President of Poplar Lane

by Margaret Mincks

  R Is for “RECOVERY”

  There are some certainties in life. Death. Taxes. Chickenpox. And exposure.

  Nothing indecent, of course. I’m talking about bungling a trick.

  Take Fetaque Sanders, the famous black comedy magician. In 1933, during his very first professional stage appearance, he attempted a trick called Cutting a Girl in Two with Ropes. He got a volunteer from the audience and fastened two pieces of rope around her waist. He pulled at one of the ropes. Neither rope would budge. Did he run offstage? No! He said, “Suppose we try another trick.”

  And did the audience boo? No! They laughed (I bet the volunteer was pretty happy about it, too). The rest of his show went off without a hitch. In fact, the manager of the theater offered him a two-week booking.

  Even the greatest magicians will fail. Props break. You flash a card or drop a coin.

  There’s only one thing to do: recover.

  The way Ol’ Morty sees it, there are three possible recoveries:

  Keep going. Most likely no one noticed.

  Create a new ending—some other magical outcome to end on a happy note. Experienced magicians have what’s called an “out.” That’s when they expect to fail, so they’ve got another trick ready to go in their back (or side!) pocket. Roll with the punches, and hopefully you won’t be the one getting punched.

  Admit you made a mistake. Laugh it off. An audience can be pretty forgiving, so long as you wow ’em with your next trick. Some magicians might wag their fingers and say, “MORTY, YOU FOOL, YOU SHOULD NEVER ADMIT DEFEAT!” But sometimes it’s the only way out. And life, as they say, goes on.

  25

  MIKE

  I had to break the news to my family.

  “Thank you all for coming to my Family Luncheon,” I said. “Please help yourself to, uh, pickles. And milk. And M&M’s.” I’m a comedy magician, not a chef.

  “I guess we have to do what the president says,” Dad said, grinning. He dug into the spread.

  I took a deep breath and stood up.

  “I’m not going to be president anymore,” I said. “I’m resigning on Monday.”

  They stopped eating.

  “Mike,” Dad said.

  “Why?” Granberry asked. “You can’t just resign.”

  I felt a little dizzy. I wanted to sit down, or hide, or take back my words, but it was too late. “Actually, I can. It’s in the Twenty-Fifth Amendment.”

  “But why?” Granberry asked again.

  “Because all I wanted was to show you I was good enough to be president,” I said. “And that’s . . . not a good enough reason to be president.”

  “Wait,” Granberry said. “Why would you need to show us you were good enough? And what do you mean by ‘good enough’?”

  “You think we don’t think you’re good enough?” Dad said.

  I looked him straight in the eye. “I saw you checking your phone at my magic show,” I said. “And I heard you on the phone with Mom. I know what you think of me.” I looked down. “I know I’m not the kid you wanted.”

  Dad’s mouth dropped open.

  “Mike,” he said. “Mike. No. You’re exactly the kid I wanted. There’s no one like you. And that’s what makes you special. I’m sorry I checked my phone. And I shouldn’t have said those things to your mom. I made a mistake. Do you hear me?”

  I nodded. My head felt light, but in a good way, like I’d gotten rid of some of my heavy worries. “What really hurt was you feeling so bad for me,” I said. “That’s why I wanted to be president.”

  Dad looked down. “I’m sorry. But why don’t you want to be president now?” he asked.

  “Because I’m president for the wrong reasons,” I said. “I’m only president because I lied. Because I thought it would make people like me. But they don’t really like me. They like some fake guy.” I looked down. “I had to fake having social skills to win.”

  “Now hold on a second,” said Granberry. “You have your own social skills. Not everybody’s are the same. And they don’t have to be. All you have to be is true to yourself and kind to others. That’s all you need.” She took my hand. “Magic is your bridge to other people.”

  “Here’s what I want to know,” I said. “Why don’t people think magic is cool?”

  “I have a theory,” Granberry said. “It’s because magic requires you to let your guard down. It makes you vulnerable. You have to admit you don’t know how everything works, that life can still be surprising and fun. And for some people, that’s not cool. And I think that’s sad.”

  She laughed. “Who decides what’s cool, anyway? You make the rules. Nobody else.”

  Dad nodded. “I’ll say this: I know how hard it is to feel like you’ve got to fit in. I did magic when I was your age.”

  “You did?” I said.

  “Of course I did. I was raised by two magicians,” he said. “I got teased a lot, though, so I stopped.”

  “And that was a shame,” Granberry said.

  “Yes, it was,” Dad said. “I guess I just worried you were lonely, Mike. Because I was pretty lonely back then. But you’re not me, are you? You’re a lot braver than I was.”

  “No,” I said. “I’m not lonely.” And I meant it. “When I was being fake, even when I was around other people, that’s when I felt lonely.”

  “I’ve felt that way, too,” Dad said quietly. “You’re lucky to have a real passion. That’s more than a lot of people ever have.” He paused. “I’m sorry if I pushed you too hard to make friends. I wasn’t being a very fungal dad.”

  I smiled. “That’s okay,” I said. “If you hadn’t, I might not be friends with Amelia.”

  “And I might have pushed you too hard to like chamomile tea,” Granberry said.

  I laughed.

  “I actually like chamomile tea,” I said. “But now that we’re telling the truth, I don’t really like video games.”

  “Now that we’re telling the truth, I bought that console for myself,” Dad said. “Can I have it?”

  I laughed so hard tears streamed down my face.

  “I’m proud of you for being president,” Granberry said. She stroked my hair. “For one day. And I’m even prouder that you’re quitting.”

  NOTICE OF EMERGENCY SEVENTH-GRADE CONGRESS!

  Monday at lunch in the cafeteria

  Called by your new seventh-grade class president,

  Mike . . . the Unusual

  26

  MIKE

  A magician is never supposed to reveal their secrets. But lately I hadn’t been such a great magician. So today, I, Mike the con artist, was going to break the magician’s code in front of the whole seventh-grade class. I’d tell everyone what really happened.

  Before I started the meeting, I saluted Peter. He saluted me back.

  I’d met him at his locker before school to apologize. He shook my hand. “Let’s rebrand this friendship. Team Mike the Unusual is back in business,” he’d said.

  I cleared my throat.

  “Thank you all for attending this emergency meeting of the Seventh-Grade Congress,” I said.

  “Well, we kind of had to come,” Clover said. “It’s lunch.”

  “Make it fast, I’m starving!” said Brayden Monk.

  “Respect your president,” said Scott.

  “I’m starving, Mr. President,” said Brayden.

  “I want everyone to see who you elected,” I said. “Or didn’t elect. I only won by default. But this is the real me.” I nodded at Peter.

  “Presto!” I said, throwing a handful of gold and silver confetti in the air.

  The audience oohed. As the confetti fell, Peter helped me put on Granbobby’s old coat with tails and his magic hat. Then he handed me my magic wand.

  “I’m a magician.
Well, I used to be. I turned into a con artist. I misdirected your trust to get votes. That’s bad,” I said. “So I’m resigning. I don’t deserve to be president.”

  “Huh?” said Alan Firenza. The room buzzed liked a bunch of confused bees.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “Most of all, I’m sorry to Clover. I’m the one who vandalized my posters. And I didn’t say anything when people accused her.”

  Clover gasped, leaning back like I’d just called her some mean name. She looked hurt. Betrayed. Maybe that’s how I looked when I heard Dad talking on the phone. I hated being the person that hurt somebody else. Clover never did anything wrong. She didn’t deserve this.

  The audience started booing.

  “Wait, all that stuff on your posters was true?” Alan Firenza asked.

  I nodded.

  It was like I was having a bad show, so bad it confused people and made them mad at the same time. I wanted my headphones. But this wasn’t the time for a magic mindset. This was real life. Elections had consequences, and I had to face them.

  “What about your girlfriend?” asked Mel Chang, holding up her phone to record my answer.

  “Hey, where did you come from?” Brayden Monk asked. “This is seventh-grade lunch. You’re in eighth grade.”

  “I have a press pass. Duh,” said Mel.

  “No girlfriend,” I said. “My only stable relationship is with magic.”

  Clover gasped.

  “So who’s president now?” Thalia Jung asked.

  “No one!” said Pepper Kowalski. “Anarchy!”

  “Eek!” said Seema Singh. She hid under a table.

  “I declare myself president!” Big TOE said.

  “You can’t do that,” yelled Mateo Medina.

  “I’m swearing myself in now,” said Big TOE, holding his left hand up and his right hand over his phone.

  I waved my magic wand. “Chatty crowd tonight!” I said in my Mike the Microphone voice, without even thinking about it. I froze, but then a few kids started laughing.

  I stood up straighter. “The new president should be the runner-up in the election,” I said. “But since Clover dropped out, and there’s no vice president, there’s no precedent for this. We have to nominate someone else. It’s in the Twenty-Fifth Amendment.”

  I stole a quick look at Amelia out of the corner of my eye. She was smiling, just a little.

  “What’s the Twenty-Fifth Amendment?” asked Scott.

  “It’s in the Constitution,” I said.

  “Yeah, I’ve heard of that,” Scott said.

  I uncapped a dry erase marker. “The floor is open for nominations,” I said.

  “And totally covered with confetti,” Rachel said, looking around.

  Scott raised his hand. “Anita Tinkle.”

  Everyone laughed.

  Big TOE raised his hand. “Another vote for Anita Tinkle.”

  “One more!” said Brayden Monk.

  “Ugh, you’re so immature,” said Seema Singh. “What about someone with presidential style. Rafael X?”

  “Excellent choice,” said Peter. “But is he in the seventh grade?”

  We looked around the cafeteria.

  “Yeah, I thought he was in eighth,” said Mateo Medina.

  Mel shrugged. “I’ve never actually seen him. I’ve only seen his vids. And he’s always in the shadows on camera.”

  “That’s so he doesn’t distract from his art,” Peter explained.

  “My sister said he was doing makeup when she was here,” said Pepper Kowalski. “And she’s in high school now.”

  “Wait,” said Holly Herman. “Has anyone actually ever seen Rafael X?”

  The whole cafeteria went silent.

  “Hold on,” I said. “So our nominees are Anita Tinkle and Rafael X, who may or may not be a real student.”

  “I nominate . . . Bobby Odor,” said Brayden Monk, snickering.

  “You only like Bobby Odor because he’s a boy,” said Seema Singh.

  “People,” Clover said. “Anita Tinkle is not real. Bobby Odor is not real. Rafael X . . . maybe? I’m confused about that, because there is definitely a person in those makeup videos.”

  “He could be a robot,” said Holly Herman.

  “Anita Tinkle isn’t real,” Rachel cut in. “But she’s a symbol.”

  “Huh?” Peter said. “Is this one of your book-writing things?”

  Rachel stood up. “Our election was not legitimate,” she said. “We never even voted! And nominating Anita Tinkle shows we’re mad about that. We’d rather have a fake president with a funny name than a real one who might lie and trick us.”

  “Hey, I’d like to be a real president,” said Eliza Crabtree. “But I can’t do stuff after school.”

  “And I can’t run because I got into too much trouble,” said Thalia.

  “And I can’t give speeches,” mumbled Demetrius Doran. “I stutter when I get nervous.”

  Huh. I never knew Demetrius stuttered.

  Amelia wiggled in her seat and raised her hand. I nodded.

  “Maybe elections, the way people usually do them, don’t work anymore,” Amelia said. “Maybe it’s time for something new.”

  “Like what?” I asked.

  She stood up. “A revolution.”

  THE POPLAR MIDDLE SCHOOL

  SEVENTH-GRADE CONSTITUTION

  We the People of the seventh-grade class of Poplar Middle School, in order to form a more perfect union, don’t want a class president.

  Our election this year was messed up. There was cheating and lying, and people got hurt. The election system, in this seventh-grade class’s opinion, is broken.

  We want to fix it, so we wrote our own constitution:

  Leaders don’t have to be presidents, and anyone can be a leader.

  Every voice is important.

  Power to the people, not the person.

  PROPOSAL

  Instead of an election, We the People think the seventh-grade student government should be an elective, just like French, drama, or art. An elective will let more kids get involved in making decisions.

  We the People propose the Anita Tinkle Elective.

  The Anita Tinkle Elective:

  Will change the existing class election system, which leaves out almost all students from the political process

  Will meet during school hours, so more students can participate, and making it an elective means we can use class time to actually fix problems

  Will teach all students how to be leaders

  What’s New with

  Mel Chang

  If It Trends, We’re Friends.

  POWER PEEPS

  LAST NIGHT THE SEVENTH GRADERS ASKED THE SCHOOL BOARD TO ADD THE ANITA TINKLE ELECTIVE TO THE CURRICULUM.

  First there was a passionate speech by Amelia Flem. Then Thalia Jung. Then Clover O’Reilly. And Seamus Henry, out of nowhere. Who knew he could stay awake that long? Then Ms. Adamlee, sporting chic American flag earrings, spoke up to support the elective. She even cried. Way to go, teach!

  The school board voted, and the final vote was cast by newly elected school board member Mrs. O’Reilly (Clover’s mom). The board agreed to add the elective if the students would change the name to the Student Body Elective.

  After a dramatic internal meeting, the students agreed to the compromise (mostly because Amelia Flem pointed out that they could still call the elective Anita Tinkle when there were no adults around).

  MY BAD

  Let this serve as an offish apology to Holly Herman, who correctly ID’d Mike as the PosterGate vandal. And congrats to Holly for being the newest pres of the Poplar Middle Crimesolvers.

  I’d also like to offer an offish sorry/not-sorry se
mi-apology to the sixth and eighth graders. I know I’ve been focusing a lot on seventh graders. I’m not leaving you out on purpose. TBH, you guys need to be more exciting. I’m a reporter. I go where the action is.

  INVITATION TO WELCOME ARCH MAKEOVER

  by Clover O’Reilly

  WHAT: The Welcome Arch Makeover!

  WHO’S INVITED: EVERYONE! That’s the whole point!

  WHERE: The Welcome Arch at Poplar Middle School (it hasn’t moved, because it’s hard to move an arch)

  WHEN: Tomorrow at 7:50 a.m., before the first bell

  WHY: The Welcome Arch has always welcomed students to Poplar Middle School. But honestly, the Random Acts of Artness Club was just using it to show off their art skills. Which they should, because we are mega-talented! But still, it wasn’t super welcoming.

  The new and improved Welcome Arch will be a creative space for everyone in our school. So without further ado, here’s a sneak peek of some makeover highlights!

  The arch will now be a collage, layered with student pictures, notes, sketches, whatever! Shared “heart supplies” will be provided to help everyone express themselves.

  Check out the giant 3-D cat ear sculpture mail slot, right beside the arch. You can leave direct, anonymous notes to the eighth-grade student council AND school administration.

  And get hyped for a fungal celebrity guest to dedicate the new arch to the student body. We’re trying for Rafael X, but don’t get your hopes up.

  27

  Clover

  It was the day we had to declare our final electives.

  “What are you taking, Clover?” Rachel asked as we walked to school. We hadn’t shrunk or anything, but the sidewalk seemed less crowded.

  “Definitely art,” I said. It was tough to decide between art and the new Student Body Elective, but art is my heart. Plus, I realized you can be a change-maker and an artist, which is like the perfect combination for me. Plus plus, I convinced the studio art teacher to do a unit on Art and Activism.