President of the Whole Sixth Grade

by Sherri Winston

  BREAKING NEWS: U.S. SENATOR ATTEMPTING TO BREAK RECORD SET IN 1957 FOR THE LONGEST RECORDED FILIBUSTER

  Mrs. G. climbed onto a chair and clapped at us until everybody shut up. “Okay, students, this is a rare opportunity to watch how government works,” she said. “We’re going back to the Capitol building not only to see history being made, but also because we want you guys to really think about what’s at stake. Now, be on your best behavior. Let’s go, Blueberries!” Now I knew how amped up Paul Revere must’ve felt before riding through the streets of Boston. No, wait. More like Julius Caesar rolling into Rome! Mrs. G. might as well have yelled, “Charge!”

  When we stepped outside, we were greeted with the sparkling white glare from last night’s storm. The air was cold and smelled like Christmas. Holiday decorations on the trees danced in the breeze.

  As we walked to our bus, I noticed a few kids I didn’t recognize from the conference making snow angels and laughing loudly.

  Mr. G. saw me looking at them, shrugged, and explained that school was out all over the D.C. area. Lauren and I exchanged glances. It wasn’t even that much snow. In Michigan, we’d have to go to school in that little bit of fluff. Just saying.

  We all climbed aboard. I texted Mom. Most kids had to stick around to attend their workshops, but I was lucky not to have any until the afternoon. Mom was staying behind with several other chaperones to look after the bulk of our group while Mr. and Mrs. G. took ten of us over to the Capitol.

  The ride had taken about seven minutes yesterday. Now it took close to twenty. Snow and ice crunched under the tires. We climbed out. Inside the visitors’ center, we once again checked our coats and headed to Congressional Hall. But this time, entering the chamber was like entering another world.

  Even though the room was large and deep with seating like a theater, it felt hot and cramped. Down at the podium, the same African American woman from yesterday, with her dark hair in a bun, was swaying to the beat of her own words.

  “… oh say can you see, from the dawn’s early light…”

  I glanced at Mrs. G. “Why is she saying the words to the national anthem?”

  “Because,” Mrs. G. said, leaning forward like she was at the summer’s biggest blockbuster and didn’t want to miss a single word. “The rules of a filibuster are that a person can say anything as long as they keep talking.”

  “Why?” I asked. “What good does that do?”

  Mr. G. explained. “The whole purpose is to disrupt the bill the majority wants passed. Remember what I told you yesterday, Brianna. A filibuster’s primary function is to disrupt the proceedings. This is Congress’s last session before breaking for the holidays. If they can’t reach a vote by noon today, the bill will have to be shelved. The senator wants to stop the legislation and draw attention to her message. She wants funding for technology in K-through-twelve education to be a priority in state and federal budgets. All she needs is a little more time to get people on her side.”

  Ebony leaned over Mrs. G.’s shoulder. “Who are those people huddling close to her over on the other side?”

  “Her warriors. Her gladiators,” Mrs. G. said. She looked proud. “They are there to show they support her because they believe in what she’s doing. You guys are witnessing history.”

  We watched for a while. I was mesmerized. The senator looked so strong and committed as she switched from the national anthem back to her topic that I wanted to root for her, too.

  Glancing around the room, I eyed the other senators. Some would try to say things to throw her off her game, but Miss Filibuster was having None. Of. It.

  A few senators looked so angry that their faces were red and their jaws trembled; a few dozed in their seats. You could tell some were totally behind the filibustering senator, and others wanted to ship her away to a desert island. The ones backing her up, her gladiators, were like her girls (and guys). Her posse.

  Congress really was a lot like middle school. There were cliques. Rude people shouting over you. Others giving you the stank eye. And some who had your back no matter what.

  The senator’s voice rose, and I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

  “… if you can hear my voice, reach out, call your representative, call your senator, call everybody. The fact that we are even considering passing a nothing bill like the one before us, while our esteemed colleague Senator Howard Graham refuses to even listen to arguments that could amend it and add safeguards for education, is a travesty. So if you are listening, if you can hear the sound of my voice, call. Don’t be idle when you can be active!”

  The woman sagged a bit. I realized she’d been at this since we were here yesterday. Now it was almost nine thirty in the morning, and she looked dog-tired. Mrs. G. said if the senator wanted to break the record, which would help draw even more attention to her cause, she’d have to keep talking until noon.

  There was an explosion of applause. Several female senators stood, clapping hard.

  “What is her name again?” I asked.

  “That’s Madeline Wilson-Hayes,” Mr. G. said. “She’s the President’s sister-in-law.”

  The President’s sister-in-law.

  Neptune’s aunt Maddie.

  “… She’s always into something,” I suddenly remembered him saying.

  “So this is who he was talking about!” I blurted out.

  “What?” said Mrs. G.

  “The President’s nephew. He told me his aunt was raising a ruckus, but I didn’t realize this was who he meant.”

  Mr. and Mrs. G., Lauren, Red, and Ebony stared at me. Then I realized what I said.

  “Um, yesterday at the White House. Tell you about it later.”

  Gradually the senator pulled herself up, seeming to draw strength from her supporters. She looked ready to fight on.

  And maybe I knew someone willing to help.

  A picture popped into my mind. Along with an idea.

  Was this the next chapter for The Adventures of Cupcake Girl?

  Civics Journal

  Ancient Rome and Middle School

  The gladiators were these total warriors who often fought to the death in the Colosseum.

  Some were slaves or prisoners, some were professionals. They had to fight with animals or one another for the amusement of the masses.

  That is so totally like middle school.

  Any time you stand out in middle school, you have to be ready for someone to throw a lion at you.

  That’s a hyperbole, but it doesn’t seem too far from the truth.

  19

  The Roman Legion

  “Mrs. G.? Can I go into the hall? I need to text someone.” I slid to the edge of my seat. A plan was churning in my brain.

  She gave me a look. “Right now?”

  “It’s really important. I think I know how to help the senator!”

  She looked at Mr. G. They both stared at me.

  Mr. G. was, like, “You really met the President’s nephew?”

  “Uh, yeah. Long story. Can I tell you later?”

  Everyone else had been listening, too, dying to know more. “You can tell ALL OF US later!”

  I agreed and Mrs. G. gave me permission to step into the hallway. The guard outside the door went to the basket of cell phones and handed mine back.

  Uncle. U ready to bake? Want to help Sen. Wilson-Hayes with filibuster. U down with it? need to bake a LOT…?

  A minute passed. Then two. I was getting jazzed about my idea. At the same time, I felt scared and excited and nervous all at the same time. My heart had turned into a marching band.

  Three minutes passed.

  Then…

  See her on TV now. Know her, good lady. Come! Sugar, let’s bake.

  I gave my phone back to the guard and slid back into the room. “Mr. G., Mrs. G!” I was so excited. “I have a plan.”

  “What kind of plan?” Mr. G asked.

  “The senator said don’t be idle, be active. So I need for all of us to get active. Come
on, let’s go!”

  Once we were out the door and around the corner, I explained what I wanted to do. The senator had asked for people to join her in getting the message out about technology in the classroom. I liked that idea. And I didn’t like thinking that by the time I was in eighth grade Mrs. G. or the journalism program might be gone.

  I explained my idea:

  We would go back to my uncle’s restaurant and bake lots and lots of cupcakes. Then we’d trek them back over to the Capitol building and use them to attract attention from all the tourists and guests out on the mall. I figured if we baked for an hour, it’d be pretty crowded when we came back.

  When we passed out the cupcakes, we’d ask people to get on Twitter or Facebook or whatever and show their support. If we could persuade other people to get their parents or schools to contact their congressperson and tell them how much they loved technology in the classroom, maybe it would give Senator Wilson-Hayes the votes she required. And in the meantime, maybe all the support would inspire her to keep going and beat that filibuster record!

  But first, we needed to come up with our message. It was time to let the people know the sixth-grade Blueberries meant business.

  When I finished explaining my plan, Mr. G.’s eyes got big. At first I thought he was going to tell me I was crazy. But before he could say a word, Mrs. G. ran down the row of us kids giving high fives like she was in the starting lineup for the Pistons.

  “Brianna Justice! I’ve never been prouder,” she said.

  Then Lauren said, “That’s my girl! Brianna. Let’s go help the senator set a record!”

  Everybody was cheering—well, whisper-cheering, because we didn’t want to get into trouble. You know. For disrupting the Capitol and all.

  Mr. G. grinned, but then his face got serious.

  “Brianna, I love your idea. And your enthusiasm is great. I… we’re behind you.” He looked at Mrs. G. before continuing. “However, if you do this, just remember that you may not finish in time to give your speech today at the General Assembly. That would disqualify you for your session with the magazine folks. So, are you sure?”

  Oh, no! I’d forgotten all about that.

  Everyone stared, waiting for my answer.

  I could hear a television somewhere in the distance. It was the senator’s voice. She was still hanging on.

  I thought about one of the discussions we had in class about gladiators in ancient Rome. They were tough and fierce and didn’t back down. I thought about the senator’s speech. Listening to her made me feel like I had to do something.

  It was time to be a gladiator!

  “I’m sure,” I said. “Let’s go get our filibuster on!”

  Once we pushed through the double doors into the kitchen, Uncle Al was lining up bowls and spoons and ingredients on the table. He looked up and did a double take.

  “What’s all this?” he asked.

  “My army!” I grinned.

  I told him my plan and he started nodding.

  “Sugar, I like the way you think. Everybody wash your hands and let’s get a move on. We don’t have long to work,” he said.

  I looked at the clock on the wall. It was almost ten. We’d need at least an hour to bake, cool, and frost.

  “So, sugar, what’s your favorite cupcake flavor?” Uncle asked.

  I told him about the new recipe I’d been working on for a caramel-apple cupcake. When I told him what I needed, his large dark face split into a grin.

  “Sugar! The group that canceled was from Michigan, like you. They had me ordering a boatload of apples. All we need are some peelers and some smashers,” he said.

  It took us a good ten minutes to figure out who would do what. Lauren and Mrs. G. left to go see if we had other classmates willing to help.

  Ebony was all about heading up the social media. “Can’t nobody tweet like me. Let me do it.”

  I looked at her and felt a warmth spread through me. After that first meeting with her selling cupcakes at the football game, I kinda thought she was a total flake. Yet, here she was, right by my side, making it work.

  With Mr. G.’s help, we came up with our message:

  Don’t be idle—be active! Support Senator Wilson-Hayes’s filibuster. She’s fighting for our future.

  Mr. G. explained that the senator was trying to stop a bill that gave too much money to the businesses run by friends of other senators. He said Senator Wilson-Hayes wanted her fellow senators to give more money to schools for technology, and less to their buddies. We read our message back a few times. Mr. G. and Ebony said we needed a hashtag, too. The more times people used it, the more attention we would get for the senator.

  We decided on #GetFilibustered.

  Ebony started sending out messages and posting pics on Instagram, asking people to join us in front of the Capitol building at noon. She said we’d be handing out cupcakes “with the truth all up in ’em.”

  Mrs. G. and Lauren returned with Click, Romeo James, and a few others. I couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed that Sara and Becks didn’t show up. But I pushed it out of my mind.

  We got to work. The cupcakes required a caramel glaze, so I did that part; Uncle and Mr. G. used a special machine to remove the apples’ cores. The batter called for less liquid since we were substituting apple into the filling, so we had to calculate that, too. Thanks to Uncle’s super-large cupcake pans and multiple ovens, we were able to bake 150 cupcakes at once.

  “Everybody, I need to get something from my room. Be right back!” I called out.

  Uncle said, “Hurry back. I’ve got some miniature pie-pans just begging for my famous sweet potato pie recipe.”

  I called back, “Uncle, I’m in the cupcake business.”

  “Sugar, once I share this recipe with you, your business is going to change. Besides, I have a lot more stuff for little pies than I do for cupcakes. So get goin’, then bring your butt back here.”

  Uncle was trying to get all up in my laurels. Hmph!

  In the lobby of the hotel, several kids milled around. Not just from our school, either. Some other conference activities had been canceled because people driving in had been unable to come. I ran past and raced to the elevator. It didn’t take long to get into my room, find my recipes, then zip back out.

  While making sure the door locked behind me, I saw two people moving up the hallway toward me.

  When they got closer, I saw who it was—Becks and Sara.

  My first impulse was a big, goofy smile. I didn’t think about being mad at them or hurt or anything. I was just flat-out glad to see them. Okay, so when I’d first left the White House I thought about texting them to tell them about meeting Neptune. Maybe I wanted to rub it in just a little. Then I thought about what Mr. President and the First Lady had said, how kind and generous they’d been. And most of all, what the First Nephew said about growing and moving on.

  So I didn’t text.

  It had all been so much to think about in such a small amount of time. So I’d kept the whole White House thing to myself. And since turning into a gladiator and all, I hadn’t had time to think about it.

  And now here they were.

  “Bree-Bree!” Sara called out first, running toward me. Becks hung back, looking down at her shoes.

  “Hey!” I said. Didn’t know what else to say. “What’s up?”

  When I got a good look at Becks, I could see that her eyes were red, like she’d been crying.

  Sara looked from Becks to me and said, “Oh, Bree-Bree! You were right. Yesterday, at the mall, the Peas were like, ‘Oooo! This is so cute’ or whatever. Then they were all, ‘Can you buy this for me?’ So me and Becks, at first, were, like, ‘No problem.’ But Bree-Bree, soon as we spent our money on them, Prya used her phone and…”

  Sara paused. Becks picked up the story. “Prya used her phone to record me trying to get into a pair of pants.” Now it was Becks’s turn to hesitate.

  Sara went on, “And girl, they’ve already bee
n showing it to people. Brianna, what are we going to do?”

  At first, my heart did a skip-hop. We? As in us friends?

  The idea made me feel happier than anything I could think of. But then I looked at them. Really looked at them. Sara was wearing yet another ridiculous outfit. Becks was looking angry and confused.

  “Sara, I’m so sorry to hear that. The Peas are not good people. But I’ve got to get back to Uncle’s restaurant. Did you guys hear about the filibuster? We’re making cupcakes to help this senator lady stick it to her opponents.”

  When Becks looked at me, her eyes were hard. “Oh? So you’d rather help some senator you don’t even know than your friends?”

  My cheeks felt hot. I could feel myself getting pulled right back into another argument. Sure, I was a gladiator, but maybe it was time I did a better job of choosing my battles.

  “Like I said, I’ve gotta go. I wish you two would come help. We need you.…” I said it as sweetly as I could. I tried not to have any judgment or I-told-you-so in my voice. Which was hard, because I really did have thoughts about the whole situation and wanted to yell, “I TOLD YOU SO!” real loud.

  Becks huffed, “Let’s go, Sara. I can’t believe this!”

  For a moment, I felt myself standing there, like I was caught on some sort of sticky web, hanging above the earth. They had been my friends for so long. We’d done so much together. I had hoped it could always be that way.

  Right now, however, I knew who I wanted to be—and what I wanted to be. Coming to this conference was supposed to teach me about leadership. One thing I’d learned was that leading sometimes meant letting those around you do their own thing.

  My stomach knotted a bit as I said, “I’m not sure what to tell you. I think you two need to talk to the Peas. Wish I could help, but I gotta run.” Then before they could say another word, I was off, racing down the hall, jumping into a waiting elevator, and sprinting across the lobby.

  I knew I had to do it that way. I didn’t trust myself not to turn around and try to fix everything.