Free EllRay Jakes and the Beanstalk by Sally Warner

reason!
I’m going home
.”
    And he stalks over to his skateboard like it’s a loyal horse that has been waiting for him all this time.

    â€œYou’re not going anywhere until I say so,” Mrs. Pendleton tells Fly, giving him the same stink-eye he’s given me more than once. “But I
am
calling your mother, Fly. She can leave work early, if necessary, and come pick you up. For now, you go inside and take a shower, young man. In the downstairs bathroom. A
one towel
shower.”
    She’s so mad that I think I’d just shake myself dry, if I was the kid she was talking to.
    â€œAnd then what am I supposed to wear?” Fly asks, his hands actually on his hips, he’s so mad at everyone.
    Him! Mad!
    â€œI’ll see if I can find some old clothes for you to throw on,” Mrs. Pendleton says.
    â€œ
Old clothes
?” Fly asks, like he can’t believe what he just heard.
    â€œAnd they’re getting older every second you keep standing here,” Mrs. Pendleton says. “Now, scoot.”
    And Fly scoots.
    â€œAre you okay, EllRay?” Mrs. Pendleton asks, hurrying over where I’m standing ankle-deep in mud.
    â€œI’m fine,” I say, but my throat is actually starting to feel a little achy from where Fly almost choked me. Just the idea of it is enough to hurt, I guess.
    Or maybe my throat is aching because I’m trying not to cry.
    Now, of all times! When everything is okay!
    But Alfie could have really been hurt. The thought of it is catching up with me again.
    â€œEllRay! Your poor arms, and your chin! You’re
bleeding
,” Mrs. Pendleton says, and a hand goes straight to her chest, which is something moms do when they’re horrified by some kid emergency. “You need first aid. What in the
world
?” she says again.
    â€œI—I sort of skidded when I fell,” I tell her. “But I don’t think I need any first aid. Anyway, my mom’s a pretty good patcher-upper.”
    â€œWell, if you’re sure,” Mrs. Pendleton says, then she turns to Henry, as if this is all his fault.
    â€œHenry didn’t do anything wrong, Mrs. Pendleton. I promise,” I say. “He was just trying to teach me how to ollie.”
    â€œHe did stuff
right
,” Henry’s biggest fan chimes in, beaming up at him.
    Poor Henry.
    â€œWell, I guess we’d better go home,” I tell Mrs. Pendleton, like this has been just an ordinary afternoon, but now we have to leave.
    I don’t even want to
think
about what’s going to happen when Mom sees us—much less what will happen when Dad gets home.
    I am in so much trouble.
    â€œYou tell your mama how sorry I am about all this,” Mrs. Pendleton says. “Tell her I’ll be calling as soon as I get
that
one sorted out,” she adds, glancing toward the house, where I guess Fly is in the middle of his one towel shower.
    â€œOkay. I’ll tell her,” I say.
    When I can get a word in edgewise, that is.

17
    Brave
    â€œThank you, Cynthia, for reading us your paper about ‘Cinderella,’” Ms. Sanchez says on Friday afternoon. “I’m sure we all agree with you about how important it is that a person’s shoes fit well, especially if they’re glass slippers,” she continues. “And we will keep our fingers crossed that your own handsome prince will find you some day, and that then, you’ll be richer than anyone else in this room, if that’s truly your wish.”
    â€œIt is truly my wish,” Cynthia says, and there’s a serious expression on her face as she and Heather nod their heads, so I guess she means it.
    I feel sorry for the prince.
    Corey went first. I think Ms. Sanchez took pity on him so he could get it over with. He was so pale when he read his paper on “The Tortoise and the Hare” that you could count every freckle on his face, but he made it through without fainting.
    Reading in front