EllRay Jakes Is Not a Chicken by Sally Warner Page A

outside—before school and during nutrition break, lunch, and afternoon recess.
    And outside is when school really happens for kids.

    â€œGood one, Stanley,” Jared says after Stanley insults me, and Jared high-fives him.
    â€œBad one, Stanley,” I echo, trying to make fun of them.
    Stanley Washington is like Jared’s shadow. He wears glasses, like I said, and he has straight brown hair that flops over his forehead as if it has given up trying.
    Jared is chunky and strong, and he has frowning eyes, and his brown hair sticks up all over the place like a cat just licked it.
    His hair does whatever it wants, just like Jared.
    A couple of girls hop by, holding hands. Jared and Stanley step back, looking all innocent—because girls tell. Especially these girls, Cynthia Harbison and her kiss-up friend Heather Patton.
    â€œIcky boys,” Cynthia calls out over her shoulder.
    Cynthia is the cleanest person I have ever met. She is strangely clean.
    For instance, Cynthia’s fingernails never have any dirt under them. Also, her clothes never get any food, poster paint, or grass stains on them, no matter what. I don’t think she has very much fun, and what’s the point in being that clean if it means you never get to have any fun?

    Cynthia has short, straight hair that she holds back with a plastic hoop, and Heather pulls her long hair back so tight in a ponytail that her eyes always look scared. But maybe Heather really is scared—from hanging around mean, bossy Cynthia all the time!
    Cynthia is like Jared, only without the hitting.
    â€œHey, EllRay, why don’t you go sit on the grass with the rest of the girls?” Jared asks me when Cynthia and Heather have hopped away to the other side of the playground.
    â€œYeah, crybaby,” Stanley says. “Go sit with the girls.”
    â€œI’m not even crying, Stanley-ella ,” I say, pretending he is the girl.
    It’s the best put-down I can come up with on such short notice.
    â€œThat’s not even my name, so duh,” Stanley says.
    â€œ 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.
    â€œ 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!
    â€œCome 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.
    â€œHurry 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