The small kid with big problems returns in the seventh book of this beloved series!   It’s almost Christmas and school is going great for EllRay. He’s “blending in” just the way he likes. So when his father tells him he should be proud to be part of the African-American “community,” EllRay isn’t so sure he wants to call attention to his differences. After all, he’s only one of two boys in his class with brown skin. And then, totally by accident, he insults the other boy—one of his best friends—and all at once EllRay’s back to being the center of attention. And not exactly for good reasons.   With Sally Warner’s trademark sense of humor and spot-on dialogue, EllRay confronts questions about race and how it impacts both himself and everyone around him.   “Kids of all stripes will identify with EllRay and his unwittingly hilarious antics.”—Booklist   A Junior Library Guild selection A Scholastic Book Club selection A Texas Bluebonnet Award Winner 2012-13 PRAISE FOR THE ELLRAY JAKES SERIES:   “Warner is a dead-on observer of playground politics, and has a great ear for dialogue.” — School Library Journal   “Ideal for reluctant readers.” — Booklist   “Young readers can identify with EllRay, who is neither a bad seed nor a goody-two-shoes; he and his sense of humor are just right.” — Kirkus Reviews   A Junior Library Guild selection A Scholastic Book Club selection A Texas Bluebonnet Award Winner 2012-13   Sally Warner (www.sallywarner.com) has published more than twenty novels for young readers, including the Emma and EllRay Jakes series. She lives in Altadena, California with her husband and their not-so-miniature dachshund, Rocky. Brian Biggs (www.mrbiggs.com) lives in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. OTHER BOOKS ABOUT ELLRAY JAKES EllRay Jakes Is Not a Chicken! EllRay Jakes Is a Rock Star! EllRay Jakes Walks the Plank! EllRay Jakes the Dragon Slayer! EllRay Jakes and the Beanstalk EllRay Jakes is Magic! 1 RAINY SATURDAY “This rain is wrecking my weekend,” I tell Mom. I am staring out the kitchen window after a TV-and-cereal breakfast. We have all the lights on, it’s so dark outside. My dad and I usually do chores together on Saturday mornings. We eat a secret doughnut, too. But he’s in sunny Arizona, looking at a meteorite. He’s a rock scientist. The way I learned it, it’s called a meteoroid when it whizzes through space. That same space rock is a meteor —or shooting star—when it enters Earth’s atmosphere and starts to burn up. And whatever is left is called a meteorite once it’s on the ground. You’re welcome. I memorized all that, and I still didn’t get to go to Arizona! My dad’s giving a lecture at a university in Phoenix on Monday, that’s why. “The rain’s not wrecking your whole weekend,” Mom reminds me, wiping her hands on the clean kitchen towel she throws over her shoulder. “Corey’s spending the night with us, remember? He’ll be here at five. I’m making chili dogs.” “Oh, yeah,” I say, smiling. Good old freckle-face Corey Robinson! One of my two best friends in the third grade at Oak Glen Primary School. And chili dogs! “I get to have nobody ,” Alfie says, kicking the leg of our kitchen table. Alfie is my little sister. She’s four. She is kind of a golden color. But she can cloud up fast, especially on a rainy Saturday in December. “It’s not fair,” Alfie says, giving the kitchen table leg an extra-hard kick. “ Ow ,” she cries, rubbing her small red sneaker. “Santa’s watching,” I warn. “Don’t forget, Alfie. He’s making a list.” I am planning on using that sentence a lot this December, to keep Alfie from having too many meltdowns. They wear us out. Once we had to leave a movie before it even started, all because of Raisinets. Alfie is against them. “Santa is not making a list,” Alfie says. “He doesn’t even have a key to our house! Tell Santa not to make a list, Mom—or I’m calling 9-1-1. Because that’s spying. ” “You’d better not call 9-1-1, or you’ll be in big trouble, young lady,” Mom says, opening the freezer door. “You don’t play around with that. Say. I have an idea,” she says, her face hidden for a second byfreezer mist. “How about if we make some of our famous oatmeal cookies for tonight? Corey loves them. And it’ll be fun.” This is good news, because Mom’s oatmeal cookies are epic. I brought a big batch to school once, and everyone loved them. Ms. Sanchez even took a bunch of them home in her plastic lunch container. “I get to smash the eggs,” Alfie says, her brown eyes sparkling. “Not EllWay.” That’s how she says my name. “You break eggs gently, you don’t smash them,” Mom says, putting some sticks of butter in the microwave to soften. “And we’ll put them into a separate bowl first, this time,” she adds. Last time we made cookies, pieces of eggshell got into the cookie dough. That’s what Mom’s remembering. My stomach is growling already! “Mom?” I say, after the first two trays of cookies are in the oven, the timer’s ticking, and a worn-out, cookie-dough-spattered Al