by Sally Warner
“You’re giving your father’s crystals away,” Ms. Sanchez tells me.
As if I didn’t know!
“Well, but it’s okay,” I lie. “Because my dad said I could. He has lots of them. In fact,” I add, “he wants you to have the Herkimer diamond. You can use it for a paperweight or something. But only at home.”
“I could never accept such a valuable gift, honey,” Ms. Sanchez says.
I hope nobody heard her call me “honey,” that’s for sure.
“It’s not a real diamond,” I remind her. “But it’s way bigger than your engagement ring, so you can see it better. And my father wants you to have it,” I repeat.
I sound so sincere!
I hurry to my backpack to get the correct sock.
“He’s giving Ms. Sanchez the diamond,” I hear some of the remaining kids whisper. They’re impressed now, all right! I’ll never have to brag again.
“Well, if you’re sure,” Ms. Sanchez says, her voice still sounding a little doubtful.
“I want the brown one,” Kevin says quickly, and so I hand it to him, because—I’m already in so much trouble, why stop now?
And Kevin’s my friend, at least.
“I want the gray one,” Jared announces, eyeing the last lumpy sock.
And so I hand the smoky quartz crystal to him, almost glad to get it over with. “Sorry, but that’s all,” I say, showing everyone who’s left the six empty socks.
“Aww,” a few leftover kids murmer.
“That’s no fair,” Heather Patton says, scowling.
“Life’s not fair,” Cynthia tells her, holding onto her tourmaline—my dad’s tourmaline—as if she is afraid someone is about to snatch it away.
If only I could!
And if only I could turn back the clock—for just ten minutes. Because the wonderful feeling I had five minutes ago has gone. All that’s left is the feeling that I am about to yak all over the floor.
What am I gonna tell my dad?
“I hate it when people say life’s not fair,” Heather says, which is unusual, because usually Heather kisses up to Cynthia like crazy. I almost wish I had another crystal just for her, because I hate that saying, too.
“I need to close up for the day, people,” Ms. Sanchez says, standing by the door as she gets ready to turn off the lights. “But don’t worry. You’ll all be seeing each other in the morning.”
We grab our stuff and wander out into the almost-empty hall.
“I’ll let you hold my crystal when we get outside,” Cynthia promises Heather.
And—it’s over.
All except for the part where my dad comes home late tonight.
8
DADDY’S HOME!
My dad gets home in five hours, when Alfie and I will already be asleep. I have done everything possible to keep him from noticing that six crystals are missing from his collection.
1. I moved the rest of the crystals again, so now, even though nothing matches its label, there aren’t any empty spaces at all left on the shelves.
2. Then I unscrewed the light bulb in the lamp next to the crystal shelves.
3. I even got Alfie to draw Dad a big “Welcome Home” sign before dinner and put it in his office. My dad thinks Alfie’s this genius artist, and he might be so happy to see the sign that he won’t notice anything in the room is missing.
I can barely even remember this afternoon’s good feeling, when everybody liked me, but I think the scared and guilty feeling I have now is probably going to last forever.
And that’s another example of something that is not coming out even in my life, in addition to the tallness thing.
“Mom says to tell you dinner’s ready,” Alfie says, peeking into my room, which she says smells like a hamster cage.
Her daycare has a hamster named Sparky, so Alfie’s like this big expert now.
Alfie is golden-brown, and my mom always fixes her soft black hair in three puffy braids: one on top, and one on each side of her head. She has about a million little clip-things to hold the braids shut, and the clips go from fancy to extra-fancy. Even though she is four, she still sucks her thumb when she gets worried or tired.
Everyone always says how cute she is, but don’t tell her that! She’s bad enough already.
“Come on, EllWay,” Alfie says over her shoulder as I follow her down the hall leading to the stairs. “It’s macaroni and cheese night.”
We always have dinners with no meat in them when my dad is away, because Mom doesn’t like cooking, smelling, or even eating meat too much. And that’s fine with Alfie, because all she really likes to eat is cheese—and any dessert under the sun.
But me and my dad love meat. We have a lot in common.
I just hope he remembers that if he ever finds out I gave away those crystals.
“Are your hands clean?” my mom asks Alfie and me as we get ready to sit down. Mom’s hair looks extra pretty, and she is wearing fancier clothes than the ones she had on when I got home from school. I guess that’s because my dad is coming home. They’re still smoochy, but only at home, luckily. I mean, that’s bad enough.
“They’re basically clean,” I say, hiding my hands behind my back, just in case. I think I washed them after school, but I can’t really remember.
“Mine are basically dooty,” Alfie says, which means “dirty” in Alfie-speak.
“Go wash,” Mom tells Alfie and me. “I’ll pour you two some icy cold milk to go with your piping hot macaroni and cheese.”
Sometimes Mom sounds like a commercial when she talks about food. It’s from being a writer, I guess—or from being hungry.
“Guess what? I’m gonna stay up late, until Daddy gets home,” Alfie tells me at the downstairs bathroom sink, sudsing up like she’s about to perform an operation on someone. “I’m not even a little bit sleepy,” she says, passing me the soap.
“Well, I’m going to bed early,” I say. I won’t go to bed right after dinner, or Mom might think I’m sick. But maybe at ten minutes to eight I can start yawning, and then just melt away into my bedroom so I’ll be asleep when Dad gets home.
But from down the hall, I hear an unexpected sound.
The front door is opening.
“Daddy’s home!” Alfie yells, throwing Mom’s fancy hand towel on the floor and racing out of the bathroom.
“Dad’s home,” I say quietly, looking at my bug-eyed face in the mirror. “And he’s almost five hours EARLY. Uh-oh.”
“We’re so happy you caught that earlier flight,” Mom says after the hugging has stopped. “And you’re just in time for dinner, but I’m afraid it’s only mac and cheese.”
“Delicious home cooking,” Dad says, smiling. “Let me just get rid of this,” he tells Mom, gesturing toward his wheelie bag. “I’ll put it in my office for now and unpack after dinner.”
“No,” I shout, surprising everyone. “I mean, no,” I say again, more quietly this time. “I’ll take it upstairs for you, so you can relax.”
“Well, that’s very thoughtful of you, son,” Dad says. “But dinner’s ready. You go ahead and sit down. You can help me later.”
“But—”
“Go sit down,” Dad says, giving me a puzzled look. “I’ll only be a minute.”
And so I walk into the dining room with concrete feet—and my dad disappears into his office.
9
MISSING
A few minutes later, Dad comes into the dining room with a weird look on his face, just as Mom has finished passing the mac and cheese to Alfie and me.
“What’s wrong?” my mom asks, looking up.
“Were there any strangers in the house when I was away, Louise?” he asks. His voice sounds funny, and I start to feel even more nervous.
“Just the electrician,” Mom tells him. “Such a nice young man. He came yesterday to give an estimate on adding that new outlet.”
“So he went into my office,” Dad says, almost to himself.
“Well, yes,” Mom re
plies. “He had to, to see where the outlet was supposed to go. Why? What’s wrong?”
“Some things are missing,” Dad says quietly.
My mom almost drops the salad bowl, she is so horrified. “Oh, no,” she says.
“We had robbers?” Alfie squawks, her brown eyes wide. “Maybe they took some of my toys!” And she races out of the room to check.
“I’ll calm her down in a minute. What’s missing?” Mom asks my dad. “Not your big computer or the printer, I hope.”
“No, they’re still there,” Dad says. “But some of my crystal specimens are gone. It’s not that they’re so valuable, mind, but they’re valuable to me. I collected each and every one of them. Whoever took them tried to cover it up, but I noticed right away.”
Naturally. Trust eagle-eyed Dr. Warren Jakes not to miss a thing.
“I just can’t believe it,” Mom says as the salad bowl droops in her hand. “Why, we’ve used the Bright Ideas Electric Company ever since we moved to Oak Glen. The young man confided to me that this was his first job, too.”
“And it’ll be his last, if I have anything to say about it,” Dad says, scowling. “We’re going to have to go through the entire house after dinner, Louise, to see if anything else is missing—before we call the police and fill out the report.”
“Oh, no,” my mom says, sinking into her chair. “I can’t believe that nice young man did such a thing. Maybe this was a one-time mistake, Warren. Can’t we simply call the man’s boss and ask that he give the crystals back—and anything else he may have taken?”
“We’ll do that as well,” Dad says, sounding stern. “But Oak Glen doesn’t need people waltzing into other people’s houses and helping themselves to whatever they like. I’m calling the company and the police,” he says again.
I feel like I am frozen in my chair as I imagine that I am the electrician who waltzed—I mean walked—into my dad’s office yesterday, just trying to do his job. Here is what he could be thinking pretty soon:
1. I studied really hard at Electrician School, and I made it through all the quizzes and tests, even though I got electric shocks, and not the fun kind. I also had to crawl into spiderwebby tunnels and other scary stuff like that.
2. But I finally graduated and was lucky enough to get a good job, and then I went to some nice lady’s house to give her an estimate for putting in a new outlet in her husband’s office.
3. I liked the lady so much that I even told her this was my first job!
4. Then I got blamed for stealing—even though I never took a thing. And I got fired.
5. The End. Of everything.
I CANNOT let that happen.
“Wait!” I say to my mom and dad. “Don’t call that man’s boss. Don’t call the police. There’s something I have to tell you.”
10
ULTIMATUM
“Well, what did you think was going to happen when I noticed the crystals were gone?” my dad asks after dinner, when we are alone in his office.
I try not to squirm in my chair, but the tiny bit of macaroni and cheese and salad I was able to eat isn’t helping any. It is sitting in my stomach like a softball waiting to be pitched. “I didn’t get that far,” I finally tell my dad. “I guess I just got carried away with being popular for a change.”
“Popular,” Dad scoffs. He shakes his head in wonder—probably at how dumb the word sounds when I say it.
And that makes me mad, because what kid doesn’t want to be popular? Not popular like a TV or rap star, but like a person who other kids admire, at least? So I start talking before I lose my nerve. “You’re always saying I should make more friends at Oak Glen,” I remind him. “So I just figured—”
“You just figured you’d help yourself to a few of my personal possessions,” Dad interrupts, scowling. “That’s stealing, EllRay.”
STEALING? “No it isn’t,” I say, my heart thunking so hard in my chest that it’s probably bumping into the mac and cheese and salad. “It’s not stealing when you borrow something from your own family, Dad,” I tell him, hoping this is officially true.
“It’s not ‘borrowing’ when you take something that isn’t yours and then give it away,” Dad informs me. “And why is it okay to steal from a family member, son?” he asks. “Should you treat someone in your own family worse than you would a stranger?”
“I—I didn’t mean to give the crystals away,” I mumble.
“And I wasn’t supposed to find out,” Dad says, like he’s finishing my sentence for me.
I almost hate my dad right now—because he’s making me feel so guilty.
He’s probably sorry I’m his son. “There are lots of aquamarines and topazes in the world,” I point out, trying another argument.
“Not ones that I collected when I was in graduate school,” Dad snaps. “Not ones I dug out of the earth with my bare hands. I want those crystals back, son.”
Now, obviously I am my dad’s son. But when he calls me “son” like that, it usually means trouble. Not always, but usually.
“I know,” I tell him, just for something to say.
“So here’s what I’ll do,” Dad continues. “I’ll either call Ms. Sanchez at home tonight and tell her what happened, so that she can make the announcement in class tomorrow morning asking for the prompt return of all six crystals. Or I can come to school with you and make the announcement myself.”
“You can’t do that,” I say, my heart pounding, because—how could I ever live it down? The two friends I have, Kevin and Corey, might never want to talk to me again, I’d look so bad. And so not honest.
“I most certainly can,” my dad assures me. “But I take it you choose option number one. I’ll call Ms. Sanchez this very minute.” And he reaches for his cell phone.
Okay. Most parents don’t have most teachers’ home phone numbers, but it’s different at Oak Glen, especially when a kid’s behavior “needs improvement ,” which is what Ms. Sanchez wrote on one of my progress reports a few weeks ago.
Ever since then, it’s been Communication City around here.
“Don’t call her,” I say, jumping to my feet. “Let me get the crystals back, Dad. It’s my mess, and I should be the one to fix it,” I add, knowing suddenly that this is the argument that might actually work with him.
Dad leans back in his swivel chair until it creaks, and he slowly puts down his cell phone on the desk. “Do you think you can do that?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say, even though in real life, there is no way I can succeed. But at least it will postpone what is sure to be the most embarrassing moment in my life in eight whole years.
“Fine, then,” Dad says. “But here’s my ultimatum. Do you know what an ultimatum is?” he asks.
“Not exactly,” I admit.
“It’s when a person says for the final time that you have to do something, or some consequence will happen,” my dad explains. “So listen up. You’ll ask for the crystals back tomorrow, Wednesday. But if those crystals aren’t in my possession by Thursday evening, I’m marching into your classroom first thing Friday morning, and I’m laying down the law.”
“But Friday is Valentine’s Day, and that’s practically a national patriotic holiday,” I remind him, hoping this might buy me another day or two.
Because I do not have a plan for getting back those six crystals.
“Do I look like I care?” Dad asks, obviously not expecting an answer. “I feel certain Ms. Sanchez will back me up on this,” he says, softening his tone of voice a little.
“I’ll get the crystals back,” I say, sounding a lot more sure of myself than I am feeling.
“By Thursday afternoon, or I’m coming in on Friday,” Dad reminds me.
“All right,” I agree in a shaky voice. “Even though Friday is a very important holiday.”
“Valentine’s Day,” my dad says, scoffing once more.
He’d better not let Alfie or my romantic mom hear him say it like that!
But I keep thi
s last thought to myself.
11
EMMA AND ANNIE PAT
It is Wednesday, and it is raining hard again, so Mom is driving me to school. Alfie sits next to me in the back seat, and she won’t stop yapping.
“Suzette says we’re gonna have a Valentine’s Day party in day care,” she is telling me. “That’s in just two more days. Suzette says we’re gonna have pink cupcakes. And I’m making Sparky his very own valentine today.”
Suzette Monahan came over for a play date once, and she has to be the bossiest four-year-old kid in the world. She even tried to boss my mom around about the snack they were going to have! Suzette is like Cynthia and Jared combined, she’s such a pain, but Alfie thinks she’s great. When they’re not fighting, that is.
And like I said before, Sparky is the day-care hamster.
I think he ought to get a medal, not just a valentine!
“I’m putting a hamster-food heart on the card, so he can eat it,” Alfie says.
“That’s a good idea,” I say, staring out the car window at the wet cars, the wet street, the wet sidewalks, the wet everything.
This dark and gloomy day matches my mood perfectly, because—how am I going to get my dad’s crystals back? I hate even asking someone to lend me an eraser, much less give me back a present I gave them.
In fact, this is a whole new experience for me.
I am beginning to hate new experiences.
“You’re not paying attention to me,” Alfie complains. “Mom,” she calls out, interrupting my mother’s important driving concentration. “Make EllWay pay attention!”
“I can’t do that, sweetie,” Mom says, signaling to turn left. “But if you say something really, really interesting, I’m sure he will pay attention.”
This shuts Alfie up for a few blocks. I guess she’s trying to think of something awesome to say, so I take advantage of the unusual calm to remind myself of who has which crystal.