EllRay Jakes Stands Tall by Sally Warner Page B

family.
    â€œ
Beautiful elf
,” her real name—Alfleta—means in some weird language only my mom has heard about, but that no one alive speaks anymore. And Alfie is kind of like an elf, I think, frowning some more. Tiny, stubborn, and all over the place.
    Promises
. Grown-ups are always promising something.
    â€œEllRay, listen,” Mom says, sounding wide awake now. “I’m quite tall, would you agree?”
    I nod. She is taller than a lot of other Oak Glen moms. Prettier, too, I think, with her caramel-brown skin, her floaty scarves, and her perfect smile.
    â€œAnd your dad’s
very
tall,” my mom continues. “And your doctor’s not at all concerned thatyou won’t grow,” she adds, as if this is the winning argument. “He says you’re perfectly normal, and that you’ll shoot up like a weed when the time comes. Like a
weed
,” she repeats, sounding impressed already.
    As if weeds are so wonderful. And—she asked my
doctor
?
    What am I, a medical emergency?
    I think about it. “‘Perfectly normal’ isn’t exactly
great
, Mom,” I point out. “And weeds aren’t very tall, are they? Most of them barely come up to your knees.”
    â€œThey grow quickly once they get going, that’s the point,” my mom says, getting to her feet. “And you will grow, too.”
    â€œBut when?” I ask.
    Because what good will it be if I don’t grow until I’m, like, seventeen?
    I want respect
now
!
    I want to be chosen first for stuff like basketball now!
    Or chosen second or third, anyway. Not last.
    â€œI’ll ask your father to explain it to you again,
better
, once he gets home from Arizona. Believe me,” Mom says, making the promise as she turns off the closet light.
    â€œNo. That’s okay,” I say, my voice sounding hollow in the dark.
    My dad loves explaining things, true. He is a college teacher, after all. But sometimes he explains things for so long—and in so much detail—that I actually forget what the question was. Or that I’m sorry I asked it in the first place.
    And words alone—even really, really smart ones like my dad’s—will never make me grow.
    Neither will wishes. I’ve already tried wishing. Upon a star, even.
    â€œNight, Mom,” I say.
    â€œNight,” Mom says from the doorway. “See you in the morning.”
    â€œYeah, the morning,” I say to the now-empty room. “See you
shortly
.”
    Well, of course.
    EllRay “Shortly” Jakes. That’s me.

3
    REAL LIFE AT OAK GLEN PRIMARY SCHOOL
    â€œIt’s a blustery day, so bundle up,” Mom tells me the next morning, Wednesday, after she has dropped off Alfie at Kreative Learning and Daycare and driven me to school. I’m backing out of the car behind-first, like a dung beetle. Emma McGraw told me this is something they do. She wants to be a nature scientist when she grows up, so she knows weird stuff like that.
    â€œDung” means “poop,” by the way. I am just reporting the facts.
    â€œThat jacket isn’t only for show, honey-bun,” my mother calls out as I haul both it and my backpack from the car.
    Mom humor.
    â€œI know. Bye, Mom,” I say, glancing down the sidewalk. If Jared or Jared’s sidekick StanleyWashington hears her calling me “honey-bun,” that will be my new nickname for a solid week.
    At least.
    Like the time Ms. Sanchez goofed and called me “sweetie” before Christmas. I’m still recovering from that one. I feel my cheeks get hot just thinking about it.
    â€œ
Ooh, it’s Sweetie. Smoochy-smooch
,” Stanley said to me for days, slobbering over his hand as he pretend-kissed it. Even Jared finally told him to give it a rest.
    I stand tall, as tall as possible, anyway, and put on my jacket. I hoist my bulging backpack over one skinny shoulder, and I lurch toward the playground.
    With any luck,