EllRay Jakes Is Magic (7 page)

Fiona crying—while reading a poem—would be awesome. That would
definitely
not get in the talent show. I put a star next to her name. “Who’s next?” I ask.

“I’m learning to juggle,” Kry tells us. “But not eggs! And I’m not very good yet. I’m only up to two cotton balls at a time. You start with them because they’re so light.”

“Perfect,” I say, drawing another star. Juggling one cotton ball would be even
better
for failing the tryouts, and juggling no balls would be the best. Kry could just stand there pretending to juggle! But you can’t have everything.

“Okay,” I say. “Who’s left?”

“Kevin and Corey,” Emma says.

“I won’t be here Friday afternoon,” Corey reports. “I have practice.”

He works out almost every day at this swim center near San Diego. He does his homework in the car.

“You poor thing,” Emma says, her eyes wide with pity.

“I think the buzzer’s about to sound,” Annie Pat
says, lifting her head as if she’s got some sonar device inside it, like a dolphin does. She hates that buzzer.

“Kevin?” I ask.

“Stand-up,” he says.

We all stare at him.

“You know,” he tells us. “
Comedy.
I’ll tell jokes. My dad helped me write some.”

“Okay, good,” I say, trying to hide my expression as I write it down. Because I like Kevin fine, don’t get me wrong. In fact, he’s still my half-best friend. But he cannot tell a joke. He always forgets part of it, sometimes even the ending. Or else he starts laughing in the middle of the joke and can’t finish it.

“I’m good enough to flunk the tryouts, anyway,” Kevin says, as if he’s just read my mind. “What about you, EllRay?” he asks, like he wants to get back at me for doubting his comedy skills. “What’s your talent, if you think you’re so great?”

“I
don’t
think I’m so great,” I protest. “But I could do some magic, I guess.”

“You don’t know any magic,” Jared scoffs.

“I know a little,” I say. “Two illusions, so far.
Enough to look like I’m really trying, anyway.”

“So, what five acts do we have?” Annie Pat asks, still braced for the buzzer.

“I think Fiona’s poem, definitely,” I say. “The sadder the better. And Kry’s juggling act. And then maybe the hip-hop dance act?”

“Or ballet, only Emma and Annie Pat are probably too good not to get into the show,” Kry says, sticking up for them.

“We’ll skip it,” Emma says, after sharing a quick look with Annie Pat.

“So that makes three so far,” I say.

“DOINK,”
Stanley whispers again, telling everyone how bossy I’m being.

“Quit it,” Emma tells him.

“You can’t leave out ‘The Star-Spangled Banner,’ or it would be unpatriotic,” Cynthia informs us, like she’s really hoping to make it into that talent show.

“Okay. ‘The Star-Spangled Banner,’ complete with the American flag,” I say.

“And EllRay’s magic act,” Jared says. “Because this I gotta see.”

“Me too,” Stanley says.

“Me three,” Cynthia chimes in.

“Maybe EllRay can saw a girl in half,” Corey says, staring her down. “We can vote on which girl.”

“You better not,” Cynthia says, narrowing her eyes.

“Believe me, I’m not that good,” I tell her—and everyone.

But at least I’ve now got our class’s five lame acts for the talent show tryouts. And they sound just lousy enough to fail—
if
I goof up my two illusions, that is.

“I want to tell my jokes,” Kevin says, giving me a look.

Uh-oh! And we were partway back to being friends again.

“Okay,” I say quickly. “We can probably have six acts. They sound short.”

BZZZ-Z-Z!

The morning buzzer sounds, and poor Annie Pat just about jumps out of her skin. She startles easily, Emma says.

And we all head for class.

9

“I’m impressed, EllRay,” Ms. Sanchez says after taking attendance. She is holding the list I just handed her. “You kids said you could get this sorted out by yourselves, and you did—with an act to spare, I see,” she tells us. And she reads the following list aloud.

“It sounds amazing,” Ms. Sanchez says. “And, mercy, so many exclamation points! I had no idea
this class was such a hotbed of talent. And you all have your supplies with you? Music, magic tricks, and so on?”

Eight of us nod, suddenly solemn.

This is real.

I’ll need a little table, but everything else is in my lunch bag.

“Good. Our class’s tryout time is at eleven a.m., before lunch,” Ms. Sanchez tells us. “They’re giving us forty-five minutes, and the entire class is invited to attend. You’ll all go straight to lunch from there, so bring your cafeteria money or your lunch boxes with you. But no eating in the auditorium,” she reminds us.

What about throwing up in the auditorium, Ms. Sanchez? I ask silently.

Because—
I’m nervous.
I thought we’d just get turned down in private, with only a few witnesses, and that would be it. No talent show. Now, though, our whole class will be watching the tryouts.
And
Ms. Sanchez. But I’m supposed to fail?

How embarrassing.

Is it too late to back out now?

A couple of the other tryout kids are looking as if they’d also like to change their minds, but it’s too late.

“Shhh,” Ms. Sanchez says at five minutes before eleven a.m. as she hustles us down the hall toward the auditorium. “Classes are in session, people.”

“It’s cool walking in the hall when no one else is here,” Emma whispers, and Annie Pat and Kry nod.

I agree, but my heart is pounding too hard for me to react to what she just said.

And—we enter the almost-empty auditorium.

The judges are sitting in the front row, on one side of the main aisle. First, there’s our bearded principal, Mr. James, whose name I usually forget—possibly due to the shock of having been called into his office
twice
this year.

Next to him, there’s the lady singing teacher who comes around to Oak Glen Primary School, but not as often as she used to, because of money.
She has long gray hair and wears dangly earrings and swishy skirts.

Next to her are two strange grown-ups who are probably talented people who live in Oak Glen. The lady has big, fancy yellow hair, like one of Alfie’s dolls, but kind of an old-lady face. The man is almost an antique. He looks as if he’s wearing some bigger guy’s suit. His little white-haired head pokes out of his white, button-down shirt like a turtle’s head coming out of its shell.

I hope we can trust them to reject us from the talent show!

Ms. Sanchez seats us on the left side of the aisle and hands my list to the principal, who looks it over, smiles, and nods. Ms. Sanchez hurries around the row and takes her seat next to the turtle-man in the too-big suit.

The principal stands up. “Welcome, third-graders,” he announces. “These are our judges,” he says, waving at the people sitting in his row. “Let’s give them a rousing Oak Glen thank-you with a big round of applause.”

So we clap our hands as loud—and as long—as we can.

10

“And now,” the principal says, glancing at a piece of paper, “we’ll start with Jared Matthews and Stanley Washington, who are going to dance to ‘
Big Ole
—’” he pauses a second—
“‘Bottom.’”

A couple of girls gasp, recognizing the song, and some of the boys start to
CRACK UP
, remembering its real title.

“You’ll change your music selection, please, if you happen to get in,” the principal says over the uproar as Jared and Stanley stomp up the stairs at the side of the stage.

“Okay. And we’ll wear different pants, too,” Jared says. “Bigger, lower ones.”

“We’ll see,” the principal says, raising his hairy eyebrows.

Stanley hands a CD to a lady standing near a
table at the edge of the stage. “Not too loud, Miss Myrna,” the principal calls out to her, and she nods.