Vote for Effie

by Laura Wood

  “ME?!” I huff. “Your friend is the one who is just throwing his rubbish around in the STREETS.”

  Aaron looks around in mock confusion. “Hate to break it to you, Kostas, but we’re actually INSIDE at the moment.”

  Matt snorts, as though Aaron has made an incredibly witty observation, and I treat him to one of my iciest glares, heavily modelled on Lil’s deadliest death stare.

  “AND,” I continue, as though Aaron hasn’t spoken, “I can’t believe you were going to put that bottle in the bin anyway. This school should have recycling bins. Don’t you know that it takes AT LEAST FOUR HUNDRED AND FIFTY YEARS for a plastic bottle to decompose? Or that EVERY DAY, EIGHT MILLION pieces of plastic find their way into our oceans?”

  “Whoa, keep your hair on.” Aaron holds his hands up in front of him.

  “Yeah,” Matt chimes in. “Chill out. Why are you being so loud? There’s no need to shout.”

  “I suppose you think KILLING THE EARTH is cool?” I say as cuttingly as possible. “You know, as the school council president, this is EXACTLY the sort of thing you could be doing something about.”

  “Well, maybe next year, when I’m junior president again, I will … think about it,” Aaron says idly. Then he and Matt wander off together.

  “I think that’s that weird girl I told you about, the one who yelled at me before … who is she?” I hear Matt ask, but I don’t hear Aaron’s reply.

  “I’LL JUST TAKE CARE OF THIS, THEN,” I yell after them, scooping up the plastic bottle and stuffing it in my bag to recycle it at home later. I mentally add a decent recycling programme to the list of issues I’ll address as president. Actually, this is such a great idea that it makes me feel a little bit better. At least something good is coming out of running into those jerks.

  “Was that Matt Spader?” Angelika appears at my elbow.

  “Matt someone, yes,” I say, and Angelika nods.

  “He’s one of Aaron’s best buddies. Vice captain of the football team,” she says.

  “Makes sense they’d be friends,” I snort. “He seems about as charming as Aaron Davis.”

  “Hmm.” Angelika narrows her eyes. “I bet he’ll be Aaron’s vice president again if he wins the student council election.”

  I look at Angelika in dismay. “You mean both of them?” I groan. “They run the council together?”

  Angelika nods again. “Yup. The president chooses the vice president so of course Aaron chose Matt … he’s always sucking up to Aaron.”

  I turn back to the noticeboard and look at our poster. It seems more important every day that I defeat Aaron Davis.

  CHAPTER Ten

  That evening I go round to Angelika’s place for tea. Her house is about a ten-minute walk from mine, but unlike our home, which is small and old and wonky, Angelika’s is small and new and very square. It is part of a big estate of new houses that all match, lined up neatly on long roads.

  Angelika’s mum and dad are Polish and they moved to England when Angelika was three, a bit like my yia-yia and papou – they moved here from Greece with my dad when he was the same age and now they live in Manchester. We go up to Angelika’s room to watch a film on her laptop. Her mum brings us some little gingerbread biscuits filled with jam and we munch happily as we scroll through Netflix. Angelika’s room looks a bit like mine, but hers is definitely more messy. Her bookshelves are heaving, and I pull down three books to borrow. She says I can keep them as long as I like, and I grin. I think trusting someone with your books is maybe the ultimate sign of friendship.

  We sit side by side on the bed with our legs stretched out in front of us and talk about the campaign.

  “Do you think anyone else will volunteer?” I ask. “To join the team, I mean.”

  “I don’t see why not,” Angelika says, picking up another biscuit. “There are loads of people in the school who would be pleased to see someone challenge Aaron Davis.”

  “Are there?” I wonder. “He seems pretty popular to me.”

  “Well, yeah,” Angelika says, “but that stuff’s just … pretend, isn’t it? Being popular? I mean, how many of those people are really Aaron’s friends? Real friends, I mean, like us and Jess?”

  The way she says it makes me tingle with happiness. I suppose having any friends at all would be a big relief, but having THOSE friends, the two of them, is really special. “I guess you’re right,” I say slowly, thinking over what she is saying. Also, over the last week things have changed … when I first decided to run it was so impulsive and all about defeating Aaron. Don’t get me wrong, that’s still pretty high on my to-do list, but I’ve started to see real ways that I could make a difference. Raising money for the library, distributing funds to different clubs and societies that aren’t run by the cool kids, and a new recycling policy are just the tip of the iceberg.

  “I mean, after all, what does Aaron Davis have that I don’t have?” I frown. “Apart from nice hair and football skills, I mean.”

  “I like your hair,” Angelika says loyally.

  “Thanks,” I smile. “But I’m not good at football.”

  “Wouldn’t matter if you were,” snorts Angelika. “There’s no team for girls.”

  “WHAT?!” I spring to my feet.

  Angelika reaches out to steady the plate of biscuits and looks startled. “There’s only a boys’ team,” she says then. “But why do you care? You just said, you’re no good at football.”

  “It’s not about being good at football,” I squeak. “It’s the principle. Just because I don’t really enjoy playing football doesn’t mean none of the girls in our school do. Has anyone even asked them?”

  “Well, no,” Angelika admits. “I don’t think so.”

  “There you go,” I exclaim. “For all we know the next Steph Houghton might be in our school.”

  “Who?” Angelika asks.

  “She’s the captain of the England football team,” I say briskly. “Lil’s always going on about her. You see, this is all part of the problem. Everyone knows who the male players are even if they don’t give a stuff about football. It’s totally wrong. My mum says that the women’s league is way more fun to watch than the men’s.” I sit forward now. “Did you know,” I say in a low voice, “that during the First World War, when most of the men were away, there was a huge women’s football league and it was really popular?”

  “What, really?” Angelika asks, surprised.

  I nod eagerly. “Yes, at this one match there were over fifty thousand people inside the stadium watching, and thousands and thousands more all shouting outside who wanted to get in. It was a really big deal and then after the war finished everyone got all freaked out about women being just as good at football as men so they BANNED women’s teams from the clubs.”

  “That’s terrible,” Angelika breathes.

  “Exactly,” I say. “And that’s why this is really important. All these messages that people send out, even without necessarily meaning to, that boys are better at some things than girls. It’s stupid, and Lil loves playing football. When she comes up to Highworth Grange there needs to be a girls’ team waiting for her.”

  Angelika is grinning at me again. “Sounds like someone had better do something about it then,” she says.

  When I get home that evening I’m still thinking about my conversation with Angelika.

  “Did you know there’s no girls’ football team at Highworth Grange?” I ask my mum and dad.

  “I didn’t think you liked playing football?” my dad says distractedly.

  “Daaaaaad,” I groan. “That is so not the point.”

  “Of course it’s not,” Mum pipes up from beside me on the sofa. “If there’s a boys’ team then there should be a girls’ team.”

  “Exactly,” I agree.

  “Hey, I’m not disagreeing.” Dad holds up his hands in surrender. “I was just surprised it was something that you were particularly worried about.”

  I think about that for a second. “Well,
I suppose it’s not all about what I want, is it? The point of trying to make a difference is thinking about what everyone else needs too.”

  Mum and Dad share a little look at this, and a secret smile passes between them. It’s the same look they gave each other at Lil’s gymnastics tournament, or that time my experiment won first prize at my primary school science fair.

  “I think that’s absolutely right,” Mum says, pulling me into a big hug. Dad comes over and wraps his arms around her so that the three of us are all curled up like a cuddly cinnamon roll with me in the middle.

  “Ugh!” Lil’s voice interrupts, “Are you three being soppy again?” but Dad reaches out and pulls Lil into the cuddle and when she starts squawking in protest, Mum starts smothering her in noisy kisses, and then the four of us are laughing and laughing and it takes a while to untangle ourselves.

  “Oh, Effie, Iris was asking about you,” Lil says finally, her cheeks glowing pink. Lil and I have both taken to dropping in on Iris and eating all her biscuits. Lil bullied Iris into watching Frozen and now she’s undertaken a full education in all things Disney. Iris pretends to put up with it very grumpily, but I caught her humming “A Whole New World” yesterday.

  “I’ll go over tomorrow,” I say, glancing at my watch. “It’s a bit late now and I’ve got to get ready for a big day tomorrow. Actually,” I add, slowly, “while you’re all here, I have something to tell you.”

  I pause dramatically to make sure that I have their attention, all three of them sit pleasingly still and quiet, and I feel a bit like the presenter announcing the next winner of The X Factor.

  “I have decided to run for junior class president on the student council,” I blurt out. “There’s a campaign and then everyone votes in December. The boy who is president now is sort of the worst and so I’ve decided to defeat him and lead the school to glory.” I wait for them to jump up and tell me how proud they are and how much they support me.

  Instead, my mum and dad are suspiciously quiet.

  “Cool,” Lil says, and at least she looks interested. “Will you have bodyguards and a big black car that drives you around with bulletproof windows?”

  “Well, no,” I say, although the image is a good one. I can just imagine myself in my power suit and my big sunglasses clicking away on my phone in the back, tackling the day-to-day issues of being a political megastar.

  “Oh.” Lil looks disappointed. “Well, never mind … I’m sure it will still be good,” she says comfortingly, although her voice doesn’t sound particularly convinced.

  “What do you think?” I ask Mum and Dad.

  “I think it’s great, Eff,” my dad says, rubbing the back of his neck.

  “Yes,” Mum chimes in, “great.” Her voice wavers a bit. “It’s only…” She trails off here.

  “What?” I ask, confused. I thought they’d be really pleased.

  “Well, darling,” Mum says now, “don’t you think that there’s enough going on with moving and starting a brand-new school? Shouldn’t you be focusing on your schoolwork and settling in, making new friends?”

  I can feel my mouth drop open in surprise. “You don’t think I should do it?” I ask, stunned. My mum and dad have always been my biggest cheerleaders; usually they’re almost embarrassingly encouraging.

  “It just seems like a lot to take on,” Dad says quickly.

  “Yes,” Mum jumps in here. “Why not wait a year until you’re a bit more settled before you take on such a big responsibility?”

  I gape at them like a particularly simple goldfish. I can’t believe that I’m hearing this.

  “Just slow things down a bit, eh?” Mum says, reaching for my hand.

  I tug my hand away and jump to my feet, trying to think of the most hurtful thing I can, while I whisk out of the room.

  “I BET HILLARY CLINTON’S PARENTS NEVER BEHAVED LIKE THIS!” I yell, and I pull the door shut with a satisfying slam and thud upstairs.

  CHAPTER Eleven

  The next day is the day we’re hoping our campaign team volunteers will turn up. I am still sulking, and I refuse to talk to Dad as he hands me my dinner money. In my head I have already titled this chapter of my biography: LIKE A PHOENIX RISING FROM THE ASHES: WHEN MY PARENTS LOST FAITH IN ME I ONLY GREW STRONGER. It’s a little long I guess. I’ll keep working on it. Still, their betrayal has cut me deep. I suppose being a politician means you need to grow a thick skin, but I hadn’t expected this kind of behaviour from my own flesh and blood.

  “Good news!” Dad exclaims cheerily. “I’m making my famous spanakopita for dinner tonight. Your favourite.”

  I give him a haughty look which I hope conveys my profound disappointment in his behaviour, but also my weary awareness of his shortcomings.

  “Are you all right, Effie?” he asks, startled. “Are you feeling sick? Do you have a headache or something?”

  “No,” I reply crushingly. “Only a pain in my back from where MY OWN FAMILY STUCK THE KNIFE IN.”

  “Someone stuck a knife in you?” Lil asks, wide-eyed as she appears in the kitchen doorway. “Can I see?” She’s peering at the back of my blazer with barely concealed glee.

  If I didn’t know better, I would think Dad was trying not to laugh. I glare at him again.

  “Metaphorically, Lil,” I snap, with a toss of my head as I storm out and head for the front door. “It’s a metaphorical knife.”

  “Oh.” I hear Lil’s wistful voice as I grab my backpack. “Shame.”

  When I get to school I tell Angelika about Mum and Dad, and she shrugs and gives a world-weary sigh. “Parents,” she says, as if that one word explains everything.

  “I suppose,” I mutter. I am quiet for a moment. “But do you think they might have a point? Do you think it’s taking on too much to run?” I ask, and my voice is a bit small. “Do you think we can win?” I’ve checked the list and it turns out that I am the only one brave/dumb enough to run against Aaron, and I don’t know if that makes things better or worse.

  “Why not?” Angelika asks. “Haven’t you ever seen a film? You’re the underdog, and the underdog always comes from humble beginnings to snatch victory at the end.”

  “You’re right,” I say, feeling immediately sunnier. Angelika’s confidence is contagious. And after all, we’ve got lots of time before the election. We just need to make a splash, to win over our fellow students and to show them all the different ways that having a president like me could help to improve the school.

  We greet Jess and the three of us make our way through the school gates. Jess has geography, but Angelika and I are going to a history lesson in a different part of the school.

  “See you later,” Jess calls over her shoulder. “For the big meeting at lunch!”

  My stomach does a little flip then. I wonder if anyone will turn up, or if it will just be the three of us sitting in an empty cupboard again. I suppose there’s only one way to find out.

  “Oh, I’ve got an idea about that,” Angelika says. “We’ll have to make a bit of a detour during morning break.”

  “What for?” I ask.

  “You’ll see,” Angelika says mysteriously.

  When morning break rolls around, Angelika doesn’t waste any time in dragging me off to the art room.

  “We’ll definitely find a good artist in here,” she says.

  There are a few students in the classroom, mostly older kids wearing clompy boots and black eyeliner, but in one corner is a small boy with red hair hunched over a sketchbook. We make a beeline for him.

  “Hi,” I say.

  The boy looks up, his sandy freckles standing out on his pale skin. “H-hello,” he says nervously, as though he half expects us to turn him upside down and make off with his dinner money.

  I give him what I hope is a reassuring grin and he blinks anxiously at me.

  “What’s your name?” I ask, sticking out my hand. The boy shakes it tentatively.

  “K-Kevin,” he manages.

  Angelika leans chumm
ily against the table. “Well, Kevin, we’re on the lookout for a good artist,” she says. “Know anyone who might fit the bill?”

  “A good artist?” he repeats faintly.

  “Your stuff’s pretty good,” Angelika says, leaning over to peek at his sketch pad.

  Kevin seems to have grasped that it’s unlikely we’re about to turn into weirdly specific artist bullies, but he still covers his work protectively. “Oh,” he says. “Well, thanks. Yeah, I like art.”

  “And we have need of an artist,” Angelika says out the side of her mouth as though she’s trying to organize some sort of criminal activity.

  Kevin looks alarmed again and I decide to take matters into my own hands. “Hi, Kevin,” I smile. “I’m Effie Kostas, and this is my friend Angelika.” Angelika gives a little salute. “I’m actually running for junior student council president,” I say, “and we were wondering if you’d be interested in helping out with the campaign?” I flash him another glittering smile. “We’re looking for someone to make posters and things with a bit of artistic flair.”

  “Oh.” Kevin frowns. “I … I see. Well, it’s just I’m only in year seven, so I didn’t know if you would want me to…” He trails off here, casting another nervous glance at Angelika.

  “That doesn’t matter,” I say firmly. “In fact it would be great to have someone from year seven on the team … after all, the junior president has to look after all three junior years.”

  “I suppose,” Kevin agrees slowly.

  “And I think you’re being let down by the current president,” I say now, in my best campaigning voice.

  “I don’t think the current president has much to do with me,” Kevin says, and he sounds a bit glum.

  “But that’s where you’re wrong, Kevin!” I exclaim. I glance around the art room. “Why isn’t there an art club?” I ask.

  “There is,” Kevin says. “But not many people come. It’s mostly just people sitting in here quietly getting on with their coursework, anyway.”

  “But what if you had some funding?” I say beadily. “For special materials or trips to exhibitions or to get guest speakers in.”