Winner Takes All

by Jenny Santana

  “That’s what you think of me, too, then?” Mari demanded.

  “Well, I mean, it’s not like you’ve been a fountain of great ideas for the campaign so far,” Celia said without thinking.

  “Like you’d even listen to any of my ideas! You don’t listen to anyone!”

  “That is not true!” Celia protested, now more hurt than angry.

  “Oh, really?” Mari said. “If you listened to me, you’d be running for rep yourself instead of forcing me into this messed-up scheme of yours!”

  “Forcing you? Remember when you agreed to do this? Huh? And you didn’t seem to mind Laz wishing you luck on the campaign trail, right? You don’t seem to mind taking credit for my ideas around him.”

  Mari stood there with her mouth hanging open. The only sound for miles seemed to be stupid Poochie, announcing their fight to the world with every bark.

  “That’s what you wanted me to do!” Mari yelled.

  “Yeah, but my ideas aren’t meant to help you flirt with the enemy. Or were you just acting like you liked him?”

  Poochie stared growling so fiercely now that Celia thought he’d somehow caught rabies in the last twenty minutes.

  “So that’s how you’re gonna be, then?” Mari asked. “You’re gonna be all weird and jealous because I’m doing what you told me to do? Fine. We’ll see how you do without me on Monday, when it’s time for me to read your stupid speech and I’m not there. We’ll see how you explain yourself to Ms. Perdomo then. Or will she even get angry? Since you kiss up to her so much, she’ll probably let you off the hook.”

  Now Celia’s mouth was hanging open, but Mari’s flair for the dramatic gave her insult a perfect ending: She spun on her heel, her long black hair almost slapping Celia in the face as she turned away, and marched back toward her own house. Poochie followed her as she stomped past the fence, growling with so much might that he trembled. He snapped at her ankles, but unlike every other time Mari had had to cross Poochie’s path, Mari was so furious she barely noticed the runty dog trying to scare her off.

  Poochie stood at the corner of his yard and barked long after Mari walked away, and when he finally understood that she wasn’t coming back, he ran back to where Celia stood and started yapping at her.

  “Arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf arf—”

  “SHUT UP!” Celia finally yelled. The dog squeaked and tucked his tail between his legs, scooting away from her as fast as he could. In the quiet that followed, she heard her voice and the last of Poochie’s barks echo off the concrete balconies of the apartment building across the street. As the dog ran into his owner’s house, the shock of the whole argument started to settle on her. At that moment, Poochie was a genius: Running home seemed like the best idea in the whole world.

  Chapter Seven

  “I really think it’s meningitis, Mami,” Celia said from under the covers Monday morning when her mom came to drag her out of bed. “I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.” She let out a little cough, but her mother pulled the sheets off of her, anyway.

  “This is the third time you’ve had meningitis this year,” her mom said. “I wanna know what’s going on. Just tell me what happened with you and Mari already. You know you’re going to school no matter what.”

  Celia coughed harder and said, “I would tell you, but this meningitis is really—”

  “You don’t have meningitis. I don’t know why I let you watch those PBS specials. The things you pick up!” Celia’s mom sat down on the bed. “Now, tell me what happened between you and Mari before I attack you with kisses. I know you want to spill it.”

  This was true. Celia had spent most of Saturday and all of Sunday almost telling her mom about the fight out on the sidewalk. What had kept her from coming clean was the fact that every time she went through the story in her head, there was no way to make Mari look like the only bad one—and there was no way to get around confessing the truth about who was really running for seventh grade rep. She knew she’d eventually come clean about that to her mom, but she wanted to wait, especially now that Mari’s whole involvement in the plan might be over.

  “Why did you write that speech for Mari?” her mom asked, gesturing with her head over to Celia’s desk, which had a cup full of pens and several clean pads of paper on it. On the very top pad, Celia had neatly written out the final version of Mari’s speech, which she’d worked on all day Sunday between meals and the half conversations with her mom. The garbage can on the floor under the desk was packed with balled-up yellow sheets—her early attempts at hammering out the right words for Mari to read over the PA system come Monday morning. And now it was that day, and Celia was trying to do everything she could to keep from going to school and facing the prospect of explaining why Mari wasn’t there to read the speech herself.

  Celia was almost positive Mari was in her own house, trying to get out of going to school, too, but she was the better actress and therefore usually more successful at getting out of things. But Celia secretly worried that Mari would go to school, head straight for Ms. Perdomo’s office, and confess everything. The risk of that happening was enough to make Celia sit up in bed and swing her legs over the edge, ready to stand. Celia had to get there first to keep Mari from selling her out.

  “You’re cured!” Mami clapped.

  “Yeah, sort of,” Celia moaned. She scratched her curly head and said, “I wrote the speech to help her. That’s all. I didn’t really do it for her. I was just trying to…help.”

  “To help, huh? Well, that’s good. Helping is good. As long as that’s all that’s going on—just helping.”

  “Just helping,” Celia said. There was no doubt in Celia’s mind that her mom was an actual and honest-to-God mind reader. She always knew what was really going on without Celia ever having to say anything. It was part of why they were so close, and just one of many reasons why she loved her mom so much. Still, Celia couldn’t come clean just yet, so she told her, “I promise to talk to you about all this soon. Right now, though, we better hurry if I’m going to make it to school early enough to—um—help Mari practice.”

  “I’m gonna hold you to that,” Celia’s mom said as she stood up from the bed. “Just remember you can tell me anything, Celia, and I’ll always hear you out. You don’t need to resort to meningitis.”

  “I know, Mami. I’m sorry. I’ll be ready soon,” Celia said. She got up and went to her closet.

  “And not that I claim to know what happened between you two girls, but maybe you should wear the red shirt with the glittery stripe down the side that Mari gave you for your birthday last year,” Mami said. “Might be a nice thing to do, you know? Let her know you’re sorry?”

  Just as Celia thought, You’re so right, she turned to the door and smiled, but her mom had already slipped out from the room, leaving Celia to get dressed and to think about her next move.

  “Hooray! You’re here!” Ms. Perdomo shouted as Celia entered her office ten minutes before the first homeroom bell rang. The counselor was putting on eyeliner while holding a little mirror in her hand. The eyeliner was purple, but it didn’t look too purple once it surrounded Ms. Perdomo’s eyes—it only made her large brown eyes pop even more. She kept outlining her lids as Celia entered the mango-scented room, her hand steady on the pencil. Her pins today read READ ‘EM &WEEP! and YOWZA.

  “You were expecting me?” Celia said, worried that Mari had somehow gotten to Ms. Perdomo first.

  Ms. Perdomo snapped the mirror case shut and clicked the eyeliner back into its skinny tube. She shoved both in a desk drawer and then said, “Well, no. I wasn’t. Not really. I mean, I know it’s your friend Mariela who’s running, but I figured—I mean, I was hoping—you’d come along for moral support. You kids and your moral support. Lazaro has his moral support here this morning, so I figured you’d show up with Mari. Except that Mari isn’t here yet…” Ms. Perdomo bent forward and looked out her door into the main office.

  Celia noticed two book bags on the
floor and knew instantly who they must belong to—Laz and Raul. So Raul had come along to watch Laz give his speech? Or maybe he just wanted to get a close glimpse of Mari to start his morning?

  “They’re practicing in the boys’ bathroom. Isn’t that cute? I guess they’ve got some ‘surprises’ planned.” The famous air quotes. Celia guessed by their energetic appearance that Ms. Perdomo was already on her third cup of coffee that morning. “We’re just waiting on Mariela, but don’t worry. There’s plenty of time before the homeroom bell. I guess Mari’s feeling more confident in her speech than Laz is in his.”

  “Yeah, that’s probably it,” Celia said, swallowing hard.

  “Makes you wonder why she needs you for ‘moral support,’ though, if she’s feeling ‘confident.’ Excuse me, I need a ‘warm-up’ big-time.” Ms. Perdomo grabbed her coffee cup and dashed out of the room, taking her air quotes with her.

  Celia tried to think. What was she going to do? Should she make up an excuse for Mari and then hope that she could convince her later to stay in the race? Should she come clean to Ms. Perdomo and risk losing her status as one of the school’s most trustworthy students? Should she leave before Ms. Perdomo came back? She couldn’t just bail and leave Mari to get in trouble for not showing up; she’d already gotten Mari into enough of a mess, and until they decided otherwise, they were still best friends.

  “You’re here.”

  Celia felt her heart jump. She turned to see Mari standing in the doorway. Mari wore the big silver hoop earrings that Celia had given her last Christmas. She almost never wore them to school because they were too nice—Mari’s mom didn’t let her wear her nicest jewelry to school. Her mom must have made an exception. Celia stood up from the chair and rushed to the door.

  “Mari, I’m so sorry I said—”

  “Celia, I feel so bad for saying—”

  The two girls crashed into a hug, each of them smothering her apology in the other girl’s shoulder. They separated quickly, realizing that Ms. Perdomo could be watching—or worse, Laz and Raul.

  “I couldn’t let you get in trouble,” Mari whispered after looking around the office. “We’re already in too deep, huh?”

  “Probably,” Celia said. “But at least we’re prepared.” She went into her bag and dug out the legal pad with the speech neatly written out in her crisp handwriting. She handed over the pad along with a pencil. In printing the speech, she’d skipped every other line to make it easier for Mari to read on the fly.

  “I can’t believe you still wrote it,” Mari said.

  “I couldn’t let you get into trouble either. Besides, you needed to spend Sunday working on your lines for the play.”

  Mari nodded, grateful for a quality speech. She’d decided to be short and brief in whatever she’d say, but even with only six minutes to go now, she still hadn’t written anything out.

  Celia tapped the pencil and added, “This is for anything you want to add or change. You’re the one who has to read it, so you should have a say in it.”

  Mari gave Celia her toothiest smile and said, “Thank you so much for that. But you know what? I totally trust you, and I know I can’t improve on your masterpiece.”

  “That’s probably true,” Celia joked.

  The girls laughed together just as Ms. Perdomo charged into the room, a steaming cup of coffee in her hands.

  “Mariela! Yes! So we’re ready to go. That is, as soon as the bell rings, of course. And where are those two ‘cool’ guys? They better be getting back here soon, ‘cause this show don’t stop for no one.”

  Mari looked at Celia and rolled her eyes, but Celia laughed.

  Crazy, Mari mouthed silently. Celia shook her head no, smiling. Mari started to smile back, but suddenly, the smile turned on itself and her cheeks turned bright red. Celia almost asked her what was wrong, but then she heard someone clear his throat behind her and when she turned around, there was Laz, equally red, with Raul behind him, arms crossed against his chest. Celia noticed then that Raul’s smile was brighter than Laz’s, and more real, and that he seemed to be smiling only at her. Had she accidentally bonded with him over his failure at the basketball tournament? She wasn’t sure, but if he was working with Laz, he, too, was the enemy, and she had to think of him as such.

  “Good morning, ladies,” Raul said from just behind Laz.

  “Such manners!” Ms. Perdomo said. “I love it! Let’s go warm up the PA system, shall we?”

  “Let’s shall,” Laz said awkwardly. Raul elbowed him hard in the ribs. Celia wanted to laugh but held it in, thinking she was already lucky to have her friend back—and with that friend about to give a speech she’d never read before, Celia saw no need to tempt fate.

  After the regular morning announcements, including another exceptionally boring installment of Principal’s Proclamations, Ms. Perdomo clicked the buttons on the PA board that meant the speeches were only getting piped into the seventh grade homerooms and took the microphone in her hands.

  “My darling seventh graders,” she began. “It is with great pride and enormous excitement that I present to you the candidates for YOUR grade-level representative!”

  At this point, Ms. Perdomo imitated the sound of a huge crowd cheering by holding the mike close to her mouth and making a noise that sounded to Celia like when you hold a conch shell up to your ear. Celia laughed even though no one else did.

  “Calm down, my eager peoples, calm down. Today you’ll hear from the candidates themselves. All two of them.”

  She raised her eyebrows at them and again, Celia laughed. She was a little upset that none of the other three really “got” Ms. Perdomo the way she did. She figured that it was their loss.

  “Up first, thanks to alphabetical order—but only by a slim margin—is Mr. Lazaro Crespi.”

  Ms. Perdomo held the mike out for Laz as he approached the PA system. He held a sheet with his speech typed out on it. As he began reading, Celia saw that his hands shook ever so slightly.

  “Yo yo yo, Coral Grove! This is Lazaro—better known as Laz—Crespi coming to you LIVE from the main office. Now, I KNOW you’re gonna vote for me for seventh grade rep, but just in case you STILL have doubts, here are some of my biggest supporters to tell you why I’m the MAN!”

  At this point, Laz did an impression of Mr. Negreli, the seventh grade science teacher, emphasizing the teacher’s nerdier tendencies. There was a whole riff about misplacing his pocket protector that had nothing to do with the election, but it was really funny. Laz then did a surprisingly good impression of the principal, ripping into the Proclamations. Celia could hear the laughter coming from classrooms closest to the main office—even Ms. Perdomo covered her mouth, presumably hiding a smile. But then Laz turned on her, and did a very inaccurate impression of her, mostly just using a high-pitched too-girly voice. Each impression ended by saying they thought Laz was the greatest and they “approved this message,” just like in real political advertisements.

  “Thank you for your endorsements!” Laz’s real voice chimed. “And so, Coral Grove, do like they say and vote for ME. Just remember my slogan: Laz is the MAN! Vote Laz!”

  That’s his slogan? Celia thought. She looked at Mari and knew she was thinking the same thing. Even better: She looked at Ms. Perdomo and saw the same idea running through her head.

  Laz walked back to Raul and the two of them high-fived. Celia couldn’t believe how predictable they were—the speech, the lack of any real content, the reliance on jokes instead of an actual campaign platform. They’d played right into her plan—a plan that was about to unfold right in front of them. She held her breath and waited.

  Ms. Perdomo said into the mike, “Thank you, Lazaro, for that moderately entertaining and somewhat misguided speech.” She winked at him and he smiled, not registering that she was actually making fun of him. Now it was Celia who covered her smile. “Just for the record, everyone,” Ms. Perdomo went on, “and not that I need to tell you this, but all those voices were fake. No staff me
mber has endorsed—or will endorse—any candidate. With that said, I’d like to present Ms. Mariela Cruz, your second and final candidate.”

  Mari cleared her throat and stepped up to the mike. She held the pad with the speech Celia prepared for her in her hands. Her fingers were so still and poised that Celia thought, Man, she really is talented.

  “My fellow students,” she began in a rich, smooth voice, “as you just heard, it’s clear that my opponent sees this election as a big joke.”

  Celia looked over at Laz and Raul just as their jaws dropped. Just wait, she thought to herself, her own cheeks feeling warm, this is only the beginning.

  “That was amazing!” Mari whispered excitedly as the girls hurried out of the main office and headed to first period. “How did you know Laz was going to do impressions? I mean, your speech killed him!”

  Celia smiled to herself. She didn’t know, exactly. It was a risky move on her part, but one she had scientifically calculated. Based on everything she’d seen so far—and on the fact that Laz thought he did the best impressions of the seventh grade teachers and launched into them whenever someone gave him the opening—she thought the move would pay off. And it had. Mari delivered the speech almost flawlessly (she’d stumbled over one word, emblematic, but moved past the mistake quickly) and it had made Laz look like an irresponsible goofball who might be “fun to hang out with” but who was “just not ready to take on such a big responsibility.”

  “I had a hunch he was going to do that,” Celia answered. “I mean, what else was he gonna say?”

  It wasn’t a mean speech. It just pointed out a huge issue: Laz didn’t take the position seriously, and did they really want someone representing the whole seventh grade to the school’s administration who couldn’t take a simple speech seriously? “In a word: no,” Mari had read. She then went on to list what she would do if elected. Celia had packed that part of the speech with lots of fresh ideas—instituting an end-of-the-year field trip for the seventh grade class, moving the seventh grade awards assembly to the evening rather than during school so that more parents could attend, building class unity by creating a seventh grade newsletter that both students and teachers could contribute to, and of course, her ideas for spirit week—all of them stated concisely and clearly.