by Robin Palmer
“The people who put their kids in classes when they can’t even walk yet, and try and make it so they’re geniuses with that baby-classical-music stuff!” I cried. “And now it’s like ... you’re one of them.” I felt my eyes fill up with tears. “It’s like ... oh, just forget it.”
“No, tell me. It’s like what?”
“It’s like ... the more pregnant Sarah gets, the weirder you get,” I blurted out. There. I had finally said what had been on my mind for weeks.
“Honey, it’s just that when you have a child, you want the best for them—”
“But I’m your child, too!” I replied as the tears began to fall. “And I didn’t have any of those things. So what does that mean? That you didn’t want the best for me?”
It’s not like I wanted to be like most of my classmates and have so many extracurricular activities that my closet was overflowing with instruments and sports equipment. But the way he was talking, it was like he thought Ziggy was going to grow up to be president while I was going to work at a fast-food restaurant or something.
“And not only that, but all that stuff you’re doing—with the sage, and that sloshing-water CD—”
“Lucy, Sarah thinks that—”
“That’s exactly it!” I exploded. “It’s like everything out of your mouth is ‘Sarah this’ or ‘Ziggy that’! I know that you and Mom are divorced, and I’m in New York, but sometimes I feel like you’ve just gone ahead and made this new family and you don’t care anything about your old one!”
“Lucy, nothing could be further from the truth,” he said. “I’m really sorry you’ve been feeling this way, and I’m glad you finally told me. Because you know what Sarah says—”
I rolled my eyes. “That you live longer if you don’t keep your feelings bottled up inside you.”
“Exactly. And in a few weeks, when you’re up here for the baby shower, we’ll spend some quality time together. Just the two of us—”
“But the shower isn’t until the end of October.”
“Actually, we’ve made it a little earlier. That’s part of why I called. It’s now going to be the first Saturday in October.”
“But that’s two days before the election!” I cried. “That’s totally unfair! I need to be in New York for the last-minute campaigning!”
“Sweetie, I’m sorry, but we have to move it,” Dad said.
“Why?” I demanded.
“Astrid, the astrologer down at the yoga studio, told Sarah that there’s a very lucky new moon that particular Saturday,” Dad explained. “And if the sheep’s tooth that’s been blessed by the Mongolian monk that she ordered off eBay arrives in time, it will be the perfect time to do a ritual so that your baby is born with a high IQ.”
Sheep’s teeth? Mongolian monks? Again with the weirdness. I waited for him to say something like “Just kidding!” but he didn’t. “So when you’re here, we’ll do something really special together. Just the two of us. Okay?”
“I think I just heard the doorbell ring,” I said as I wiped my eyes. “So I have to go now.”
According to the Official Parker-Moses Family Rules, hanging up the phone while mad (#33) was almost as bad as going to sleep angry (#7), but at that moment I didn’t care that I was breaking any rules.
Plus, now that Dad was part of his own family—one that he didn’t really seem to care if I joined or not—he probably didn’t even notice.
Mom gives me all this grief about overlistening, but the truth is she does it herself sometimes. Which is why, that night after dinner, Alan called an Emergency Parker-Moses Family Meeting, forcing me to TiVo the special on Animal Planet called Oh, You Animal, You! about mating habits across the animal kingdom.
It wasn’t an official family meeting, on account of the fact that part of the family (Laurel) was working. Which was a good thing, because what happened at the meeting was so embarrassing, I would have died if she had been there to see it.
“I’m not letting the campaign get in the way of my homework. I swear,” I said as I sat across from them. “I mean, yes, okay, I didn’t do so great on that first algebra quiz, but—”
“This isn’t about your schoolwork,” Mom said.
“It’s not?” I asked, relieved.
“Wait, just how ‘not great’ are we talking about here?” Alan asked suspiciously.
“You know, I don’t actually remember,” I said quickly. Actually, I did. I had gotten an 80. “So what’s it about then?”
Mom pulled out a Barnes & Noble bag and handed it to me. “We thought we could read these and discuss them.”
“Together. As a family,” Alan added.
I froze. “But I already know about the facts of life. We’ve been over them like ten times.” I couldn’t believe Mom and Alan were so desperate for stuff for us to do as a family that we had to talk about puberty.
Mom shook her head. “That’s not what they are. Just open the bag.”
When I did, I found two books. Both were written for kids who were preschool age. “A Baby Sister for Onyx and Isn’t This Fun!” I read aloud. One had a picture of a cat and a kitten, while the other had an adult and a baby penguin.
“They’re books about adjusting to a new sibling,” Mom explained.
“Unfortunately, the only other books they had on the subject were really dense psychology ones,” Alan explained. “So I figured while these may skew a little young, they’d still be helpful.”
A little young? They looked like they were for three-year-olds.
“The sentiment is the same,” agreed Mom. “So why don’t we read them and then we can discuss what feelings they bring up for you.”
I looked at them. “You’re joking, right?”
They shook their heads.
I sighed. Did I now have to be worried that not just one of my parents had gone crazy but three? I couldn’t believe they thought baby books would somehow solve my problems, because they wouldn’t. The only thing that could possibly do that was if I could somehow push the Rewind button on my life and go back to when things were semi-normal. Like when my frister was still talking to me and my father wasn’t obsessed with a kid who wasn’t even here yet.
I picked up the book with the cats and flipped the pages. That being said, the illustrations were pretty cool. And at least it would take my mind off the election for a few minutes.
But two days later, as I stood in front of 157 seventh graders, a bunch of teachers, and a few janitors, I was back to worrying about the election. Through Miss Piggy, Laurel had given me some suggestions about how not to be nervous when standing in front of a bunch of people. Like picturing them in their underwear, or pretending they were foreigners who didn’t speak English, so it didn’t matter what I said because they wouldn’t understand me anyway.
But that morning none of the suggestions worked. In fact, the pretending-they’re-foreigners one actually hurt me, because it caused me to talk really, really loud, which, when you’re talking into a microphone, is not a good idea. Especially when the microphone starts doing that annoying feedback thing with screeching.
“Whoops. Sorry about that,” I said loudly into it, cringing when it did it again while the crowd covered their ears. I squinted at the piece of notebook paper that Alice was holding up in front of her in the front row. Because it was written in pink ink, it was really hard to read.
“What does that say?” I whispered.
“It says ‘Ex-nay on the foreigner stuff ... go back to pretending everyone’s naked or in kindergarten,’ ” she yelled.
I turned bright red. “Umm ... so where was I,” I mumbled.
“You were at the ‘And if I’m elected president, there are many things I plan to do in order to bridge the gap between the Haves and the Have-Nots and to get rid of the horrible problem of Mean People–ism in this school,” Beatrice called out. Because of the controlfreak thing, Beatrice had ended up memorizing my speech as well.
“Oh right. And if I’m elected president, there ar
e many things I plan to do in order to bridge the gap between the Haves and the Have-Nots and to get rid of the horrible problem of Mean People–ism in this school,” I yelled into the microphone.
As to what those things were, I wasn’t quite sure yet on account of the fact I had been spending most of my time coming up with campaign slogans such as GOT BRAINS? VOTE FOR LUCY B. PARKER. I had been hoping that this would be when people would start getting really inspired—maybe a wave of excited whispers that grew into a cheer. Instead, all I got was a bunch of yawns, because it was about a billion degrees in the auditorium. And Philip Dirkin picking his nose.
Just then, Nicole Pennaker’s hand shot up and started waving around.
I turned to Dr. Rem-Wall, who was seated on the corner of the stage. She was blinking a lot, the way I did when it was late and I was trying to stay awake to watch the end of a movie. “Wait a minute—there was nothing in the election rules about having to answer questions during this speech,” I said. Especially questions from Nicole, a girl who could recite the entire school handbook and then followed every rule to a T. I couldn’t call on her! But if I didn’t answer questions, then it would look like I was unprepared and hadn’t totally thought out my campaign. Which ... was kind of true.
“Yes, Nicole?” I asked nervously. I was so getting my period right then—I just knew it.
“And what exactly is it that you intend to do?” she demanded.
“Do when?”
She rolled her eyes. “If you’re elected president,” she said.
“I already told you—I’m going to work to make it so that there are no more Have-Nots. Everyone will be a Have,” I said proudly.
“Yeah, but how exactly are you going to do that?”
This was getting worse by the second. Why did people have to be so into details? Laurel was like that, too. “Unfortunately, I can’t really tell you right now on account of the fact that a lot of those ways are big surprises,” I replied. “You know, because of how good they are.” Great. Now instead of spending my Saturday at the movies seeing Connor and Austin’s new movie Baboon Bros, I’d be cooped up in the apartment trying to come up with these great surprises.
“Give us a hint!” Sam Meltzer called out.
I looked over to Team Have-Not for help, but they looked just as panicked as I felt. “We’re, uh, still working on fine-tuning them, but when we have, I’ll be sure to post them on LucyB4Prez.com.” A website that we hadn’t gotten up yet because we hadn’t been able to decide on a background color. (I, of course, wanted purple, but Beatrice said some of the boy voters might find it a little girly.) “So be sure to check back there regularly for updates.” I started to make my way off the stage and then turned and went back to the microphone. “Thank you very much for your time,” I added as more feedback screeched through the room. “And in case you forgot, my name is Lucy B. Parker. But if you do forget, that’s okay, too, since, because I’m the only other person running against Cristina Pollock, it won’t be hard to find my name on the ballot.” More feedback. “Well, uh, see ya,” I blurted before I ran off for good this time
Finally, I was finished. I’d made it through the entire speech, plus an unexpected question! Other than the microphone issue, the sweat stains, and the idea that I wasn’t able to answer the question about what things I intended to do if elected president, I thought the whole thing had gone great.
At least until Cristina walked on stage and a huge burst of applause began. As I looked around, I realized it wasn’t just the popular kids who were clapping for her, or the semi-popular ones, or even the just-normal ones. It was the seriously unpopular kids, too. The same ones who had come up to me when no one was around to tell me how glad they were that I was running because Cristina needed to be stopped. Okay, that was so not fair. Talk about two-faced. If I hadn’t been so desperate, I would have made an announcement telling them I had no interest in their votes.
But as I watched them suck up to her—clapping even louder than the popular people—I realized that they just wanted Cristina to stop being mean to them. Which I totally understood because I wanted Cristina to stop being mean to me, too. But still, it wasn’t like I was going to clap for her. Until I realized that not clapping probably looked very rude and unpresidential-like, which is why I did clap. But just a little.
“Hi, everyone. Thanks sooooo much for coming today,” Cristina said with a big smile after all the applause stopped. “I’d tell you my name,” she continued, “but I think everyone here already knows it, seeing that I’ve been at the top of every ‘Most Popular’ list—official and unofficial—since second grade.”
More clapping. This was not good. In fact, seeing the crowd acting like Hannah Montana was standing in front of them and she had barely said anything yet was pretty bad. And what drove me the most nuts about this whole thing was that when other people were looking (i.e., teachers), Cristina acted like she was a Nice Person, and because she was so believable, you’d never have known that, really, she was a Mean Person.
“I’m going to keep this short, as I’m sure everyone wants to get to lunch. Oh, and by the way? If I’m elected president, I’m going to try my best to get them to put in an all-you-can-eat sushi bar in the cafeteria.” She looked over at me “Some of us are actually prepared for this thing.”
“Wait a minute—she can’t do that!” Beatrice cried over the roar of applause and whoo-hooing. “She’s never going to be able to pull that off. That’s false advertising! I’m going to look into suing her. That would totally get her disqualified.”
Not to mention that some people—i.e., ME—hated seafood of any kind other than fried clam rolls from Friendly’s.
“All I wanted to say is that I’d be more than happy to tell you guys what I plan to do when I’m president because it’s all really awesome stuff. Like, in addition to the sushi bar, I’m going to try and get us half-day Fridays.”
With that one, I had to cover my ears because the whooping was so loud.
“Plus, I’m working on an essay about how a class trip to the Bahamas in January would help us get better grades because not only would we be tan, but we’d be all relaxed and therefore in good moods.”
The whooping got louder. This time even Mr. Eagle Eye got into it. Well, at least until Dr. Remington-Wallace shot him a dirty look.
Nicole Pennaker waved her hand around wildly. Finally. Someone to put Cristina in her place.
“Yes, Nicole?” Cristina asked, all fakey sweet. The reason I knew she was being fake is because once when I was in the girls’ bathroom checking to see if I had gotten my period, I overheard Cristina telling Chloe how annoying Nicole was because she took her hall monitor position way too seriously.
“What I want to know—” Nicole began.
“By the way, I love your cardigan,” Cristina gushed.
Another lie! Just minutes before the assembly I was overlistening and heard her say to Marni that she thought that it made Nicole look like a pumpkin.
“Really? You do?” Nicole asked, blushing so that she really did look like a pumpkin. “Thanks. When I saw it, it reminded me of that really pretty blue one you have.”
What was wrong with these people?! Was everyone totally desperate to be popular? I could see Cristina’s act working on some of the not-so-smart kids, but Nicole got the best grades in class after Francesca Leoni. You’d think she could see through this stuff.
“I’m sorry, I interrupted you,” Cristina said sweetly. “That was very rude of me. Now what was your question?”
Oh please. She was being so fakey sweet it was giving me a cavity. “Oh, that’s okay,” Nicole said, just as butt-kissy. “I think it’s awesome that you’ve put so much thought into all of this. The half days, and the sushi bar, and the class trip to the Bahamas all sound really great. But I was wondering ... even though some of your other opponents don’t appear to have a clear idea of what they’d do—”
I slunk down in my chair. Seeing that I was the only other
opponent, that would be me she was talking about.
“—she did bring up an important issue. Which is the fact that there’s a big gap here at the Center between the popular and unpopular,” she continued. “Can you maybe give us a hint of what you plan to do about that?”
“That’s a fantastic question, Nicole!” Cristina exclaimed.
Her smile was so big I’m surprised she didn’t blind people with the glint off her braces. “It is? Really? I’m so glad!”
I didn’t even try to stop my eyes from rolling.
Cristina looked over at Team Have, aka Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumber, aka Chloe and Marni. “Guys, what was it again that I was thinking about when it came to the Have/Have-Not thing?”
The two of them looked blank.
“Remember, Marni?” she demanded. “That thing you brought up right before assembly?”
From the look on Marni’s face, she didn’t. “Uhhh ...”
“That really, really good idea I had?”
“Oh ... you mean.... the thing that’s kind of like the Big Sister/Big Brother program, except it’s like Popular/ Not-Popular?” Marni asked.
Wait a minute—that was a good idea.
“Yes! Exactly!” Cristina replied, relieved. “So can you explain the idea to Nicole, please? You know how you’re so much better at doing that than I am.” She flashed a smile.
Marni looked nervous. “Okay, um, so you know how they have Take-Your-Daughter-to-Work Day?”
Nicole nodded.
“Well, what we’d have is something called ... Hang-Out-with-Your-Unpopular-Friend Day,” she explained. “And what would happen is, a popular person would adopt an unpopular one for the day.”
“And the unpopular one would get to sit with them at lunch, and become their friend on Facebook,” Cristina interrupted. “And if there was a sleepover going on that weekend, they could come to the sleepover. That kind of stuff.”
A bunch of whispered “Wow—that’s an awesome idea” s and “She’s really put a lot of thought into this thing”s spread through the auditorium. I tried to keep my sigh as quiet and non-frustrated-sounding as possible, but it was hard. Here she was, getting credit for something that wasn’t even her idea—it was Marni’s.