EllRay Jakes Rocks the Holidays! Read Free

called “flesh color” in the olden days, until people looked around.
    But some kids still say, “Pass the flesh, please,” when they’re coloring. Annie Pat’s cheeks are pinker than usual. This happens when she gets mad.
    Sometimes I get worn out from girls getting their feelings hurt.
    It’s hard to keep track of who is feeling what.
    “I don’t get why we even have to do this,” Jared says, trying to color extra hair over his crayon ears, which he accidentally drew way too big.
    Jared doesn’t like being left out of any uproar.
    “I guess it makes P.T.A. meetings more fun,” Emma argues, maybe thinking it was a real question. “And parents like looking at art.”
    Emma doesn’t like to stir up trouble, but she doesn’t back away from it, either.
    Even trouble with Jared.
    “Huh. ‘Parents,’” Cynthia says, shrugging. “Your dad’s not even
here
, Emma. He lives in England. Remember? With his new family?”
    I can hear Emma gasp, she’s so surprised at Cynthia’s fake-casual stealth attack—which breaks the number one kid rule about not talking about other kids’ families.
    Ever.
    “Be quiet, Cynthia,” Annie Pat says, defending her friend.
    Worn. Out
.
    “P.T.A. meetings are dumb,” Jared insists, glaring at Emma as if the whole open house thing was her bright idea. “My dad says so. That’s why he never goes.”
    Me, I’m just glad we’re not talking about skin color anymore—exactly the way Corey would be glad if we had been talking about freckles, and we stopped. Or the way Annie Pat would feel if we’d been talking about red hair.
    I could go on and on with examples like that.
    We’re all basically happy with who we are, but I think no one wants too much attention.
    It’s not because there’s anything wrong with brown skin that I’m glad the conversation has moved on. It’s just that there aren’t enough kids here at Oak Glen who
have
it.
    That starts to make skin color a big deal, at least at times.
    Not very often, though. And PHEW! for that.

3
HURT FEELINGS?
    “Listen, everyone,” Ms. Sanchez calls out two days later. “I’ve decided that this afternoon will be tidying time. I want your cubbies sorted, and the coat closet looking nice, even the lost-and-found box. Oh, and we need all your desktops spray-cleaned and sparkling. I have the supplies over by the sink.”
    It is Thursday, P.T.A. meeting day, and we just finished lunch. It started raining again toward the end, so some of the kids who were playing outside—like me and most of the boys—smell like wet sweaters and sweatshirts.
    Well, like wet dogs, Cynthia said. And she has a dog, so she should know. A couple of the outside girls are fussing with their damp hair, which seems to have gotten either stringy or frizzy.
    What is it with girls and their hair? I don’t seehow they get anything else done in life. You should hear Alfie in the morning, when Mom’s getting her three little braids ready for the day.

    “Why?” Jared says, raising his hand a second later. “No one’s gonna see our room, are they?”
    “A parent or two might wander by after the meeting,” Ms. Sanchez points out. “And we see it every day, don’t we? Things around here have gotten pretty grubby, if you ask me. Now, let’s all pair up so we can get to work.”
    Cynthia raises her hand. “I’ll work with Heather,”she says after Ms. Sanchez has called on her. “And I think Emma probably wants to work with Annie Pat,” Cynthia continues, as if sorting people out is her job. “And Jared should work with Stanley, because they’re the only ones who can stand each other.”
    “That’s just fine,” Ms. Sanchez says, sounding distracted as she heads for the sink. “Keep going, Miss Harbison,” she adds over her shoulder.
    “Okay,” Cynthia calls out, looking important. “Well, EllRay should work with Kevin, of course,” she says.
    Wait, what?
Of course
? “But I want to work with Corey,” I say, raising my hand—for