America, North America—and he collected each specimen himself.

My dad has been
everywhere.