“Yes?”
“Nice hair.” She smiles. “I mean it.”
“YOU KNOW,” I hear a voice say on Thursday morning. A nice voice. A voice that makes my insides feel especially warm and gooey. “You can always vote for me.”
I look up from my locker. It’s Caleb and we’re alone and I’ve forgotten how to breathe. I wonder where his entourage is, but I can’t ask since I’ve also forgotten how to speak.
He gives me a slow smile. So slow it’s like slow motion. Or maybe that’s just how it seems to me since I seem to be savoring it the same way I savor white chocolate truffles. Then he walks away, and I realize that my upper lip has broken out into a sweat. Since when is this even possible? I dab my lip with my sleeve and for the duration of exactly one (very powerful) heartbeat, I find myself thinking that maybe I will vote for him.
But of course I come to my senses.
Because thirty seconds later, I sense a presence behind me. I turn around. It’s Delia. She gives me a little smile and says hi.
“Hi!” I’m way too excited to see her.
“I’ll save you a spot at lunch today, okay?”
I become aware of the fact that my mouth is hanging open and that my eyes are dry from not blinking. “Really?” I ask.
“Seriously, Liv,” Delia says. “Where would we be without you?”
She kind of laughs a little and walks away, and I feel weird and light and like smiling or singing. It’s so strange to me, this feeling, that I forget that there’s a word for it. Happy.
Delia’s straddled her butt across two seat circles, so when I tap her on the shoulder she looks up and scoots over. “Thanks,” I say to her. “Hi,” I say to everyone else. And I do mean “everyone else” because there’s not only Phoebe and Joey and Mandy, but a couple of others, like Brant and Erin Monroe and even Morgan Askren. And of course Peyton Randall. Who have all obviously been prepped for—and have probably been forced to approve—my presence. It makes me a little angry, since I was there way before any of them, but I brush it off. I’ve got my friends back, and that matters more than anything else right now.
Delia offers me a Tater Tot, which I take out of appreciation, although I’m too nervous to taste.
I wait for everyone to talk. They’re way too quiet, and it’s making me aware of my chewing noises. I’m actually secretly hoping that Joey will burp or fart or pick his nose, but he’s turned into Mr. Manners.
Phoebe gives me a prim smile when I look at her, like it’s a little painful to do even though she’s been doing a lot more smiling lately. And laughing too. I mean, I’ve seen her in the hallways and watched her across the cafeteria. Mandy is eyeing my pizza, so I hold it out to her. She smiles at me, rips off the pepperonis, and pops them into her mouth. And when Peyton crinkles up her snooty little nose and says to her, “When did you start eating nitrites?” and Mandy looks over at me and rolls her eyes, I feel tons better.
“Will you read my speech?” Mandy asks me after lunch.
“Uh, yeah,” I say, since it’s the most ridiculous question ever. “I’d love to.”
She hands me a stapled stack of paper and gives me a nervous smile. “I can’t believe it’s tomorrow.”
“I really think you’re going to win.”
“What about Caleb?” she asks, looking a little pained. “People love him.”
“Yeah, but they love you more,” I say. “Come on, didn’t I hear that the Bored Game Club has gotten so packed that the school’s going to host a Pictionary-thon in the spring? And that two girls got detention for a fight they had over a Chuck E. Cheese coin?”
She nods. “Yeah, we were trying to play Monopoly, but they both wanted to use it for their game piece.”
“See?” I smile at her even though I still feel a little unsteady about it all. It’s not Supercandidate Caleb I’m worried about—it’s Brynne. Obviously, she’s not going to win, but there are still things like rafters to be concerned about, and things that could be rigged to fall from them and onto people on the stage, like, say, Mandy.
But maybe, hopefully, I’m just being paranoid. Honestly, the only thing Brynne’s been guilty of lately is ignoring me completely. In fact, I hardly even see her. She eats lunch in the library, and she’s moved seats away from me in class. I’m sure she would have already given up on the campaign if she didn’t desperately need that extra credit. To be honest, it’s actually pretty understandable that she wants nothing to do with me. I don’t even think I can blame her. I might as well just deal with it.
And anyway, I’ve also learned that because of past incidents, the ballots will be strictly controlled by Mrs. Vander-Pecker, and that the stage will be well secured before and during the speeches. I’ve also made Mandy promise to check all doors and hallways before entering them, and to walk with a buddy, even if that buddy is Dawn Lane. She keeps telling me to relax. I’m trying.
I read the speech and it’s good. It’s great, in fact. It nearly erases my worries. In it, Mandy talks about how we’re all entitled to our little piece of power. Even I felt wonderful and valuable after reading her speech. And not only that, but she’s promising to ban the things that we all hate, like family-life education and especially Sleeterball.
That night, I call her and tell her that if I wasn’t already sold, this would sell me. She seems happy to hear it.
And then I tell myself that it’s too late for anything to mess this up. And I find it almost believable.
Almost.
FRIDAY MORNING STARTS a little drizzly, which I don’t take as a bad sign. And it’s good that I don’t waste any worries, because by the time first period is over, the sun has come out.
Mandy was too excited to eat breakfast, so in between first and second period we’re all crowded around her, coaxing her into eating a Luna bar so she won’t pass out up there onstage.
“I’m not sure I can eat right now,” Mandy tells us.
“Well, there’s still lunch,” Delia says.
“What, are you crazy? She can’t eat lunch,” Phoebe says.
“Yeah, she’ll spew,” Joey agrees. “Come on, try it. It’s s’mores flavored,” he says. “These are better than Twinkies.”
I look at him like he’s lost his mind. It’s then that I realize he’s also lost a little weight. I mean, he’s still no, well, Caleb Austin, but he’s looking less like the kid on Family Guy.
She takes a bite of the Luna bar and chews, and we all cheer a little. “One more bite,” Delia says. “You’ve got to keep up your strength.”
Then we hear, in the high-pitched yell of Corinne d’Abo, “Forecast calls for—” She is trotting down the hall in her blue unitard, leading a string of Spiritleaders. She turns her ear toward the front and cups a white-gloved hand behind it. “Come on, Frosties! Let’s do this right!” she says again, only louder and higher, “FORECAST CALLS FOR—”
“What”—Mandy says, looking confused. But before she can finish with—“on God’s green earth?” Corinne points at Mandy and screams, “That’s right! Come on, all you Frosties. Like she said. FORECAST CALLS FOR—”
Now people around us chant, “What! ” while we scoot toward a reinforced passageway.
Corinne is absolutely delighted. She circles her hands in the air, signaling for the crowd to be louder. “I can’t hear you! FORECAST CALLS FOR—”
“WHAT?” Total pack mentality is in play.
“FORECAST CALLS FOR FLURRIES!” Corinne cries, her voice screeching. Then she and the Spirit leaders twirl gracelessly down the hallway, white-gloved jazz hands knocking into white-gloved jazz hands. It’s clumsy, sure, and there are a few falls, but there seem to be no open wounds.
“They’ve tamed out without Brynne,” Mandy notices.
“They’re still dangerous,” Phoebe says.
“Yeah, but once Mandy’s in office,” I remind them, “they’re so over.”
I think I feel Caleb’s presence in my knees even before I see him, like I’ve developed some type of r
adar. “Ready for today?” he asks, like a grown-up might. He smiles at Mandy but shoots me a fleeting glance that quickens my pulse just a little.
“She’s ready, all right,” Delia says protectively.
“Want a bite?” Mandy asks, showing him the Luna bar. “Delia says it’ll keep your strength up.”
“No thanks,” he says. “I’m feeling strong enough already.”
“Good luck,” I say, but he’s already turned away. I’m not sure he heard me, which is okay because I’m not sure I meant it. Well, okay, maybe I do, just a little, as long his luck’s not better than ours. I mean, I hope he comes in second. Even a close second would be fine with me.
Once he’s gone, Mandy gives us a look of panic.
“Don’t worry about him,” Phoebe says.
I catch of glimpse of Brynne over Joey’s shoulder. She’s watching the last Spiritleader disappear down the hall. If she would just talk to me, look at me, maybe I would feel better about things. But then I remind myself, she kept the secret about my mother. She also covered for her former friends when they pulled the Trash Bag Day prank on her. And I try to shake the concerns out of my head because I’m just being silly.
I’m sure I am.
Long before the other kids are let in, the campaign staffs are allowed to claim their seats in the auditorium. I am sitting between Delia (I’m so happy, I have to fight the urge to grab and hold her hand) and Joey. Phoebe sits on the other side of Joey, analyzing our choice of seats, wondering if we should move for the fourth time.
“Calm down, Pheebo,” Joey says. It’s his new name for her. I’m not quite sure when that started, or why, since Mandy’s still Mandy and Delia’s still Delia. He only today started addressing me by my name again, instead of that woman. We are seated in the center of the third row, which two minutes ago Phoebe declared was the perfect visual and cheering distance from the stage. “I’m not moving again.”
“I wish we could go backstage,” Delia says. “I hope she’s not getting sick.”
But then Mandy peeks out from stage left. She spots us, smiles and waves, and I feel much better. We all wave back. Joey yells, “Go Mandy!” and Phoebe joins in, even doing that WOOT WOOT thing, which is really weird coming from her.
Caleb’s co–campaign managers, Carson and Ryan, turn and nod at us with blank expressions, the way rude people do when they don’t want to be accused of being unfriendly. This professionalism is just nerve-racking. Poor Dawn Lane doesn’t have a campaign staff. And Brynne’s consists solely of Mrs. Ardensburg, the Teen Life teacher.
Then it’s like a dam burst. Kids start flooding in, bringing waves of sound with them, and filling in seats all around us. Phoebe has tried to reserve the seat next to her, just for “breathing room,” she says, but Peyton Randall sits down like it’s reserved for her. Phoebe looks at us and secretly rolls her eyes. I thought maybe she’d been saving the seat for Brant, but when Joey taps her gently on the knee and whispers something, I think maybe not. Things have changed a little—okay, a lot—since I’ve been away.
Now Delia grabs and squeezes my hand. I squeeze back and we turn to each other and smile, and I sit there and think about how good it feels to have my best friend back.
“Everything’s going to be okay, isn’t it?” I ask her. It’s not that I think she’s psychic or anything, but her reassurance is pretty powerful to me.
She leans in closer to me. “Look,” she says. “I love you and all, and I don’t mean this in a bad way, but will you please shut up and stop worrying?”
Then she laughs. I feel my heart swell a little, and I laugh too.
And then Mrs. Vander-Pecker calls the event to order.
“Ladies and gentlepeople,” she says, over the noise of the room full of middle schoolers. “Ladies and GENTLEPEOPLE!” Her voice gets louder in an attempt to make ours lower. By the time it actually works, her eyes are bulging, her neck looks like a tree root, her face is the color of a beet, and I think everyone has finally shut up just so they can study the curiosity up there behind the podium.
“Thank you,” she says finally, but not sounding at all grateful. “Today I am happy to introduce our four candidates for school president. They have all worked very hard to get here, and I hope that you will give them the respect they deserve. First, I offer you Dawn Lane.”
There’s clapping, and then Dawn appears onstage, dressed a little like an American Girl doll. She is wearing a white puffy blouse under a denim vest, with a matching denim skirt. It looks like that fake denim fabric people cover pillows and couches with. I think she just blew it.
“Hi, everyone,” she says. “My name is Dawn Lane. I am an honor roll student—well, most days.” She pauses and looks around the audience with a smile, like she’s waiting for a laugh. When it doesn’t happen, Mrs. Vander-Pecker lets loose with a clearly made-up one. “And head of the Future Financiers of America. But I’m not rich—yet.” She pauses again. It’s excruciating. Another forced laugh by Mrs. V-P.
She keeps talking, but I turn to Delia and wince. She winces back.
“I don’t know if I can take this,” Joey says, his face twisted in pain. “It hurts.”
Then, cutting through the discomfort is the sound of a recorder. Through my fingers I see Dawn playing the instrument, eyes closed, face angled toward the heavens. She makes her way through a screechy sequence of notes, stops, and after we all breathe, says, “Wait. I messed up.” And then starts it all over again.
When she stops for the final time, she says, “And I hope you’ll all remember that one when you go to the polls this afternoon. Thank you.”
“What was it supposed to be?” Delia’s able to whisper this to me above the (very tame) clapping. Up onstage, Dawn bows.
“I don’t know. It sounded a little like ‘Three Blind Mice,’” I whisper back.
Joey laughs. “‘Three Blind Mice’? We’re supposed to remember that when we go to the polls?”
Phoebe mulls it over. “I think it was ‘Beat It.’ An homage to Michael Jackson, perhaps?”
Peyton leans forward. “‘We Are the Champions,’” she announces.
“Ooooh,” we all say in unison.
Mrs. Vander-Pecker appears onstage again. “Thank you, Dawn. I think everyone appreciates a good tune. What a pick-me-up!” She claps again, which means that we all have to also. “Next, I’m happy to present Mandy Champlain.”
This time the clapping intensifies. It gets louder as Mandy walks out onstage. Much louder. There are whistles and hoots and people yelling, “Go Mandy!” Joey knocks his voice down about an octave and probably yells the loudest. Phoebe beams over at him and his man-voice.
I’m just hoping Mandy’s checking the rafters. I can’t help it.
“Wow, thank you,” she says. “I wish I had a song, but unfortunately you’re going to have to settle for just me.” People laugh and clap, like it’s incredibly funny, just because they like her. I can’t believe it. I’m thrilled. “And I’m not so sure a dance would win your vote,” she says, to more laughter. “The thing is, I don’t have a gimmick. I can’t promise you a song or dance, or even soda machines in the cafeteria, for that matter. Or cool P.E. uniforms, which I know is important. But what I can promise you is a real person.” She tries to continue, but the clapping and cheering is way too loud. She smiles until it quiets. “A few weeks ago, the thought of getting up here in front of all of you—and actually getting votes—was just a dream. But it was a dream I wanted to go for. Not for fame and fortune, although that would be nice, but for one reason: I wanted each person in this school to have a voice.”
A couple of people stand and start chanting “Mandy! Mandy!”
“No matter how weird you may be or how weird the rumors about you are.” (A few laughs and snorts.) “No matter how smart or dumb you secretly think you are.” (A few nervous ripples of laughter, some fidgety rustling.) “No matter how hot or not everyone else thinks you are.” (Audience squirms noticeably, more nervous laughter, on
e throat-clearing.) “No matter if you’re a dweeb or someone like, say, class president.” (She smiles. Everyone laughs.) “Every single person.” (She pauses.) “In this godforsaken school.” (Audience hoots in agreement.) “Has something. To say.” (Audience claps and whistles.)
“If elected, I will make sure that each one of you has someone to say it to. And I will make one-hundred- percent sure that your voice is heard. Because, as we all know…” (She pauses and looks around.) “YOU are the most important part of Hubert C. Frost Middle School, and it’s finally time you were given that respect.”
I don’t think there are many times in a middle school auditorium when a crowd goes wild without some type of illegal activity going on, but this is one of those rare moments. People cheer. People stand. And everyone claps.
And by the time Mrs. Vander-Pecker gets everyone calmed down enough to introduce Brynne, I say good-bye to all my worries.
And that’s when it happens.
WE SETTLE DOWN and sit back in our seats, though our moods are somewhere near the ceiling. I feel relief, like I’ve just taken my last exam of the school year or something. You don’t know what you’ve earned yet, but the most trying part is behind you.
From behind the podium, Brynne opens her mouth.
And laughs.
A lot.
Everyone is looking at her like she’s crazy, and I grow still as a rock, with fear. She laughs more.
“You want to know what’s so funny?” she asks the audience. No one says a word. Throughout the auditorium, mouths gape open but remain completely silent. “What we just heard from my opponent. That was—well, there’s no better word for it—hysterical.” I’m starting to feel a little queasy, and my stomach makes a gurgling sound that I’m sure everyone hears, because the room’s as quiet as a tomb. Brynne has everyone’s attention. Mrs. Vander-Pecker clears her throat, and it echoes throughout the auditorium. “Mandy Champlain says she has no gimmick! Well, that right there was a ‘song and dance’ if I’ve ever seen one,” she says, making air quotes not just with her fingers but with her entire hands.
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