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die.
    That’s about it.
    FA LA LA LA LA .
    “I was thinking of dividing the morning up into two assemblies,” Principal James tells us. “That way, we’ll have enough room in the back of the auditorium for your families to be comfortably seated. So the first assembly will be kindergarten through third grade, and the second will be fourth through sixth grades. Good idea, right?”
    Kevin gives me a blank look.
    “Sure,” I tell the principal. “And each assembly will be shorter, too. So that makes it a
great
idea.”
    “And here’s where you two come into the picture,” Principal James says, springing it on us. “Since the third graders will be top dogs in the first assembly, I thought I’d ask one of you two boys to be the emcee.”
    “What’s an emcee?” Kevin asks, sounding suspicious.
    “It stands for M. C., ‘Master of Ceremonies,’” Principal James tells us. “That means you welcome everyone to the show, introduce each act, then say good-bye at the end of our Winter Wonderland assembly.”
    “Kevin would be
great
at that,” I say, hoping that this act of generosity will convince Kevin that we’re friends again.
    Not to mention that being emcee of anything is the last thing I’d ever want to do.
    Being an emcee is almost the
definition
of sticking out. Of not blending in.
    So, “win-win,” as my dad sometimes says.
    “Yeah, I
would
be great,” Kevin agrees. “Only I think EllRay should do it.”
    What?

    “And he really wants to do it, too,” Kevin continues, sliding me an evil grin. “Don’t you, EllRay?”
    “I—I—”
    “
Don’t
you?” Kevin asks again, giving me another look.
    A look that says,
This is one of your challenges, dude. And you have to do it
.
    “I guess so,” I tell Principal Hairy James. “I mean, sure. I’ll do it.”
    “And you’ll do a terrific job, too, EllRay,” ourprincipal informs me, unaware of the fainting, the hurling, or the other body calamities that might happen once I’m up there on the stage.
    HO, HO, HO .
    “So, good,” Principal James says. “
That’s
settled. Now, I think it’s about time for you two boys to get back to class, don’t you? And watch out for that
hall
,” he pretend-warns.
    “We will,” Kevin and I say together, though I barely manage to peep out the words.
    “Great. Then off you go,” Principal James says, shooing us out through his silver garland-hung doorway.
    And I don’t look at Kevin the whole way back to Ms. Sanchez’s room.
    I’m
that mad
.

9
HANGING OUT IN THE KITCHEN
    “Did you finish your homework?” Mom asks after dinner on Tuesday night.
    “Mm-hmm,” I say.
    She and I are hanging out in the kitchen, scarfing down the leftover crispy pieces of cheese that overflowed and melted in the pan. We had grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner tonight, and about three veggies, as usual.
    Carrot sticks, lettuce salad, and something Mom calls “three-bean salad.”
    Alfie said “No way!” to that last one. But I ate all three beans. One each.
    Dad’s at some meeting at his college in San Diego. That’s why we didn’t have meat for dinner tonight. See, Dad—and I!—love meat, but Mom likes to make anything that’s
not
meat, when he’s not home.
    Alfie loves chocolate and buttered noodles, mostly.
    She’s playing in her room. I can hear her talking to her dolls from here.
    “How about the lyrics to your assembly song?” Mom asks over her shoulder as she loads the dishwasher. “Have you memorized those?”
    “Not all of them. Not yet,” I say, trying not to sound too relieved.
    Ms. Sanchez loved the idea of “Jingle Bell Rock.” She even said okay to the dancing. So, because of the JINGLING feet mentioned in the song, which don’t even make sense, the girls plan to wear bells strapped around their ankles—and just dance like crazy. Someone’s mom is sending away for new bells. She even paid extra for super-fast delivery, so they’ll get here on time.
    With any luck, no one will be able to