by Laura Wood
“I love it!” I exclaim.
Angelika looks at it, nodding. “We should photocopy this one and put it around the halls.”
Kevin’s ears turn pink. “I don’t know if it’s good enough for that…” he says.
“Don’t be modest.” Ruby slaps him on the arm. “It’s wicked.”
“It really looks like us,” Jess says. “I’m even wearing my backpack.” She points to the little drawing of herself with its funky black-and-pink bag.
Zo arrives then. She is still wearing her coat, but she has pulled her hood down, revealing her dark, shining hair pulled into two tight braids. She smiles tentatively as a chorus of “Hi, Zo!” and “All right, Zo?” fills the air. She slips in and takes up her position in the corner.
“OK,” I say. “Now that we’re all here, we need to start talking about the next phase for the campaign. The launch went pretty well…”
“Until we had to throw away my mum’s biscuits,” Kevin puts in.
“Yes,” I agree, “that was a real shame.”
“I could probably get her to make some for our meetings if you want?” he asks brightly.
There is a tense silence.
Jess opens her mouth but I cut her off very quickly.
“Er,” I begin, “well, that’s really kind, but I don’t think we should be … distracted by biscuits. No matter how … delicious.”
Kevin looks a bit shocked at this pronouncement, and I can’t really blame him, because an anti-biscuit policy is not really my style at all, but the rest of the team look relieved and murmur in agreement.
“Important issues to focus on,” Ruby mutters.
“Serious times,” Angelika chimes in.
“Plus those biscuits were gross,” Jess says.
“Anyway,” I press on, “let’s talk campaign details. I think it’s time we started making a big splash, getting our campaign OUT THERE. Making sure everyone knows about all the amazing things we can do for the school. Getting our voices heard!”
Angelika nods, tapping a pencil against her cheek. She doesn’t usually wear glasses, but she is sporting some now – although a closer look reveals that they are prop frames without any glass in them. She seems to be wearing them at the moment for the sole purpose of looking at us over the top of them. “With that in mind I’ve lined up an interview for Effie with the school newspaper to talk about the big campaign issues.” The way she says it is like a real campaign manager. It’s like she’s got me a top spot on a chat show where the host will ask me earnest questions about my life and we’ll both cry a bit about my incredible journey and then talk about recycling bins.
“Wow!” I exclaim. “How did you manage that?”
Angelika shrugs. “I have my contacts,” she says mysteriously.
“Well, that will be a great start.” I rub my hands together. “And if we plaster the school halls in posters that should help too.”
“I think we need to find more ways to get your face out there, Effie,” Ruby says. “No offence, but I think lots of people still don’t actually know who you are.”
“Only because you’re new,” Angelika adds quickly.
“That’s a good point.” I nod, scribbling furious notes into my campaign notebook. It is purple with pictures of General Organa and Rey from Star Wars and Hermione Granger carefully pasted all over it.
“You could do a drop-in session,” Kevin suggests. “One lunchtime where people can come and talk to you about problems they’re having. Then you can say how you would deal with them if you were president?”
“Kevin!” I exclaim. “That is such a good idea!”
“Nice one, Kev!” Ruby agrees. “People love having a good moan. It’ll be really popular.”
“It’s perfect,” I say, hugging my notebook to my chest. “It will give me a chance to meet people, and to let them know exactly what I’ll be doing as president.” I beam around the room at them all. “Brilliant work, team!”
CHAPTER Eighteen
The Highworth Grange Chronicle Issue No. 203
WHO IS EFFIE KOSTAS?
CATRIONA MCGIDDENS MEETS THE SCHOOL’S NEWEST POLITICAL CANDIDATE
This week I sit down with Highworth Grange’s answer to Hillary Clinton – new student Euphemia Kostas. Euphemia (who prefers to go by the name Effie) moved to Highworth Grange in October, but her short time at our school has been rocked by SCANDAL and DRAMA as she has decided to take on reigning junior class president, Aaron Davis, in our upcoming student council election.
As our readers well know, Aaron Davis was elected in a landslide victory last year – an unheard-of accomplishment for a year-eight student. Now, Aaron is ruling the junior school in year nine but he probably hadn’t counted on the arrival of fresh-faced Effie Kostas as a potential rival for his throne.
WHO WILL SUCCEED IN THIS VICIOUS FIGHT FOR POWER?
I was initially contacted by Effie’s campaign manager, Angelika Lisowski, and invited into the campaign’s inner sanctum for an EXCLUSIVE, NO HOLDS BARRED interview. When asked why she supports the candidate, Angelika replied, “Effie Kostas is the REAL DEAL. She’s so clever and funny, and her organizational skills are next level. You should see her Post-it note collection … there are shapes and colours I didn’t even know existed.”
I begin by asking Effie to share a little more information on her campaign with our readers. Her answer is really quite long and she talks very fast, but there’s something about recycling in there, I think. But now that I’ve warmed her up, dear readers, it’s time to get to the real nitty-gritty. To ask the hard-hitting questions that I know you want ANSWERS to.
WHY, I ask, did Effie decide to run for president?
Effie answers by quoting Beyoncé Knowles Carter: “Power is not given to you. You have to take it.” Now as much as I LOVE Queen Bey, I think we all know that’s not the REAL ANSWER. When I ask Effie if there was a particular INCIDENT that was really a turning point for her she immediately becomes VERY SHIFTY.
“Is this about Aaron Davis?” Effie asks.
Interesting that she should bring him up, dear readers. VERY INTERESTING INDEED. Is it true that a brawl over a slice of Victoria sponge was the dramatic scene of her decision to run?
Effie seems unnecessarily flustered by this question, but I can exclusively reveal that it was actually A PIECE OF CHOCOLATE CAKE at the centre of her dramatic eruption.
So, I ask, cutting to the heart of the matter with my excellent journalistic skills, is there anything between Effie and Aaron? Are they, perhaps, MORE than just political rivals?
Effie’s face goes quite red and she starts mumbling something about a mentoring scheme but, like a BLOODHOUND, I know I have caught the scent of the true story. I’ve heard whispers from Aaron’s camp that he thinks Effie has got a crush on him and that she’s doing all of this to get his attention. I ask Effie what she has to say on the matter. “That’s the most ridiculous…” she exclaims, angrily. “Honestly, I’d rather be boiled in oil than have anything to do with Aaron Davis. The idea that the ONLY reason I would run against him is because I fancy him is SO INSULTING that it makes me want to scream. Only THEN people would say I was being a hysterical GIRL and so I have to try and be CALM AND COLLECTED.”
I don’t know about you, but METHINKS THE CANDIDATE DOTH PROTEST TOO MUCH.
Does Effie have any final thoughts that she would like to share with the readers of the Highworth Grange Chronicle?
“Yes,” she says, drawing herself up tall and staring nobly into the distance. “I would like all your readers to listen, really listen, to the candidates and to make their decision about who to vote for based on who makes the strongest arguments. I care about what you all want from the student council, and any ways in which you feel ignored or overlooked at the moment. I’m running a drop-in session at my campaign office next Monday, 21 November, at lunchtime, and I invite you to come along and let me hear what YOU want from a student council president.”
What STIRRING stuf
f, readers. I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling inspired!
So, there you have it. STRAIGHT FROM THE HORSE’S MOUTH. It is, of course, the duty of this paper to remain impartial, but this reporter was certainly stirred by the PASSION and ENTHUSIASM shown by Ms. Kostas. As for whether there’s anything more than rivalry between Effie and Aaron, that remains to be seen. So, are you #TeamEffie or #TeamAaron? Or, like us, are you secretly shipping #EffRon?
Let us know by sending us a snap @HGChronicleRulez.
CHAPTER Nineteen
“I just can’t believe they gave us a cutesy couple name,” I huff.
“You aren’t still obsessing over that article, are you?” Angelika asks.
“And you have to admit that EffRon is a pretty good couple name,” Jess pipes up. “Because your name is Effie and his name is Aaron.” She chuckles.
“Zac Efron is SO buff,” Ruby sighs dreamily.
“So buff,” Kevin agrees.
“Zac Efron’s buffness has nothing to do with it!” I cry, exasperated. “It’s just… The very idea of it! That there’s something going on with me and that … that … arrogant … stuck-up … MOON HEAD!” I finish, borrowing from Lennon the parrot’s impressive vocabulary.
“Do not speak dismissively of Zac Efron’s bufficity,” Ruby says solemnly. “No matter how angry you are.”
“Sorry,” I sigh. “I just wish that the interview had been about the campaign, instead of being about my rivalry with Aaron.”
“It did say that you were full of passion and enthusiasm,” Kevin points out, helpfully.
“And you did manage to mention your green initiative,” Angelika adds reassuringly.
“I know, but we didn’t even get to talk about raising money for the library, or the lunch buddy system so that no one has to eat their lunch alone.” I deflate. “How will people get to hear all the good things we want to accomplish?”
“Well, that’s what today is for, isn’t it?” Angelika says sunnily. “You’re going to meet loads of people and listen to them and talk about the ways you can improve their school lives.”
“That’s true.” I brighten. The whole team is assembled at campaign HQ. The drop-in session is due to start in ten minutes. Aside from the newspaper article, we’ve put up lots of posters to advertise it, and Ruby has even been scaring the pants off people, thrusting leaflets into their hands and “suggesting” that they should turn up.
Ruby and Kevin are acting as bouncers on the door. As far as I can tell there’s no reason for this. Turns out that Ruby wasn’t actually joking when she recommended herself as head of security.
“You never know, boss,” she says. “There could be someone who kicks off over the colour of the proposed recycling bins and then I have to swoop in and karate chop them.” She sounds a bit too hopeful for my liking as she demonstrates a swift karate chop, slicing her hand through the air.
She and Kevin stand either side of the door with their hands folded in front of them, feet spread wide, stance menacing. Ruby is wearing a large pair of dark sunglasses.
“I think Kev and I should have walkie-talkies,” she says for the third time. “As we’re the security team.”
“You’re literally standing next to each other,” Angelika points out. “What on earth would you do with the walkie-talkies?”
“Well, obviously we’d use them if we got split up chasing a perp,” Ruby says, scornfully.
“I don’t think there are going to be a lot of perps to chase down,” I say soothingly.
“Don’t you worry, Effie,” Kevin says, pulling himself up to his full height and almost brushing my chin. “If anyone wants to get to you they have to get through us first. We won’t let you down.” He looks at me earnestly. “I’d take a bullet for you.”
“Er – thanks,” I manage.
“All part of the job.” Kevin’s voice is solemn. Ruby throws him an admiring glance. I have to say that Kevin has really been coming out of his shell over the last couple of weeks.
“Anyway,” Angelika breaks in now, “we’ve got Ruby and Kevin on the door, making sure only one person gets in at a time. Jess and I are going to be talking to people in the queue to get an idea of their issue, which we will then write down on THESE colour-coordinated reference cards.” Angelika fans out a pile of cards and waves them in the air. “A blue card is for academic problems, green for clubs and societies, pink for anything else. DOES EVERYONE UNDERSTAND THE SYSTEM?” Everyone nods obediently. I am full of admiration for my pal’s organizational prowess. “REPEAT IT BACK TO ME,” Angelika yells like a drill sergeant.
“Blue for academic, green for clubs and societies and pink for anything else,” we all mutter.
“Excellent.” Angelika nods approvingly. “Each visitor will get a maximum of five minutes with Effie. When they enter the room their reference card will be handed to Zo, who will give it to Effie.” Zo nods here, and I feel a bit better that she’s going to be in the room with me. While I greatly admire Angelika’s efficiency, I have to admit it’s making me a bit nervous. “Ruby will then start her stopwatch. At the four-minute point she will knock once as a warning to begin winding up the session. At five minutes she will knock three times and the visitor will leave, then the process begins again.” Angelika casts an eagle eye over us. “Is everyone clear on their jobs? Are we all ready?”
“Yes!” we cry.
“Right.” Angelika nods. “Then, places!”
Zo and I make our way in to the cupboard and I take my seat behind the table, leaving an empty chair across from me for my stream of visitors. As the silence inside the cupboard wraps itself around us, I can’t stop the nervous feeling coiling inside my stomach.
“Um, Zo?” I say in a low voice.
Zo looks at me questioningly.
“I couldn’t help but notice that there wasn’t anyone out there, queuing up to see me.” The nervous feeling grows stronger. “What if no one comes?”
Zo stands awkwardly for a moment. I see her swallow. Then … very slowly … she reaches out one hand and pats my arm reassuringly.
“Thanks,” I gulp. “I’m so glad you’re here, by the way.”
We share a smile, and then Ruby opens the door.
“First one is here!” she hisses, thrusting a pink card at Zo, who brings it over to me and then goes to stand in the corner.
I look down at the card. What does it say? Jess’s writing is not the easiest to read. It looks a bit like “small UFOs”. That can’t be right … can it? Although, I’ll admit, a tiny alien invasion would be an interesting problem, presidentially speaking.
A girl appears in the doorway. She’s from the year below, I think. Her reddish-brown hair is pulled up into a bouncy ponytail that bobs when she walks. She doesn’t look like an alien, but I suppose you never know.
“Have a seat,” I say with a smile, gesturing to the chair. “I’m Effie. How can I help you today?”
The girl sits down. “I already told that girl out there.” She gestures back to the door.
“Yes, sorry,” I say patiently, “I can’t quite make out what she’s written down here.”
The girl huffs. “It’s about school uniforms,” she says.
“Ahhhhh.” I lean back in my chair. “School uniforms. That makes more sense.”
“More sense than what?” the girl asks, suspiciously.
“Nothing,” I say quickly, “it doesn’t matter. Sorry, what’s your name?”
“Amy,” the girl says.
“OK, Amy.” I smile. “So you want to talk about school uniforms?”
“That’s right.” She nods. “I think we should have new ones. Better ones.”
“Better?” I ask, puzzled. “What sort of improvements did you have in mind?”
“I don’t know,” Amy says thoughtfully. “I just think these black blazers are so frumpy. Maybe we could get a designer in to create new ones?”
“A designer?” I echo.
“Yes!” Amy is warming to her theme
now. “You know, like Gucci or Stella McCartney. Could you sort that?”
“Could I get Gucci to redesign our school uniforms?” I say carefully, making sure I have understood what she’s asking.
“Yeah.” Amy nods eagerly. “Could you?”
“Um, well, no,” I murmur. “I don’t think so.”
“Oh.” Amy looks put out and folds her arms across her chest. “So you wouldn’t even try?”
“Well, I wouldn’t want to promise something I didn’t think I could achieve,” I say quickly, “but maybe we could talk to Ms Shaarawi about some smaller changes. I think the girls should definitely be allowed to wear trousers, for example, and I’d really like to get that changed.”
“Hmm.” Amy doesn’t look too impressed.
There is a single knock on the door.
“So is there anything else you wanted to ask about?” I smile widely in what I hope is a friendly way.
“No.” Amy gets to her feet. “Thanks anyway.”
“You’re welcome,” I call after her. “I hope I can count on your vo—” I am cut short by the slamming of the door behind her.
After Amy is Gareth, who wants me to get pizza on the school menu every lunchtime, and then Sam, who thinks that we should only have school two days a week. Then there’s Emily, who wants chips on the menu for lunch and thinks we should open a McDonald’s franchise inside the school, and then Matt, who is another vote for pizza.
The door opens again and Ruby holds out another card, pink again. Zo collects it and brings it over to me. In Angelika’s neat, round handwriting is written:
*Alisha – year nine
*Wants to discuss school dinners.
I sigh. “Hi, Alisha.” I greet the girl who comes through the door with a smile. “Please, take a seat.”
CHAPTER Twenty
The rest of the afternoon drags by pretty slowly. I try to concentrate on my geography lesson, but the room is so warm and the teacher’s voice is so droning that I am fighting just to stay awake. I feel a bit deflated by the drop-in session. I had been hoping it would be a big opportunity for me to talk to people about the issues that matter to them. I suppose that what has surprised me the most in this whole campaigning business is that most people just don’t seem that … bothered about things. Although I guess part of your job if you run for student council is to try and make people more aware of the issues that affect them.