EllRay Jakes The Recess King!

by Sally Warner; Illustrated by Brian Biggs

  Are any kickballs going to be left?

  And if there are, will Mr. Havens give me one—after what happened yesterday?

  I don’t think so.

  “I’ll take a muffin, I guess,” I tell Marco, shrugging. “If you really mean it.”

  “Why wouldn’t I mean it?” Marco asks, pulling a plastic bag from his sweatshirt pouch. He hands me not one but two little muffins. Yum! I peel the paper off one and cram it into my mouth.

  “C’mon, you guys,” Corey yells. “It looks like there’s only one kickball left—and we gotta score it!”

  “Race ya,” Major shouts.

  “Yeah. Race ya,” Marco says.

  “Mmph,” I say, sputtering muffin crumbs.

  And all four of us take off running across the wet playground, our sneakers flashing.

  13

  KEEP-AWAY

  “The sun is shining,” Kry says at lunchtime, as if we can’t see out the window ourselves.

  But we don’t mind it when she tells us obvious stuff. Everyone likes Kry.

  I turn my back to the other kids in the cubby area. I wiggle the foil-wrapped library book out of my backpack. The book is bigger than I remember. But it’s flat—compared to yesterday’s lumpy roll of toilet paper, anyway.

  I slide the wrapped-up library book under my sweatshirt.

  There. Do I look perfectly normal?

  No, I do not. In fact, I look like I am wearing a bulletproof vest under my sweatshirt, like some guy on a TV show. Or maybe I look like I’m wearing a thin suit of armor. Marco will think I’m a secret knight—but a lot bigger than the plastic ones he sneaks to school.

  It’s cool being bigger than something.

  But Diego is gonna think this book is great, so it’s all worth it.

  I’m just one small step away from having my plan come true. I am going to be the recess king! I will invite Diego to come to Alfie’s show tomorrow night. Then we’ll all go out for pizza—or ice cream. Whichever he likes best.

  Especially if it’s what Alfie likes best, too.

  We’ll be friends for sure. And then no matter how busy Corey is with swim practice, or how much fun Kevin is having with the neighbor kids, I’ll always have a cool spare friend to hang with.

  I can work on digging up a spare-spare friend after that, once I rest up from finding this one.

  I don’t want to brag, but I think I am turning into a good idea guy.

  Outside, puffy white clouds are bouncing around the cold blue sky the same way that we kids are bouncing around the playground. “Hey EllRay. Over here,” Kevin says from one of the boys’ picnic tables. And so I hold the library book in place and trot over, covering my chest the best I can with my lunch bag.

  Most of the guys are already at the table. The ones who aren’t eating in the cafeteria, anyway. But my theory is that you miss out on too much playground time when you eat in the cafeteria. It just doesn’t make sense.

  This is Oak Glen, California, after all. Not the North Pole.

  Even Jason is sitting at the picnic table, but he’s been pretty much ignoring me since yesterday. Oh, well.

  “EllRay’s running funny,” Jared calls out, laughing in his haw-haw way.

  “Like a girl,” Stanley adds. But he wishes he could run like Kry Rodriguez does.

  Well, he doesn’t really wish that. But he is not as good a runner as Kry.

  I’m just saying.

  “I’m trying to stay warm,” I pretend-explain, still hugging my sweatshirt—and the book—to my chest. I squeeze in between Diego and Kevin. Diego is sitting at the end of the bench, which is perfect. I try to paw through my lunch bag with my right hand, while still holding the foil-wrapped library book to my chest with my left hand.

  It’s at a time like this when a person could use three hands, in my opinion.

  All that’s left of my lunch is a banana, some cheese squares, and three oatmeal cookies that are so small an elf could munch them down without any problem. That’s Mom’s latest thing, making food small, especially treats. So an actual person has to eat a ton of them for it to come out right.

  Dang, I’m hungry.

  But I am also excited, because of my excellent plan.

  I slide a miniature oatmeal cookie into my mouth, and the book under my sweatshirt slips a little.

  “Watcha got there?” Jared asks, spying a triangle corner of the foil-wrapped book. “Treats?”

  Jared is always hungry. Well, most of us guys are. We’re like sharks, who are “eating machines,” Annie Pat tells us. She wants to be a fish scientist when she grows up, so she knows stuff like that.

  As I said before, the best things to eat at Oak Glen Primary School—like leftover birthday cake—usually come wrapped in aluminum foil. So Jared thinks he’s really onto something.

  “It is treats,” he tells the whole table of boys. “And EllRay’s hogging.”

  “I am not hogging,” I say, my heart starting to thud.

  This is not going the way I thought it would, that’s for sure. Oh, it’s not going terrible, because what do I care if the guys in my class discover I checked out a library book about cars? It’s not like I sneaked in a Barbie encyclopedia or something.

  Which Alfie would just love, by the way.

  This was going to be a private thing between Diego and me, but I decide to get it over with. “Look. I’ll show you,” I tell everyone at the table. I pull out the foil-wrapped book from under my sweatshirt. I start to unwrap a corner while I hold the book up for everyone to see. I sneak a look at Diego. “It’s this really cool—”

  “Gingerbread!” Jared says, reaching across the table like lightning, and grabbing the foil-wrapped package from my hands. “A whole slab of it! And EllRay wasn’t even gonna share!”

  Jared untangles himself from the picnic table bench and takes off with his prize, my book, shouting, “Gingerbread!” He is holding the library book over his head like a trophy as he runs. Stanley, Jason, and Kevin take off after him, laughing.

  Gingerbread? He saw part of the cover! And that book’s as hard as a rock.

  Well, as hard as a book, anyway.

  A library book.

  Taken out in my name.

  Dollar signs, and scoldings from my parents—and the librarian—pop into my head like cartoon thought-balloons. And before I know it, I’m chasing my book’s kidnappers, even though chasing Jared is probably exactly what he wants me to do.

  But I can’t help it.

  I don’t even look to see if anyone’s following me.

  “Haw, haw, haw,” Jared donkey-laughs again, seeing me come after him. He starts shedding pieces of aluminum foil as he runs. He doesn’t even care about the litter lecture we’re sure to get from Mr. Havens, who is still the substitute recess monitor. I think maybe the regular guy ran away from school.

  Where is Mr. Havens, by the way?

  “Hey,” Jared is shouting now, shaking the library book in his big pink hand as he runs. “What it this, anyway? A book?”

  He sounds angry, like I really put one over on him.

  “Yeah, it’s a book, Einstein,” I yell, pounding after him. “A library book. You can’t eat it. So give it here!”

  Jared stops for a minute, waggling the book as he holds it out toward me. “Come and get it,” he says, in a mocking voice.

  And then he hurls it through the air to Stanley, his personal assistant.

  “Keep-away!” Jared cries.

  “Keep-away,” Stanley echoes.

  Okay, I think, crouching low like a ninja as I plan my attack. Keep-away is something that is supposed to be a game. Except really, it’s usually just big kids being mean to smaller kids.

  And unfortunately, today, I happen to be the smaller kid involved.

  A really fair “game,” right?

>   Where’s Merlyn when you need him? He could turn Jared into a bug!

  The script for keep-away never changes. There are only three sure-fire lines.

  1. There’s “Keep-away!” and

  2. “Give it here,” and

  3. “Come and get it!”

  That’s about it.

  Stanley tosses my library book to Jason, and its pages flutter as it flies through the air. “Come and get it,” Jason shouts, barely holding onto the book—even though the grassy hill is muddy from the rain.

  As if he can read my mind, Jason opens up the book and puts it on his head like a funny hat. “La-la-la-la-la,” he chants, prancing around. “Look at me! I’m so beautiful. Hope I don’t drop this thing. And thanks for gettin’ me in trouble yesterday, dude,” he adds, being Jason again.

  Jason Leffer, who was going to be my new spare friend.

  “I didn’t mean to,” I say, barely aware of the kids moving up behind me. “How did I know that little guy was gonna spring a leak and bring us all down? Come on, Jason. Give it here,” I say, holding out my puny Tyrannosaurus-rex hands.

  “Keep-away,” Jason jeers, tossing the book back to Jared.

  It cartwheels through the air in slow motion.

  And that’s when the kids behind me spring into action. “Get it,” Corey shouts, making a side run around Stanley and heading toward Jared. Jared is not a very fast thinker in situations like this.

  He’s big, but he is “definitely not quarterback material,” as my dad would probably put it. We watch a lot of football together.

  And out from behind my other side sprint Nate, Major, Marco, Kevin, and Diego. That’s a total of six kids on my side. Six whole kids.

  Seven, counting me. Seven against three!

  I had no idea I had so many friends.

  There’s no time to feel happy about it, though. “Come and get it,” Jared shouts for the second time. But he is now keeping a wary eye on the line of fierce-faced kids heading his way.

  Stanley looks like he has changed his mind about the whole keep-away thing, but Jason’s still in. Wow, he must really be mad at me. “Throw it here,” Jason yells to Jared. He claps his hands a couple of times, to warm them up for the big catch, I guess.

  So much for pizza and ice cream, dog. And for me teaching you the secrets to Die, Creature, Die.

  “Don’t come any closer,” Jared warns my friends, but they creep toward him anyway, like silent warriors. I’m heading his way, too.

  We approach our enemy. Like I said, my loyal army consists of:

  1. Corey Robinson.

  2. Kevin McKinley.

  3. Nate Marshall.

  4. Major Donaldson.

  5. Marco Adair.

  6. Diego Romero, my maybe new spare friend.

  7. And me, EllRay Jakes.

  “Stop right there, or I’m gonna throw this dumb book on the ground,” Jared shouts. His eyes look a little wild.

  “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 d
o 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.