EllRay Jakes Is Not a Chicken

I don’t know who Eustace B. Pennypacker is, or was, but he has a terrible park. It’s mostly just boring green grass with clover and bees, and a bunch of trees.

You’d think he could have thrown in a playground while he was at it, but NO.

That is why, even though this park is only a block away from our school, kids hardly ever hang out there.

No one will see us, and no one will ever find out what happened the afternoon before EllRay Jakes went to Disneyland, sore—but happy.

That’s okay, though, because even if Stanley takes a swing at me too, I’ll be getting whomped so hard by Jared that I probably won’t even notice.

I have gone all day long without telling anyone what is going to happen, because I am not a tattletale, no matter what Jared thinks.

Also, it wouldn’t do any good, because this fight is between Jared and me—and Stanley, probably, but there’s nothing I can do about that.

Jared needs to get even with me because of Heather, crazy as that sounds, and I guess he thinks whaling on me will help.

“Hey, Jakes. Hey, sweetie,” Stanley yells, popping out from behind a far-off tree like some goofy, floppy-haired jack-in-the-box. He looks either nervous or excited, I can’t tell which, and he keeps looking over his shoulder. “Come over here,” he says.

I walk over to him as slowly as I can without going backward, because even though I want to get this fight over with, I am not exactly looking forward to it.

“Hey, Stanley,” I say, nearing the tree. I am hoping that maybe Jared has decided to call the whole thing off, and Stanley is supposed to tell me.

And then—SPROING! Jared jumps down out of the tree like a big old stinkbug landing on an ant, if that’s what stinkbugs do.

And we go rolling across the grass. POW, POW! Jared punches me in the side, right where my poor skinny ribs are sticking out.

My fist connects first with Jared’s nose by accident, and then it sinks into his stomach, and Jared grunts. He is madder than ever now, and a little bit surprised that I am fighting back, judging by what I can see of the look on his face.

I would hit him again, only I never get the chance because we are rolling around on the ground some more, and all our arms are busy.

And all of a sudden, my mouth is full of Eustace B. Pennypacker’s memorial grass—and some of his dirt, too, as Jared grinds my face into the lawn. “Fuh,” I say, trying to spit it out.

“No spitting,” Stanley cries, as if he is the referee, and this is supposed to be some really fair fight.

I would explain to them that I’m not spitting, only I never get the chance.

“I’ll teach you not to spit on me,” Jared says— and he wrestles me onto my back and gets ready to spit in my face.

There is a roaring sound in my ears, and I shut my eyes and especially my mouth, and I get ready for the worst, only the worst never happens.

Instead, the roaring sound grows louder and louder, and I suddenly realize that it is kids, kids, and more kids, and they are swarming around us: Kevin McKinley, and Corey Robinson, who is supposed to be at swim practice, and Fiona McNulty, and Emma McGraw, and Heather Patton, who accidentally started the whole thing and doesn’t even know it, and Annie Pat Masterson.

There are other kids here too, from different classes, and I don’t even know their names.

“Get off him, Jared,” Kevin shouts, grabbing Jared by the neck of his sweaty red T-shirt. “You’re huge compared to EllRay. It’s just not right,” he yells.

“Big meanie,” Emma says, aiming a kick or two toward Jared’s shins, which I wish she wouldn’t do, because how does that make me look?

But Emma can’t help herself. She is what my dad would call “a hothead.” He says it like it’s a bad thing.

“Oh, poor Jared,” Heather cries out to the excited crowd of kids. “Look, his nose is bleeding!”

And those are the magic words, I guess, especially coming from her, because Jared suddenly lets me go.

“You bully,” Heather says, whirling to face me. “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size, EllRay Jakes?”