I smiled. It felt like it had been a long time since I’d been able to smile. “I just wanted to be like you,” I said, feeling a little lame, but hey, it was true.
“You flatter me. But one does not make a name for herself in the cooking world or in life by following the path of others. You, my sweet one, must create your own path. You can be a professional pastry chef, a television personality, and a millionaire, but first be a great class president. The question is, do you still want it?”
Do I?
“Miss Delicious, have you ever done something bad? Like really, really bad? And you wished you could take it back, but you can’t? Something so bad that maybe you felt like you didn’t deserve to wish for anything good ever again?”
She and Mrs. W. exchanged looks, then they doubled over with laughter. “If you’re asking if we’ve made mistakes that either one of us wish we could take back, then, baaaaybeee, the answer’s absolutely, positively, one hundred percent yes!”
Mrs. W. came around the kitchen work island, still laughing, then straightening and looking more serious. “But if you’re asking us how to deal with a mistake, then let’s talk it out. We all make mistakes in life, Brianna. How you handle your mistakes is what can determine who you really are.”
And that was what I really needed to know. How would I handle my mistakes, and who was I, really?
After we finished up in the kitchen, we drank coffee and talked.
Like any smart kid knows, even when you’re feeling all close and connected to grown-ups you don’t tell them all the dirty details. Hey, too much information would just confuse them.
But I did talk about my problem at school. My friends had warned me not to get carried away with the election. They had warned me about wanting to win more than I wanted to be a good president.
“Even if you did get carried away,” said Miss Delicious, delicately holding the teacup as she sipped her cream-and-sugared coffee. “Even if that’s true, you’ve learned from it. Making that mistake, getting carried away, heck, that just means you’re passionate. So what? It doesn’t mean you wouldn’t make a great president. I think it’s wonderful that you’re so motivated and that you’re a young lady with goals and dreams. But keep in mind, you’re a kid. So be a kid. Take your time. Enjoy your life. Play basketball. Hang out with your friends. Don’t be in a rush to grow up. Trust me, you’ll have plenty of time to make your millions!”
By the time Mr. Tan and his crew arrived with the cameras, I’d thought a lot about what Mrs. W. and Miss Delicious said.
“I don’t want anyone to know before this airs. Not even Weas… um, Raymond. Okay?” I said to Miss Delicious and Mrs. W. They agreed, and I told them my plan.
My new plan.
If I was going to be president of the whole fifth grade, I needed to act like a leader now rather than later.
And with that, I let out a big breath and did my best to start fixing what I’d messed up!
30
This Is for All the Marbles!
“Psssst!”
It was Weasel, looking back and forth like he thought he was being followed. What now?
Filming was over and Mr. Tan was gone. So was Miss Delicious. I’d slipped back into the kitchen to grab my book bag, feeling pretty good about my choices. Until…
“What are you doing this afternoon?” he asked.
I grabbed my book bag off the bench and slung it over my shoulder. “I’ve gotta go. Your mom’s waiting for me.”
“Sorry I missed the filming of your news story this morning. Yesterday, well, it didn’t go well. I take full responsibility. But I plan to make it up to you, m’lady.”
I shrugged. But Weasel didn’t have his normal oily look. His flat brown eyes looked round and… scared.
“Are you okay?”
He let out a big sigh. “I really, really let you down. I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t let me help you anymore.”
Weasel was being so unlike Weasel. He looked sincere. And not the fake sincere face he’d been using since preschool; he looked like he really meant it!
“It wasn’t your fault. I’m the one who blew it. I should have just studied and not worried about the stupid answer sheet.”
I thought that’d be enough, but he just stood there, looking all skinny and gangly and slouchy.
He said, “I know you think I’m just this weird kid who lives in a fantasy world and who doesn’t have a lot of friends.”
“But…”
“No, it’s okay. Everybody sort of sees me that way. But I’ve always thought of us as friends. I’ve always liked how you have friends from all different groups. And you’re one of the few people who will be nice to me just because.”
I didn’t know what to say.
“Weasel… Raymond, don’t sweat it. Really. I have a few ideas myself. I don’t know if they’ll help me win, but I know I’ll feel better. More like my old self.”
And just like that, the sensitive, sincere Weasel was gone and the oily grin returned.
“Did you know that John Tyler was shooting marbles with his sons when he found out he was president?”
Duh? Like what did that even mean?
“Soooooo?”
“So… maybe you’ll be playing basketball or watching TV when you learn what I’ve done for the campaign.”
“What do you mean, Weasel?” An open window let in breezes that cooled the oven-hot kitchen. It also let in the bonk-bonk of Mrs. Wetzel’s car horn.
“Hey, I gotta go. Your mom promised my mom to have me home by lunch.”
Weasel moved closer. “We were right about the lovely Jasmine Moon. She does have a secret. With one week till the election, we still have time to win!”
Then he pushed through the door and ran past his mother’s car, crossing the street. I called after him, “Wait! Weasel, I don’t want to win like that!”
But he was gone.
A sick feeling burned the pit of my stomach.
A secret.
I’d forgotten all about having that talk with Weasel. It wasn’t even a talk, really. Just me being mad, shooting off at the mouth about how Jasmine Moon had used my friend to get dirt on me. Remember how mad I was after Jasmine Moon tried to make me look bad with my secret? Well, I got so angry about her poking in my business that I told Weasel I wondered what kind of secrets Jasmine Moon had. I told him I bet she had some secrets of her own.
Well, I forgot all about it. I never thought he’d go digging around in her past.
What if he did figure out her biggest, darkest secret? Then what? I didn’t want to give her an excuse to be digging in my business.
“Can we go any faster?” I asked Mrs. W. I needed to get home.
Something had to be done to stop the foolishness!
A true leader needs to make a stand, even if it means losing everything!
31
The Era of Good Feelings or the New Deal?
All weekend long, I couldn’t stop thinking about what I’d done. The news show with Mr. Tan and his crew. And the call I made to try and right a wrong.
“Sara, when we get to school Monday, I need to talk to you, to everybody. Okay?”
Sara sounded surprised but said, “No problem.”
It was time to make some changes in the way I’d been doing things. After all, my campaign slogan was Justice for All. For the first time since I began my campaign, I was trying to figure out how to make that more than a bunch of catchy words. So I told myself the deed was done. At least, almost done. Might as well not worry about it. When I got home from the bakery on Saturday, I crashed and took a way-too-long nap. I woke up feeling hungry for a snack and some milk. Katy and I decided to sneak into the kitchen after midnight for ice cream.
Mom and Dad were in there dancing by the light of the opened refrigerator to music that must have been coming from their hearts.
“Uh, gross!” shouted Katy, breaking the magical spell. They looked so happy. I thought they’d yell at us for being
up so late, but instead they opened their arms. Katy said “no way” and stormed out. I, on the other hand, could use a hug. I nuzzled into my father’s side and felt the warmth of my mother’s hand at my back. We stood like that, swaying to a rhythm inside of us for a good long while.
Something about that made me feel, for the first time in weeks, that, yeah, I knew who I was. And I was going to be just fine!
First thing Monday morning I was on a mission. Thank goodness I hadn’t heard anything else from Weasel. I was praying that all his snooping didn’t actually turn up anything. With one week to go until the big election, I stopped once again in the front hall. My eyes scanned the rows of tiny nut-brown plaques with shiny gold nameplates.
As always, Miss Delicious’s name sparkled as though Janitor Bud rubbed it with special cleaners. I slipped my heavy mittens off and traced my finger around the edges of her engraved name. The front halls were decorated with new bulletin boards—several different messages and designs all in red, white, and blue.
This was it, I thought. One week and one day from now the kids at Orchard Park Elementary would cast their votes. My heart started to drum, and suddenly the pounding of footsteps of all the other kids racing through the front doors as they spilled off the buses made my head all get swimmy.
How would everyone react to what I had to say in my recorded biography that would play on school TV later in the week?
“Get to class, Miss Justice. We wouldn’t want you being tardy,” said Dr. Beelie. He was standing where he stood every morning, directing kids north, south, east, and west.
Since he was a big part of my new Big Idea, I stopped and asked:
“Dr. Beelie, can I talk to you after school today? It’s very important.”
He seemed to take a step back. He looked me up and down as though expecting I might come to his office and hide fake dog poop in his chair. After a few moments of giving me the suspicious eye, he said to come by his office ten minutes after the final bell.
When I reached my classroom, Mrs. Nutmeg was just about to close the door. I skidded in right after the last bell. Sara and Lauren were over near the aquariums feeding the animals. Becks’s seat was empty.
Sara looked my way. I bit my lip. Mrs. Nutmeg glanced at me, looked over at Sara, seemed to think about something, then went back to messing with stuff on her desk. I took a deep breath and marched over to the animal area.
I never go over there.
Sara and Lauren stopped, both staring at me.
“So, can we talk?” I tried to sound casual, but my voice cracked like the top of a cupcake that gets too cold too soon.
“Are you okay, Brianna?” Sara said. “I was… I mean, we were really glad you called.”
Same ol’ Sara. Her eyes full of questions. A few strands of hair were loose from the two braids that swung over each ear.
“I’m… I’ll be okay,” I said. “Um, where’s Becks?”
She and Lauren exchanged surprised looks. Sara said, “She’s gone for the next few days. Her dad came back from Iraq over the weekend. They’re going to visit her dad’s family in Chicago.”
I smiled and said, “Ooo, he made it in time for her birthday!”
Sara and Lauren smiled too, and in that moment, it was like something very important was happening between us.
“Everybody, please take your seats so we may start our very busy day,” Mrs. Nutmeg said.
“I…” The apology got tangled in the back of my throat. Before I could say more, Lauren and Sara closed the lid on the aquarium. Lauren whispered, “Um, we wanted to tell you, that thing with the snake…”
Sara moved closer, avoiding eye contact with Mrs. Nutmeg so she could pretend we all didn’t see it was time to take our seats. She whispered, “That was not our fault. We felt really, really bad. I think… I think you were right. When we went to that Pistons game with Jasmine Moon, all she did was talk about how you thought you were all that and how she was going to have to show you that she was the best.”
“Yeah, and we wanted you to know that the other day, Jasmine laughing at you, we weren’t part of that. We all feel really bad about what’s been happening. We’re sorry.”
“Girls…,” Mrs. Nutmeg said.
“We’d better sit. She’s wearing her power pantsuit. No telling what she’s got up her sleeves today.”
We all laughed, but it felt stiff, uncomfortable.
Not like old friends; more like kids trying to figure out what they have in common.
Or if they have anything in common at all.
32
“A Day That Will Live in Infamy!”
For the next few days, being in the bakery was the best part of my day—and kinda the worst.
The best because for the two hours I was in the bakery before school, I was surrounded by things that made me happy. The smell of baking food; the sound of the food processors and mixers whirring and whipping; and taste-testing batter and frosting batches.
The worst part—when I’d leave the bakery, I’d be so excited and happy. I couldn’t wait to get to school to tell everybody how cool it was. Only there was no “everybody.”
Sure, the girls and I had made up, but we still weren’t “us,” not like we used to be. Not having them with me like the old times made me feel lonely. Becks still hadn’t come back to school. I missed her. I wanted… needed to make things all right between us.
Still, lonely or not, school had to go on, right?
Jasmine Moon’s show played on school TV yesterday. She batted her eyes and told Annie Darling how much she loved our school and a bunch of other blah-dee-blah-blah. But when she played the violin, my heart skipped. She could really play.
“Thomas Jefferson, our third president and one of the men responsible for the Declaration of Independence, played the violin, too,” she said, just like that day in class, when Becks had played flute.
Then everyone in our class stood to applaud.
All week long candidates had been on the school channel and local cable station making promises, talking about why they’d be the best choice for president. Promises for everything from more equipment for sports teams to more field trips for the fifth grade.
Now it was Thursday. I sat holding my breath as Mr. Tan counted, “… Four, three, two…” Watching myself on the monitor, it was like getting ready for some big game show. In my head I heard:
“Ladies and gentlemen… and toads. Introducing the world premiere television debut of future TV chef and cupcake baker to the stars, Brianna Justice!”
The voice in my head was loud and boomed like the guy in the center ring at the circus. Then the voice went quiet and I held my breath as the prerecorded show of me baking alongside my all-time hero, Miss Delicious, began. Here it was—the moment I’d waited all my life for:
BRIANNA: Hi, my name is Brianna Justice and this is Wetzel’s Bakery. I’m here with someone I admire very much, Miss Delicious. Actually, with two someones I admire. Mrs. Wetzel has been very kind to let me come here and make cupcakes to sell.
One day I want to be a famous chef with my own cupcake bakery, and I want to have my own cooking show like Miss Delicious…
Until it was almost over, I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath. On the screen, Miss Delicious was eating one of my cupcakes and making mmm… mmm noises.
MISS DELICIOUS: Brianna, these are fabulous. I love the combination of graham cracker crust and fresh apple filling baked into the tender, moist golden cake, then topped with your amazing cream cheese frosting…. Honey, this is a real winner.
BRIANNA: Thanks. Like I said before, I made ’em ’cause of the election. I wanted to come up with something as American as apple pie. So I created my own apple cupcakes.
I was in Mr. Tan’s studio. The Green Room. I was sitting behind a desk that looked a lot like the one newspeople used on real TV. Annie Darling sat next to me. We watched as I talked to Miss Delicious about another cupcake I’d invented, the Itsy-Bitsy Wild Banana Bit
es. I told her how my friend, Becks, loved anything with bananas and I came up with the recipe because Becks always liked tiny cupcakes.
Anyway, I felt Annie Darling was getting bored. But when the next part came up, I felt her stare burning question marks into my flesh. I kept my eyes on the screen.
Because the scene cut from the bakery to me in Dr. Beelie’s office. I’d set it up with Mr. Tan on Monday. After that stunt I’d pulled racing through the Forbidden Woods like a lunatic, sitting down with Dr. Beelie was the last thing I wanted to do. But it was the kind of thing I thought a good leader should do.
So this time I was the interviewer and Dr. Beelie was the interviewee. I told him how all the kids were talking about all the things they could do with the extra money in the fifth-grade budget. But I wanted to know, what did the fifth grade need? What would benefit Orchard Park Elementary School the most?
“Well, young lady, that’s quite a responsible and grown-up question. And let me commend you for being the first to ask such a very important question. Now, let’s see…” After a bunch of “ums” and “maybes,” Dr. Beelie told me that the gym equipment was getting old and cruddy. And he told me he’d like for his fifth-grade president, “no matter who that might be, to come up with a civic project that would benefit the community. I want our young people to understand that being good citizens isn’t just about what you can get, it’s about what you can give, what you can do for others.”
And then, he asked the thing that I most needed him to. He asked:
“So, Brianna Justice, what has participating in this election process taught you?”
Deep breath. Here goes:
“Being in this election has taught me that sometimes you can get carried away with something, you know, spend so much time thinking about winning that you don’t spend enough time thinking about how you’re going to win or what kind of winner you’ll even be if you win.”
Dr. Beelie frowned. “Uh, I see.”
President of the Whole Fifth Grade Page 11