That thought was still rattling around my brain when Veronica gripped the podium with both hands. “But this race isn’t about T-shirts or even great ideas. It’s about picking the right person at the right time, and I’m here to tell you that the right person is me.”
Veronica had leaned in for this part, and the audience had leaned in, too. Her voice wasn’t as hypnotic as her piano, but it was awfully close.
“Now, I could tell you,” she went on, “that I’m going to cancel seventh period and return pop to the vending machines, but I’m not going to do that. I could tell you that I’m going to extend Christmas vacation and cut the rest of the year in half, but I’m not going to do that, either. No class president has that kind of power, and no class president ever will.”
I tugged at my bandage. Where was she going with this speech?
“Which brings me,” she continued, “to my most important question—why do I think that you should vote for me instead of my distinguished opponent? If we don’t have any real power, then why does it even matter?”
She let that question dangle for what seemed like an eternity, until everyone in every seat was waiting breathlessly for her reply.
“It matters,” she finally whispered, “because I want this more than he does. Because I need this more than he does.” She finally leaned back. “I always have, I always will.”
I was probably the only person who’d caught those last couple of words, but no one seemed to notice. Veronica had just delivered one whopper of a speech, so everyone was satisfied—everyone except for me. They might have thought it was an act, but I knew it was real.
“Thank you,” Veronica added, and the audience exploded. Why had I thought this place had bad acoustics? The catcalls were loud enough to shatter my eardrums.
Veronica paid them no heed as she went back to her seat. Our shoulders brushed as she sat down, sending a jolt of electricity down my spine. What was I going to say now? I snuck a peek at Spencer, hoping he’d know what to do, but he just shook his head and mouthed, I think we’ve got this in the bag. Or maybe he’d mouthed, If you ruin this, you’re dead. Either way, he hadn’t helped.
I knew I had to get up and give my speech, but it felt like I was weighed down with thick chains. I was the only one who knew Veronica’s truth, so I was the only one who could decide what I was supposed to do with it.
But I couldn’t make up my mind.
Ms. Quintero stirred. “Mr. Grainger?”
At least that snapped me out of it. I squeezed Riley’s cards and dragged myself out of my seat. The short walk to the podium felt more like a marathon. I was nearly there when I tripped over a cord and hog-tied the podium. The microphone shrieked in protest as I struggled to regain my balance.
“Hello!” I finally blurted, and the microphone shrieked again. I put down Riley’s cards, which were now crumpled and useless, and tried to clear my throat. “I mean, thank you for letting me get up here and talk to you today.”
The spotlight wasn’t on, so I could see the audience, and they could see me. When I spotted Spencer, I couldn’t hold his gaze. It was almost like he knew I was about to mess this up, but there was nothing he could do.
When I looked back down, my eyes landed on the wad of crumpled cards, and my fear turned into guilt. Riley had poured everything he had into that speech. It certainly deserved to be given.
But I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
I nudged the cards out of the way and gripped the podium with my good hand. “You probably think I joined this race because I didn’t think Veronica should be our class president.” If she could come clean, then I could, too. “But that’s only part of it. The truth is, I joined this race because I opened my big mouth and couldn’t find a way to say, ‘I’m sorry.’ And because the MMM accidentally poked me in the eye.”
The audience blinked and looked around. Thankfully, the MMM, who’d just poked her head through the side door, didn’t seem to know who I was talking about.
“I’ve learned a lot lately,” I said, “and the most important thing I’ve learned is that people can surprise you. Sometimes they look different on the inside than they do on the out, and sometimes you discover you have a lot more in common than you ever thought you could.”
I drew a ragged breath. If I didn’t say it now, I didn’t think I ever would, and if I never found a way to say it, Veronica probably wouldn’t win. And if she didn’t win this race, it might throw off the delicate balance of music and the universe. What if it broke her will to win? What if she didn’t get into Lietz House?
And what if I just thought she’d make a better class president?
I drew a bracing breath and prayed that Spencer would forgive me. “So don’t vote for me. Vote for Veronica Pritchard-Pratt.”
Twenty-Two
It only took a second for pandemonium to break out. Everyone burst to their feet—everyone except for Spencer. His face had flushed purple, and it looked like he was shouting, but the clapping was so loud that I couldn’t tell what he was saying. That was probably a good thing.
I just stood there, dazed. Why was everyone freaking out? This hadn’t been part of the plan. I guess it was possible that they’d misunderstood.
“Vote for Veronica!” I said again, and the audience pumped their fists. But before I could pump mine, Ms. Quintero grabbed my elbow and steered me back to my seat. I didn’t realize that my bandage had snagged on a corner of the podium until three feet of gauze had unraveled behind me. While I scrambled to rewind it, the audience cheered.
Ms. Quintero held her hands up. “That’s enough!” she said firmly, and everyone sat back down. “We’d like to thank Mr. Grainger and Ms. Pritchard-Pratt for their stirring remarks and dismiss for second period. The bell will ring in four minutes and twelve seconds, so I suggest you get to class.”
The audience hopped back up and calmly filed out of the room. Ms. Quintero picked up Riley’s speech and carefully smoothed it back out. I couldn’t see her face, but I doubted it would have told me anything. Rumor had it that Ms. Quintero was an underground poker player, but I put less stock in rumors these days.
“Your speech,” she said calmly as she handed it to me. “Or your old speech, anyway.”
I felt my cheeks redden. “Thanks,” I mumbled lamely, shoving the cards into my pocket.
“Well played,” Ms. Quintero said with a respectful tip of her head. “I can honestly say I didn’t think you had it in you, but I guess you’ve changed my mind.”
Ms. Quintero’s heels clicked away before I had a chance to ask her what she meant, so I asked Veronica instead: “What do you think she meant by that?”
Veronica just shook her head. “If you’re fishing for a compliment, I’m not going to bite.”
I felt my pulse speed up. “But I told them to vote for you.”
“Exactly,” she replied. “You’ve built your whole campaign on clever jokes and cool one-liners, and as far as jokes go, that was one of the best.”
“But it wasn’t a joke!” I wanted to tear my hair out. “Honestly, Veronica, I meant every word.”
She tilted her head to the side. “You know, I think I believe you.” With a sad smile, she added, “I guess it’s too bad that they don’t know you as well as I do.”
I spent the rest of second period trying to convince the other BGs that I’d meant what I’d said, but none of them believed me. They thought it was all a joke, and Veronica didn’t set the record straight.
Third period was no better, and fourth period couldn’t have gone worse. By the time lunch rolled around, I felt like a powder keg with a millimeter-long fuse, so when Spencer showed up with a huge smirk on his face, I almost lost it on the spot.
“This is all your fault,” I growled, resisting the urge to lunge for him.
“No,” Spencer said, grinning, “I’m pretty sure it’s yours. That spe
ech was brilliant, by the way.”
Esther nodded glumly. “Not that I want to agree with Spencer, but I think he might be right.”
“Then we’ve got to tell them,” I replied. “We’ve got to make them understand.”
Spencer shook his head. “No, you’ve already done that. Now we just have to sit back and let destiny run its course.”
I’d never been a fan of destiny, and now I realized why.
When the seventh-grade student council showed up during fifth period to pass around the ballots, I made a show of circling Veronica’s name, but everyone assumed that I was still messing around. That I was going to erase it and circle DAVID GRAINGER instead. I never erased it, but no one seemed to care.
On my way out of class, Ms. Park discreetly pulled me aside. “It was awfully sporting of you to vote for Veronica,” she said.
I fought the urge to smack my forehead.
* * *
I won the election in the most lopsided victory that SV had ever seen. They announced the results before the bell rang. The other kids exploded, but I didn’t join in. I was too busy wondering where Veronica was and how she’d reacted to the news.
The halls turned into a carnival as soon as the bell rang. I ducked into the bathroom to ride out the worst of it. By the time I dared to poke my head out, the partygoers had moved on. Blue silly string covered the walls, and homemade confetti littered the ground. I knew it was homemade because none of the pieces looked the same. Though I felt bad for the janitors (and for beating Veronica), I couldn’t help but feel grateful for Esther, who must have stayed up all night cutting, banking on the fact that I would win.
I stopped at my locker, which was plastered with well wishes (including Spencer’s proud “Take THAT!” and Esther’s quick-thinking heads-up that they were headed to Renfro’s), then headed down to the band room. A month ago, I wouldn’t have thought twice about abandoning my trumpet, but now I couldn’t imagine going anywhere without it.
When I got to the commons, it didn’t surprise me to discover that Veronica’s banner had been torn down and cleanly severed at the neck. I guess it was a good thing that they’d had the banner to decapitate. I shuddered to think what would have happened if I’d been the one who’d lost.
I was halfway down the hall when the nocturne reached my ears. What started as a jog quickly morphed into a sprint, and before I knew it, I was barreling into Mr. Ashton’s room.
“I meant—it,” I half said, half gasped. “What I said in—my speech.”
She didn’t look up from the keys. “You already said that,” she replied.
I drew a noisy breath. “I voted for you,” I told her before I thought better of it.
One corner of her mouth curled up, but she didn’t stop playing. “Then at least I got one vote.”
I looked down at my toes. How had I gotten this so wrong?
“You know,” she finally said, “it really isn’t that awful.”
“What isn’t that awful?” I replied.
“The job,” she said, still playing. “In fact, I think you’re going to do great.”
I collapsed into a nearby chair. “And I think I’m gonna do terrible.”
Veronica cocked an eyebrow. “Why would you think that?” she asked.
“Because I can’t read people,” I said. “Take Hector, for example.”
She tilted her head to the side. “He is a bully,” she replied.
“Because he grew up on the streets!” I plopped my chin into my hands. “Why didn’t I know where he came from?”
Instead of answering, she shrugged. “Why did I think you’d be a pushover?”
That caught me off guard. “Did you really think I’d go down easily?”
“Of course,” Veronica replied. “It wasn’t like I wanted to lose.”
“Then why’d you challenge me?” I asked. “And why didn’t you let Ms. Quintero kick me out?”
Veronica played the nocturne’s final chord, then gently closed the piano lid. “I already told you,” she replied, hoisting her bag over her shoulder. “I was sick of winning by default.” She sent me a sideways glance. “And by the time that you and Esther came up with those awesome shirts, a part of me was rooting for you, too.”
I expected her to leave, but she just stood there waiting. She’d taken off her heels—I could see them poking out of her bag—so she was back to being tall, not completely gargantuan. It made her look less imposing (or maybe she just didn’t scare me anymore).
“You know,” she finally said, “I should probably thank you.”
“For what?” I asked, snorting.
“For everything,” she said. “But mostly for last night.” She dug her toe into a crack. “I don’t think I could have told them what we showed them with that piece.”
“What you showed them,” I replied. “I was just the background noise.”
“Maybe,” she admitted, which made me almost grin. “But I never would have done it if you hadn’t forced me into it.”
I held up my bandaged hand. “I did break my fingers for you.”
“Actually,” she said, “I’m pretty sure that I did that.”
I made a show of shrugging. “Mr. Lietz said we make quite a team.”
“You know, he may be on to something.”
She grinned at me, and I grinned back. It was nice to know I had her in my corner—and I wanted to keep it that way.
“I want you to be my vice,” I blurted.
Her eyes widened momentarily, but then she saluted. “Whatever you say, Mr. President.” More seriously, she added, “Thanks.”
I felt my cheeks get hot. “Also, I’ve been thinking…about integrating student council.”
Veronica made a face. “So you did overhear,” she said.
I nodded ruefully. “I guess I’m kind of good at that.”
She looked down at her toes. “Well, it was only an idea, and everyone thought it was a dumb one, so I decided to take it off—”
“I didn’t.”
“You didn’t what?” she asked.
“Think it was stupid,” I replied.
Veronica lowered her gaze. “Oh.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but there are five student council seats, aren’t there?”
Now it was her turn to nod.
“So what if we split them in half?”
“You can’t split five seats in half,” she said.
“So what if I take three seats and you take the other two? I’d give you the extra seat, but Spencer would probably have a fit.”
Veronica smiled slyly. “They’re your seats, Mr. President. That means you get to fill them with whoever you want.”
I wrinkled my nose. “But what if I don’t want to decide? Should I pick Hector and Samantha, or Samantha and Brady, or Brady and Hector?”
Veronica waved that off. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” She snaked her right arm through my left and practically hauled me out the door. “It’s really not that difficult.”
“How can that be?” I replied as I struggled to keep up.
“Because it’s middle school,” she said. “You come back and talk to me once they pick you to run the country.”
I pretended to clutch my chest. “President of the United States? I don’t think I could handle that.”
“And I don’t think you know what you could handle.”
That thought made me miss a step, which made Veronica laugh. Maybe she was right. Maybe it was only a matter of time.
But I sincerely hoped not.
Acknowledgments
First, thank you to Kate Testerman, who managed to sell three books for me in as many months after a year of discouragement. I’m glad you patted me on the head and told me to run along when I suggested that we quit.
Second, thank
you to Steve Geck, who saw the potential in these band geeks and populars. I’m glad you think I’m funny. Also, thanks to everyone at Sourcebooks, especially Kate Prosswimmer, Elizabeth Boyer, and Alex Yeadon, and to John Aardema, Will Riley, and Chris Cocozza for the super fun cover.
My critique partners—Amy Sonnichsen, Ben Spendlove, Jenilyn Collings, Kelly Kennedy Bryson, Liesl Shurtliff, and Myrna Foster—are not just great writers but great people, and I can’t thank them enough. This book probably would have ended up at the bottom of a cliff if it hadn’t been for your encouragement, so I’m glad you talked me down.
Thank you to my parents, who now know far more about the publishing industry than they probably ever wanted to. I’ve always appreciated your unwavering support. Also, thanks to Heather and Adam Musser, my favorite sister and brother-in-law (on this side of the family), for humoring me when I asked them to teach me how to play a trumpet.
And of course, thank you to Chris, my sun, and to Isaac, Madeleine, and William, my bright, shining stars. I can’t wait to watch you grow up and see what people you become.
About the Author
Krista Van Dolzer is a stay-at-home mom by day and a children’s author by bedtime. Though she’s short like David, she plays the piano like Veronica. She also enjoys watching college football and researching her ancestors. Krista lives with her husband and three kids in Mesquite, Nevada.
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Don't Vote for Me Page 14