EllRay Jakes The Recess King! (2 page)

2

MY POSSIBILITIES

Okay, so I went to the grand re-opening of Eustace B. Pennypacker Memorial Park yesterday without bringing anyone with me. So what?

But it made me think about what Alfie said.

Maybe I
am
running out of fwends. I mean
friends
.

Everyone in my class seems to like me just fine, except for Jared Matthews, sometimes. But he takes turns being grouchy with everyone. And Stanley Washington is kind of like Jared's personal assistant, the way Fiona McNulty is Cynthia Harbison's personal assistant, so sometimes he stays away from me, too.

Cynthia says that movie stars have personal assistants, so why not her?

It's her latest thing.

Cynthia is basically the girl version of Jared in our class, only worse. She thinks faster than Jared, and she speaks up quicker.

I will take a new look at all the guys in my class before school starts tomorrow morning. It would be great to make at least one spare friend by this Friday, because that's when Alfie's show is going to be. My new friend and I can sit through that, then we will all go out for pizza or ice cream, so that will be fun. And then we can have a sleepover, which will be the most fun of all.

I already know Corey can't do it, because he has swim practice every Saturday morning. Early, like at six-thirty.

There are only ten boys in Ms. Sanchez's third grade class, and there are fifteen girls That means the girls are winning—in population, anyway. But it also means there are five other guys in my class—besides Corey, Kevin, Stanley, and Jared—for me to be friends with. Maybe.

The five extra boys are: Major Donaldson, Marco Adair, Nate Marshall, Jason Leffer, and Diego Romero.

Those are my possibilities.

Major mostly hangs out with Marco. In fact, Ms. Sanchez sometimes calls them “M and M” for short. When she calls on Marco in class, though, she usually calls him Mr. Adair, because when she accidentally calls out, “Marco,” someone always says, “
Polo!
”

And everybody laughs.

Third-graders need easy stuff like that to laugh about, in my opinion. Our school days are long, and we get desperate for entertainment.

There are lots of reasons to like Marco Adair. He's always fair with the kickballs, and with choosing sides when we play games at recess. Also, he can make funny armpit noises better than any other boy in our class. Only on the playground, of course. Ms. Sanchez is not the type of lady who would think it's funny when you make your armpit go
flirrrrppt.

Major Donaldson is cool, too. In fact, my dad claims that Major has the best name in the world, because the word “major” means so many different things.

1. Major can mean
important,
like when someone says, “This is really major.”

2. It also has something to do with music. I forget what.

3. And in college, Dad says that your major is the main thing you study. For example, my dad's major was geology. My mom's major was comparative literature, whatever that means. I don't know yet what my major in college will be. Maybe the History of Video Games?

4. But best of all, a major is a very important officer in the armed services, like the army or the marines.

My dad teases, threatening to salute whenever he sees Major Donaldson. That's the kind of sense of humor he has.

The only problem is, Marco and Major are so tight that it might be hard to squeeze my way into being their friend. There might not be enough room. They've known each other since kindergarten, and they're not sick of each other yet.

Nate Marshall is another friend possibility, though. He doesn't hang with anyone special. His red hair sticks up in front, like he's got a little rooster crest there. But on him it looks good—like an exclamation point.

The most unusual thing about Nate—that I know of, anyway—is how much he knows about cars. Well, about vehicles in general. They are his obsession. What he
really
loves is to explain something like spark plugs, for example. He goes on and on until you can either prove you understand what he's saying, which I hate, or until the school buzzer sounds. Whatever comes first.

I'll keep Nate in reserve. He's not perfect, but I could probably fix that.

Jason Leffer might be a better friend possibility. His name should be Jason
Laugh-er,
because he turned into the class funny guy last fall. And he's not just funny with words, even though he does tell a pretty good knock-knock joke. But he also owns fake dog-doo and rubber barf, useful prank stuff like that. And he sneaked a whoopee cushion into school one day a couple of weeks ago.

In case you didn't know, a whoopee cushion is sort of a balloon pancake that you blow air into, and then it makes a really gross noise when your joke victim sits on it. Marco Adair the armpit noise king thinks it's hysterical, of course.

But even Jason doesn't dare try out the whoopee cushion on beautiful Ms. Sanchez.

Ms. Sanchez and whoopee cushions do not go together. Also, our class would never forgive Jason if she sat down at her desk one day in a pretty dress and made that noise.

Nobody wants her to get embarrassed so close to her getting married. The girls all say that her head is filled with wedding stuff—not to mention what the man who is going to be Ms. Sanchez's husband would say or do if someone insulted her.

His name is Mr. Timberlake, but he's not the
famous
Mr. Timberlake. Ms. Sanchez's Mr. Timberlake runs a sporting goods store full of bats, nets, balls, surfboards, and climbing gear. And he looks like he knows how to play every single sport, surf each giant wave, and climb every mountain or climbing wall better than anyone. So none of us guys wants to make him anything even
close
to mad.

The truth is, lots of kids—like me, for instance—secretly wish Ms. Sanchez would just stay the same as always,
forever
, without having a new husband hanging around at open houses and assemblies. She acts different when he's here.

And she's got enough to think about with us kids, hasn't she?

Jason is kind of a chunky guy, but it's mostly muscle, he says. And I believe him. He has buzz-cut hair, like the fur of this hedgehog I saw once in a nature book. And his ears stick out a little, but in a good way. You definitely know they're there.

I think I could turn Jason into a pretty cool friend, especially if I can get him to stop making jokes and pulling pranks all the time. Stuff like that is funny, and I love funny. But it can wear a person out after a while.

Also, I like the chance to be funny, too.

My last friend possibility is Diego Romero. My mom says that
his
name sounds like it belongs to a movie star. And I can tell that a couple of girls in our class kind of like him, even though Diego is a quiet guy. He likes to read. He even reads instructions! And sometimes he brings these really thick books to school to share with Ms. Sanchez.

But he's not a kiss-up, he's cool. And I think I could loosen him up.

Okay. Now that I think about it, maybe none of these five guys is
perfect
, but like I said about Nate, I can fix that. All I have to do is to hang out with them more, get to know them better. Starting tomorrow morning.

And then I can choose which kid I want to be my spare friend.

Who will it be? Major, Marco, Nate, Jason, or Diego?

Maybe the winner can even become
my
personal assistant some day! I know Corey's way too busy winning swim meets and polishing his medals to take on that role, even if he would. But having a personal assistant does sound pretty cool.

Now, all I need is to figure out who the lucky kid will be.

It would be great to have a new friend by Friday, the day of Alfie's show. But my long-term goal is to have one by the end of this month.

January.

Then I'll have a happy new year for sure!

3

SECRET PLAN

“Hurry up, EllRay,” Mom says as I shovel a last spoonful of cereal into my mouth. The spoon is heaped so high that the milk in it trickles down my wrist. It makes my sleeve feel wet and sticky.

What's the big deal about making me take a shower and then put on clean clothes every morning, when messy stuff like trickling cereal milk happens before I'm even out the door?

Give it up, Mom! It's hopeless.

“Don't forget your lunch,” my mother reminds me.

Like I
would
. Food is just about my favorite thing. Also playing, and TV. “Where's Alfie?” I ask, trying to turn the mom-spotlight away from me for a second.

“She's upstairs, changing her barrettes,” Mom says, shaking her head. My mom is tall, thin, and pretty, and her skin is the color of the best caramel you ever saw. She likes to wear headbands, but not the scary plastic kind with teeth that Cynthia Harbison wears to school. Cynthia's headbands look like they're mad at her head. “Alfie forgot that she already wore the barrettes she put on this morning,” Mom tries to explain. “Just last Thursday. It was a narrow escape,” she adds, laughing.

Alfie is turning into a fashion diva, Mom says. Whatever a diva is.

I think it means spoiled.

“She better not make me late for school,” I say.

See, Dad has already left, because he has an hour-long drive to San Diego. Like I already said, he teaches geology at a college there. So Mom has to drive both Alfie and me to school every day. Alfie gets dropped off first each morning, and sometimes it takes her a long time to leave the car.

Here is an example of how hard it can be to get Alfie to leave Mom's Toyota. One morning when Alfie was about to get out of the car at school, she discovered that she had put on shoes from two different pairs of sneakers, one pink and one blue. That was a
major
meltdown. Alfie cried so hard that she yakked out the car window, and then she and Mom had to go home and lie down after they dropped me off at Oak Glen and Mom hosed off the car.

I'm glad I missed that part of the morning.

Another time, Mom caught Alfie trying to sneak a new doll into school. That's against the law at Kreative Learning and Daycare—which has a sign outside that my dad just loves, for some reason. The sign reads,
Featuring Spanish, Computer Skills, and Potty Training.
Dad sometimes makes a joke about how hard it would be to teach all three things at once.

I guess that's how teachers think. Even college teachers.

But like I said, Alfie sometimes refuses to leave Mom's car, which is why I'm worried about being late on this very important Monday.

Day one of my secret plan.

The day when I figure out which new friend to choose.

“EllWay,
c'mon
,” Alfie is saying, hands on her hips as she stares at me from the kitchen doorway. “Wake up!”

“I'm awake,” I tell her. “Anyway, Mom and I were waiting for
you
, slow-poke.”

“Mom's already in the car,” Alfie informs me. “And me and my cute barrettes don't wanna be late.”

“Me neither,” I say, locking the kitchen door behind me on my way out.

Not today, of all days, I add to myself.