Gabriela Speaks Out

by Teresa E. Harris

  “You guys are being super disrespectful,” Aaliyah went on, looking directly at Josiah now. “To Ms. Tottenham and—” She turned to the teacher.

  “Ms. Oliver,” the teacher put in quickly, her eyes wide behind her glasses as she stared at Aaliyah in awe.

  Even I couldn’t help but do the same, especially after Aaliyah took her seat and the class stayed pretty much quiet. I couldn’t believe Aaliyah had done that—gotten people to listen to her just with her words. With my stutter, I doubted I could ever do something like that. Not without anyone laughing before I got the words out, anyway.

  My name is Gabriela McBride. I stutter and it’s okay, I told myself.

  Still, I felt a swell of envy that only grew when the class stayed quiet until Ms. Tottenham bustled in a few moments later.

  “Now this looks like a class full of leaders,” Ms. Tottenham declared after Ms. Oliver made a hasty exit. She went over to the whiteboard and scrawled a question across it: What are the qualities of a leader? Then she turned back around to face us, arms thrown out wide, inviting us to answer. All around me, kids starting throwing out responses. Soon, the board was covered with words like patience, honesty, coolness, strength, nice sneakers (that was Josiah), organizational skills, good listening skills, confidence, and PASSION. Ms. Tottenham wrote that last one in all caps.

  When she finished writing, she read all the words aloud, nodding as she did so. Then she turned to us again and said, “You know what I think you need to be a good leader?” She held up her index finger. “Just one thing.”

  “Dope sneakers, right?” Josiah called out. “I knew it. Folks follow brothers with style.”

  “No,” said Ms. Tottenham. “A voice. Anyone can lead so long as she or he has a voice.” Her eyes found mine. “Gabriela, do you have a voice?”

  My heart did two pirouettes. I hated being put on the spot. I nodded. Ms. Tottenham said, “Then let’s hear it. Gabriela, do you have a voice?”

  “Y-Y-Yes.”

  “Then you are a leader.”

  She asked four more people the same question, and when they answered yes, she told them the same thing.

  “You are all leaders,” Ms. Tottenham told us, “whether you’re patient, organized, confident, or you have nice shoes. Because you have ideas and you have a voice.”

  I do have a voice, I thought, remembering our “Because” video from this summer at Liberty. To show the city how much the center meant to the community, we had people make signs saying why they needed Liberty. “Because Liberty is where I met my best friend” was my first one, but my second one was “Because Liberty is where I found my voice.” It’s where I learned that even with my stutter, I could make real change. Where I learned I was a leader.

  We spent the rest of class on what Ms. Tottenham called “our first big unit of study.” She wrote the name of the unit—Unexpected Leaders—on the board and went right into teaching us about a woman named Claudette Colvin. Ms. Colvin didn’t set out to be a leader; she saw injustices during the civil rights movement and stood up against them because she just had to.

  I knew the feeling.

  “A reminder,” Ms. Tottenham said a few minutes before the end of class. “If you’d like to run for Sixth-Grade Ambassador, please return your note card to me by Monday.”

  The bell rang then and the ambassadors were the topic of conversation while we packed up. Josiah said he might run just so he could get the school to change the gym uniforms.

  “They ride up in the, um, well, you know,” he said.

  “Yeah, like anyone would take you seriously enough to vote for you, Melon Head,” Zuri snapped.

  “Hey, how did you know about his nickn—” Marcus started, but Josiah cut him off.

  “Shut up, Marcus!” he said, his face falling a little.

  “I saw the sticky note on his locker before he gave it to Ms. Tottenham,” Zuri said, giggling.

  I couldn’t believe sixth graders would call one another those mean nicknames. What did that guy Francis say? Start by doing what’s necessary. Someone needed to put a stop to Sixth-Grade Initiation, and that someone was me.

  I grabbed my backpack and note card and marched to Ms. Tottenham’s desk.

  “Ms. Tottenham?” I blurted out. She turned. “I want to run for Sixth-Grade Ambassador.”

  Ms. Tottenham looked as surprised by my words as I was at how they’d come out, not bumpy at all.

  “I’m very happy to hear that,” Ms. Tottenham replied. She was smiling as she looked through the papers on her desk. I hadn’t noticed before, but Ms. Tottenham had a smile like Amelia’s—seeing it made you smile, too.

  She found what she was looking for at last, a peach-colored piece of paper that said Permission Slip across the top. “Make sure you bring that signed by your parents to our first meeting on Tuesday. That’s also when we’ll practice our speeches for the first time, so make sure you have a draft by then, okay?”

  I nodded.

  Ms. Tottenham smiled that contagious smile again. “I’m happy you’ve decided to run, Gabriela.”

  “Me, too.”

  That night was another Double Whammy Night—this time poetry group followed by hip-hop class. I had told Isaiah about my decision and platform right after school, and told Mama and Red I was running as soon as Mama picked us up that afternoon. I hadn’t argued when she said the occasion deserved a pit stop for ice-cream sundaes—a double dose of chocolate sauce for me—but it meant we arrived at Liberty with just enough time for Red and me to race each other to studio six.

  “I win!” said Red, slightly out of breath. Teagan, Isaiah, Bria, and Alejandro were already there. “Twinkle Toes here almost beat me.”

  “Yeah, right,” I said. “I let you win!”

  “Speaking of winning,” Isaiah cut in, “Gabby has some news to share.”

  Red clapped his hands. “That’s right, cuz!” Red said. “Tell them!”

  “You didn’t tell me you had big news,” Teagan said. She made a pretend pouty face.

  “Actually, it’s huge news,” Isaiah put in. “Tell them, Gabby!”

  “Okay, okay!” I looked at the rest of the group and then at Teagan. “I’m running to be Kelly Ambassador for the sixth grade.”

  Teagan threw her arms around me and said, “OhmygoshGabbythat’ssoawesome” all in one breath. Then, calming down slightly, she said, “What are the Kelly Ambassadors?”

  We all laughed and filled her in. To say Teagan was excited for me was like saying she was only okay at coding.

  “We need a saying for stuff like this,” she said, “for when one of us does something really big. We say ‘first draft’ when someone shares a new poem. What about we say … ‘awesome sauce!’ whenever someone does something amazing?”

  “Let’s try it,” Alejandro said. “On the count of three. One. Two. Three!”

  “Awesome sauce!”

  It was the best sound I’d heard all week.

  “I like it!” Red said, nodding. “Now, let’s get down to some poetry—”

  “But wait,” Isaiah interrupted. “There’s more. When she becomes our class ambassador, Gabby is going to work to get rid of Sixth-Grade Initiation.”

  “That’s a great idea!” Teagan exclaimed.

  Bria, Alejandro, and Red, on the other hand, were doing that talking-with-their-eyes thing Mama and Daddy always did before they said something they knew I wouldn’t like.

  “I thought you were over that, cuz,” Red said.

  Bria and Alejandro nodded in agreement.

  “H-How can we be-be?” I asked, and told the three of them and Teagan all about how kids were still getting called by their mean nicknames. I didn’t mention that one of these people was Isaiah. I didn’t want to embarrass him all over again or let Red know that his attempts at going easy on us hadn’t really worked.

  “That’s awful,” Teagan said, glaring at the three seventh graders like it was all their fault. “Didn’t you tell us at the last meeting that
this initiation stuff was all in good fun?”

  “It is!” Bria replied.

  “Then why are people still using those nicknames?” Isaiah asked.

  Alejandro shrugged. “It happens every year.” He told us all about how the older kids bothered him almost as bad as they bothered Isaiah.

  “But it’s all good now,” Alejandro said. “You get over it. They get over it. And then everything is chill.”

  “And anyway,” Red added quickly, “Sixth-Grade Initiation is pretty much over.”

  “But what about next year’s sixth graders?” I said. Why should anyone have to get over being called a nasty name?

  “Look, cuz, do you want to win?” Red asked, snapping me out of my thoughts.

  I nodded.

  “Then you need a platform the whole school can get on board with.”

  Oh. Right.

  It wouldn’t be just the sixth graders voting for me. Every student voted for each grade’s ambassador, because the ambassadors worked on issues that involved the whole school.

  “Hang on,” Teagan said, pulling out Cody and flipping to a new page. She looked up at Red. “I don’t know if that’s true.”

  We all waited in silence as Teagan scribbled calculations in her notebook.

  “Gabby.” She had entered full-on Teagan Problem-Solving Mode. “Do you think you could get most of the sixth graders on board with your platform?”

  I thought back to Marcus calling Josiah his nickname yesterday. Josiah had laughed it off, but I was betting that Josiah would get rid of initiation if he had the chance. What I’d seen in the hallways throughout the week told me most sixth graders probably would. A quick look at Isaiah said he agreed.

  “I don’t know what the other sixth-grade candidates’ platforms are yet,” I said to Teagan, “but, yeah, I think I could get most of the sixth-grade votes. At least if Isaiah will help me campaign?” I turned to him.

  “You bet, my lady!” Isaiah replied. I giggled.

  “Okay,” Teagan said. “So you’re sort of already ahead. And if you’re ahead with the sixth graders by a landslide, you wouldn’t even need to get the same amount of votes from seventh and eighth graders as the other sixth-grade candidates do. I think you should give it a try.”

  “Yeah,” Isaiah said. “And I bet you can count on at least three seventh-grade votes.” He eyed Red, Bria, and Alejandro.

  “Of course, cuz, of course,” Red said.

  Bria squirmed a little bit. “I still think it’s risky, but we’ll support you no matter what.” Alejandro nodded in agreement.

  Three seventh-grade votes. That was a start. I wasn’t sure I followed all of Teagan’s logic, but I knew I’d heard one thing clearly—if I could guarantee the sixth-grade votes, I’d be golden.

  “I’m going to do it!” I said, sitting up straighter.

  “All right!” Isaiah said.

  “Yes!” Teagan added.

  “That’s great, cuz,” Red said. “But if you change your mind about your platform, I have some unbeatable ideas. You know where to find me.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

  I laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “All right, then,” Red said, clapping his hands again. “We’ll get to poetry in a sec, but first, one more big ‘awesome sauce’ for Gabriela McBride, future Sixth-Grade Ambassador—the best Kelly Middle School has ever seen! One. Two. Three!”

  “AWESOME SAUCE!!”

  I bet Mama heard us all the way in studio one.

  Awesome sauce

  Chocolate sauce

  Welcome sauce

  Go get ’em sauce

  Stand up sauce

  Speak out sauce

  Inspire sauce

  Empower sauce

  Leader sauce

  Speechwriter sauce

  Ideas sauce

  Let’s do this sauce

  Different sauce

  It’s okay sauce

  You’re welcome sauce

  Awesome sauce

  The next few days flew by, and before I knew it, it was time for my first meeting with the other kids running for Sixth-Grade Ambassador. Today we were going to share our speeches and offer each other feedback. I grabbed my lunch from the cafeteria, waved to Isaiah, who was sitting at our table with his book and school lunch, and hurried to Ms. Tottenham’s room. Teagan had helped me with my speech over the weekend, and yesterday I’d practiced with Mrs. Baxter during school and then with everyone at home, including Maya, who had thrust her tail in the air when I was done. I considered that a thumbs-up.

  “You’re going to rock this,” Mama had said to me that morning during the car ride to school.

  I was the first to arrive. Ms. Tottenham had set up a row of chairs at the front of the room, their backs to the first row of desks, and had somehow found an old wooden podium, which stood in front of the whiteboard. I took the chair closest to Ms. Tottenham’s desk and pulled out my lunch.

  Soon the rest of the candidates began to trickle in. This was my first real look at who I’d be up against. There was a girl named Dominique, who was obsessed with jumping double Dutch. On her heels came a boy named Darrin, who had to be the biggest sixth grader in the world. He was almost as tall as Daddy and definitely as wide, like he was born to play football. Then came the twins, Layla and Kayla, who were not identical, but made up for this fact by dressing exactly alike every day of the week.

  Darrin sat down beside me and started in on what might have been his second sandwich. There were bread crusts already on his tray.

  “We need bigger lunches,” he said to me around a mouthful of bread, turkey, and mustard.

  “Bigger?” I asked.

  Darrin nodded. “I’m never going to get huge enough to be a linebacker for the Philadelphia Eagles if I keep eating these scrawny meals. Bigger lunches are part of my platform,” he added, leaning in to me conspiratorially. He patted the pocket of his sweats. “Got it all right here in my speech.” Then he started in on a bag of chips.

  “Finish up your lunches so we can get started!” Ms. Tottenham called.

  I was just popping my last carrot stick in my mouth when someone came rushing into the classroom and right up to Ms. Tottenham’s desk.

  “I’m sorry I’m late, Ms. Tottenham! I had a dentist appoint—”

  “No worries, Aaliyah,” Ms. Tottenham said.

  I stopped mid-chew. Aaliyah was running?!

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Ms. Tottenham continued, lowering her voice a little. “Ms. Oliver told me she believes you are a natural leader. I must say I agree.”

  I tried to ignore the feeling in my stomach, like I was in an elevator that had just plummeted ten floors. A natural leader?

  Aaliyah scurried past—though not without tossing a classic Aaliyah glare in my direction—and took the seat at the very end of the row.

  Darrin leaned over to Dominique and whispered, “Should have guessed Aaliyah was running. It will give her a chance to boss the vice-principal and the principal around.”

  Dominique looked just about as thrilled as I was that Aaliyah was running. “Yeah, but people listen to her.” She slid down in her seat. “I’d vote for her.” She said this last part so quietly, I almost didn’t hear her.

  We finished our lunches in silence.

  A couple minutes later, Ms. Tottenham clapped her hands once and said, “Let’s get started, leaders!”

  As she explained to us how the speech presentations and feedback would go, I closed my eyes and imagined me giving my speech, taking belly-breaths at certain spots like Mrs. Baxter and I practiced, and then saying phrases on each exhale. With Aaliyah here, I knew I’d need to use all the techniques I’d ever learned.

  “Gabriela, did you get that?”

  I jumped at the sound of my name. My eyes flew open. “Get-Get wh-what?”

  “The order.” Ms. Tottenham pointed at the names on the board. I was fourth. Right after Aaliyah.

  Uh-oh.

  At once, a jitterbug star
ted up inside of me. What if Aaliyah was so white-light amazing she made my outstanding, awesome-sauce, thumbs-up speech seem more like a dim bulb? I read my speech over again, the words as familiar to me now as those I’d heard from everyone close to me since I’d decided to run.

  You’re going to rock this.

  You’d make a great leader.

  You’ve got this, cuz.

  I did.

  Kayla and Layla were up first.

  Their platform was all about Kelly’s social life. They presented their speech in perfect unison and, according to what Darrin muttered under his breath, used the word “party” twelve times.

  After we’d offered the twins constructive feedback, it was Darrin’s turn. He delivered his speech with his paper held in one hand and the other hand cutting through the air in a fist. He said things like, “Tax dollars” and, “Lunch isn’t one size fits all—why should I have to pay for two lunches?”

  “Because you eat two lunches,” Dominique called out.

  The twins dissolved into giggles. Ms. Tottenham held her finger to her lips. When Darrin had concluded his speech with a rallying call of “Who will join me in my quest for more food?” Ms. Tottenham turned to us. “Thoughts?”

  “You were very energetic,” Layla said, having composed herself.

  “Maybe don’t move your arms around so much when you talk?” Kayla added. “It’s fun to watch, but also sort of distracting.”

  Energy equaled good. Too much moving was bad. I made mental notes to myself, tucking them away with Mrs. Baxter’s tips. Slow down. Take your time. Say what you have to say no matter how your words sound. And remember: It’s natural for a stutter to come out when you’re a little nervous.

  “Aaliyah, you’re up.”

  Aaliyah walked calmly to the podium, leaving her speech sitting on her chair. She was going to do it from memory?! I could tell from the way the other kids looked at Aaliyah—mouths open and eyes wide—that they were just as shocked as I was. The jitterbug started up inside me again, as Aaliyah began to speak.

  “Good afternoon. My name is Aaliyah Reade-Johnson, and if you believe in improving Kelly Middle School—for everyone—you should vote for me for Sixth-Grade Ambassador. As ambassador, I plan to work tirelessly to turn Kelly into the school we all deserve. First, let me ask you a question. How many of you have felt too intimidated to ask your teachers for help?”