EllRay Jakes The Recess King! (8 page)

“You can't,” Diego says. “That's a library book! It's against the law!”

Like,
“That's that, dude.”

Only that
isn't
that. Not with Jared Matthews, it isn't.

“Oh, yeah?” Jared says. “Well, it's not against
my
law. Watch this, stupid-heads,” he says.

And he opens up the book as wide as it will go, hurls it onto the playground, and grinds it into the grass and mud with one gigantic sneaker. “
Take that
,” he yells at the book. At the book! How messed-up can you get? “Now, what are you gonna do about it?” he yells at us.

And he beckons us toward him with both hands. Like,
“Bring it
.
”

And so, even though this was not what we planned, and even though I, for one, do not have a whole lot to bring, we do.

We bring it, I mean.

14

“FIGHT! FIGHT!”

Seven of us is more than three of them. Jared, Jason, and Stanley. So my side is lucky—in numbers, anyway. But the three other guys are larger than us in size and fury. Jared is just plain big and angry, even though I'm the one who should be mad. Stanley is tall. And, as I mentioned once before, Jason is kind of on the chunky side, even if it is pure muscle, like he says.

Plus, Jason's probably got the whole pay-back thing revving him up, because of our toilet paper adventure yesterday.

All ten of us start to circle, not taking our eyes off one another. And as we pace, the circle gets smaller.

It's getting pretty intense around here.

Jared Matthews is giving me the stink-eye.

Armpit Noise King Marco is scowling at string-bean Stanley and his very plaid shirt.

Stanley is darting his meanest look from Marco to Major, then back to Marco again. He probably can't remember which one's which.

Buzz-cut Jason is staring hard at Corey Robinson. Corey is pale but determined-looking under the three hundred freckles on his face. It sometimes seems like Corey is made out of pipe cleaners, but the whole class knows how strong he is from all that swimming.

It looks like Diego Romero is “reading Jared like a book,” as my Dad sometimes says. I think that means Diego knows what's up with Jared and his hot-headed ways.

And Nate's red rooster crest of hair is almost standing at attention as he shifts his furious glare from Jared to Jason to Stanley. Nate's hands are even clenched like rooster claws. He is ready to pounce.

Yoo-hoo! Mr. Havens! Where are you? Getting a nice energy drink?

Our circle keeps getting smaller, like it's a spring winding tighter and tighter. It's about to go
boing
. Pretty soon there will be no place left to go, and nothing else to do but fight—which means we'll be busted big-time.

Listen.
Running in the halls
is against the rules at Oak Glen Primary School.

Not rinsing out your milk carton before recycling it
is against the rules.

You can probably guess how they feel about playground brawls around here!

I'll admit it. Part of me wouldn't
mind
fighting, not after what Jared did to my very expensive library book, which, P.S., I will now have to pay for. It wasn't the book's fault that it wasn't a sweet and crumbly slab of gingerbread, was it?

But I don't like the getting-in-trouble part that comes
after
a fight.

Not to mention what will happen to me at home. Because basically, you can at least double any scolding I get at school, and you'll be close to what happens when my mom and dad get hold of any bad news about me.

Also, fighting won't help my wrecked library book any, will it?

I think about mom and dad. I also think about how boring it is, circling around and around like the ants in
The Sword in the Stone
, who are always getting ready for war—even though they don't know why. I try to plot how to get out of this goofy situation without looking like a chicken or a fool. But just when my brain starts to
tick, tick, tick
,
trying to come up with an idea, the dreaded words come floating across the playground. “Fight! Fight!”

The older boys have spotted us. And almost
all
the lunch kids on the playground race toward us. Nobody wants to miss a moment of this stupendous, ten-person battle, even though we are only third-graders.

If it actually happens, our fight will make Oak Glen Primary School history.

And not in a good way.

“Fight! Fight!”

Okay, here is the embarrassing truth about the whole
“Fight! Fight!”
thing.

1. If the kids who are mad are still throwing stink-eyes and making threats after five minutes, not pounding on each other, they are about ready for the whole thing to be finished, in my opinion. Not because they're scared, but because they're over it. Face it. Other stuff is more fun. And how long can a person stay mad?

2. But then
other
kids see what's happening, and they gather. They say things like,
“Go ahead! Hit 'im!”
Because what do
those kids
care if the fighting kids get in trouble? It's just more entertainment for them!

3. That's when it's hard for fighting kids to back down, though. Even if they really
are
over the whole thing.

Like I am here, now.

That's when it takes guts to stop.

4. So, what's a kid supposed to do? Especially when there are no grown-ups around?

Hope that energy drink is extra good today, Mr. Havens!

And—
fwump
.

I'm flat on the ground.

Then,
bam, bam, bam
. Other guys pile on top of me. It's like we are making a sky-high, noisy, third-grade kid sandwich.

Oof!

I can hear the older kids hooting and jeering at us.

A few of us third-graders
are
trying to fight a little, or we're pretending to. It's like we have to put on enough of a show to satisfy the older kids—even though we're so mooshed together we can barely move. I have hold of one of Jason's sticking-out ears. Corey is growling. And some other kid—probably Jared—is twisting my sweatshirt so tight that it's like he's trying to wring me out.

And then,
fwoosh
.

Jared seems to fly off me, leaving my sweatshirt wrinkled, but in one piece.

Corey disappears from the pile, too.

Jason, Stanley, and Kevin have been lifted off as well, and now it's easier to breathe. What is happening?

Even though I am still on the ground, I peek around for a clue.

And I see several pairs of grown-up feet.

Mr. Havens is here, hoisting kids off the pile left and right, and so is Principal James. And even Miss Myrna, the little old lady who helps out in the auditorium.

How embarrassing.

All the big kids have disappeared, of course. They seem to have melted into the playground.

And all that's left is goofy, guilty
us
.

“Okay,” Principal James says. “Break it up. Break it up.”

I feel like explaining to him that there isn't really anything to break up. This whole thing was just a keep-away game gone wrong! And then, when we were facing off, we kind of got forced into a fake fight by the big kids.

“I turn my back for
one minute
,” Mr. Havens says, holding tight onto Marco's shoulder, as if he might run away at any second.

And go where, Mr. Havens?

I get to my feet one sore inch at a time.

“It's not your fault, Mr. Havens,” Miss Myrna is saying, trying to make the second grade teacher feel better, I guess. “You were taking care of Little Miss Nosebleed, over by the swings.”

Wait. They have
nicknames
for us? That's messed-up!

I wonder what
my
nickname is?

B-z-z-z-z-z!
The buzzer sounds.

“In my office, each and every one of you boys,” Principal James says in a voice that tells us we'd better not argue. Like we
would
! “Miss Myrna,” he adds. “Please go tell Ms. Sanchez that she'll be missing a few students for a while. I'm sure she'll be interested to hear how they spent their lunch break. Now, march,” he tells us, like we're soldiers. Or prisoners, maybe. That's more like it.

“Can I get my library book?” I find the courage to ask, trying to keep my voice steady, in spite of all the trouble I'm in. “It, um, fell. It's on the ground over there,” I add, pointing.

“And that, Mr. Jakes, is why we don't eat lunch with library books,” Principal James says, his beard bristling. “Grab it fast, and then follow me.”

So I do, and I do.

We
all
do.

We follow Principal Harry—
Hairy
—James, I mean.

Left, right. Left, right. Left, right.

Off to meet our doom.

15

BIRDS OF A FEATHER

“We covered for you yesterday, dog. So you better not tell,” Jared says to me under his breath. We are making our way toward the school building, following Principal James like—well, like a bunch of bad geese who have been placed under arrest. You know, geese. Like in
The Sword in the Stone
.

“Yeah,” Stanley and Jason chime in.

“Dudes. You don't have to threaten me,” I say, shaking my head. “If I was going tattle on you guys, wouldn't I have already done it? Principal James asked what happened. And I didn't blab.”

Jared looks like he can't remember back that far. It's been three whole minutes, after all. But hey, he's still one of the flock. Or “herd,” as Cynthia would say.

“Yeah,” Marco says, backing me up. “EllRay would have already blabbed. And he
didn't
.”

Corey, Kevin, and Major nod, backing him up.

Diego and Nate just keep plodding along.

“I told Principal James the book fell on the ground, remember?” I tell Jared, Stanley, and Jason, and whoever else is listening. “
I'm
the one who got yelled at for bringing a library book to lunch.
I'm
the one who's gonna have to pay it off for the next ten years. Not to mention what happens when my mom and dad find out,” I add, shuddering.

“What
about
your mom and dad?” Stanley asks as we start down the hall.

“You think they're not gonna get mad at me about this?” I ask. “Have you
met
them?”

“They're kinda strict,” Corey says, cluing Stanley in.

He should talk! Corey's mom runs his whole life, practically. But this is no time to pick a fight with my one-and-only friend. That would
really
mess things up.

All I wanted in the first place was
more
friends. And I wanted them bad!

I
need
more friends, so I will always have someone to hang with after school and on weekends. Someone to play video games with. Stuff is just more fun that way.

Also, this may sound weird, but I want Alfie to think I'm at least a little bit popular. I'm her
big brother
. And she'll be in kindergarten here soon. I don't want her to think Oak Glen Primary School is a tough place for us Jakes kids to make friends.

Like I said before, I look out for my little sister.

Jason doesn't seem at all interested in being my friend, though. Not after yesterday. And Diego is off in his own daydreamy world again. He never even noticed the book!

That leaves me with no one but almost-always-too-busy Corey, who I've kind of been ignoring lately. I admit it.

“Into the office,” the head secretary says, shooing us with her hands.

“All ten of us?” I ask, surprised. Because usually, from what I hear, Principal James likes to talk to kids one at a time when there's trouble. It's probably so they can't all grab onto some fake story like it's a life-raft that might save them all.

“That's right,” the secretary says. “Each and every one of you.”

And so in we go, in clumps:

1. Jared Matthews, Stanley Washington, Kevin McKinley, and Jason Leffer.

2. Diego Romero and Nate Marshall.

3. Major Donaldson and Marco Adair.

4. And Corey and me. Or I.

There are two visitors' chairs in Principal James's office, but none of us kids sits down. Nobody wants to look that permanent, in my opinion.

“Eyes front, gentlemen,” Principal James says from behind the desk. He raps his stapler on it to get our attention—which he already has, believe me.

I think he's being sarcastic, calling us “gentlemen,” by the way. But it's hard to tell, with that beard on his face.

“Now, we have a problem,” he begins—and I wait for him to ask who did what.

Grownups don't usually care about the “why” or “when” parts all that much.

But I don't think anyone's gonna blab.

“Birds of a feather flock together.”
My mom told me that once. It's an old saying from at least five hundred years ago, in England, she said. She was explaining the geese in
The Sword in the Stone
to me at the time. But I think the guys in my class are going to flock together today, too.

Especially since that's what we did yesterday.

“EllRay?” Principal James begins. “You were at the bottom of the pile, and your book got ruined. So I guess you are the injured party here. Do you have something to say?”

“I'm not injured,” I tell him really fast. “I was just smooshed, that's all. Everyone was. We were only playing, see.”

“I meant that your
book
was damaged,” Principal James says, his glasses glittering. “Your library book—which is city property, by the way.”

“Oh,” I say, holding what's left of the book against my muddy sweatshirt. I am trying to think fast. “It was just an accident, like I said. The book fell,” I try to explain.

“It looks like a steamroller ran over it,” the principal says. “Nothing to report?”

“Nope,” I say, shaking my head again.

If this was a bullying thing, I would speak right up. Maybe not here, in front of everyone. But if some kid was getting pushed around, I'd speak up for sure. You just
need
to.

Everyone knows that, nowadays.

But today, at lunch, that was just us guys “getting carried away.”

That's how my mom sometimes puts it when Alfie and I are throwing pillows at each other, and we break a lamp or something. “It was on accident,” Alfie always says, making everything worse—because you're supposed to say
“by accident.
”

At my house, you can sometimes do stuff wrong, as long as you say it right.

“Then we'll move on to
my
problem,” Principal James tells us through his beard, yanking my thoughts back to what's happening now. “Want to know what my problem is?”

“Yeah.” “Sure.” “I guess,” a few of us mutter. The rest of us just nod or stare down at our muddy sneakers.

But Principal James isn't really waiting for our answer. “
My
problem is that I want our playground to be a nice, safe place for everyone to be,” he tells us. “Both at recess, and during lunch. Right?”

“Right,” one or two kids squawk. It's like they've been hypnotized into saying the correct thing.

But Principal James is not even listening. “So,” he continues. “When the playground is
not
a nice, safe place for everyone, what are my options?”

For one crazy second I'm afraid Corey is going to raise his hand and ask what the word “options” means, but he doesn't. I think he may be paralyzed by fear. He has never been in this much trouble before.

You can see every freckle on his face, he is so pale.

“I
suppose
I could cancel third grade recess altogether,
forever
,” Principal James says. He taps his hairy chin as he pretends to come up with this great choice. Or
option.

Kevin squeaks, I guess at the thought of going an entire morning or afternoon without recess. Recess is his favorite part of the day! Jared nudges him to shut up.

We're not allowed to
say
“shut up” at Oak Glen, but we can nudge it.

“And for lunch,” Principal James continues, “maybe I should assign each of you boys a seat in the cafeteria. You can sit boy, girl, boy, girl. And after eating, you can march straight back to class and practice your vocabulary words, instead of playing outside. How does that sound? Is
that
the solution to my problem?”

Don't answer him
, I brain-wave to Cody.
It's not a real question, dog.

Luckily, Cody is still frozen where he stands.

“For reals?” Stanley finally asks, as if all hope is lost.

“Not necessarily,” Principal James says. “But I think you can see where I'm going with this,” he adds. He leans forward.

Not really
, I think as Major and Marco take a small step back. Because—is this what Principal James is really gonna do, or not?

“Do I have to spell it out?” our principal asks.

Spell it out. Spell it out. Spell it out
, I think, now trying to brain-wave Principal James, of all people.

“Okay, here's the deal,” the principal says. He holds out his big skinny hands palms up, like he's giving us a present. “We can let what happened today slide, if—and only if—you vow never to let it happen again. No more destruction of private property on my playground. No more pile-ups. And no more fights, or I
will
crack down. And I know you know I mean it. Do you understand me? Do you
vow
?”

Jason puts his hand on his chest like he's saying the Pledge of Allegiance. “I vow,” he announces in a shaky voice.

And he's not even joking, for once.

“
Dude
,” Jared says, now giving
him
an elbow in the ribs.

“You have an objection, Mr. Matthews?” Principal James asks Jared.

“Nuh-uh,” Jared mumbles.

“Excuse me?” the principal asks, cupping a hand to his ear.

“No objection, sir,” Jared says, louder this time.

“So, vow,” Principal James says.

“
We vow
,” we all say in union.

“Excellent,” Principal James says, getting to his feet. “Now, you can all walk
quietly
back to class,” he tells us. “Miss Myrna will accompany you. And each of you will thank her when you get there.”

Nobody argues.

“Parents
may
be notified about this,” the principal continues. “And you boys will miss afternoon recess today. You need to make up this morning's work. But, good news! I'll come supervise, so Ms. Sanchez can still have her break. There's no reason she should have to suffer for your bad choices.”

Wait. He
might
tell our parents? That's worse than saying he
will
tell them! It means we will have to tell them first, just in case. And maybe for
no reason
.

And he's going to supervise us
in class
all during recess?

I thought we were home free—with just a scolding!

“Any problems with that? Any dissent? Any
discussion
?” Principal James asks, hand cupped to his ear again.

“Naw. We're good,” Nate says, speaking for all of us.

“Excellent,” Principal James says, smiling. “Until we meet again, gentlemen.”

We just stand there and stare at him.

“I think that means we can leave,” I finally tell everyone.

And so down the hall we go. Quietly, just like Miss Myrna tells us to do.

Man
, what a terrible Thursday.