Ellray Jakes the Dragon Slayer Read Online Free PDF
Author: Sally Warner
mad. But angry is better than droopy any day of the week, I remind myself.
“That’s good, Alfie,” I tell her.
“Be quiet, Suzette!” Alfie yells.
“No. I’m EllRay again,” I say quickly, trying to calm her down before Mom and Dad come poundingup the stairs to see what’s wrong. “Can’t you pretend you don’t care?” I suggest.
“I am a good pretender,” she says, smiling. “It’s one of the things I love best about me.”
“Me too,” I say, laughing. “So are you gonna say something to Suzette about not caring? Tomorrow morning? First thing? And get this whole disaster over with?”
“Maybe,” Alfie says, cautious once more.
But I can tell that I’ve at least planted the idea in her head.
And best of all, she thinks it’s
her
idea—which makes me a pretty good teacher, right? And a very good big brother?
You’re welcome, Alfie!
8
IN FRONT OF THE WHOLE CLASS
“My shoes got wet on the way to school,” my friend Corey complains the next morning. It is Friday, the third-worst day of the week for rain to happen. The first and second worst days are Saturday and Sunday, of course, because who wants to spend the weekend indoors?
Mr. Nobody, that’s who. The guy who parks his car in the mirage.
“You’re wet all the time anyway, Corey, ’cause you’re alway in the pool, aren’t you?” Kevin points out as we stash our backpacks in our cubbies, which they call “cubicles” in the third grade. Only really, they’re the same as they were in kindergarten.
Just the word has changed.
There are probably lots of things that are like that.
“Sneakers are different,” Corey says in his gloomiest voice. “You can’t get ’em dry. I’m SQUELCHING .”
Around us, the girls in our class are chattering like crazy. It’s as if the April rain has revved them up in some weird way. “Ooh! Darling boots,” Annie Pat is saying to Emma, who is holding out one of her legs for inspection.
They’re lime green. The boots, I mean.
Girls have completely different clothes for when it rains. Most boys just put on another layer, and they always forget their umbrellas, if they even have umbrellas in the first place. Jared Matthews—who can be kind of bossy, remember?—is peeling off a damp brown sweater that looks like a layer of bark or lizard skin. His face is turning red, he’s wrestling with that sweater so hard.
“Come on, everyone,” Ms. Sanchez calls out from her desk, which is like Army headquarters for her. “We have lots of work this morning. It’s personal narrative day!”
“We already did that,” Cynthia Harbison tells her, raising her hand while she’s already talking.“We corrected them for homework last night,” she adds as she takes her seat, neat as can be. Have I mentioned how clean Cynthia is? It’s actually kind of creepy.
“Thank you, Miss Harbison. I realize that,” Ms. Sanchez says. “But today, we’ll read a few of them aloud. That’s an entirely different skill set.”
“We have to read in front of the whole class?” Corey cries out, unable to control himself. Corey hates doing
anything
in front of the class, even taking something up to Ms. Sanchez’s desk. Even though it’s not that big a class, and everybody likes him.
That’s weird, isn’t it, how scary it can be to have to stand up in front of people, even when you know them? I guess it’s because nobody wants all those eyeballs staring at them. Or maybe they’re afraid they’re going to make fools of themselves. I should say of
himself
, because some of the girls in my class are looking excited at the idea of reading their narratives aloud. A couple of girl-hands have already shot into the air.
“We’ll get started right after I take attendance,”Ms. Sanchez says. “I’ll decide who to call on then.”
Not me, not me, not me
, I think, squinching my eyes shut to help make my wish come true.
“You’re up next, EllRay,” Ms. Sanchez says as Cynthia takes her seat before
“That’s good, Alfie,” I tell her.
“Be quiet, Suzette!” Alfie yells.
“No. I’m EllRay again,” I say quickly, trying to calm her down before Mom and Dad come poundingup the stairs to see what’s wrong. “Can’t you pretend you don’t care?” I suggest.
“I am a good pretender,” she says, smiling. “It’s one of the things I love best about me.”
“Me too,” I say, laughing. “So are you gonna say something to Suzette about not caring? Tomorrow morning? First thing? And get this whole disaster over with?”
“Maybe,” Alfie says, cautious once more.
But I can tell that I’ve at least planted the idea in her head.
And best of all, she thinks it’s
her
idea—which makes me a pretty good teacher, right? And a very good big brother?
You’re welcome, Alfie!
8
IN FRONT OF THE WHOLE CLASS
“My shoes got wet on the way to school,” my friend Corey complains the next morning. It is Friday, the third-worst day of the week for rain to happen. The first and second worst days are Saturday and Sunday, of course, because who wants to spend the weekend indoors?
Mr. Nobody, that’s who. The guy who parks his car in the mirage.
“You’re wet all the time anyway, Corey, ’cause you’re alway in the pool, aren’t you?” Kevin points out as we stash our backpacks in our cubbies, which they call “cubicles” in the third grade. Only really, they’re the same as they were in kindergarten.
Just the word has changed.
There are probably lots of things that are like that.
“Sneakers are different,” Corey says in his gloomiest voice. “You can’t get ’em dry. I’m SQUELCHING .”
Around us, the girls in our class are chattering like crazy. It’s as if the April rain has revved them up in some weird way. “Ooh! Darling boots,” Annie Pat is saying to Emma, who is holding out one of her legs for inspection.
They’re lime green. The boots, I mean.
Girls have completely different clothes for when it rains. Most boys just put on another layer, and they always forget their umbrellas, if they even have umbrellas in the first place. Jared Matthews—who can be kind of bossy, remember?—is peeling off a damp brown sweater that looks like a layer of bark or lizard skin. His face is turning red, he’s wrestling with that sweater so hard.
“Come on, everyone,” Ms. Sanchez calls out from her desk, which is like Army headquarters for her. “We have lots of work this morning. It’s personal narrative day!”
“We already did that,” Cynthia Harbison tells her, raising her hand while she’s already talking.“We corrected them for homework last night,” she adds as she takes her seat, neat as can be. Have I mentioned how clean Cynthia is? It’s actually kind of creepy.
“Thank you, Miss Harbison. I realize that,” Ms. Sanchez says. “But today, we’ll read a few of them aloud. That’s an entirely different skill set.”
“We have to read in front of the whole class?” Corey cries out, unable to control himself. Corey hates doing
anything
in front of the class, even taking something up to Ms. Sanchez’s desk. Even though it’s not that big a class, and everybody likes him.
That’s weird, isn’t it, how scary it can be to have to stand up in front of people, even when you know them? I guess it’s because nobody wants all those eyeballs staring at them. Or maybe they’re afraid they’re going to make fools of themselves. I should say of
himself
, because some of the girls in my class are looking excited at the idea of reading their narratives aloud. A couple of girl-hands have already shot into the air.
“We’ll get started right after I take attendance,”Ms. Sanchez says. “I’ll decide who to call on then.”
Not me, not me, not me
, I think, squinching my eyes shut to help make my wish come true.
“You’re up next, EllRay,” Ms. Sanchez says as Cynthia takes her seat before