by Robin Palmer
I stood there, listening to Cristina give her speech about how excited she was to be president again, and how she was sorry she hadn’t gotten to meet as many unpopular kids during the campaign as she would have liked. I couldn’t believe how calm I was. Usually none of my plans worked out the way they were supposed to, but this one was going off without a hitch. So far, at least.
There wasn’t a ton of laughter or clapping for Cristina. No text from Laurel saying she was having a panic attack in the janitor’s closet because of her claustrophobia. No sweat stains underneath my arms.
If it weren’t for the baby shower that I’d be leaving for in a few hours, I could say that life was actually ... really good.
Well, until I turned around and saw Laurel. And the fact that she was still in her dorky disguise.
“Why are you still wearing that?” I hissed.
“Alice left the wrong bag with me. And then I texted you, but you didn’t reply,” Laurel whispered as she pushed her fake glasses up on the bridge of her nose.
“I didn’t get a text from you!” I said as I took my phone out. Which, I discovered, I had somehow managed to turn off. When I turned it on, there was Laurel’s text. As well as one that said, Uh-oh. I just realized I left the wrong bag with Laurel ... from Alice.
I sighed. That was the problem when people copied celebrities by buying the things they saw them with in magazines—Alice and Laurel had the same pink I’M NOT A PAPER BAG AND I’M PROUD OF IT tote.
I walked over to the curtain and peered behind it. As Cristina said, “Well, I’m going to wrap it up now. I mean, what more can I say other than if you’re smart, you’ll vote for me because ... well, I’m me,” I looked back at Laurel pacing in her dork outfit and started to panic.
“This is a disaster!” I cried, flopping down in a chair. I put my head between my knees, a trick Laurel had taught me. She did it whenever she got super-anxious. Like, say, when she had to sing at the White House. “What are we going to do now?”
Laurel, whose brown loafers made a very annoying squeak/squish/creak sound, stopped pacing and turned to me. “Actually, it’s not a disaster,” she said calmly. “In fact, it’s perfect.”
I lifted my head up. “Um, how is this perfect?”
“Thank you for that very ... self-confident speech, Cristina,” I heard Dr. Rem-Wall say into the microphone. “And now, we’ll hear from her opponent—Lucy B. Parker.” I tried not to cringe at the lame amount of applause that followed.
Laurel smoothed her wig and walked over to the curtain. Before she lifted it, she turned to me. “Season three, episode five,” she said, then disappeared through it.
“What does that mean?!” I cried. I didn’t even have Internet access so I could look it up on the online episode guide on the Madison website. This couldn’t get any worse!
I ran over to the edge of the stage so I could watch things go even more wrong than they already were. I peeked out at the crowd and heard them start to whisper once they got a look at someone who obviously wasn’t me. Very quickly, the whispers turned to giggles.
“Good afternoon, students of the Center for Creative Learning,” Laurel said into the microphone. “As you can see, I’m not Lucy B. Parker—”
“Yeah, you’re even dorkier than she is!” Mark Wallace yelled out. I had always thought he was a jerk, but now I knew he was.
Beatrice stood up from her seat in the front room and whipped around. “Excuse me, you’re calling someone a dork?”
I cringed. As awesome as it was that Beatrice had the guts to stand up in front of the entire seventh grade on my behalf, this was not the time for a debate about whether I was a dork or not to take place.
“Yeah, who are you?” Renata Spencer called out. “Because I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before.”
“Are you Amish?” someone else called out.
Cristina stood up and turned toward the crowd. “I’d just like to say that whoever she is, to show how committed I am to this school, I’m more than happy to completely make her over after this assembly is over. I know one of Lucy’s campaign slogans was friends don’t let friends be mean to dorks, but as far as I’m concerned, friends also don’t let friends walk around looking like that.” The crowd laughed. “At least let me try and do something with your hair.”
Just as I was about to rush onto the stage and rescue Laurel, she reached up and yanked off her wig. “You mean something more like this?” she asked sweetly when the audience gasped.
I really wished I’d had my camera with me, because the sight of Cristina looking like a bug-eyed blowfish with her mouth stuck in the shape of an O was beyond awesome.
The audience began to buzz, and Laurel reached up and, with a big smile, calmly removed her glasses. “So as I was saying,” she went on, “I’m not Lucy B. Parker. I’m her big frister, Laurel.”
The crowd began to whisper. “We love you, Laurel Moses!” Samantha Pringle yelled out. According to her Facebook profile, Samantha was the four-time president of the Gramercy Park chapter of the Laurel Moses Fan Club.
“Wow,” Laurel said. “That’s soooo sweet of you guys!”
Okay, I was officially lost. What was going on here? And why was she being so nice to people who had just been so mean to her? I mean, yes, Laurel was a genuinely nice person; and because she was a superstar, she had to be a lot more careful than normal people not to lose her temper or else it would end up as front-page news, but still—this was not how I’d expected this to go.
Laurel’s smile started to fade. “But I have to say, I’m a little confused,” she continued. “ ’ Cause a second ago, before you knew it was me, when you thought I was this dorky ... Amish person, you didn’t seem to love me.”
“Of course we do,” Cristina sputtered. “See, we were just acting.”
“Oh. You mean how some of you act like non-popular people aren’t as important as popular ones?” She shrugged. “Because I doubt that anyone in this school really feels that way. Right?”
Was it my imagination, or did Cristina turn bright red?
“You know, as horrible as it felt to stand up on this stage and be made fun of, I’m glad it happened,” Laurel went on. “Because that, more than anything, shows you why Lucy’s promise to end dork discrimination and get rid of Mean People–ism is so important.”
Ohhhh ... Now I remembered season three, episode five! It was the one where Madison got mad that girls weren’t allowed to join the football team, and disguised herself as a boy and tried out and then, after her true identity was discovered, gave this big speech about how everyone was created equal.
Cristina stood up and turned to Dr. Rem-Wall. “Excuse me, but the candidates are supposed to be giving these speeches. Not their family members or friends. This is against the rules!”
I walked out from behind the curtain. “Actually, if you look in the rules and regulations, you’ll see that it doesn’t say who has to give the second speech.” I handed my printout to Dr. Rem-Wall. “You can double-check, if you’d like.”
She took the paper from me and looked it over. “Lucy seems to be right, Cristina. Now please sit down. And be quiet.”
Led by Beatrice, the members of Team Have-Not stood up and clapped. It was a little sad, the sight of three lone figures in that big crowd, but it still made me all teary. Mom was always saying that you were super lucky to go through life with just one good friend, so the fact that I had four made me way above average. Which Alan would be happy about, seeing that he was always going on about how, to get into a good college, you had to be beyond average.
“I know a lot of you don’t know Lucy that well because she only moved to New York last spring. I just want you to know that those of you who haven’t had a chance to spend time with her, you’re really missing out,” Laurel went on. “I’ve been lucky to meet a lot of interesting people in my life, but I’m here to tell you that Lucy’s at the top of the list.”
“Even more interesting than Austin Mackenzie?”
someone called out.
She smiled. “Yeah. Even more interesting than Austin. And if any of you read the gossip blogs, you know that I find him pretty interesting.”
Everyone laughed, including me. Maybe this wasn’t a total disaster after all.
“But what’s even cooler than her hat collection, or the fact that she has more pairs of Chuck Taylors than anyone I know, or that she keeps a lot of logs, is the fact that more than anyone I know, Lucy is one hundred percent herself,” she said. “If she tells you she’s going to do something, she does it. If she tells you she likes your outfit, she means it. Unfortunately, if you ask her if your outfit looks stupid, and she says yes, you have to believe that, too.” More laughter. “And if I went to a regular school instead of being tutored on set, I’d totally want a president like that.”
I was glad to see the nodding that was coming from the audience.
“I’d want a president who knows what it’s like not to be popular!” she continued. “Who knows what it’s like to be teased!” A chorus of “mm-hm”s could be heard. “To understand the pain of what it’s like to be chosen last for volleyball for gym!”
“I know what that feels like!” cried Fred Dresser, a freckled-faced, shrimpy, chosen-last-in-gym kid.
Wow. Maybe Laurel should give up acting and go into politics. She was really good at this.
“To ... to ... to be made to wait for an hour in a very hot monkey costume so you get super-sweaty and look disgusting when the camera starts rolling and you have to take it off because the guest star on that week’s episode of your series thinks you were flirting with her boyfriend which, by the way, you totally were not.”
Okay, maybe that part got her a lot of confused looks, but she really had them up until then.
“You guys don’t have the honor of living with Lucy B. Parker, but I do,” she said passionately. “And I’m here to tell you that she’s got what it takes to make it so that instead of there being Haves and Have-Nots, everyone is a Have! And all of those lines that keep us from getting along—whether they’re visible or invisible—will be erased! And the world—or at least the seventh grade at the Center for Creative Learning—will be a much happier, much more peaceful place!”
At that, the entire crowd except for Cristina Pollock got to their feet and cheered. Even Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumber got swept up in Laurel’s inspiring message of hope. Although she was standing kind of far away from me, I could have sworn that Marni had tears in her eyes. Even I believed how awesome I was after that speech.
“And I just want to say one more thing before I go,” Laurel added. “I really hope that when you cast your votes on Monday, if you vote for Lucy, it’s because you believe in her. And not just because a person who happens to be lucky enough to have her own TV show says you should.”
Although I had been biting the inside of my cheek to stop myself from crying, I lost it at that. Laurel really did know me better than anyone.
“Because part of the Have/Have-Not problem is that too many times kids do something because a Have says that it’s cool and not because they really want to. And I have a feeling that if you elect Lucy B. Parker for president, one of the best things that could come out of it is that you’ll soon find that you’ll be a little less scared to follow your heart.”
Laurel turned around and walked toward me and grabbed my hand and dragged me to the center of the stage. “This is who you want for president, you guys!” she cried, holding my hand up.
I didn’t even care that by that time, tears were rolling down my face. I just let them. Just like I didn’t even care if I won the election. Because to be no longer fighting with Laurel, and to hear her say the things she had just said in front of a huge auditorium of people—that was worth more than anything in the world.
chapter 10
Dear Dr. Maude,
Here’s a question for you: How on earth is a person supposed to get through forty-eight hours of nervousness without (a) throwing up or (b) saying every two seconds, “Oh my God, I’m SO nervous,” to the point where the person’s mother says, “Lucy, honey, I understand that you’re nervous about the election on Monday, but you’re going to have to calm down. Or at least stop announcing it every two seconds, because it’s driving me crazy”?
As you know, before Laurel’s speech on Friday afternoon, I pretty much thought the election was a lost cause. Even after the speech, I thought she’d be mobbed by everyone while I just stood there feeling like a Frister of. But that’s not what happened. A bunch of kids came up to me and said that while they had been on the fence up until then as to who to vote for, they realized that I was the better candidate! Not to jinx it or anything, but I think I might have a shot at winning this thing.
I’m not sure if you’re a religious person or anything (I looked on your website, but it doesn’t say), but if you wouldn’t mind saying a prayer or two or fifteen between now and Monday, I’d really appreciate it.
yours truly,
Lucy B . Parker
P.S. I was just thinking that because you never answered my e-mail about whether you would mind doing a video for me saying that you thought I’d be make a good president, the praying could make up for that.
After the speech, Mom picked me up at school so we could head up to Northampton for the shower. Once I finally stopped babbling in the car about how awesome Laurel’s speech had been, and how she was the best frister in the entire world, Mom turned off the radio.
I cringed. If she was going to use the car ride up as the opportunity for another “check-in,” I was going to go nuts.
“Honey, I wanted to check in, and see how you’re feeling about your dad.”
I sighed. Yup, she was. “Fine,” I replied.
She shook her head. “Lucy, ‘fine’ is not a good enough answer in this case. I think you’re having feelings.”
This was too much. “Why do you think that just because I’m a twelve-year-old girl I’m always having feelings?” I cried.
“Because that’s a twelve-year-old girl’s job,” she replied. “Now, I know your dad hasn’t been as sensitive to them as he usually is, but soon enough Ziggy is going to be here, and I think you need to come to terms with that so that you’re not projecting your anger and envy onto him. It’s not fair. And I’d hate to see it ruin a really lovely occasion like this baby shower.”
I wasn’t quite sure what “projecting” meant, but I could tell from the tone of Mom’s voice that what she was basically saying was, “You better stop it already, or else TV time is going to be taken away.”
It’s not like I wanted divorced parents who hated each other, but parents like mine who were still so close that one of them went to the other’s baby shower and was excited about it? I’m sorry, but that was a little weird.
“You know, I was thinking, and I feel like you’re doing the very thing that you’re so passionately against.” Mom said.
“What’s that?”
“Discrimination.”
“Who am I discriminating against?” I asked, confused.
“Against Ziggy,” she replied. “He’s not even born, and you don’t even know him yet, but you’ve already come to the conclusion that he’s boring. And whiny. And annoying.”
“Yeah, well, he’s a baby,” I replied. “Everyone knows that’s how they are.”
She shrugged. “Huh. That’s funny, because you weren’t like that.”
I looked at her. “I wasn’t?”
She shook her head. “Nope. You were a great baby. Very mellow,” she said. “You barely cried, and you spent most of your time just sort of taking everything in. Everyone was always commenting on how easy you were.”
I smiled. I hadn’t known that. That was pretty cool. I wonder if that was something to put on my campaign website.
“Except for the fact that you had a lot of gas,” she added.
I cringed. Okay, that part I didn’t need to know. And neither did voters.
She laughed. “It was so
cute. You’d be sitting there and then these tiny little farts would come out—”
“Okay, Mom—I get it. You can stop now,” I said, turning red.
“Anyway, the way you talk about Ziggy, it seems to me to have a little bit of ... baby discrimination about it,” she said. “And if you think about it, babies and dorks have a lot in common. Like the fact that they both have trouble standing up for themselves. Which makes it an unfair fight.”
I thought about it. She wasn’t wrong. Babies and dorks did have a lot in common.
“And I know that someone like yourself who feels so passionately about wanting to end dork discrimination would never want to be seen as discriminating against any sort of minority ...”
That was true, too. And not just because I was running for president and wanted votes. I really did feel strongly that all people were created equal. And I guess because babies were technically people, even though they were still babies, they were included as well.
She shrugged again. “Just something to think about,” she said as she reached for the radio and turned on some Joni Mitchell.
As if I didn’t have enough rolling around in my head already.
If I was going to try my best not to discriminate against anyone, I guess “weird yoga people” fell into that category, too.
But as I found out at the baby shower, when you’re forced to be around thirty of them, it’s very, very hard. Not only that, but if the mother of the baby-to-be has made all of them remove their shoes because she doesn’t want the house being contaminated with other people’s karma, it’s also very stinky.
Meeting Sarah’s mother, Astrid, explained a lot. Dad had mentioned that she was “truly one of a kind” (Dadese for “pretty weird”), but he had left off the fact that she was completely nuts.