Gabby Garcia's Ultimate Playbook #3

by Iva-Marie Palmer

  “No, I didn’t.” I didn’t want to lie but her observation came at me so fast, I blurted it out.

  She pointed. “Why would you be wearing your jacket like that? Without your arm inside it?”

  If Devon weren’t a pitcher, she could head up some kind of intimidating government agency that ultimately changes the world for the better even though at first glance it would be hard to tell what side she was on.

  “I thought it was a look,” Mario said. Mario used to be my archrival because when we played Little League against each other, he never could get a hit off me and he wasn’t a very good sportsperson about it. He’s working on it, same as I’m working on handling not winning. (See? I still have trouble saying LOSING!) Now that we’re friends, though, he’s a big softie. “I like it. There’s a lot going on, but it works.”

  “I did, too,” Johnny said. “Like it. In a confused way. Because your normal look is good, too.” He blushed like he’d said the wrong thing, but I thanked him as my heart thudded around and he looked relieved.

  Devon blinked at Mario, then at Johnny. She does that a lot. Blink. Usually when she’s thinking, or trying to get you to see you’re off base about something. “It’s clear she has a broken arm.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “But why are you hiding it?”

  She was right. I can say it as I write this: the Charming Disarming wasn’t a great play, or a play at all. It was a cover-up, or a denial. Like a runner standing on first base even after the ump calls them out. They’re still out, and I would have a cast for at least a month. When will I get better at accepting that things can’t always go the way I see them going in my head?

  “I guess I wanted a great start to eighth great, I mean, grade!” I looked at Johnny, hoping he wasn’t mad that I hadn’t told him.

  He smiled in a way that said he knew I had my reasons, and asked, “Did it hurt?”

  “It did, at first, but now it’s annoying. And the story behind it is kind of funny, but a lot to go into.” I was about to say we should all talk about something else but Devon was still looking at me. I almost wanted to thank her and Katy because now that my injury was out in the open, I couldn’t remember why it was so important to hide it. I felt better right away. Especially once I took off some extra layers. A well-regulated body temperature is way cooler than a “look.” In this case, literally.

  But Devon looked upset. She knew what my arm meant. Last year, she’d sprained her wrist scooping ice cream for a fund-raiser and had to sit out the regionals game.

  “So, you won’t be in the charity tournament?” Her mouth was turned down in a hint of a frown.

  “What? What tournament?”

  “We just found out about it from Coach Hollylighter in the hall,” Mario said. He said that Piper Bell would be hosting a tournament that started next week. “It’s going to raise money to help buy new playground equipment for a few older parks.”

  I would miss it. There was no way I could play with a broken arm, even if it wasn’t my pitching one.

  But . . . wouldn’t a tournament be—to use Katy’s mom’s word—time-consuming?

  “Well, now you have more time for your campaign,” Johnny said, reading my thoughts. Or most of them. Because, like Katy, he’d planned on running, too. I had been putting off talking to him about whether he was going to do it because the whole thing was uncomfortable. I wasn’t going to sacrifice a possible presidency for a boy, but I didn’t want to create major drama, either.

  “That’s true,” I said and, now wanting to get another weight off my chest, asked, “Are you still going to run, too?”

  I braced myself for coming weirdness.

  “Well, I love data and I’m really interested in seeing what students are thinking, statistically,” he said. My stomach tripped over my lunch. Was I really going to face off against my BOYFRIENDISH PERSON? “But, really, that makes me a better campaign manager,” he finished.

  “You’ll definitely run a great campaign,” I croaked.

  “But I’d rather be yours. Campaign manager, I mean,” he said.

  He didn’t want to compete with me! He wanted to help me. He looked so cute and hopeful that I almost wanted to tell him to run for president so I could vote for him. I didn’t, though, because Johnny WOULD be an awesome campaign manager. I had to scoop him up! “That would be great. If you really want to.”

  “Of course he does, he just asked you,” Devon said, pushing some of the cafeteria’s cauliflower mash around on her plate until it formed an orb the size of a baseball. “You’ve got my vote. But I wish you were going to be in the tournament.”

  I snapped out of the daydream I was about to have: a balloon drop during my victory speech wasn’t over the top, right?

  Mario heaved a sigh. “How are we gonna be in a whole tournament without Gabby?” he asked, and he looked really sad. See? Softie.

  Devon cleared her throat meaningfully, and I knew the feeling. She was just as good as me, and Mario was acting like I was the team’s only hope.

  “I don’t love it either, but we’re going to have to figure it out,” Devon said. “Are you sure your arm’s broken?”

  To answer that, I held up my bright orange cast. “You need sunglasses to look at that,” Mario said.

  “If it’s an unofficial tournament, it’s not such a big deal, is it?” I asked, knowing that if you played baseball the way Devon, Mario, and I played baseball, all your games were big deals.

  “Not official, but who wants to bring a messy team to the field?” Devon said. “Will you at least come watch?”

  Part of me hated the idea. Watching? Players didn’t watch, they played! “I have the campaign to work on . . . ,” I started. Johnny cleared his throat.

  “I did some early math, and in the past, about sixty percent of the student body presidents also played a sport. It might be good to be seen at the field.”

  “How do you work so fast?” I asked Johnny. But maybe I could drum up some votes from the stands. I still had my right hand for handshakes. Handshaking was a crucial election thing. That had to be a sign.

  A sign that I had to be destined for victory.

  “I’ll be there,” I told Devon.

  THE SCORE

  Regular Eighth-Grade Gabby: 0

  President Gabby: 1

  THE GRAND-SLAM CANDIDATE

  Goal: Knock the class president election out of the park

  Action: Talk to my public and get my best minds on it!

  Post-Day Analysis:

  August 30

  The packet I had to fill out was loaded with questions about my platform. At first, I thought platform meant something I’d need to stand on because I’m on the shorter side, but actually it means all MY PLANS for what I’ll do when I’m president. I also have to “craft” a personal statement about my vision for the future: THE WHOLE FUTURE.

  My platform can’t be “I want to win because I like winning, even if there’s more to life than winning.”

  Athletics are important to me, and I would like to make it easier for everyone to do something sporty, but without the pressure of formal teams or the anxiousness of gym class—but sometimes people flinch when they hear the word sports. So, as I started to talk to the student body, I used my cast as a starting point.

  When I told them I’d broken my arm at a baseball game and they said something like “oh no,” I waved them off and said that sports were worth it. “I think Piper Bell should add some new sports to make it easier to play, even if sports aren’t your thing. Frisbee golf! Competitive ballroom dancing! Archery!”

  If someone said they didn’t like sports, I’d say, “Do you know there are four hundred forty-two officially recognized sports but it’s estimated there are one thousand five hundred sports around the world? There’s probably one you like.” Diego had told me that. His favorite was Hornussen, a game played in Switzerland with a puck called a “Nouss” that makes a whizzing sound.

  “Like what?” a sixth grader who I approached
on my way to geometry asked me. “I’m kind of a loner.”

  “Um, hmm, well . . . individual sports like bowling! Billiards! Ribbon dancing,” I told her. “But if we had ping-pong or foosball tables in the atrium, you might be able to invite someone to compete. In a friendly way.”

  “Hmm,” she said, smiling. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Well, what issues are important to you?” I asked, feeling desperate for her not to walk away.

  She thought about it for a minute and said, “I guess it would be nice if there was some kind of how-to thing for being a new student here. But not more orientations where it’s all old people giving speeches. Maybe eighth graders, like you! My last school felt like home and now I feel lost.”

  “I was a new student here last year—well, a transfer,” I said, and I told her my story. The short version, where I cut right to finding the talent squad before feeling like I belonged.

  “See? Advice like that!” she said. “I already feel less lost.”

  “Maybe you’re not a loner, either,” I said. She told me her name was Rachel, and that she might show up for talent squad. Even without knowing who she’d vote for, I felt like I’d won somehow.

  But the more people I talked to, the more I wanted to win. Not to win just for ME, either. It was like a magic spell; when I listened to someone, I could see their eyes get wide, like they couldn’t believe I really wanted to hear what they had to say. And I did. My fellow students were awesome, and I wanted to make things better for all of them!

  While I talked to students, Johnny polled people. Every time we saw each other, he had new percentages to rattle off—all informal, of course, even if they sounded very formal because of his tie. And because they were percentages.

  “So sixty-three percent of student voters say that they normally don’t pay attention to class elections because it’s a popularity contest,” he was telling me and Katy at my campaign headquarters, which was just an extra-soft couch in the school atrium that we used during study hall. “But the same sixty-three percent said a candidate who’s available to hear their needs might change their minds.”

  Katy nodded. “That’s so key. I want a good listener.”

  “Yes, that’s high on the list of most desirable attributes,” Johnny said, flipping to a new page in his clipboard. “And there’s a strong showing for a candidate who will mix it up in the cafeteria—your Meatless Monday proposal is surprisingly popular—and while Sports for All sounded scary to thirty-two percent of a random sample, that SAME sample also overwhelmingly liked the idea of more casual athletic opportunities. Frisbee golf and ping-pong, especially.”

  “So . . . what does all that mean?” I asked.

  “It means that, so far, you’re a hit,” Johnny said. He pointed at my arm. “People also liked your cast. It makes you seem down-to-earth.”

  “I was definitely down-to-earth when I fell on my face,” I joked.

  But seriously, I’m so excited about my reception by my fellow students I’m almost GRATEFUL for my broken arm. Ha! I’d managed to pull off the ultimate changeup and I wasn’t even pitching! I’d turned my bum arm from a weakness into an opportunity.

  It was better than turning lemons into lemonade. I turned a cast into a CAMPAIGN!

  Regular Eighth-Grade Gabby: 0

  President Gabby: 2 (and outstanding polling numbers!)

  My Opponents

  Cassie Jacobs

  Advantages: Smooth hair, knows all the good gossip

  Slogan: Cassie. The only choice that matters.

  Emerald Arcuno

  Advantages: Artsy, interesting

  Slogan: Emerald will make your days shine!

  Cate Jones

  Advantages: Excellent student, head of speech team

  Slogan: Make this place great with a vote for Cate!

  There are no boys running this year, which isn’t uncommon. I learned that Piper Bell used to be an all-girls school, and a boy has never won student body president! Interesting, right?

  PITCH THAT PLATFORM

  Goal: Toss the student body some plans so tempting they’ll have to go for them

  Action: Lock in my platform and make it official!

  Post-Day Analysis:

  September 1

  I had so much good data from Johnny and great motivation from Katy that I was psyched. I spent a whole night carefully typing out my campaign materials (with one hand!) and narrowed down the key points of my platform: more casual athletic opportunities, some cafeteria menu updates (the veggie burger is a disaster, and fries need more dipping options), and more downtime for meditation and relaxation.

  I also added an idea based on the talk with Rachel for a student panel I was thinking of calling “New & You.” Most of my plans were doable. The student government got to present to the Piper Bell Advisory Board, and I made notes on how to break each idea down into parts—the same way I played one inning at a time—so that doing them felt realistic.

  For my explanation of why I was running, I said that I loved making plans and strategies—all SUPER TRUE—and my experience on the field would mean I could handle even tricky issues. “There’s no such thing as a lose-lose situation, but I do believe in win-wins!” is how I ended it.

  So, with a three-day weekend coming up, I was excited to tell my family about how I’d made the best out of a bad situation. Louie’s favorite part of the Olympics is watching stories of competitors who’ve had to overcome really stressful circumstances, and now I had my own inspirational story. She’d probably cry a little.

  For dinner, my dad had made homemade wild mushroom ravioli because it was easier for me to eat what I could spear with a fork.

  “How was school today?” Dad asked me and Peter, who was decorating his pasta—he had plain elbow noodles in butter because he’s so picky—with a blizzard of sprinkled cheese.

  “We had a fire drill,” Peter said. “But the best part was, something happened to the automatic locks on the doors and we couldn’t get back inside for thirty minutes until the fire department came AGAIN, so we basically got double recess. SO awesome.”

  I sat patiently as Peter launched a five-minute Complaint Fest about how it had been hard to get a tetherball court. But my own news was so good that I was full of zen toward what passed as exciting in Peter’s life. Double recess was nothing compared to my amazing campaign. When they rolled over to me, I even SOUNDED presidential when I said, “Well, the big news today is that I formally submitted my materials to run for class president.” That’s right, I used the words “formally submitted.”

  “Loser,” Peter fake-coughed into his napkin.

  “That’s not what my polls indicate,” I said. For once, I didn’t have to roll my eyes at his insult. I had DATA.

  “Wow,” Dad said. “Polls. You sound like a real pro.”

  “I’ve been talking to so many people I didn’t know,” I said. “The election seems like a way bigger deal than I thought. But I think my chances are good. Johnny’s been doing surveys for me and my ideas are a hit. And Katy is sort of my image consultant.”

  “That’s incredible,” Louie said. She wasn’t misty-eyed like I’d hoped but she looked proud. “It’s great to see you really throwing yourself into something new to you.”

  “She IS a pitcher,” my dad said and laughed at his own joke. I gave him a chuckle, too, because my diplomacy skills were ON FIRE. Which is maybe strange because diplomacy means keeping your calm and dealing with situations in a sensitive manner. Fire is not exactly a calm thing.

  I was so happy, it was like Seattle had never happened.

  But then . . .

  LIGHTNING CRASH!

  Life is what happens when you’re making other plans.

  Or when your PARENTS are making other plans.

  And they plan something that leads to your WORST LIFE.

  “So I have some big news, too,” my dad said, bringing out dessert: raspberry gelato from Gepetto’s! As he placed bowls in front of me
and Peter, I figured he was going to tell us about his next writing project, or some new recipe he was going to try, so I dug into my gelato. Like someone who doesn’t know an AWFUL TURN OF EVENTS IS GOING TO HAPPEN.

  “We are considering a move to Seattle.”

  The S-word! I almost spit out my gelato.

  “That’s hilarious!” I said, swallowing even though suddenly the gelato might as well have been mud. When my parents didn’t say, “Got you!” I laughed again. This couldn’t be real news.

  But Dad and Louie were silent for a few seconds as they looked at me and Peter, who just kept eating his dessert.

  Were they serious? They looked serious. But who would announce a move—or even that they are CONSIDERING a move—without getting their kids’ opinions first? I was thirteen and even I knew that wasn’t good parenting!

  Then Louie reached for Dad’s hand and said, “It would be a big change, but your dad’s friend LaKesha . . .”

  “Who I edited the book for,” Dad chimed in. “She’s the managing editor of the Seattle Gazette.”

  “She knows that your dad is also a heck of a writer . . . ,” Louie said. She and dad were taking turns talking like they were recording a musical number, and it was making everything worse.

  “And . . .” Dad was blushing. “I met her for lunch in Seattle.”

  “The day I took you kids to the aquarium,” Louie added. I’d liked the aquarium. Well, not anymore, I didn’t. The fish had been in on this whole awful plan.

  “LaKesha said one of her sportswriters is retiring and she really wanted me to apply, so I did. I figured it was never going to happen . . .”

  “But today she called and said he’s a leading candidate.”

  I’M THE LEADING CANDIDATE, I wanted to say. Why had they even asked how our days were if they were just going to ruin them?

  “So, in Seattle?” Peter asked, but not like he was upset, more like he was barely paying attention. Or maybe trying to conceal how happy he was that this news made me miserable.