is typical boy behavior, to forget all about birthday parties and hurt feelings and broken fingers and being called a liar just because you happen to be reminded of some oddball fact—if EllRay’s even telling the truth, which he might not be. Maybe he’s just trying to change the subject to avoid a fight, which would actually be pretty smart.
“I don’t know,” Stanley says, sounding doubtful. “Bryan never said anything about there being any dinosaurs in Idaho. And I saw him on the fourth of July.”
“They’re not real dinosaurs, dummy,” Corey says, laughing.
“You mean they’re fake dinosaur tracks?” Stanley says. “What’s so great about that?”
“Even I could make fake dinosaur tracks,” Kevin says. And he’s probably already planning how to do it—just to impress Jared.
“They’re real tracks, but they’re from a long time ago,” EllRay says stubbornly. “I don’t know what kind of dinosaur it was, though.”
“Well, I know they’re not pterodactyl tracks,” Jared says in a loud voice, eager to be boss of the conversation once more. He is an expert on dinosaurs, to hear him tell it. “Because pterodactyls fly, so they never leave footprints on the ground. They probably don’t even have feet.” He says this as if the prehistoric creatures are still buzzing around, bumping into helicopters and stuff.
By now, Annie Pat and I can barely keep from giggling out loud.
“They had to land sometime ,” EllRay insists.
“Nuh-uh,” Jared says.
“Then pterodactyls are like hummingbirds,” Kevin says, suddenly pretending to be the expert. “Big hummingbirds.
Because if a hummingbird stops flying, it dies.”
Now, I happen to know that’s not true, because I’ve seen hummingbirds sitting on flowers and telephone wires lots of times. Not for very long, true, but they were definitely alive while they were sitting there.
Kevin sounds pretty sure of himself, though, so no one argues with him. “Yeah,” Jared finally says. “Pterodactyls are exactly like hummingbirds.”
I don’t think even Kevin believes this one, but the boys’ conversation seems to have run out of fuel. A few of them are finally eating their snacks and are too busy to talk.
“So what are you getting me for my birthday?” Jared asks Corey.
“Huh?”
“You said your mom was still gonna get me a present even though you can’t come to my party,” Jared reminds him.
“Oh, yeah,” Corey says. “Well, I don’t know yet. But it’ll be something really good, so don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried,” Jared tells him.
“Yeah,” Kevin chimes in. “Like Jared’s so worried .”
“I don’t get it, though,” Jared says. “If you really wanted to come to my party you would. And it’s gonna be great! So how come you won’t be there?”
And—the boys are back where they started. Each boy said what he wanted to say, and nobody’s crying or mad, and they’re all still friends, pretty much.
That’s actually a very good thing about boys.
It’s the exact opposite with girls. I guarantee there was some girl-drama out on the playground or at the chain-link fence this recess, and both Annie Pat and I will hear about it within five minutes of sitting down in Ms. Sanchez’s class, even though we’re all supposed to be perfectly quiet.
And that drama won’t be over for at least a week.
But the bell’s about to ring.
Br-r-r-r-r-n-n-n-n-g!
3
Good at Something
“There will be a big announcement at the end of class,” our teacher, Ms. Sanchez, tells us with a mysterious smile. “But for now, please hand out the rulers, Stanley. And Heather, kindly pass out the boxes of colored markers,” she adds. A this-is-going-to-be-fun! look is on her face. “It’s time for art.”
Ms. Sanchez is the prettiest teacher at Oak Glen Primary School, which is only one reason we’re lucky to have her. She pulls her shiny black hair back into a soft bun, and she wears really cute clothes. A second
“I don’t know,” Stanley says, sounding doubtful. “Bryan never said anything about there being any dinosaurs in Idaho. And I saw him on the fourth of July.”
“They’re not real dinosaurs, dummy,” Corey says, laughing.
“You mean they’re fake dinosaur tracks?” Stanley says. “What’s so great about that?”
“Even I could make fake dinosaur tracks,” Kevin says. And he’s probably already planning how to do it—just to impress Jared.
“They’re real tracks, but they’re from a long time ago,” EllRay says stubbornly. “I don’t know what kind of dinosaur it was, though.”
“Well, I know they’re not pterodactyl tracks,” Jared says in a loud voice, eager to be boss of the conversation once more. He is an expert on dinosaurs, to hear him tell it. “Because pterodactyls fly, so they never leave footprints on the ground. They probably don’t even have feet.” He says this as if the prehistoric creatures are still buzzing around, bumping into helicopters and stuff.
By now, Annie Pat and I can barely keep from giggling out loud.
“They had to land sometime ,” EllRay insists.
“Nuh-uh,” Jared says.
“Then pterodactyls are like hummingbirds,” Kevin says, suddenly pretending to be the expert. “Big hummingbirds.
Because if a hummingbird stops flying, it dies.”
Now, I happen to know that’s not true, because I’ve seen hummingbirds sitting on flowers and telephone wires lots of times. Not for very long, true, but they were definitely alive while they were sitting there.
Kevin sounds pretty sure of himself, though, so no one argues with him. “Yeah,” Jared finally says. “Pterodactyls are exactly like hummingbirds.”
I don’t think even Kevin believes this one, but the boys’ conversation seems to have run out of fuel. A few of them are finally eating their snacks and are too busy to talk.
“So what are you getting me for my birthday?” Jared asks Corey.
“Huh?”
“You said your mom was still gonna get me a present even though you can’t come to my party,” Jared reminds him.
“Oh, yeah,” Corey says. “Well, I don’t know yet. But it’ll be something really good, so don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried,” Jared tells him.
“Yeah,” Kevin chimes in. “Like Jared’s so worried .”
“I don’t get it, though,” Jared says. “If you really wanted to come to my party you would. And it’s gonna be great! So how come you won’t be there?”
And—the boys are back where they started. Each boy said what he wanted to say, and nobody’s crying or mad, and they’re all still friends, pretty much.
That’s actually a very good thing about boys.
It’s the exact opposite with girls. I guarantee there was some girl-drama out on the playground or at the chain-link fence this recess, and both Annie Pat and I will hear about it within five minutes of sitting down in Ms. Sanchez’s class, even though we’re all supposed to be perfectly quiet.
And that drama won’t be over for at least a week.
But the bell’s about to ring.
Br-r-r-r-r-n-n-n-n-g!
3
Good at Something
“There will be a big announcement at the end of class,” our teacher, Ms. Sanchez, tells us with a mysterious smile. “But for now, please hand out the rulers, Stanley. And Heather, kindly pass out the boxes of colored markers,” she adds. A this-is-going-to-be-fun! look is on her face. “It’s time for art.”
Ms. Sanchez is the prettiest teacher at Oak Glen Primary School, which is only one reason we’re lucky to have her. She pulls her shiny black hair back into a soft bun, and she wears really cute clothes. A second
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