EllRay Jake Is Not a Chicken

1
TWO FOR FLINCHING
“Two for flinching,” Jared Matthews says at lunch one MONDAY in January. BOP! He punches me really hard on my right arm muscle-which is not very big, it’s true.
It looks like a ping-pong ball, only brown.
“I didn’t flinch,” I argue, rubbing my arm to make the sting go away.
My name is EllRay Jakes, and I am eight years old. I am the smallest kid in Ms. Sanchez’s third grade class, even counting the girls, and Jared is the biggest.
It’s like I am made out of sticks, and Jared is made out of logs.
My dad says I’m going to get bigger someday, but when?
“Here’s one to grow on, EllRay,” Jared’s kiss-up friend Stanley Washington says, his glasses gleaming like mean lizard eyes.
And-BOP!
“EllRay wishes he would grow,” Jared says because I’m so short. Great joke, Jared.
And then Jared laughs like a cartoon donkey:
“HAW, HAW, HAW!”
It’s just another relaxing lunch on an ordinary day at Oak Glen Primary School, in Oak Glen, California.
ххх
There is a third grade boys’ war going on at our school, but the three kids in the war-Jared Matthews, Stanley Washington, and me, EllRay Jakes all act like nothing is wrong.
Our teacher, Ms. Sanchez, doesn’t have a clue.
Ms. Sanchez is smart about what goes on inside her classroom, but she doesn’t know what goes on outside before school and during nutrition break, lunch, and afternoon recess.
And outside is when school really happens for kids.
“Yeah, crybaby,” Stanley says. “Go sit with the girls.”
“I’m not even crying, Stanley-ella,” I say, pre tending he is the girl.
It’s the best put-down I can come up with on such short notice.
“That’s not even my name, so duh,” Stanley says.
“DUH,” I say back at him.
I want to turn around and walk away. But if I do, Jared will probably grab me from the back, tight, and start grinding his knuckles into my ribs.
This is one of his favorite things to do, because from far away, you can’t tell anything bad is going on.
Jared’s supreme goal is to make me cry someday in front of the entire class.
So I have to wait for Jared and Stanley to be the ones to walk away first.
I would rather be playing kickball with Corey Robinson and Kevin McKinley, who are my friends, but it’s not exactly like I have a choice right now.
“Duh,” I say again. I don’t know why.
Finally, finally, finally the recess bell rings, and Jared gives Stanley a friendly pretend-shove, and Stanley gives Jared a shove too, only not as hard, because Jared is the boss. And they walk away without even looking at me.
Like I’m nothing!
“Come on, EllRay,” Emma McGraw says as she skips by with red-haired Annie Pat Masterson. “We have Spanish this afternoon, and Ms. Sanchez is going to talk about food. Taquitos, burritos, and enchiladas and stuff. Yum!”
Emma is the second-littlest kid in our class, but she loves to eat. I think it’s her main hobby.
“Hurry up,” Annie Pat calls out, and she and
Emma skip away.
And so I hurry up. But I don’t skip, because boys just don’t. Not at Oak Glen Primary School, anyway.
And probably not anywhere.
Not when they have arm muscles the size of ping-pong balls.

2
I CAN’T EXPLAIN
Okay. I can’t explain why Jared and Stanley started their war against me, but who cares why the war started? Details like that don’t really matter, not when someone is secretly grinding his fist into your ribs.
I know when it began, though. It began two weeks ago, right after Christmas vacation.
Why don’t I tell somebody what is happening? Because it wouldn’t do any good, and here’s why:
1. If the other boys in our class knew about this three-person war, they would take sides, and then it would just turn into a bigger war. But it wouldn’t be over for me.
2. If the girls in our class knew, they would whisper and stare, and I hate that.
3. If my mom knew what was happening, she would probably call Jared’s mother and complain. And of course that would only make things worse for me in the long run.
4. If my dad knew about our war, he would FREAK OUT. First, he would call Ms. Sanchez or the principal. Then they would make a big announcement to the whole class about fighting, and then the grown-ups would study the problem to death, be cause studying things is what my dad likes best in the whole wide world.
But there’s nothing to study about why Jared hates me. I think he’s just bored, and he is taking it out on me.
Or maybe beating me up was Jared’s New Year’s resolution.
Our war started for no reason, and it will probably end for no reason.
I just have to live through it, that’s all.
But the point is, this is a terrible Monday. And I know it sounds dumb, but I am a kid who usually likes Mondays-because Monday gives you a brand-new start.
Monday is like a spelling test that your teacher has just passed out, and you haven’t had time yet to make any mistakes. It’s like a blank piece of art paper that you haven’t messed up. Monday is like the second after your teacher asks you a mental math question in front of the whole class-but you haven’t given the wrong answer. Yet.
Any good thing can happen on a Monday! Not this Monday, though.