by Sheryl Berk
Emma and Jackson were barely finished scribbling out their talking points when Mr. Hartfield announced the thirty minutes were up. Several other students were up before Austen Middle, which gave Emma just enough time to go over their argument in her head and Jackson more than enough time to continue panicking. They decided that he should open and she should close—summing things up in a neat little package was her specialty. Jackson and one of the Eagle Eye students stepped forward to draw straws—whoever got the shorter one would go first. Jackson took a deep breath and selected his straw—it was the longer of the two, so he could hear his opponent’s argument and counter it.
Emma gave him a thumbs-up and listened intently as one of the two boys from Eagle Eye argued that homework prevented kids from having ample time after school to rest their brains, de-stress, and engage in extracurricular activities. All were excellent points that she agreed with! Still, she and Jackson had to prove them wrong.
“My opponent makes good points,” Jackson began his speech. “As a student, I’m not a fan of homework either and would rather be shooting hoops. Yet I recognize its value in the learning process . . .”
Emma studied the judges, trying to figure out if Jackson was swaying them to his side, but they were all annoyingly stone-faced. The second Eagle Eye student took the podium and argued against everything Jackson had said: In his opinion, schools should “make periods slightly longer to get in sufficient study time and reinforce the lessons without making kids stay up late with hours and hours of homework. If teachers did their jobs, homework would be unnecessary.”
You tell ’em! Emma wished she could shout in response. Everything the boy had said was exactly what she was thinking! She hated when her math teacher gave them complicated examples to wrestle for homework so she had to miss watching the new episode of The Bachelor. Or when her chem lab write-up took her practically all weekend and she couldn’t hang with Izzy and Harriet at the mall.
“Miss Woods?” Mr. Hartfield’s booming voice snapped her out of her trance. “You’re up.”
Emma took the podium. She looked out at the cameras, all focused on her. In that instant, she knew exactly what it would take to win this round: not more boring facts, but a strong, positive, concrete Emma example!
“So, over holiday break in sixth grade, my family went to visit my Gram Millie and Papa Lou in Boca,” she began. “They have this really nice condo overlooking the beach, and I was looking forward to catching up on the latest entertainment news while lying in the sun. I’d picked up my favorite gossip magazines at the airport newsstand, and I had so many questions that needed answering: Were Selena and Bieber back together? Was another Kardashian expecting? Was Zendaya a fashion do or a fashion don’t this week? But no! Mrs. Kimmel assigned us each a book of our choosing to read and write a book report about. So much for relaxing on my week off!”
She noticed that Mr. Carter was pulling on what little hair he had on his head, and Jackson was biting his nails. Still, she kept going: “I began reading Pride and Prejudice because I loved the miniseries so much, and well, my gram happened to have an old copy on her bookshelf. But the book was all words, no pictures, and it was long—like two hundred and fifty pages long! I wasn’t happy at first. In fact, I was really annoyed and thought it was ruining my vacation. But then, Gram sat down with me, and we read some of it together. I got into it: the punchy prose, the unforgettable characters, the relationship between Elizabeth Bennett and Mr. Darcy. It was even better than the movie! I realized what a brilliant writer Jane Austen was and how her stories are really lessons about society and the times she lived in. Her words are smart and always honest; she sheds light on the truth in a way that everyone can understand. I realized on that vacation that I wanted to be a writer too and shed light on truth in my own world of Austen Middle. It planted the seed for me to start my blog, and I have my homework to thank for it. Without this assignment, I would never have discovered my passion or my favorite author. So, in my humble opinion—no disrespect to my opponents, of course—homework is not only necessary, it can change your life for the better. It can help you discover who you really are. Thank you.”
She noticed that Mr. Hartfield was writing something down on his notepad as the last few seconds of her time limit ticked down. The rest of the judges continued staring at her blankly—there was no thunderous applause like there had been after her jumping jacks. She glanced back at Jackson, who also looked a bit stunned. Had she been wrong? Had she made a terrible mistake and cost them the semifinals?
They had to sit through several more debates—including the student representatives from Columbus Prep arguing that students should not be graded on their handwriting—before Mr. Hartfield dismissed everyone for a lunch break. The judges would choose the six teams for the finals and announce them in an hour.
“This is nerve-racking,” Mr. Carter said, ringing his hands.
“You can say that again,” Jackson replied. If he recognized the kids from his old school, he wasn’t telling Emma. In fact, he wasn’t saying much. All he whispered when Emma sat back down next to him onstage was “good job,” and she didn’t quite believe he meant it.
“Are you going to eat that pickle?” she asked, trying to break the ice at their lunch table.
Jackson tossed it on her plate without a word.
“Okay, can we talk about something? Anything? The weather?” she asked Jackson and Mr. Carter. “The silence is deafening, guys.”
“I’m rather enjoying it,” their coach said. “Listening to hours of debating has given me a horrible headache.”
“Me too,” Jackson piped up.
“Okay, fine. I get it. No one wants to talk about how we did. You both believe I totally blew it, and you’re wishing Ms. Bates never agreed to send me.”
Jackson looked up. “You didn’t blow it, Emma. You were great. You spoke from your heart, which is something nobody does quite like you, and if Mr. Hartfield doesn’t pick us for the finals, it’s his loss.”
“Mr. Carter?” Emma asked, eager for his opinion.
“I agree with Jackson,” her adviser said. “But I’m not sure the judges will. All we can do now is wait.”
Although Mr. Hartfield had promised results in an hour, an hour stretched toward two hours.
“My dad always says ‘no news is good news,’” Emma said, trying to cheer up Jackson. He looked as if he were at the end of his rope—and Mr. Carter was doing nothing to help the situation.
“How long can they take?” their coach asked, loosening his tie. “This is torture!”
Finally, Mr. Hartfield approached the podium and asked everyone in the ballroom to take a seat. “We have the results,” he announced. “Thank you for bearing with us. It was a very difficult decision this year.”
Emma sat up straight in her seat, crossing her fingers and toes, as Mr. Hartfield read the finalists “in no particular order.” He cleared his throat: “Holden Mann Academy, Michigan . . .” A cheer sounded in the room as the two students from the school jumped up and down. “Bayberry Middle from Ohio . . .”
Mr. Hartfield continued, “Mountainview Middle School, Kansas. Benjamin Franklin Middle School, Maryland.” He paused and Emma thought her heart was going to leap out of her chest—the suspense was unbearable!
“Columbus Preparatory, New York . . .”
She looked at Jackson. He was shaking his head in disbelief. All around the room, kids were rejoicing, crying, or waiting tensely, hoping for the last spot. She held her breath waiting to find out which she would be.
Mr. Hartfield looked at his fellow judges, who were nodding approvingly. “And finally, Austen Middle School, Pennsylvania.”
“Yaaaaaas!” shouted a voice from the back of the room. “Go, Emma!”
She knew that voice anywhere—it belonged to Harriet. Emma turned to see her friend standing on a chair in the middle of the audience, screaming her head off. Next to her, Izzy, her parents, and Mr. and Mrs. Knight were standing and cheering
too.
Emma couldn’t tell if Jackson was stunned to see their friends and family in the ballroom or if he was still trying to absorb Mr. Hartfield’s announcement. He stood frozen like the Lincoln monument to his spot.
“I don’t believe it,” he told her finally. “We did it.”
“Yeah, no biggie,” she teased him.
Harriet was the first one to rush up and congratulate them. “I knew you’d make the finals,” she told Emma. “Which is why we decided to drive to DC at the crack of dawn to surprise you. So we could see you kick butt.”
“Bravo!” Emma’s dad added. “Now we can hear your final argument in person.”
Emma noticed that her mom was wiping away tears. “Mom,” Emma said. “Really?”
“I’m so proud of you,” her mom replied. “We all are.”
Jackson looked at his parents. His dad was beaming and his mother was snapping photos of him on her iPhone.
“My future attorney, following in his father’s footsteps,” his father said, patting Jackson on the back.
“Oh no,” Emma piped up. “Jax has much bigger plans than that. He’s going to be president one day—just you wait and see.”
“President?” Mrs. Knight asked. “Would that make me First Mom?”
“I hate to break up the reunion, but we are wanted onstage for the final round,” Mr. Carter said.
“Gotta run!” Emma said, waving. “We have a Student Congress to win.”
Jackson grabbed her arm as they were walking back to the stage. “I have a bad feeling about this,” he said. “I think we’re going to be up against Columbus Prep.” He pointed to a tall girl in a navy turtleneck seated by the podium.
“You know her?” Emma asked.
“She’s hard to miss,” Jackson replied. “She’s the smartest girl in the school and she’s only in the seventh grade. Her name’s Aubrey Whitehead and she won two state spelling bees, a worldwide Latin contest, and she’s president of their student government association. Seriously.”
“Whoa.” The word tumbled out of Emma’s mouth before she could stop it. The last thing she wanted to do was discourage Jackson, but how could they possibly compete with someone that brilliant?
“Well, she doesn’t have her own blog—so I’m not that impressed,” Emma said.
Jackson rolled his eyes. “If we have to argue against Aubrey, we are doomed, doomed, doomed,” he insisted. “She’s a walking Google search engine.”
“Don’t let her intimidate you, Jax,” she warned him. “Facts are important, but you’ve got to have finesse.”
Jackson shook his head. “Em, all the finesse in the world couldn’t beat Aubrey. But I know you’ll try.”
“I will,” she insisted. “And you will too. No giving up when we’ve come this far.”
Emma and Jackson took their seats, and Emma held the envelope in her hands. “I have a good feeling about this one too,” she told her teammate. But her fingertips weren’t tingling this time—and it made her a little worried.
“All right, students, open your envelopes,” Mr. Hartfield instructed.
Emma tore it open and pulled out the card inside. She read aloud, “Students should have a say in the way their school is run. Austen Middle: PRO; Columbus Prep: CON.”
“Doomed”—she heard Jackson muttering under his breath—“doomed.”
With only thirty minutes to come up with an argument that would beat the Columbus Prep team, there was no time to waste.
“Oh no,” Jackson said, noticing who Aubrey’s teammate was.
“Do you know him?” she asked Jackson. “Did he win some worldwide something too?”
Jackson shook his head. “No, worse. That’s Tyler Martinez. He’s editor in chief of the school newspaper, the Columbus Prep Pen and Ink. He’s really opinionated, and he writes these ‘Letter from the Editor’ columns in every issue. He’s all about trying to right wrongs and stir things up.”
Editor? Column? Opinionated? Right wrongs? Emma was trying to take in everything Jackson said. This Tyler kid sounded, well, a little like her.
“Yeah, he’s definitely a guy who writes what’s on his mind,” Jackson recalled. “Like when they decided to cut back on school library hours. He wrote this long editorial saying how unfair it was and how students should demand their rights to more study time. He said kids should camp out in front of the library doors and refuse to leave until they reopened them for an extra hour. He brought a sleeping bag to school and everything.”
“You don’t say,” Emma replied. Not only was this boy persuasive, he was creative.
“They’re going to be impossible to beat.” Jackson frowned. “I don’t even know where to begin.”
Emma took a deep breath and shook off any doubt she was feeling. “I do, we begin at the beginning. What are we trying to say?”
“Students should have a say in their school,” Jackson repeated.
“Of course students should have a say in school. It’s our lives, isn’t it?”
Jackson shook his head. “Not good enough. Aubrey’s going to say that adults know better. And Tyler’s going to say schools create rules that are meant to help kids learn and grow and be safe.”
“So, how do we fight that?” Emma asked.
“I don’t know,” Jackson said.
Just then, Emma had a thought. “Well, I do. Ask me a question.”
Jackson scratched his head. “What do you mean, ‘ask a question’?”
“I mean, I think best when I’m writing an Ask Emma post. So ask me! Dear Emma . . .”
Jackson shrugged. “Fine. Dear Emma, my principal wants to make all the rules in school and doesn’t want our opinions on anything. It makes me really mad. What can I do to convince her we should have a say?”
Emma grabbed a pen and pad and started writing frantically.
“Tell me you have something,” Jackson pleaded with her.
Emma nodded. “Oh, I do.”
She tore out a sheet and handed it to him. “This is what you say,” she instructed. “Keep it simple and clear. I’ll close.”
Jackson read it over. “Okay—if you really think this will work.”
“It has to,” she told him. “Make sure you get the short straw and go first before Aubrey or Tyler has a chance to say anything.”
Two of the other teams were up first, tearing each other apart over the topic “Cell phones should be allowed in school.”
Emma and Jackson’s turn was next.
“Remember,” Emma cautioned, as Jackson walked toward the podium. “The shorter straw!”
As he drew his straw, Jackson closed his eyes and held his breath. When he opened them, he saw that his straw was half the length of Aubrey’s.
“Jackson Knight, you are up first,” Mr. Hartfield said.
Jackson looked over his shoulder at Emma and mouthed the words, I got this. Then he began his speech: “I know what my opponents are going to tell you: Kids can’t possibly know what’s best for us. How could we? We don’t have the life experience that adults do. Our brains are not yet fully developed to help us make crucial decisions. Tweens and teens can be impulsive, insensitive, even selfish—all of which would make for chaos when running a school. So why, you ask, should we have a say?” He paused, as Emma had told him to, to allow the audience to take in what he was saying.
Aubrey looked down at her notes and pouted. Then she whispered in Tyler’s ear and he frowned.
Oh, this is too good! Emma thought to herself. Jackson is stealing everything their team planned to say! He beat them to it!
Jackson continued, “Kids should have a say because we need a purpose, a reason to care and to walk through our school doors every day with enthusiasm and pride. Give kids a voice, and we feel respected and heard, and will have a much better attitude and a greater chance at excelling.” Mr. Carter gave him a thumbs-up from his seat in the audience, and Jackson concluded with confidence. “Thank you, and I know we all want kids to succeed in school and li
fe.”
Aubrey strode up to the podium. “Nice try,” she whispered to Jackson as she took the microphone. “I’d like to thank my opponent for so eloquently supporting my side of the argument,” she announced to the audience. “He made it so easy for me. Yes, all of what he said is true—except for the part about giving kids a voice being a good idea. It’s a terrible idea. Let a kid make the rules, and of course they’ll be more inclined to follow them. But what might those rules be? Cell phones at lunch? No homework? ‘Fun’ classes instead of challenging ones that prepare us for high school and college? It would destroy the entire structure of the education system and the result would be kids who grow into spoiled, undereducated, irresponsible adults.”
Jackson and Emma looked at each other. Somehow, Aubrey had overshadowed their argument and managed to get the audience nodding and buzzing.
“This isn’t good,” Emma whispered.
“You’re supposed to be the optimistic one,” Jackson said.
“I know,” she replied. “But I didn’t realize Aubrey was that good.”
“Oh, she is. I remember when she persuaded the principal to start recycling in the cafeteria. She was relentless.”
Emma’s eyes lit up. “She did what?”
“You know, recycling?” Jackson tried to explain. “One bin for paper; another for plastic and metal . . .”
“Miss Woods, are you ready?” Mr. Hartfield asked.
“Yup. I’m ready,” Emma said, taking her place at the podium. She waited till the judges had started the clock, then turned to face Aubrey.
“Congratulations,” she told her, smiling mischievously. “I applaud you.” She clapped and watched as Aubrey stared at her, confused.
“You see, my opponent is a perfect example of why students need a voice in how their schools are run. Without her, New York City would have more air and water pollution, more trash in landfills. But she fought hard to start a recycling program in her school cafeteria. So, yay, Aubrey. Good for you!”
Aubrey’s jaw dropped. Emma was actually using her accomplishments to shred her argument to bits! And Emma didn’t stop there.