“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.
Bu
t 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.
16
NERVOUS
“Pile in, honey,” Mom says later that afternoon, through the partly open passenger side car window.
It has started raining again, so I am glad to do it. But when I open the rear door, I am surprised to see a wall of plastic-wrapped toilet paper between my seat and Alfie’s. “I’m over here, EllWay,” she calls out. “Don’t wowwy.”
Which means “worry.” Too bad Cynthia, Heather, and Fiona missed out on that one today, on Baby Talk Thursday.
Another two huge packages of TP are on the car floor in front of Alfie. They are basically blocking her in. Sweet!
“We don’t even need seat-belts anymore,” Alfie tells me.
“Yes, you do,” Mom says from the front seat. “Buckle up,” she reminds me.
“I’m buckled,” I say. “You went shopping.”
Now I’m Einstein.
“Sure did,” Mom says, signaling to pull away from the curb.
“Did you get any fun stuff?” I ask. “Is it in the trunk?”
“Nuh-uh,” Alfie calls out, answering the question. “This is it. And it’s a present for your school!”
“Alfie,” Mom pretend-scolds. “It was supposed to be a surprise. I got a few families to make donations,” she explains to me.
Oh, geez.
“I’m not even going to kindergarten if they don’t have toilet paper when I get there,” Alfie announces from behind her cushiony wall. “And nobody can make me,” she adds. Just for good measure, I guess.
She’s pretty brave when she’s inside a TP fortress.
I shrink back into my seat. “How many other families did you call?” I ask my mom.
“Oh, three or four,” Mom says, her signal tick-tick-ticking as she changes lanes. “But I left messages on a couple of other answering machines. One of the families has a big van, so they’ll be picking up all the packages over the weekend. We’ll surprise Principal James with it on Monday morning.”
You sure will, I think, imagining the scene. Pretty soon, I’ll be able to find my way to his office with a blindfold on. “Mom,” I say, trying to sound normal. “Why?”
“How can you even ask?” Mom says, flashing me a smile in the rearview mirror. “I’m not going to let you children get tummyaches and what-not because you don’t want to use the bathrooms at school.”
“I never said kids were getting tummyaches,” I remind her. “And those aren’t even gonna fit,” I mumble, looking at the plump rolls of paper. I picture the silver metal boxes that hold the waxy squares of TP we use at school.
“We’ll solve each problem as it arises,” Mom promises me. “Parent power, EllRay. We are here for your school! Never fear.”
I chew my lower lip. One or two problems are going to come up a little sooner than she is expecting, I think. Like the truth about Oak Glen Primary School’s so-called toilet paper shortage, for one.
And what happened to my expensive library book today, for two.
But I’ll just let it all unroll naturally—like a really long piece of soft white paper.
What choice do I have?
“Um, listen. There’s something I have to say,” I tell Mom and Dad after dinner. The three of us are still sitting at the table. Alfie asked to be excused so she could squeeze in some horsie time before her bath.
“I thought there might be,” Mom says. “The state you came home in.”
“What? California?” I ask, frowning, because—what state did she expect me to come home in?
Dad clears his throat a couple of times.
“No. Covered in mud,” Mom explains. “And looking like you lost your best friend in the world. Rough day, honey?”<
br />
If she gets any nicer, I’m gonna start crying.
Wait until she hears what really happened—apart from the whole mummy zombie thing, which they already know about.
1. First, there’s the TP-shortage-at-school misunderstanding. Okay, fib. Okay, lie.
2. And then there’s me sneaking that library book into school.
3. This is followed by the book getting ruined. Oh, and by ten of us boys getting called into Principal James’s office for supposedly fighting during lunch.
Not to mention the complete failure of my spare friend goal—and what a bad example I’m setting for Alfie. You know, about making friends in primary school.
Mom’s not gonna be so nice to me then.
“A rough two days,” I say. I brush a few crumbs from the table into my hand. I look around, not knowing what to do with them. So I eat them.
“Want to talk about it here? Now?” Dad asks. “Or should the three of us meet in the family room in half an hour, after Alfie gets tucked into bed?”
In half an hour? What planet is my dad living on? Getting Alfie into bed takes forever. She is the world’s slowest bath-taker, for one thing. First, you have to talk her into the tub. And then she won’t get out, she’s having so much fun. Also, Alfie has a ton of nighty-night routines that have to go just right, or she’ll say she can’t sleep.
Or let anyone else sleep, either.
But even though I’m the one who told Mom and Dad we should talk, I’m nervous about it. So I don’t mind the delay.
“We can wait,” I tell my dad.
“EllRay,” Mom says, leaning forward as if she just got the best idea in the world. “You go talk to your little sister, okay? Just kind of ease her toward the idea of bath-time. Get her calmed down. She’s all excited about the show tomorrow at Kreative Learning and Daycare.”
“Listen. We all are,” Dad says, and Mom starts to giggle.
“Warren,” she says, giving him a look.
“I am not giving her a bath, even if it’s an emergency,” I inform my mom. “Or staying in the bathroom with her when she’s in the tub, either. So please don’t ask me to.”
EllRay Jakes The Recess King! Page 7