President of the Whole Fifth Grade

by Sherri Winston

  A fourth grader shouted, “Jasmine Moon, that’s cold, girl. Why’re you treating Brianna that way?”

  Gretchen rolled her eyes at Jasmine and said, “You think you’re all that!”

  She pushed past them all, flung open the doors, then…

  By the time we entered the cafeteria, we walked into a wall of stony stares and downright glares. What was up?

  Dr. Beelie had tried to eject Weasel’s edited film. But it looked like he’d managed to skip ahead and was showing some parts that Weasel’s mom hadn’t erased.

  The DVD of Jasmine Moon and her dirty little backstage secret!

  The girl holding the camera phone said:

  “Jasmine, this is so awesome! We’ll rip the thread out of all the stitches in her skirt and put a little tape on them. When she gets onstage and starts moving around, her skirt will fall off!”

  On the screen, you could see Jasmine on the floor with a big, flouncy skirt on her lap. She gave a thumbs-up to the camera and both girls started giggling. Then the DVD showed them putting itching powder in the girl’s shoes, and a bunch of other rotten tricks.

  Even Dr. Beelie had stopped his frantic quest to eject the DVD. Now he was just standing there with his mouth hanging open. The scene changed again on-screen. Now it was clearly during the show. The play was Cinderella. And JASMINE was the lead character! At first I had to lean in to hear what she was saying, until I realized it was Weasel. He was recording himself talking over the play.

  “Watch this! Miss Moon did her dirty deeds to get into the play and thought she was off scot-free.”

  But she wasn’t.

  Instead, she took two steps in her beautiful Cinderella ball gown, then… oh no!

  The whole bottom of the skirt came off!

  Weasel’s raspy whisper continued:

  “It seems that the fifth-grade girl who got all itchy and scratchy when she starred in the performance the night before found out about a certain fourth grader’s dirty trick. She decided to pay her young understudy back. Revenge is a dish best served cold!”

  “Stop! Turn on the lights! Turn this off!” Dr. Beelie cried.

  But it was too late for Jasmine Moon.

  Much too late.

  38

  The Era of Reform

  Sunday morning, after church, I went over to the Wetzels’. Mrs. W. invited me. Weasel sat in the kitchen with his head down.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  He looked at me with sad eyes. “How could you let her do this to me? I’ll be ruined!”

  “Stop your complaining,” his mother said. “She didn’t let me do anything. It serves you right. I’ve told you about playing your dirty tricks and trying to be slick. Maybe this will teach you. And Raymond, don’t you have something else to say to Brianna?”

  He lifted his head and said, “I’m sorry I threatened to kill your cupcake-baking dream.”

  His mom nudged him again.

  “Oh, and sorry for threatening you and all that other stuff. I… I just wanted people to finally like me.” He was whining.

  “And you think that because you were willing to bend the rules, sneak around, turn friends against friends, and threaten others with losing out on their dreams that it would make the It kids like you?” Mrs. W. used her stern mother voice.

  His head snapped up. For just a moment he got this crazy look in his eyes, like maybe being part of the It Squad was worth all the treachery and dirty schemes in the world. Then he looked from me to his mom, and the flashing in his eyes went flat.

  “Nope. I guess not.”

  Mrs. Wetzel poured me a cup of coffee, and we discussed the amazing sales we’d done over the weekend. She said that I’d be welcome to bake at the bakery three times a week. Then she passed me two checks.

  “The first one is for your first week of baking. The other is from just this weekend.”

  I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

  My first step toward millionairedom—and charity. It felt good to be a mogul in training.

  39

  … With Liberty and Justice for All!

  I awoke early. It was the Friday after the election.

  A very big day.

  Three days had passed and, like it or not, life went on.

  On the way to the bathroom, I grabbed Pig Pig off the dresser and gave him a big shake.

  “Pig Pig, what do you think?” I asked.

  Pig Pig winked slyly. Ahh, that Pig Pig.

  Before I could even finish brushing my teeth, I heard a phone ringing. Mom’s cell. A few minutes later she was outside my bedroom door. “Need any help deciding what to wear? That was your aunt Tina on the phone.”

  “She’s coming today?” I asked.

  “She said you couldn’t drag her away!”

  Mom drove me to school, and even Katy told me to “have a good one, Squirt.” But the “good one” wouldn’t really start till the end of the day.

  Dr. Beelie stood on one side of the stage and Miss Delicious stood on the other. Aunt Tina, Mom, and Dad were off to the side.

  Three days after the election, and guess what?

  “We are all here thanks to the kindness of our new president of the fifth grade… Brianna Justice!”

  Yep, that’s right.

  My name is Brianna Justice, and I am president of the whole fifth grade!

  Believe it or not, though, finding out I was president wasn’t nearly as cool, and didn’t feel nearly as awesome, as what was happening today.

  Funny how that is, right? A few weeks ago, I figured the greatest thing in the world would be to have big money in my bank account and be class president. But here I was about to do something I’d never dreamed of, and it was starting to feel like the greatest thing ever.

  Tuesday, the day of the election, I’d been so nervous, I thought I’d throw up or something. I wanted to act like winning was no big deal anymore, but inside I knew how much it still meant to me. What got me through the day, however, was the talk I’d had with Principal Beelie. I’d told him my plan—to help someone other than myself. He had been thrilled.

  After lunch, we had an assembly. Dr. Beelie wore his George Washington outfit yet again. Then he congratulated all of us on a job well done. I thought I was going to faint.

  “And the new president is… BRIANNA JUSTICE!”

  For the rest of the day, I felt so many different things I was afraid all my emotions would push through my skin. I had won. I had made a plan. I’d followed it. I’d gotten in trouble for following it and almost lost my friends. So I made a new plan. And I followed it.

  And now I was president.

  “On behalf of Orchard Park’s National Bank,” said Miss Delicious, “I am proud to award a check for five hundred dollars, which the bank is giving to match the five-hundred-dollar personal donation of a truly incredible fifth grader, Miss B., Brianna Justice. Brianna has also spoken with her vice president, class treasurer, and the Student Advisory Board representative, and they all agreed to donate one thousand dollars out of their class’s budget.”

  I’d been holding my breath. When she finished, I let out such a rush of air it must’ve caused a breeze. Knowing that we were doing a good thing, helping others, felt even more incredible than winning the election.

  Miss Delicious was here at the request of the school and the bank to honor me with the biggest check ever. It was about five feet long and three feet tall. We were outside in front of the school and the camera crews were filming us. Mr. Tan and his crew were surrounded by reporters from newspapers and TV. Aunt Tina was scribbling in her notebook and… man, this was embarrassing, but I think she was crying a little.

  And get this: Pinks 257 were in the background playing my song!!!

  Why, you ask?

  Because I had finally figured out what Justice for All should really mean: Doing the most good for the people who need it most. And finding a way to get everybody involved.

  Principal Beelie said, “We are proud of the effo
rts of our new class president, Brianna Justice. She has proven herself a leader and an entrepreneur!”

  He was talking about the money I was giving. It was a donation for the homeless family that had been living behind the school in the woods.

  Miss Delicious waited for the applause to fade, then added, “It is my honor to donate an additional two thousand dollars toward helping the Rogers family get back on their feet.”

  Flashbulbs popped and we were mobbed by a swarm of paparazzi. Okay, maybe it was just a few local reporters, but some were from TV!

  I’d earned more money than I could have imagined. At the bakery, Mrs. W. had given me two checks—one was for $500; the other was for $600. One check I donated; with the other, I put all but a hundred in the bank. The rest I was re-investing in “the business.” Now I’d have to figure out what my business would be called.

  Hmm…

  Mom and Dad came over and gave me a big hug. “We’re so proud of you, Brianna,” they said.

  Becks, Sara, and Lauren were wedged between the camera people, waving. Dr. Beelie bent down to the microphone and said, “Brianna, would you like to say a few words?”

  My girls gave me a big thumbs-up.

  I took a deep breath and ignored the shaking in my knees. I handed the oversized check to the man from the bank, then I remembered a scene from one of my all-time favorite movies. Earth is being attacked by a bunch of aliens, and there was a scene when the president wanted to inspire the fighter pilots, so he stood up and gave a great speech.

  I cleared my throat and tried to look as serious as if we were being attacked by killer aliens. I said:

  “When I told Principal Beelie about my plan to donate part of my cupcake money, we talked about what had happened during the election. It didn’t seem right that I was running around school, breaking rules and only interested in myself when there were people so close who needed… well, everything. And it also doesn’t feel right that everyone is making such a big fuss about me doing something that, well, I guess I or anybody else in my place should be expected to do.”

  A slide show of American presidents raced through my brain. For the past six weeks, Mrs. Nutmeg had jammed so much history about American presidents into our heads that I was constantly thinking about it. Most of the time, I figured she was doing it because she liked history better than fractions. (Even though we did lots of fractions, too!)

  Anyway, after what I’ve been through with the election, I think Mrs. Nutmeg might’ve had another reason. I think she wanted us to learn that whether you’re running for president of the United States or president of the whole fifth grade, you have choices to make—choices about who you are and what you can do for the people who vote for you.

  I mean, history taught me that you can run a winning campaign but be a lousy president. In 1921, Warren G. Harding became the twenty-ninth president. He didn’t campaign a lot, but when he did, he made promises that didn’t make a lot of sense. He promised whatever group he was talking to whatever they wanted to hear.

  Yeah, he won, but he wound up spending most of his time playing poker and golf and losing the White House china. (It’s true; check your social studies book!)

  Dr. Beelie’s elbow nudged me and I realized I’d spazzed once again in front of the whole school. I was going to have to work on my public appearances. First I went all goofy at the trivia contest; now I’m standing in front of a crowd on a made-up stage on the school’s front lawn with my mouth open, replaying the history of one of America’s sorriest presidents.

  “We as students should expect more of ourselves and be willing to help people in need even if we don’t know them,” I said.

  I went on to tell the reporters we should all try to do what we could to help out and that if I got real good at selling cupcakes, I planned to do more.

  For a second, there was so much clapping and hooting, I thought maybe I did just save the planet from dangerous aliens. Questions pelted me like sleet, but without the sting. Reporters from the Detroit News and Detroit Free Press alongside local reporters and TV people asked about the election, our school, the Rogers family, and my cupcake business. I tried to answer the best way I could, but like I said, the whole thing, everybody making so much fuss about something we should’ve been doing all along—well, it felt weird. When they finished, I was glad it was over.

  I shook Principal Beelie’s hand. Miss Delicious reached down and gave me a big hug.

  “We’re so proud of you,” said Miss Delicious and Mrs. W.

  “I’m kinda proud of me, too.”

  Aunt Tina came over and swept me into one of her world-famous hugs. “Baby Girl, you were amazing! Simply amazing!”

  “It’s no big deal.”

  Sara, Lauren, and Becks came over. Sara said, “No big deal? Are you kidding me? If Jasmine Moon had won, if she had earned all this extra money on her own time, do you think for a minute she’d have donated anything?” Jasmine Moon had been lying low since her big “performance,” and I had done my best not to draw attention to her defeat. She already had enough to worry about without my help, and I was happy not to even be thinking about her for once.

  I waved my hands. “Okay, okay, I get the point. Brianna Justice is remarkable, amazing, brilliant, gifted, and unique.”

  Laughing, Lauren added, “And don’t forget humble!”

  We all laughed.

  Sara said, “I think it’s so cool how when the bank found out about your donation, they chipped in.”

  “Miss Delicious, too!” said Becks.

  “Well, I couldn’t have done all this without my friends!”

  Aunt Tina finished writing and closed her notepad. She gave me one of her thinking looks. “You know, now that you’re a businesswoman, entrepreneur, and philanthropist…”

  “A phila-hoo-what?” I said.

  “Phil-an-thro-pist. A person who generously donates to the community or provides financial support for a given charity or cause,” said Aunt Tina. “Anyway, I think it’s time for you to start investing some of your money.”

  I couldn’t help laughing. Aunt Tina’s mind was always working. Before I could say more, she spotted Mom and said, “There’s my baby sister. Let me go and praise her for being wise enough to allow me to influence her daughter’s life!”

  As we watched Aunt Tina go, Becks suddenly had her hand on her hip and crackled the cold air around us with a resounding triple-snap of her fingers that included honest-to-goodness neck rolling.

  Did you just go there, Becks? Did you?

  And as if she’d read my mind, she said, “Girl, I went there, saw the movie, and wrote the review!”

  We all howled with laughter. Just so you know, that sort of thing was very un-Becks, but she always knew how to make us laugh!

  “For real, girls, we know Brianna is a lot like her aunt, but maybe as our Woodhull Society moves forward, Miss Tina can be sort of a mentor to us all. Maybe we all could be better phil-an-thro-pists!”

  Lauren nodded. “Sounds good to me.”

  We were still giggling over Becks’s transformation into a Sassy Thing when I spotted Weasel. He was standing off to the side, behind a tree. I waved him over. Sara groaned. I nudged her.

  “Hello, girls,” Weasel said in a most un-weaselly tone. Was everybody getting all brand-new? Were my leadership skills working already? Was I changing the school one person at a time?

  One day, I really will have power, money, fame, fortune… waaa, haa, haa, ha!

  “Sorry about you getting embarrassed in front of the whole school,” I said.

  Lauren gave a little eye roll, but said, “Yeah, even a weasel like you doesn’t deserve to get caught wetting his pants.”

  “Lauren!” said Sara.

  But Weasel laughed a little.

  “Yeah, well… maybe I did get a little carried away.”

  “Hey, Bree, think we can go to Wetzel’s? I hear they’ve got some killer cupcakes.” Sara was already moving down the sidewalk, grinning.r />
  Weasel said, “I think we could get some good prices, m’ladies. I’m good friends with the chief cupcake chef.”

  The band was still playing:

  No need to worry, she won’t forget; Brianna Justice is your best bet!

  So cast your vote—no need to stall.

  A vote for Brianna means…

  Justice for all. Justice for all. Justice for all. Justice for aaaaaaalllllll!

  Snow began to fall and we pulled our coats tighter around us. The sweet smell of the powdery snow gave me an idea.

  I grinned and said, “I’m getting an idea for a new cupcake.”

  “Give us a hint?” Becks said.

  “I’m thinking of a chocolate cupcake with chocolate chips inside…”

  They all went, “Mmmm!”

  “Then it would have white cream cheese frosting with white chocolate chips… mini white chocolate chips. I’ll call it the Snow Angel.”

  Weasel’s eyes started to shine. He said, “Ahhh, the Snow Angel. If you let me be your manager, I’ll make it the best-loved cupcake in the world!”

  We all let out a squeal and began to race away.

  “Wait!” yelled Weasel. “I don’t have to be your manager!”

  But we kept running and laughing, with Weasel chasing us all the way to the bakery. I raced out ahead, wanting to lead, feeling good to be out in front. But I slowed down, just a bit. I didn’t want to be too far ahead of my friends. Even Weasel. A good leader has to know when to run with the pack—and when to pull away.

  As Lauren caught up, she shouted, “Last one there has to wash the pans!”

  As I laughed with my friends, I realized I had learned that the best recipe for success was one that included all the right ingredients: staying true to yourself, following a plan that makes sense, and trusting the ones you love. Now I knew that as long as I remembered that lesson, no matter what happened in any election or anything else, I couldn’t lose.

  I smiled as we ran to the bakery together, leaving a trail of powdered-sugar footprints behind.