Bobby vs. Girls (Accidentally)

by Lisa Yee

  “How about we all vote for him?” St. James said through a mouthful of food, so it sounded like, “Wow bout woe wall wote for im?”

  “Of course we’re going to vote for him,” Chess assured him. “But we have to make sure the rest of Room 15 votes for Bobby too.”

  Just then Jillian Zarr marched over. No girls were allowed at the boys’ table. It just wasn’t done. But that didn’t stop her from standing over them all with a cross look on her face. She was wearing blue nail polish that matched the ridiculous bows in her pigtails. Bobby felt sure that she was the one who made Holly wear nail polish. Jillian Zarr was a bad influence.

  “I just wanted to tell you worms that Bobby doesn’t have a chance,” Jillian Zarr said smugly.

  Chess stood on the bench to confront her. “I’m Bobby’s campaign manager,” he said loudly. “And I say you’re wrong.”

  “Well, you’re looking at Holly’s campaign manager,” Jillian Zarr replied with a smirk. “And I’m never wrong. Let’s face it, boys, you’d better get used to losing. Girls rule!”

  This was enough to make St. James gag on his hamburger. “BOOF ROOF!!!” he yelled. When Jillian Zarr looked at him blankly, he swallowed his food, then repeated more clearly, “BOYS RULE! It’s boys versus girls and the boys will win!!!”

  “Urgggg!!!!” Jillian Zarr shook her head and retreated.

  “Are you okay, Bobby?” Chess asked as he sat back down. “You look like you just ate a slug.”

  “I’m fine,” he said, even though he wasn’t. What if Jillian Zarr was right and he didn’t have a chance? What if he lost big-time to Holly?

  As St. James hurled insults at the girls, Chess chewed his sandwich and studied Bobby like he was a science experiment. Finally Chess announced, “We need to do this campaign like professionals. We’ll need posters.”

  “And bumper stickers,” St. James added.

  “Television commercials!” Jackson jumped in.

  “Buttons!”

  “A campaign bus!”

  “An airplane!”

  Chess asked, “How much money do you have, Bobby?”

  “Twelve dollars,” he answered, then remembered maybe it was eleven since he just bought a new yo-yo string. “But I’m saving up for new toys for Rover.”

  “We’ll have to go low-budget then,” Chess conceded.

  “Well,” St. James began. He stopped to take the straw out of his juice box and squeeze the rest of the Orange Guzzle into his mouth. “At least we can have a really great poster. Bobby, you’re good at drawing.”

  Bobby blushed. He had been working hard on his drawings. Lately he had replaced most of his dog pictures with portraits of Rover. One was so good that his mom even bought a fancy gold frame for it and hung it in the living room.

  “Okay, then,” Chess said. “Bobby will make an awesome poster and come up with freebies to hand out. And we’ll talk him up to all the boys and get their vote.”

  Bobby nodded. It sounded like a good plan. He couldn’t help but grin as the boys chanted, “Go, Bobby, go! Go, Bobby, go! Go, Bobby, go!”

  * * *

  The more he thought about his nomination, the more excited Bobby became. “Mrs. Carlson said this is a very important job,” he told Rover that night. “You represent the entire class at student council meetings. That’s where they discuss major stuff like recess and the lunch menu.”

  Rover did a loop around the aquarium to show his support. Soon the two started working on the soccer ball trick. Rover was getting quite good at pushing the ball with his nose. Several times he almost made it into the net that Bobby had fashioned out of chopsticks and a piece of cloth.

  Casey strolled in wearing a new crown. Quickly, Bobby pulled Wandee out of the water and tossed it across the room, out of sight.

  “Hi, Fishy-fish-fish!” Casey cooed as she peered at Rover. “Bobby, make him twirl.”

  Using hand signals, Bobby gave Rover the command. As he did a backflip, Casey clapped. She was wearing her Princess Becky pajamas and had just taken her bubble bath, so she smelled like flowers. “Does Fishy-fish-fish ever take a bath?”

  “His name’s Rover. And he doesn’t need to take a bath, he’s a fish,” Bobby explained for the hundredth time. He wiped her fingerprints off the aquarium glass.

  “Fish don’t get dirty?” Casey asked. She pressed her nose up against the tank.

  “Nope.”

  Casey squinted at Rover. “But he swims in his pee,” she pointed out.

  “That’s why I have to clean the aquarium.”

  “I think it’s bad that Fishy-fish-fish has to swim in pee,” she insisted. “It’s mean! Poor fish! You’re mean, Bobby!” Suddenly Casey screamed. “Bobby! There’s string coming out of Rover’s behind!”

  Bobby took his math homework out of his backpack. “That’s not string,” he said matter-of-factly. “Rover’s pooping.”

  Casey’s mouth hung open in disbelief. “He pees and poops in the water?”

  “That’s what fish do,” Bobby started to explain. Before he could say anything more, Casey made a choking noise, then ran out of the room shrieking.

  “It’s okay,” Bobby assured Rover. “You’re just being yourself. There’s nothing wrong with that.” He sat down at his desk and took out his colored pencils. “You know, the one weird part of this election is that I’m running against Holly. You met her. She’s the one who gave you to me. Of course, that’s when we used to be sorta-best friends, only these days she’s my enemy.” He paused. It felt weird to call Holly his enemy. “We used to do everything together. And now she’s running against me on purpose! St. James says it’s a war. Boys versus girls. But it’s really me against Holly Harper.”

  The more he told Rover about Holly, the angrier he got. He shoved his math homework aside and pulled out the poster board his mom had brought home. Bobby drew a picture of Holly with her hair before it had been Jillian Zarr-icized and straightened. He dotted her face with a marker to make her freckles, and instead of her usual smile, he drew a squiggly line. Bobby then added horns on her head and a fancy mustache under her nose. When Rover saw it, he did a backflip.

  “I know,” Bobby laughed. “Pretty funny! I should take this to school, except that Jillian Zarr and the wolf pack would probably rip it apart.”

  Bobby started thinking about his real campaign poster. On a new board in big bold letters he wrote, “Vote For Bobby for Student consil rep.”

  The word council didn’t look right, plus the letters were way too small. He turned the poster board over. “Vote for Bobby for Student Concil Rep!!!” This time the letters were too big at the beginning and squashed at the end. Bobby used the back of the Holly picture and slowly wrote, “Vote for Bobby for Studint Council.”

  Satisfied, he considered what to draw. Mrs. Carlson had said that a great campaign had a memorable slogan. She told the class that former President Jimmy Carter, who was once a peanut farmer, campaigned on a promise of “Not Just Peanuts,” and Dwight Eisenhower used his nickname in “I like Ike.” Bobby didn’t even have a nickname, unless you counted when Annie called him Squirt. But “Squirt for Student Council” didn’t sound very good.

  Bobby watched Rover skimming the bottom of his aquarium, just above the rocks. Then it hit him! “Rover, you’re a genius,” he cried.

  With great enthusiasm, Bobby drew a mountain of rocks with himself standing on top of it. Then he added the words Bobby Rocks!

  “Now everyone’s sure to know who I am,” Bobby announced.

  Rover zigzagged his approval.

  Bobby left his skateboard on the front porch, next to Casey’s purple and pink Princess Big Wheel. He couldn’t very well skate to school and carry his excellent campaign poster. Plus, his pockets were filled with rocks, making it hard for him to balance.

  As Bobby made his way down the street, he had to keep stopping to pull his pants up. The rocks were weighing them down. When he neared the house with the scary cat, Bobby quickened his pace. The cat was
staring at him with its tail pointed straight up. It had twenty-seven toes, maybe more. Neither Bobby nor Holly had ever been brave enough to count.

  Mr. Kirby was waiting at the corner. Bobby put down his poster, pulled up his pants, and then steadied the crossing guard as he rose from his lawn chair. Mr. Kirby brought the poster up to his nose to examine it. “Are you in a rock band?” he asked.

  “No,” Bobby explained. “Bobby Rocks! means that, you know, I’m sort of cool.” As proof, he gave Mr. Kirby a rock. “See you after school!”

  Mr. Kirby was still staring at the rock as Bobby headed toward the playground.

  Chess jumped off the monkey bars when he saw Bobby. “I’ll put up the poster,” he offered. “Mrs. Carlson’s room is unlocked. Did you bring your campaign freebies?” Bobby nodded and tugged at his pants. “Well, get going,” Chess urged him. “Holly’s almost already done passing out her campaign material. Look!” He handed Bobby a bookmark that read, BE SMART. VOTE FOR HOLLY. It looked professional, plus there was a lollipop taped to it.

  Jillian Zarr was following Holly around. So were some other girls from the wolf pack. “Vote for Holly,” they told everyone in Mrs. Carlson’s class.

  Bobby gave rocks to all the boys in Room 15. A few even asked for two. But when he approached a group of girls, none of them would take one. Some even held their noses. St. James, Jackson, and Chess shook their heads in disgust as they sucked on their lollipops. “Do they have to do everything together?” Chess asked. “They’re so infuriating.”

  The bell rang. All over the playground, students scattered, then lined up in front of their classrooms. Mrs. Carlson strolled up to Room 15 and opened the door. When Bobby stepped into the classroom, he was stunned by Holly’s poster. It looked dazzling. A ton of red, white, and blue glitter surrounded a photo of her reading a book titled Democracy for All. However, right next to Holly’s poster was something even more shocking.

  Jillian Zarr whipped around and pointed accusingly at Bobby. “That is so NOT funny!”

  In a panic, Bobby turned to Chess. “Why is that there?”

  Chess threw his arms up in the air. “Because you gave it to me?”

  “But that’s the wrong side!” Bobby moaned. He covered his face with his hands. Even though he had drawn horns and a mustache, you could still tell the girl was Holly. The boys were cracking up, but all the girls looked like they had sucked on lemons.

  “Class!” Mrs. Carlson turned the lights on and off. “Please calm down. Chess, remove the poster. Bobby, I’d like to see you outside.”

  Bobby’s stomach sank. After “I’m going to have to call your parents,” “I’d like to see you outside” was the worst thing a teacher could say.

  Even though he’d given away half his rocks, his body felt heavy. Bobby dragged himself toward the door and prepared for his doom.

  * * *

  Mrs. Carlson was frowning. She’d never frowned at Bobby before. Mostly she smiled. Bobby wished he was with Rover. In his room. In bed. With the lights out. Under the covers. And it was the weekend. And he was old, like thirty-one years old, and this was over.

  “Bobby?” Mrs. Carlson said.

  “I didn’t mean for anyone to see that,” he stammered. “I ran out of poster board. The other side has my student council poster on it. I promise! You can look at it.” He felt his throat tighten. “I’m sorry.”

  Mrs. Carlson gave Bobby a weary smile. “Bobby, get up off your knees. It’s not me you should be apologizing to.”

  * * *

  Bobby slouched to the front of the room with his hands in his pockets. He wrapped his fingers around a rock to help calm himself down. “Holly …” His voice sounded scratchy. He cleared his throat and started over. “Holly, I’m sorry about the picture….”

  “I put up the wrong side,” Chess interrupted. “It’s all my fault. Sue me!”

  Holly ignored him. She was too busy trying to bore holes through Bobby with her eyes.

  “It was a mistake!” Bobby insisted. His words tumbled over each other. “I was just doodling and … whatever. No one was supposed to see that. I’m sorry.”

  Jillian Zarr raised her hand. “Mrs. Carlson, does this mean that Bobby is disqualified from running for student council rep? Because I think he should be.”

  Several girls nodded. They looked like bobblehead dolls.

  “I don’t know,” Mrs. Carlson replied. “Holly, what do you think? Should Bobby be allowed to stay in the election?”

  The longer Holly glared at Bobby, the more he squirmed. Finally she spoke. “In a democracy, everyone has the right to freedom of speech. Just because Bobby did something dumb, not to mention rude, it doesn’t mean he shouldn’t be able to run for student council.”

  “Well, Bobby?” Mrs. Carlson said. “Holly says you should still be able to run. Are you in the race?”

  Bobby looked at the girls in the room shaking their heads and the boys nodding. Chess gave him a thumbs-up. “I’m still in, I guess,” Bobby said weakly.

  * * *

  At lunch, Bobby was mobbed by the boys from his class. “I didn’t do it on purpose!” he insisted.

  “Oh, right, like I believe you,” Jackson crowed, slapping Bobby on the back. “That Holly poster is classic. You really showed those girls!”

  Bobby looked at the crush of jubilant boys. This is what it’s like to be popular, he noted. But something about it didn’t feel quite right. Bobby broke away and headed toward the swings, where Holly and the wolf pack were gathered.

  “Um, Holly, can I talk to you?”

  “Don’t go,” Jillian Zarr snapped as she and the other girls stood with their hands on their hips.

  “Please, Holly,” Bobby begged. “It won’t take long.”

  “Oh, I suppose.” Holly still sounded mad. A couple of years ago all he had to do was stick a crayon in his nose and Holly would crack up and forget why she was angry. Bobby wished he had a crayon in his pocket now.

  The two walked toward the drinking fountain. The wolf pack followed them closely, ready to pounce at any moment.

  “Holly, I’m sorry. Really.”

  “I know,” she said, letting go of a long sigh.

  “You do?”

  “Yeah. And I hope you know that I had no idea Jillian would tell everyone that you were wearing pink curlers.”

  “Then I guess we’re even,” he said. Bobby’s heart beat faster when he spied a hint of a smile on Holly’s face.

  “It was actually a pretty good picture of me,” she admitted. “Except for the horns and the mustache.”

  Both broke out laughing. Relief washed over Bobby. For a brief moment, it felt like old times. Then Jillian Zarr stomped her foot. “Come on, Holly,” she called out. “Stop talking to that stinkpot!”

  Holly shrugged. “Bobby, I gotta go.”

  “Yeah, me too. Hey, Holly —” Bobby stopped and took a breath. “Thanks for letting me stay in the election. You didn’t have to do that.”

  “I know,” she said. “Good luck, Bobby.”

  “Good luck, Holly.”

  The election was one day away, and Bobby still hadn’t written his speech. He had started it several times but never got past “Hello, my name is Bobby.” What was he supposed to say? He kept thinking about Holly. She was never at a loss for words. He wished they were still friends instead of opponents so she could help him with his speech.

  Bobby’s mind wandered back to the Koloff tree. The Koloff tree didn’t have anyone on its side either. None of the other plants or birds would even get near it. It stood alone. Suddenly, Bobby was inspired to write.

  In the margin, Bobby drew a picture of himself and the Koloff tree. Both stood tall.

  Next he wrote a thank-you letter to Lacy at Huntington Gardens and added eleven dollars so she could buy more shampoo. He tucked in the letter to the Koloff tree as well. As Bobby sealed the envelope, he heard three fast knocks on the door, followed by a low whistle, then a lion’s roar. “Come in, Chess!” B
obby called out.

  Chess had a big garment bag slung over his shoulder. He handed it to Bobby, then bent down to say hello to Rover, who was practicing swimming through a hoop. Bobby unzipped the bag. “What’s this for?” he asked, holding up a navy blue suit.

  “I had to wear it to my great-uncle Checkers’s funeral,” Chess explained. “I barely even knew the guy, but my mother made me go. Have you ever been to a funeral?”

  “No.”

  “Well, you’re lucky. It’s a bunch of people blowing their noses and crying. Here, try it on.”

  “Chess, no way!”

  “As your campaign manager, I say you will. You want to win, right?”

  Bobby nodded. He did want to win. It surprised him how much winning meant to him.

  “Then you have to look good,” Chess said. “You have to look sincere and smart and serious. Oh, and make sure you don’t have any boogers hanging out. Something like that could ruin your chances of winning. Try it on — it’ll make you look distinguished.”

  While Rover showed off his backflips and zigzags, Bobby put on the suit. “The sleeves are so long, I can’t even see my hands,” he complained.

  “My mom got me a big size so I can grow into it,” Chess explained without taking his eyes off of Rover. “I guess she thinks there will be lots of funerals in my future. C’mon. Let’s hear your speech.”

  “Um … I was just working on it now. What should I say?”

  Chess flopped on the bed. “Gee, Bobby, do I have to do everything for you? Writing is easy. Tell me why you want to be rep.”

  Bobby gave it some serious thought. “For the donuts?”

  “No, you can’t say that. What else?”

  “Because I can’t let the guys down?”

  Chess sat up. “You’ve got something there. Do you have some index cards?” Bobby nodded. “Okay, write down the thing about the guys on there. Now write down that you would be proud to be rep ’cause you’ve got a lot of good ideas.”