EllRay Jakes and the Beanstalk by Sally Warner Page A

reason for yawning—something about people cooling their brains. You might think he’s making it up, but maybe he isn’t. He’s a scientist. He teaches geology—that’s mostly about rocks—at a college in San Diego.
    Corey is a lot nicer than me, I think. Maybe Corey is nicer than Kevin. I’ll never have to worry about
him
dumping me as a friend just because I can’t do some random thing like ride a skateboard.
    â€œDude. They do live kind of close to each other,” I point out to Corey, watching Kevin and Jared laugh and shove each other as the prickly rain gets its act together and starts to fall a little harder. “And they both have boards. So I guess . . . ”
    My voice trails off, because I can’t think of how to end my sentence.
    â€œI guess Kevin forgot about that time Jared tried to beat you up,” Corey says, like he’s finishing my sentence for me. “And it’s more like Kevin and Jared are
scooters
, not skaters,” he adds, scoffing.
    I think Corey is hoping to make us both feel better when he says this—because he is training to be a swimming champion, so his mom and dad don’t want him “risking life and limb” on a skateboard, as they put it. And I don’t even have a board. Not yet.
    My new neighbor Henry has one, though. And he has a friend named Fly who’s a
great
skater.
    â€œHuh?” I say, having missed a few words.
    â€œIt’s not like they can actually do any tricks,” Corey explains again. “They just push themselves down the sidewalk with one foot. Any baby could do that.”
    I can’t. Not yet. “It’s still faster than walking,” I say, turning away as the buzzer sounds and the rain really starts to fall. Us boys will be steaming in Ms. Sanchez’s toasty class with its clanking radiators as our clothes dry, but we don’t care.
    And I don’t care if Kevin has a new friend, I tell myself as Corey and I walk to Ms. Sanchez’s class. People make new friends all the time. That it doesn’t mean
we
aren’t still friends.
    Does it?

2
    A Wonderful New Assignment

    â€œSettle down, ladies and gentlemen. No matter how damp you may be, nobody’s going to melt,” Ms. Sanchez calls out as she prepares to take attendance.
    Ms. Sanchez is the prettiest teacher at Oak Glen Primary School. The girls in our class voted about that once. Ms. Sanchez always smells good, too, like those little white flowers that grow on orange trees. She is going to get married someday to a man named Mr. Timberlake, but he’s not the famous one from the movies. It’s another Mr. Timberlake, one who runs a sports supply store.
    The famous Mr. Timberlake lost out, in my opinion.
    I don’t know what Ms. Sanchez and her Mr. Timberlake are waiting for. How hard can it be to get married? You just say yes or no, and that’s it.
    The girls in our class all want to be Ms. Sanchez’s flower girls when she finally does get married, but good luck with that. It would be like a NASCAR race, with each girl trying to be first in line. They would wreck the wedding.
    I take my seat at the same time I’m avoiding looking at Kevin. He’s been waving his arms, trying to get my attention—to say hi late, I guess.
    Say hi to Jared, Kevin—if he’s such a great new friend of yours.
    â€œSettle down,” Ms. Sanchez says again, and she starts calling our names.
    Stanley Washington is out sick today, it looks like. Ms. Sanchez frowns—but in a pretty way—as she makes this special mark in the attendance book she sometimes calls her “work of art.” I accidentally spilled water on it once, but she still likes me.
    â€œWe are starting a wonderful new assignment today,” she tells us after the usual boring morning announcements have been made. “I got the idea for it when I was reading fables and folk tales last weekend,