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Authors: Sally Warner

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And suddenly, I know how to make this good feeling last a few minutes longer. “You can keep itâ”

“. . .
for five whole minutes
,” I was about to say, but Annie Pat is so excited that she interrupts me.

“Forever?” she asks, like I have just given her a princess crown. She is jumping up and down.

“Sure,” I tell her.

What am I saying? That crystal belongs to my father!

“Ooh, what about me?” Cynthia asks, pouncing like a cat going after a grasshopper. “Can I have that baby blue one?”

“It's called a tourmaline,” I remind her, my heart crashing around in my skinny chest as I try to think of what to do next. But I can't exactly say no, can I? I mean, I just gave the garnet to Annie Pat!

“And Emma can have the aquamarine crystal,” I announce, amazed at my own generosity as I hand over a third crystal.

Three down, three to go. I'm doomed.

“Oh,
thank
you, EllRay,” Emma whispers, cradling the blue-green crystal with both hands.

“EllRay?” Ms. Sanchez says quietly, appearing at my elbow as if a genie just rubbed a magic lantern. “May I have a word with you in private, please?”

“Sure,” I say, shrugging to show everyone how not-nervous I am when our teacher asks me this question. I walk over to her desk, where she has been tidying upâand eavesdropping, obviously.

“You're giving your father's crystals away,” Ms. Sanchez tells me.

As if I didn't know!

“Well, but it's okay,” I lie. “Because my dad said I could. He has lots of them. In fact,” I add, “he wants you to have the Herkimer diamond. You can use it for a paperweight or something. But only at home.”

“I could never accept such a valuable gift, honey,” Ms. Sanchez says.

I hope nobody heard her call me “
honey
,” that's for sure.

“It's not a real diamond,” I remind her. “But it's way bigger than your engagement ring, so you can see it better. And my father wants you to have it,” I repeat.

I sound so sincere!

I hurry to my backpack to get the correct sock.

“He's giving Ms. Sanchez the diamond,” I hear some of the remaining kids whisper. They're impressed now, all right! I'll never have to brag again.

“Well, if you're sure,” Ms. Sanchez says, her voice still sounding a little doubtful.

“I want the brown one,” Kevin says quickly, and so I hand it to him, becauseâI'm already in so much trouble, why stop now?

And Kevin's my friend, at least.

“I want the gray one,” Jared announces, eyeing the last lumpy sock.

And so I hand the smoky quartz crystal to him, almost glad to get it over with. “Sorry, but that's all,” I say, showing everyone who's left the six empty socks.

“Aww,” a few leftover kids murmer.

“That's no fair,” Heather Patton says, scowling.

“Life's not fair,” Cynthia tells her, holding onto her tourmalineâ
my dad's
tourmalineâas if she is afraid someone is about to snatch it away.

If only I could!

And if only I could turn back the clockâfor just ten minutes. Because the wonderful feeling I had five minutes ago has gone. All that's left is the feeling that I am about to yak all over the floor.

What am I gonna tell my dad?

“I hate it when people say life's not fair,” Heather says, which is unusual, because usually Heather kisses up to Cynthia like crazy. I almost wish I had another crystal just for her, because I hate that saying, too.

“I need to close up for the day, people,” Ms. Sanchez says, standing by the door as she gets ready to turn off the lights. “But don't worry. You'll all be seeing each other in the morning.”

We grab our stuff and wander out into the almost-empty hall.

“I'll let you hold my crystal when we get outside,” Cynthia promises Heather.

Andâit's over.

All except for the part where my dad comes home late tonight.

DADDY'S HOME!

My dad gets home in five hours, when Alfie and I will already be asleep. I have done everything possible to keep him from noticing that six crystals are missing from his collection.

1. I moved the rest of the crystals again, so now, even though nothing matches its label, there aren't any empty spaces at all left on the shelves.

2. Then I unscrewed the light bulb in the lamp next to the crystal shelves.

3. I even got Alfie to draw Dad a big “Welcome Home” sign before dinner and put it in his office. My dad thinks Alfie's this genius artist, and he might be so happy to see the sign that he won't notice anything in the room is missing.

I can barely even remember this afternoon's good feeling, when everybody liked me, but I think the scared and guilty feeling I have now is probably going to last forever.

And that's another example of something that is not coming out even in my life, in addition to the tallness thing.

“Mom says to tell you dinner's ready,” Alfie says, peeking into my room, which she says smells like a hamster cage.

Her daycare has a hamster named Sparky, so Alfie's like this big expert now.

Alfie is golden-brown, and my mom always fixes her soft black hair in three puffy braids: one on top, and one on each side of her head. She has about a million little clip-things to hold the braids shut, and the clips go from fancy to extra-fancy. Even though she is four, she still sucks her thumb when she gets worried or tired.

Everyone always says how cute she is, but don't tell
her
that! She's bad enough already.

“Come
on
, EllWay,” Alfie says over her shoulder as I follow her down the hall leading to the stairs. “It's macaroni and cheese night.”

We always have dinners with no meat in them when my dad is away, because Mom doesn't like cooking, smelling, or even eating meat too much. And that's fine with Alfie, because all she really likes to eat is cheeseâand any dessert under the sun.

But me and my dad love meat. We have a lot in common.

I just hope he remembers that if he ever finds out I gave away those crystals.

“Are your hands clean?” my mom asks Alfie and me as we get ready to sit down. Mom's hair looks extra pretty, and she is wearing fancier clothes than the ones she had on when I got home from school. I guess that's because my dad is coming home. They're still smoochy, but only at home, luckily. I mean, that's bad enough.

“They're
basically
clean,” I say, hiding my hands behind my back, just in case. I think I washed them after school, but I can't really remember.

“Mine are basically dooty,” Alfie says, which means “
dirty
” in Alfie-speak.

“Go wash,” Mom tells Alfie and me. “I'll pour you two some icy cold milk to go with your piping hot macaroni and cheese.”

Sometimes Mom sounds like a commercial when she talks about food. It's from being a writer, I guessâor from being hungry.

“Guess what? I'm gonna stay up late, until Daddy gets home,” Alfie tells me at the downstairs bathroom sink, sudsing up like she's about to perform an operation on someone. “I'm not even a little bit sleepy,” she says, passing me the soap.

“Well, I'm going to bed early,” I say. I won't go to bed
right
after dinner, or Mom might think I'm sick. But maybe at ten minutes to eight I can start yawning, and then just melt away into my bedroom so I'll be asleep when Dad gets home.

But from down the hall, I hear an unexpected sound.

The front door is opening.

“Daddy's home!” Alfie yells, throwing Mom's fancy hand towel on the floor and racing out of the bathroom.

“Dad's home,” I say quietly, looking at my bug-eyed face in the mirror. “And he's almost five hours
EARLY
. Uh-oh.”

“We're so happy you caught that earlier flight,” Mom says after the hugging has stopped. “And you're just in time for dinner, but I'm afraid it's only mac and cheese.”

“Delicious home cooking,” Dad says, smiling. “Let me just get rid of this,” he tells Mom, gesturing toward his wheelie bag. “I'll put it in my office for now and unpack after dinner.”

“No,” I shout, surprising everyone. “I mean,
no
,” I say again, more quietly this time. “I'll take it upstairs for you, so you can relax.”

“Well, that's very thoughtful of you, son,” Dad says. “But dinner's ready. You go ahead and sit down. You can help me later.”

“Butâ”

“Go sit down,” Dad says, giving me a puzzled look. “I'll only be a minute.”

And so I walk into the dining room with concrete feetâand my dad disappears into his office.