Winner Takes All

by Jenny Santana

  Celia tugged on the tight ringlets now framing her face. If Ms. Perdomo somehow allowed her to take Mari’s place, having a new take on her old look might be a good campaign move. “Let’s do it,” she said. “Only because it might get people’s attention right before they go to vote.”

  Her mom nodded and whisked herself away, yelling from down the hall, “But you have to get up right now if we’re going to have time. So don’t fall back asleep like you always do!”

  But Celia was already out of bed, standing in front of her closet and thinking, Which of these outfits says “seventh grade rep”?

  Once Celia found herself in front of the main office’s big double doors, though, it was a totally different story. Her mouth was completely dry, and the café con leche in her stomach was swishing around more than she wanted to think about. The halls were deserted except for a janitor who was way down the main corridor sweeping up near the back wall of lockers while listening to something through headphones. She waited for him to notice her, maybe wave hello as a small sign that everything would be okay, but he never so much as lifted his eyes up from his work.

  She’d tried to keep herself from getting nervous during the drive to school, but had felt the panic kick in entirely when her mom put the car in PARK and unlocked the car door for Celia to get out.

  “I don’t know if I can do this,” she’d blurted out to the windshield just as she put her hand on the door latch.

  “Celia, I know you can.” Her mom squeezed her other hand, then kissed it. “And I’m sorry, but you really don’t have a choice here.”

  Celia liked that her mom was so blunt. It was the same quality she admired in Ms. Perdomo. It made her calm to hear facts laid out so plainly. It was feelings she couldn’t factor into her equations.

  But now that she was alone and faced with the reality of what she had to do, the facts were just as frightening. It didn’t matter that her curls were a little looser and that she was wearing her favorite dark jeans and the V-neck button-down top that always got compliments whenever she wore it. She was about to confess a huge lie, and she’d never been in trouble at school before.

  She’d briefly considered stalling—Mari is sick, or Mari has cold feet—but she knew that would only make the problem bigger in the long run. Mari was going to be at school for the play, so her lie would be exposed almost immediately. And there was that phone message to Mrs. Wanza that Celia was sure Ms. Perdomo would eventually hear about. Plus, she knew that if she were ever going to salvage her friendship with Mari, she had to admit that she was totally to blame for this, if only to prove to Mari how much their friendship mattered to her.

  Celia dreaded having to explain everything to Ms. Perdomo, who might not let her take Mari’s place in the election. Even if she did, Celia wouldn’t be surprised if she lost her status as one of Ms. Perdomo’s favorite students. Was she ready to give that up?

  On a whole other level of worry were Celia’s old fears, the ones that had made her not want to run in the first place: How were the other students going to react when they saw dorky Celia instead of the cute drama girl they expected behind the podium at the debate? Even worse, what if her old feelings for Laz somehow got in her way of debating him? She felt sure she didn’t like him anymore, but what if things changed once she saw him onstage?

  She heard a rustling down the corridor in the direction of the janitor, but when she looked down the hallway, he’d somehow disappeared.

  Celia took a deep breath and placed her hands over her face to block out the fluorescent light glowing up above. She repeated Mari’s words in her head to keep her thoughts from spiraling out of control: I can’t control what other people think. What matters is what I think.

  She removed her hands from her face and smoothed down the side part her mom had etched in her hair. Her stomach settled a little—enough that she knew she wouldn’t be sick at any second. The doors loomed in front of her, the sounds of buzzing printers and ringing phones audible just behind them.

  Just as she pushed the doubts from her head for just a little longer, Celia finally pushed through the office doors, her hope in Ms. Perdomo’s acceptance of the simplest solution shaky, but her confidence in it as the right thing to do finally feeling firm.

  Chapter Eleven

  From backstage, the noise of the entire seventh grade shuffling into the auditorium for the debate was deafening. Celia stood behind the right side of the curtain, refusing to look out at the growing crowd. She tried to concentrate on her breathing to stay calm. Her head was still spinning from the events of the last hour.

  Her confession to Ms. Perdomo that morning had gotten out of control fast. She started talking about the school’s cliques, about her unhappiness at landing herself in the “nerd” category, and about liking and not liking Laz. She explained how upset she’d been when people gave Mari the credit for her ideas—even though that had been her own fault. A voice in Celia’s head kept saying, Too much information, but who better to spill your guts to than a certified counselor? She talked nonstop for a good ten minutes before Ms. Perdomo raised her hand to stop her.

  “I am very proud of you for learning all of this, even if you had to learn it the hard way,” Ms. Perdomo said, unsmiling. She wore only one button today; it read DEMOCRACY! “I will let you take Mariela’s place,” she told Celia, “but only on the condition that before the start of the debate, you come completely clean to your classmates.”

  Celia sat in the chair, stunned. She couldn’t imagine admitting everything she’d just said to the entire seventh grade.

  As if she’d read her mind, Ms. Perdomo said, “You don’t have to confess all of what you just told me, but you do have to be honest with everyone. I know you’ll find the right way to explain this to them—you’re great at communicating, and that’s part of why I know you’d make a great seventh grade rep.”

  Celia nodded, silently agreeing to the condition. After Ms. Perdomo’s compliment, she felt a little bit better, and she almost started to relax. But Ms. Perdomo had something else to add.

  “One other thing,” she said from the other side of the desk. “You’re one of the top students in this school, and I approved your candidacy because you’ve never been in trouble before. But from now on, you can’t ever claim to have an untarnished record with me.”

  It was the most serious she’d ever seen Ms. Perdomo, and she felt horrible for letting her down, but she knew things could have been much worse. Ms. Perdomo finally broke her stone face and cracked a smile. “You’re ready for this debate, then?” she’d asked. And Celia had nodded and given her a nervous grin.

  And now here she was, waiting to be introduced as a candidate for seventh grade rep. Mari would very likely be standing in this same spot later that afternoon for her first staged run-through. Somehow that knowledge made Celia feel better.

  What didn’t make her feel better was knowing that Laz was waiting on the other side of the stage with no clue that he was now running against her and not Mari. Ms. Perdomo thought it was unfair to spring such a surprise on him just an hour before the debate; it would make him doubt whatever preparations he had taken. Celia thought it might be worse for Laz to just see her across the stage from him at the last second, but she was in no position to argue with Ms. Perdomo about that. Besides, she was the one with a degree in counseling.

  After some introductory remarks from the principal that mostly had to do with staying in your seats and not booing or talking, Ms. Perdomo took the microphone and explained how the actual voting would work.

  “The polls will open during the first lunch period and remain open until the end of the day. Every seventh grader will have the opportunity to vote for one candidate via secret ballot. This debate is your last opportunity to get your questions answered before you vote, so please take advantage of the democratic process.” She cleared her throat away from the microphone, then said, “Without further ado, please welcome the first candidate, Mr. Lazaro Crespi.”


  Laz came out from the opposite side of the stage, his hands raised in the air, pumping up the crowd. Celia pulled her side of the curtain back very slightly and watched him take his spot behind the podium farthest from her side of the stage. All the kids cheered wildly, their screams and whistles and claps merging into one solid tube of noise that funneled its way right into Celia’s chest. If she hadn’t been so focused on breathing through her nose, she might have thrown up.

  “Thank you, that’s enough,” Ms. Perdomo said, quieting the crowd. Some renegade whistles and claps lingered in the air as she began to speak again, this time to introduce Celia.

  “Our next candidate isn’t who you’re all expecting, but I can assure you she’s been part of this election from the very beginning. She has a few words to say before we officially begin.”

  People in the crowd began to mumble to one another. The symphony of voices asking “What? Who?” grew louder and louder. Celia felt the murmurs rattling in her bones, but then she heard it: a tremendous “SHHH!” from somewhere near the front of the crowd. She knew without seeing that it was Mari, projecting from her diaphragm the way Mrs. Wanza had taught her to. The mumbling quieted down and Ms. Perdomo continued with the intro, but Celia didn’t register any of it. Mari’s shush had quieted her own thinking and made it possible for her to finally get her mind into Presentation Mode—facts, ideas, platforms, slogans, all of them rising and falling in her brain, sorting themselves out in an organized way. Despite her nerves and her fears, she knew she just needed to get on that stage and start talking. She couldn’t be more ready.

  That was when she heard Ms. Perdomo say,”…to present Ms. Celia Martinez.”

  As she walked out onstage, Celia was shocked: After an initial pause, people were clapping and cheering. It sounded to her exactly like what they had done for Laz. The cheers lasted the whole walk from the stage wing to her podium. Celia felt a surge of confidence. She’d feared the worst, and so was thrilled to see that most people didn’t care that she wasn’t Mari. All she had to do now was come clean, state her case, and win some votes.

  Laz, however, did notice that he suddenly had a new opponent. He stood on the other side of the stage, his mouth open and his eyes scrunched in confusion. As she looked back at him, she noticed something in the corner of her eye: In the front row on Laz’s side of the stage was Raul, flailing his arms. He was trying to get Laz’s attention, but Laz just couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her. She stood up a little straighter, gave him a big grin, and shrugged, hoping that was enough of an apology for the moment. He seemed to remember then that he was onstage, because he finally closed his mouth, shook his head, and then shrugged back at her. He mouthed, “Good luck.”

  Celia leaned forward to speak into the microphone. “Fellow seventh graders,” she began. “I know you expected to see Mariela Cruz standing here today. But the truth is…”

  She scanned the crowd for Mari and found her in the second row. Mari stood up and waved, then whistled through her fingers, her now-tattered script tucked under her arm. “Go, Celia!” Mari screamed.

  Celia beamed at her friend from the stage and felt like she could do anything now.

  “The truth is I made Mari run for me, because I didn’t think I could win. The speeches, the campaign ideas—they all really came from me. But I made Mari pretend they were hers. I thought she had a better chance of getting elected because she’s popular. I got caught up in thinking about cliques and coolness and stuff that shouldn’t really matter in an election. That was wrong of me. I now realize that it isn’t up to me to decide if I can win—it’s up to all of you. So here I am. Please forgive me, and thank you for the chance to prove that I’m the right person for this job.”

  “Celia rules!” Mari yelled from the second row.

  When the people around Mari saw that she was totally supporting Celia, they started clapping, more curious about than upset by the candidate switch. Raul had stopped his flailing and was now sitting on the edge of his seat, hanging on her every word, a look of total shock but complete attention in his eyes. Yvette, from her spot in the fifth row, didn’t even turn to her girls to start gossiping. They were waiting to see what Celia had to say.

  “Thank you, Ms. Martinez,” Ms. Perdomo said, calming the crowd once more. As Ms. Perdomo began talking from her spot onstage—she would be moderating the debate, and was filling in the student body on how to go about asking their questions—Celia looked out at her fellow seventh graders. She saw Yvette and her posse, all of them with attentive looks on their faces. Behind them were the twins. She saw Luz Rojas, sitting with her feet on the seat in front of her. She saw Sami, Mari’s understudy, near the back of the auditorium, a sour look on her face. Maybe she wouldn’t be getting Sami’s vote now that Celia had made it possible for Mari to keep her part. But she couldn’t control what Sami—or anyone else—thought. Celia could only do the best job possible and hope people still liked her ideas when they came from her, and not Mari.

  “Now that we’re clear on how the debate will proceed—”

  Mari whistled loudly one more time, and Celia waved to her in the crowd. Even though she hadn’t had a chance to apologize directly to Mari for everything she’d put her through, Celia knew things would be okay between them. Mari seemed proud of her, and Celia knew that soon the roles would be switched: She’d be in the audience, cheering on her best friend’s performance. She couldn’t wait to see her onstage doing what she did best, and she couldn’t wait to tell Mari everything that had happened that morning. More than anything else, she couldn’t wait to ask Mari to forgive her, though from the loudness of Mari’s whistles, it seemed as though she’d been forgiven already.

  Ms. Perdomo’s eyes flashed as she turned to each candidate before bending down close to the mike. “And now,” she said in a Presentation Mode of her very own, “let the debate begin!”

  Chapter Twelve

  For the first time ever, the mango-scented air in Ms. Perdomo’s office was making Celia feel queasy. It wasn’t any stronger than usual. It was just that Ms. Perdomo had called her here unexpectedly, the pass to the main office waiting in Celia’s homeroom teacher’s hand when she walked in the classroom that day—the day the seventh grade student rep election results would be announced.

  As she’d walked into the small, bright room, she’d noticed that Ms. Perdomo displayed no pins on her lapel that day, which also made Celia nervous. The room was empty except for the counselor, and Celia worried that maybe Ms. Perdomo had changed her mind, that she was, in fact, super-mad at Celia for having lied and was about to expel her from school for life. Celia would have to wander the streets (her mom would certainly kick her out of the house if she were a middle school dropout) and do science experiments on the sidewalk for passing pedestrians in the hopes of earning spare change.

  Celia had just started worrying about where she would find cardboard boxes to build a house out of when Ms. Perdomo said, “We’re just waiting on Lazaro to get down here.”

  Was Laz getting expelled, too? That didn’t make any sense. If Laz was on his way to her office, then Ms. Perdomo wasn’t about to yell at her—this must be about the election results, right? Celia decided to stop worrying for a little while—at least until she knew what was really going on.

  Laz walked in a few seconds later, a huge grin plastered on his face as he turned and strolled through the door. When he saw Celia already sitting in one of Ms. Perdomo’s two office chairs, his smile faded a little bit.

  “Hi, Celia,” he said, still standing. “Ms. Perdomo, you wanted to see me?”

  “I wanted to see you both,” she said brightly. She extended her hand out to the open chair and said, “Please, have a seat.”

  Celia hadn’t seen Laz since the debate on Friday. She looked for him at lunch to try to explain everything, but she hadn’t spotted him or Raul in the cafeteria. She had seen Mari—she’d snuck into the dress rehearsal after school and watched from the very back seats of the auditorium as
Mari delivered her lines flawlessly. She almost felt bad for Sami, who sat with her arms crossed in the front row, mouthing all of Mari’s lines along with her until Mrs. Wanza caught her and told her to stop because it was distracting the actors onstage. Celia had been so proud of Mari that she thought she would burst.

  She’d seen Mari over the weekend, too, when she went over to her house and formally apologized. Mari didn’t even let her get out the words “I’m sorry” before she’d grabbed Celia in a hug and said, “I saw you in the back of the theater. Thank God you were there—I was so nervous.” Celia had been about to thank Mari for being that same source of confidence at the debate.

  “You were so awesome,” Celia said of Mari’s performance. “I totally believed you were that Roxane lady.”

  “No, you want to see really awesome? Let’s talk about you at the debate. You were totally the winner.”

  “Shut up!” Celia said, blushing.

  “No, really! You showed everybody that YOU were the one to vote for.”

  During the debate, Laz had come off as unprepared and not very quick under pressure. Celia, on the other hand, got all her opinions across while still managing to crack a few jokes and addressing all the different groups of students. She had a thoughtful and thorough answer to each question, getting everything out before she ran out of time, whereas Laz got cut off by the two-minute buzzer almost every time. She’d felt good about her performance, but that didn’t mean she would win the election. After all, it was still a popularity contest. Laz had turned the buzzer’s ding into a joke by the end, trying to get cut off on purpose for laughs. He was still very likable, and when it came down to names on a ballot, more people would probably remember Laz Crespi than Celia Martinez.

  After more hugs and apologies and promises, Celia and Mari spent that afternoon hanging out, watching some new-to-them episodes of Dog Whisperer, and laughing about how none of those tips would ever work on Poochie. They’d even talked about Laz: Mari confessed to liking him a little, but that she didn’t like him as much after seeing him in the debate. “Not the sharpest tool in the shed,” she’d said, “but he’s pretty to look at.” They’d laughed all day, Mari’s mom made croquetas for them to eat for lunch, and Celia wished Monday morning—and the inevitable election results—would never come.