Free Ellray Jakes the Dragon Slayer by Sally Warner

ever wanted was to make him proud.

16
BULLY MATERIAL
    “Please sit down. Make yourselves comfortable,” Dad tells Mr. Washington and Stanley after a few silent moments. We have been standing in our living room like penguins, each of us rocking back and forth in his own spot.
    It’s like we’re in a play, only nobody knows his lines.
    I’ve never been in this much trouble before, that’s the thing.
    I guess Alfie has been hustled off to the family room. I can hear Itty Bitty Kitties singing their lame theme song.
    Man, I wish I was in there with her.
    Stanley won’t look at me. He is squinting behind a pair of glasses that look too small for his big, floppy-haired head.
    “Louise is making us some cocoa,” Dad says,pointing out chairs and sofas where Stanley and his dad can sit.
    “Dude,” Stanley whispers really fast, when his dad and my dad are finally next to each other on the sofa, busy making room on the low table in front of them for Mom’s cocoa. “Sorry I lied about you breaking my glasses, but my dad blew up big-time when he heard I wrecked them again,” he says. “And so I made up a bunch of stuff about how you’ve been going after me for a long time at school. You know, to get him off my back. So just go along with it, okay?”

    “
What?
” I whisper back. “Go along with it? Are you kidding me?”
    So, Stanley thinks he made the whole thing up! He doesn’t know I really did it!
    And I confessed to Dad about breaking Stanley’s glasses when I didn’t have to!
    But I can kind of see why Stanley’s afraid of his dad. Stanley’s father is one of those big, smiley guys with not-smiling eyes who look like they’re about to explode at any minute, still grinning away. I saw a bad guy like that once in a scary movie.
    Mr. Washington is wearing a plaid shirt, too, like the kind Stanley always wears to school when it’s cold out. I guess plaid runs in their family.
    My dad doesn’t look the slightest bit scared of Mr. Washington, I’m glad to say. Dad doesn’t even look gloomy, like a guy who’s about to be forced to apologize for something bad his doofus son did. Instead, he looks friendly and businesslike, like he called this meeting himself for some whole other reason.
    “Let’s wait for the cocoa to come before we begin,” Dad says, being the boss. Stanley chooses achair, then I take one as far away from him as possible.
    While we’re waiting, Dad looks from me to Stanley, then back at me again. Then, so does Mr. Washington, as if my dad’s magnetic gaze has made him do the same thing.
    There’s me, with my skinny legs swinging because they don’t reach the floor.
    DOINK! DOINK! DOINK!
    And there’s big, hulking Stanley slumped in his chair like a boxer resting in his corner between rounds. Somehow he is managing to fidget at the same time that he’s slumping, and one huge, sneakered foot is kicking at the chair leg.
    And I feel embarrassed, because—maybe Dad didn’t know I was such a pipsqueak until he saw me next to Stanley with his very own eyes!
    My dad should see Jared, if he thinks
Stanley’s
big.
    It’s not like I’m an elf and Stanley’s a giant. It’s not
that
huge a difference, but I think Mr. Washington is getting the silent point my dad is probably trying to make.
    That is, I’m not exactly bully material.
    Uh-oh. I hope Stanley’s not gonna get it when they go home.
    I’m glad Mom can’t see him kicking her chair, though. It’s one of her favorites.
    Yes, ladies have favorite chairs.
    My
favorite chair is any place I can sit and eat a messy snack like nachos or pizza without getting yelled at.
    “You okay over there, little guy?” Dad asks me, smiling.
    “I’m fine,” I peep, going along with it.
    He has never called me “little guy” before, but he is obviously trying to strengthen his point.
    Mom comes into the living room carrying a tray with four steaming cups of cocoa on it. And even though this is a terrible night, my mouth starts to