by Dee Romito
She smiles as she gets up, and the seat bottom clunks back and forth against the hard metal back. “Great. You’re on in five, but we’ll do a group number today to ease you into it.”
When I pull out my phone, there’s a whole screen of text messages. Now that the international feast is Bren’s idea, no one is complaining. Instead they’re offering to help. I’m not sure Dad will have a family recipe for me, but I have an idea.
“We’re up. You ready?” Tate must have super soft-soled sneakers, because I never hear his footsteps.
“Yeah, just one favor?” I ask with my best pleading voice.
“Anything.”
Oh boy, now, that’s an answer.
“Pay no attention to the girl in the cell phone,” I say. I hit FaceTime on Mayleen’s contact page, and within seconds her bright, cheery face is up on my screen.
“Hey, Kenzie,” she says with a wave. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”
Tate squeezes into the camera’s view and waves back.
“This is Scarecrow,” I say.
“That is definitely not the Scarecrow I remember.” She giggles, and Tate takes the compliment with his usual charm.
When we get up the stairs, I casually set the phone up at the edge of the stage and whisper. “Now be quiet. The show’s about to start.”
As the music for “We’re Off to See the Wizard” begins, Mayleen makes reindeer antlers with her thumbs stuck in her ears and sticks out her tongue. Her antics continue through the whole song.
And while I might be laughing at inappropriate places, at least I’m onstage, singing, and experiencing what it’s like to just be a girl in middle school.
chapter twelve
I can’t believe how well this came together,” I say to Bren. Book club is in the caf today since food isn’t allowed in the library.
“Not bad, sunshine,” he says. “Maybe you should consider taking on a bigger role in the club.”
I plop some pad thai onto the last free spot on my plate and head toward a table. Bren and I sit down.
“I’ve already bitten off more than I can chew,” I say, the irony of taking a big bite of a quesadilla not escaping me.
Bren laughs. “I’d say so.”
When I can speak without food in my mouth, I clarify. “I mean I’m already running for student council and doing the musical,” I say. “Plus, Ashia and I are planning to go ice-skating, and I’m taking photography lessons and hoping I can join the photography club.”
Bren stares at me. “Geez. It’s like you were raised by wolves and you’ve never seen a middle school before.” He laughs again.
Yeah, well, maybe not wolves, but do hotel employees and flight attendants count?
“This stuff wasn’t available at my old school.” I finally decide on the right words. “And I’m excited. But I’m realizing I can’t do it all.”
Divi, who writes for the school’s digital newspaper, sits next to me. She’s been really helpful in spreading the word about our campaign. “Hi, Kenzie. Ashia asked me to remind you you’re supposed to help with her speech after this.”
There’s all this delicious-smelling food in front of me, and I can’t seem to find a moment to eat it. I try for a quick response. “I know. She already reminded me this morning, at lunch, and at the end of the day.” As if Ashia has a secret camera on us, at that moment a text message from her comes through—reminding me to come to her house after book club.
“Thanks again for helping with the campaign,” I say. “And with the feast. Which food is yours?”
She points to the bread on my plate. “It’s called naan. My mom makes it every night with dinner, so it was super easy to bring in.”
I use the conversation as an opportunity to eat. The bread is warm, and I love how the crunchy brown bubbles go perfectly with the soft parts of the bread. “Yum,” I say. Forget not talking with your mouth full. This stuff is worth it.
“You should come over some time,” says Divi. “If you think this is good, wait until you taste the rest of a Patil family meal.”
“I’d really love that. Let’s do it soon,” I say. Because that is something I do not want to miss, and my window of opportunity is getting smaller and smaller.
“Which one is yours?” asks Divi as Bren looks on.
I point to the fondue pot. “My ancestors came from all over the place,” I say. “I picked a Swiss cheese fondue.”
“Good call,” says Bren, clearing the last bit of food on his plate. “I’m ready for round two.” He’s up and at the food table with lightning speed.
“Thanks for putting all this together,” says Divi. “We’re glad you’re here. I hope you’re liking your new home.” She gets up and heads over to the fondue pot, where Bren is still piling bread and vegetables on his plate.
My new home.
I take a deep breath and close my eyes, suddenly feeling like Dorothy in the middle of Oz.
* * *
It’s Friday, aka Debate Day. I’ve practiced Ashia’s speech with her the last couple days, and she’s totally ready for it. I head to the auditorium to meet up and listen to her go over it one more time.
But instead of Ashia, Divi is waiting at the stage door for me.
“I’m so glad I found you, Kenzie,” she says. “I have some bad news.”
Uh-oh. That is never a good start to a conversation. “What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Ashia went home sick,” she says. “She asked me to let you know. She is so disappointed to be missing this, but the nurse wouldn’t let her stay with the throwing up and all.”
“Well, that explains why she wasn’t eating at lunch,” I say. “But who’s going to debate?”
Divi just stares at me, like she’s afraid to say what she needs to say.
“No way, Divi. Public speaking and I do not go well together,” I say, walking away from her.
She grabs my arm and I have no choice but to stand there and listen. “She needs you, Kenzie. You know her speech and all her debating points. And technically, this is your job: to back up the future class president.”
“Divi, I can’t. I mean, I physically cannot get up there and debate,” I say. “The thought of everyone staring at me makes me all shaky. I can’t even look at all those kids out there.”
“So don’t look at them,” she says. “Problem solved, right?”
“No, problem is not solved,” I insist. “I can’t go up there and talk in front of the entire seventh-grade class.”
Bren appears out of nowhere and exchanges looks with Divi.
“You can do this, Kenzie,” he says. He guides me backstage and pulls out a chair so I can sit down. “Rule number one: Make eye contact with one person at a time. It will help you focus. Rule number two: If you need time, pause for ten seconds. Everyone will think you did it to make a statement, and you’ll have their complete attention.”
I can tell Divi is as impressed as I am. “How do you know all this?” I ask.
“I listen to TED talks,” he says.
“You’re kidding! I thought I was the only kid who did that,” I say. I’m about to say that my dad regularly assigns them as homework, but stop myself from giving too much of that life away.
“Hold the phone,” says Divi. “Who the heck is Ted and why are you two being so gushy about him?”
Bren and I laugh. “They’re short, really powerful talks from people all over the world,” I say.
“Well, okay,” says Divi. “Sounds like you’ve studied enough of them to know how to do it, then, yes?”
I take a deep breath. I guess maybe I have. “You’re right. If we want a shot to win this thing, I have to do this.”
* * *
A few minutes before the debate, my mind is totally ready. My body, however, has not gotten the message. I’m still shaky. My knees are more like marshmallows than bones. My heart thinks it’s the front-runner in an Ironman race.
The sounds of auditorium seats being folded d
own and students chatting with their friends fill my ears. “Why do I keep doing this?” I say to Divi.
“Doing what?” she asks. “You keep running for class council?”
“No. I keep putting myself in situations where I’m on that stage, with all those eyes watching me,” I say. “Why?”
Divi sits down next to me. “Because this is your chance,” she says. “To see what you can do.”
For a second I wonder if she knows my secret.
“Kenzie, you’re smart and you’re brave,” says Divi. “You’ve got this.”
You’re brave. It’s probably not a good thing to start crying before a big debate, but Divi’s words are exactly what I need right now. I give her an enormous hug, so tight that she coughs when I squeeze her.
“Sorry,” I say as I let go. “But you are seriously the best.”
Mr. Kumar pokes his head around the corner. “Kenzie, it’s time.” And just like that, he’s gone.
“I’ll stay backstage,” promises Divi. “Turn to your right and I’ll be here cheering you on.”
I nod and make my way to the front, but there’s one more thing I need to do.
I tap my phone screen, and Mayleen’s face fills it up in no time. “I won’t say a word,” she says. “Good luck.”
“Thanks,” I whisper. Divi’s words and Mayleen’s smile will get me through this.
I set the phone on the podium in front of me and adjust my notes. Only then do I turn to Tate and do my best to smile like I’m not one teensy bit nervous. He reaches out and we shake hands, but he holds on a couple of seconds more at the end than standard hand-shaking procedure would require.
“Welcome to the official debate for seventh-grade class president,” says Mr. Kumar. “Due to circumstances beyond our control, vice presidential candidate Kenzie Rhines will be filling in for presidential candidate Ashia Boyce. I will ask a question proposed by the seventh grade, and each candidate will be given time to answer. At the end, they will make their closing statements. Please be considerate of your fellow classmates as you listen to their responses.” He looks directly at a few of the biggest troublemakers before addressing the class again. “Now, ladies and gentleman, please give a big hand to your student council hopefuls, Kenzie Rhines and Tate O’Dea.”
The audience erupts and I instantly have a flashback to elementary school. Whenever there was anything at all that gave us a chance to be loud, we were. Middle school is apparently no different. Mr. Kumar quiets the crowd with a wave of his hand.
“Question number one,” he says. “What qualities do you and your vice president possess that would make you the best choice? We’ll start with Miss Rhines.”
We prepared this one, but as I think back to my backstage pep talk with Divi, a new answer comes to mind. “Thank you, Mr. Kumar. And thank you all for taking the time to listen to what we have to say.” The first thing you always do is thank the moderator and the people—that much I know. You mess that one up and you’re already toast.
“A good friend just informed me that I’m smart and I’m brave, although I’m not sure I would have ever described myself that way. But I do thank her for her kind words.”
I try to make eye contact with one person in the audience like Bren said, but when I do, it hits me that the entire seventh-grade class is out there. More than two hundred kids. All eyes on me. Darn it, now I have sweaty palms, too. I focus on my notes but catch Mayleen waving her hands frantically, which manages to get my attention. She takes a deep breath herself and motions with her hands for me to do the same. I do.
“I’m organized,” I say. “My dad and I travel quite a bit, and I’m the one who keeps all the schedules, flight information, and info on the best tourist spots handy. I’m also the one who remembers to bring extra pretzels, because you never want pretzels as much as you do on an airplane once that little bag is empty, right?”
The audience laughs, giving me a small shot of confidence.
“I’m a good student, I’m willing to take on challenges, and I believe that everyone’s voice should be heard.” As the words come out of my mouth, I understand more about myself than I even thought I did. “I’m a team player, and most of all I’m . . .”
No, Kenzie. Do not do this again.
But it’s not stage fright that stops me from speaking this time—it’s the lie that I’m trying to force out. That I’m dependable.
In one sense, I am. I’ve always been the one who people can count on. If I say I’ll do something, I’ll do it. But now, standing in front of all these people who believe that if they vote for me I’ll be their dependable vice president, I’m not so sure I am. What dependable person runs for class council when she knows she won’t even be here to do the job?
Mayleen is waving her arms again on my phone screen. When she has my attention, she mouths the perfect words.
I take a ten-second pause.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “Sometimes my brain runs ahead of me a bit. What I meant to say was that, most of all, I’m so very happy to be here, and I would love to be your choice for seventh-grade vice president.”
Mayleen gives me a thumbs-up and a big smile as the crowd once again takes the chance to get loud.
I launch into what was supposed to be Ashia’s speech, giving the audience all the reasons why they should vote for her. Because she’s the reason I’m up here doing this, and I am not going to lose this for her.
“You will not find a more qualified candidate than Ashia Boyce,” I say. And against my better judgment, I turn to my opponent.
Okay, Tate, bring it on.
chapter thirteen
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.
I’m hanging on to the boards at the ice rink like I’ve completely forgotten how to skate.
“Need a little help?” Tate skates backward in front of me as I push my way forward.
“I’m fine,” I say. “It’s just been a while.” I let go and force myself to skate away from the boards.
He holds out his gloved hand. “Come on. You may have kicked my butt at the debate yesterday, but I won’t hold that against you.”
Oh man, that smile.
Ashia, luckily feeling much better, is across the ice with Divi, and they’re waving their arms in a take his hand and skate kind of way. Well, okay then.
I grab Tate’s hand and let my feet glide as his momentum takes us around the ice. I’m not fully aware of what this must look like until a group of kids from school stop mid-ice and stare.
“Don’t worry,” he says, squeezing my hand tighter. “They’ll all gossip no matter what we do. Let’s skate.”
As we go by the benches, Divi shouts, “Great event, Kenzie!”
This Saturday skating adventure is part of our campaign strategy—showing our class that under our leadership there will be some great events and chances for us all to get together outside of school. Of course, it’s a total bonus for me, because I get to go hang out with everyone, and I have to say, it’s pretty amazing. And since Dad is miraculously not working this weekend, it made sense to do it now. I was so pumped at the end of the debate that I invited everyone along. Seemed like a great time to announce it. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised when they showed up.
A bunch of kids skate up next to us when we get to the other side. “Thanks for the invite, Kenzie,” says a boy from my science class. “We should do this stuff more often.”
The girl next to him is skating like it’s as simple as walking. “Yeah, you and Ashia are going to make a great team,” she says. “Sorry, Tate.”
“Sure,” I say. “And thanks.” The group skates off, and I ease up on Tate’s hand. “Sorry,” I say. “No one knows who’s going to win.”
Tate skates backward, taking both of my hands and guiding me along the ice. “You’re going to win, Kenzie,” he says. “I fought the good fight, but people love you guys. My goodness, even Shelby helped with your campaign.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure Shelby will
be voting for you.” I laugh, and a look of realization comes over Tate’s face.
“Oh” is all he says. “Well, all I can say is that even I’m voting for you.”
I’m sorry—what now?
“You’re supposed to vote for yourself,” I say. “It’s tradition.”
“No more election talk.” Tate spins to the side of me, but I let go of his hand and wave as I skate past him. It’s nothing that will earn me an Olympic medal, but I am standing on my own two feet.
* * *
Tuesday morning. Election Day.
Apparently, it’s quick and painless. Everyone votes in homeroom and the winners are announced at the end of the day. I’m not sure why I’m so nervous. I mean, either way, Dad and I are leaving in less than three weeks.
So why do I want this so bad? Is it really just for Ashia?
Ashia catches me in the hall. “Kenzie! This is going to be great. We’ll be able to do so much and make so many changes around here for the better.”
I put my hands on her shoulders. “Ashia, take a breath.”
She does. “I’m so excited.”
“Yes, I can see that,” I say, heading in the direction of homeroom. “I am too, but this could go either way.”
This time, she stops me. “Girl, you have this whole place into this election,” she says. “You’re planning skating parties, international feasts, and apparently some photography contest?”
“Oh yeah, did I not tell you about that?” I say innocently. “This town is so beautiful and there are so many talented kids in this school, I thought it would be fun. My dad’s friend is a big-time photographer and he offered to judge.”
“See, this is what I’m talking about,” she says. “Things have changed ever since you arrived.”
Since I arrived. How much will things change when I leave?
The warning bell for homeroom goes off.
“Good luck,” says Ashia. “Don’t forget to vote for yourself!” And she’s off as the massive crowds filter into classrooms like swarms of bees.
This is exactly what I wanted. The chance to see what I can do, on my own, with no one around me who has to give me what I want. So why is the tiny cloud of guilt I’ve been carrying turning into a raging tornado inside me right now?