I tell myself, Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.
But I want to.
Eileen
“It could be worse,” Bev says, trying to cheer me up at home later.
“It’s like you’re a magician and you made the paint disappear,” Craig says.
“I wish I could make MYSELF disappear,” I answer.
“Maybe one of these will lift your spirits.” Bev goes to my desk drawer and waves the sheet of magic stickers in front of me. “It’s a perfect day to ride in a hot-air balloon.”
“With my luck, it would probably pop on somebody’s satellite dish.”
But Bev’s not giving up. “Hey, she looks cool!” Bev points to the sticker of the girl playing soccer. “I think a nice game of soccer is just the thing to take your mind off your speech.”
I have to admit, I’m a little curious. I’ve never had a human sticker before, and the girl on the sheet looks about our age.
“Let’s see if she’s any good,” I say. “But we’d better go outside to peel her off in case she keeps running.”
Bev and I hurry to my backyard, and then I close my eyes and gently peel off the sticker.
Suddenly there are three of us in my backyard. The new girl yells, “Heads up!” and kicks the ball hard. It sails through the small space between Bev and me.
“Whoa!” Bev says. “That’s some aim!”
The girl runs over and scoops up the ball. She holds it in front of herself and gets ready to kick it again.
Bev and I watch in wonder as the ball sails into the basketball net attached to the garage.
“That’s amazing!” I run over to see the girl who used to be a sticker. Her wavy red hair is pulled back in a ponytail. She’s wearing shorts and a nylon top that says O’CONNELL across the back.
“Eileen O’Connell,” she says. “Nice to meet you.”
Bev and I introduce ourselves and ask if we can play. I run inside to put on sneakers, but by the time I come back out Eileen and Bev are nowhere to be found.
“Over here!” Bev shouts.
It takes a few seconds for me to see the two of them halfway up the sycamore tree on the front lawn. My family’s lived here for a year, but I’ve never had the courage to try to climb it.
“Come on up!” Eileen calls.
I fake enthusiasm and tell them I would, but I’m dying to play soccer. They jump out of the tree with no hesitation at all.
I’m an okay soccer player but I can’t match Bev, who plays on a travel team. With the diner open every weekend, I never felt comfortable asking my parents to take me to all those games.
As expected, Eileen is a marvel, running across the yard twice as fast as either Bev or me. Bev shoots me a look of surprise and joy that makes me run even faster to keep up. When Mom takes out the recycling, she watches us play and I know I’ll have to introduce her to Eileen.
I’ve practiced trying to explain the magical stickers to my parents, but explaining a talking cupcake—never mind a living, breathing soccer player—sounds ridiculous and I always decide not to.
“Mom, this is Eileen. She’s new in town.” (Technically true.)
Mom tells Eileen she’s quite the soccer player.
“I’ve been playing forever,” Eileen says. (Possibly also true.)
Her comment leaves me wondering about the stickers’ lives when they’re not with me. Craig never gives me any details; maybe Eileen will be more helpful.
Bev runs to the opposite end of the yard with the ball. “Thanks for leaving your goal wide open!” Eileen darts off to stop her and I try to formulate a plan. Should I ask Mom if Eileen can sleep over? Should I hide Eileen in my room? I have no idea what to do with a human sticker.
Turns out I don’t need to worry, because Eileen walks over holding the ball with Bev right behind her. “Bev and I are heading out,” Eileen says.
I just stare at her. What is she talking about?
“I’m going to stay at Bev’s,” Eileen continues. “She says there’s plenty of room.” I look over at Bev, who shrugs and looks down at her sneakers.
When Ms. Henley from next door comes over to talk to Mom, I pull Bev aside.
“Don’t you think Eileen should stay at my house with the other stickers?” But what I’m really wondering is why Eileen wants to leave. She’s MY sticker, not Bev’s!
“I felt weird when she asked if she could come over,” Bev explains. “But I didn’t know how to say no.”
“You just say no.” I lower my voice so my mom doesn’t get suspicious. “But if you want her to stay with you, it’s fine with me.”
Bev looks at me again to make sure.
“We’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” Eileen comes over and balances the ball on her foot before she kicks it down the street and runs after it. Finally, Bev takes off after her.
Mom finishes her conversation with Ms. Henley and walks back over. We watch the girls head down the street.
“You okay?” Mom asks.
I nod as if it’s no big deal, but it is. And I don’t know which is worse—that my best friend just left me for a sticker or that my sticker just left me for my best friend.
Do I Have To?
The next day, Bev’s dad gives us a ride to school. When I climb in, I’m shocked to see Eileen in the car.
We talk about the election until Bev’s dad takes a call on his headset. Bev spins around in her seat with a huge grin. “I told Mom that Eileen’s visiting her grandmother to see if she should transfer to our school,” she whispers. “I asked if she could call the school and get Eileen a visitor’s pass for the day so Eileen can check it out.”
“Your school sounds great,” Eileen says.
Eileen is no longer wearing her soccer uniform but a Star Wars T-shirt and a pair of Bev’s jeans—her favorite pair.
A million thoughts flood my head: How does Bev always convince her mom to help with her crazy stunts? Will Eileen get into trouble at school that I’LL end up getting blamed for? And most important—EILEEN IS A STICKER!
I don’t have time to argue, because Bev immediately starts in about today’s rally. I take out the notes for my speech, but she grabs them from my hands.
“You’ve been over your speech a hundred times,” Bev says. “We have to talk about entertainment!”
I tell her that at my last school, rallies were about handing out flyers and talking to candidates.
“Sounds boring,” Eileen says.
“You’ve never even BEEN to school,” I say. “How would you know?”
“I just think we should be prepared in case Tommy and Caitlyn bring more than speeches.” Bev hands me back my notes. She asks if I brought my sheet of stickers.
It feels weird talking about the magic stickers in front of Eileen, who less than twenty-four hours ago was a sticker herself. I tell Bev that of course I have them.
“We might need to break out the pizza to compete with Caitlyn’s fortune cookies.”
“I’ve always wanted to try pizza!” Eileen pipes up.
Eileen’s boundless enthusiasm is officially getting on my nerves.
When Eileen signs in at the main office, she’s so excited you’d think she was just given a Lifetime Achievement award instead of a standard visitor’s pass. In class, Ms. Graham lets her sit next to Bev, since Danny is out sick.
Ms. Graham discusses the last presidential election and what makes a good campaign. The whole time she talks, I read through the notes for my speech. How are these other kids paying attention? I’m too nervous to talk about Democrats and Republicans!
“All right, enough theory,” Ms. Graham says. “Let’s head to the cafeteria and see some politics in action!”
Everyone hurries out, but I’m glued to my seat. I know I have to, but I don’t want to move. Bev literally has to pull me out of the chair to join the rest of the class.
Ms. Graham reprimands Billy and Lisa for fidgeting during Samantha’s speech. She’s still running unopposed, so she’ll definitely
win. Why did Craig and Bev have to interfere with my foolproof plan?
“Thank you, Samantha,” Ms. Graham says. “Now we’ll hear from our first candidate for president, Martina Rivera.” Ms. Graham hands me the mic, and Bev gives me a little shove and a smile.
I close my eyes and tell myself that even if I lose the election, at least I tried and that’s WAY more than I’ve ever done before so I should be proud of myself. That makes me feel a tiny bit better, but not much.
I have no choice but to begin. “I’m Martina Rivera and I’m running for class president.” I have my speech memorized but still use the index cards like a security blanket.
“The number one thing I will focus on as class president is to make sure we take lots of field trips this year.” I see a few kids look up; I might have their attention. “We have money left over from the outing at Griffith Observatory, and we can all agree that trip was a success.”
A few kids murmur in agreement.
“If—I mean when—I’m elected president I’ll fight for us to do lots of learning outside the classroom too.”
Basing my whole campaign platform on class trips might not be the smartest choice, but talking about my organizational skills the way my parents suggested felt like bragging. And I certainly can’t list any leadership abilities, mostly because I’ve always made sure to hide in the back of any line, not be in the front.
When I finish my speech, Bev bangs on the floor with her fists, trying to invite the others into her “Mar-ti-na” chant, but it doesn’t catch on. I slip in next to her and wait for Tommy to take the stage.
“Okay, guys—here’s what I’M going to do if elected.” Tommy stretches his arms in front of him and cracks his knuckles. “We’re going to start having FUN around here—every day of the week!”
He’s barely begun, but some kids are already cheering.
“When I’m class president, Monday will officially be known as Monkey Business Monday! Followed by Toga Tuesdays, Wacky Wednesdays, Throw-up Thursdays, and Food Fight Fridays!”
The class is so riled up, Ms. Graham has to tell everyone to calm down.
“No one takes him seriously,” Bev whispers. “He’ll never do any of those things!”
“Tommy seems like so much fun!” Eileen says. “He gets my vote.”
My jaw almost drops to the floor. My own sticker isn’t going to vote for me!
Bev just laughs. “I guess Ms. Graham is right and every vote DOES have to be earned.”
His campaign may be ludicrous, but Tommy’s just shown he’s a hundred times wackier than I am, and that’s what most kids will remember. (That and my nonexistent posters.)
Caitlyn is next. She brings a third-grade girl to play “Hail to the Chief” on a recorder as she approaches the podium.
“My fellow classmates,” she begins, looking each student in the eye. “You deserve a president who understands and will fight tirelessly to represent you and bring about the changes this school desperately needs.”
Caitlyn’s not even holding any index cards. I don’t stand a chance. When she finishes her speech, everyone applauds—Ms. Graham most of all.
I barely pay attention to Mike’s and Tanya’s speeches for vice president, or Scott’s and Brittney’s reasons why they should be elected treasurer. At the end of the speeches, Ms. Graham tells us to use the rest of the time to campaign.
“Let the rally begin!” Tommy shouts.
While his friends hand out flyers, Tommy takes three cartons of chocolate milk from behind the lunch counter and starts juggling.
Caitlyn and her friends pass out fortune cookies and hand out props for kids to hold while they pose in Caitlyn’s makeshift photo booth.
Bev looks at me with an I-told-you-so face.
“This isn’t campaigning!” I say.
“Sure it is. You just didn’t want to hear it.” Bev looks upset, and I wonder if it’s because I’m going to lose or because I didn’t take her advice.
Eileen approaches and hands us both flyers.
“Tommy for president!”
Bev and I swipe the stack of flyers from her hand.
“He asked me to help,” Eileen says. “Should I have said no? I thought he was your friend.”
Bev hardly ever loses her cool, but she looks like she’s about to. “Martina, what are we going to do?”
A smile creeps across Bev’s face as I take out the sheet of stickers from my bag. Pizza? Hot-air balloon?
We both stare at the zombie DJ.
Bev reaches for my hand as it hovers over the sticker. “You do realize this could backfire, right? Maybe he’s a DJ, but maybe he’ll eat people’s brains too.”
I tell Bev at this point I’m willing to risk it. “Let’s just hope he focuses more on the music than on eating our classmates.”
I wrinkle my nose and lift up the edge of the sticker.
I hope I didn’t just make the biggest mistake of my life.
Zombie Boy
The
with the headphones and laptop lurches to life beside me. Mike comes running over. “Did you get this guy at the same place you rented the animatronic Pegasus?” he asks.
The zombie grunts and belches in Mike’s face.
“Whoa!” Mike laughs. “Sorry—didn’t know you were real. Nice makeup, dude!”
The zombie adjusts his headphones, then opens his laptop and rapidly hits the keyboard. Sound suddenly fills the cafeteria.
The music is unlike anything I’ve ever heard; it’s fast and hypnotic and gets everyone in the class on their feet.
“Hey!” Tommy calls. “Who wants to see me juggle FOUR cartons of milk?” But people can’t take their eyes off the zombie, who moves rapidly from song to song.
“That beat is awesome!” Samantha turns to me. “Where did you find this guy?”
Bev beats me to the punch, explaining that I hired a local DJ complete with costume and makeup for today’s rally.
“To make up for your blank posters?” Tommy’s usually pretty nice, so I’m not sure this election is bringing out the best in him.
The zombie is the same size as I am and I suddenly wonder if he’s our age. Suppose he’s two thousand years old? Did he go to school when he was alive? And most important, can he help me win this election?
The zombie tilts his head back and lets out a shattering noise that quiets us in an instant. Then he turns up the volume and starts playing our school anthem. How does he even know it? My classmates clap and sing along.
I freeze when I spot Ms. Graham in the corner of the cafeteria. I’m about to repeat the rent-a-DJ story, but I don’t have to.
“Martina, you are full of surprises,” she says. “Music is EXACTLY what this rally needed. Great school spirit!”
Before I can say anything, Ms. Graham is in a dance line behind the zombie, holding her cast above her head as she and the others weave through the room. Is it safe to conga with a zombie?
Everyone seems to be having fun, except for Tommy and Caitlyn.
“Mar-ti-na! Mar-ti-na!” Bev chants.
This time it catches on. Soon the whole room is chanting with her.
“Great rally!” Samantha says.
As soon as she turns away, Craig pops out of my bag. “You have to admit, this is much better than running unopposed.” He motions to the zombie. “I had no idea someone with so many dangling body parts could have such a good ear.”
“I’m not sure he HAS both ears.”
When the song ends, Ms. Graham covers her mouth with her hands like a megaphone: “Everybody back to class!”
No one wants to go; we’re all having too much fun.
“It’s time to vote!” Ms. Graham continues.
How am I supposed to go to class when I’ve just unleashed a zombie? It’s not like I can shove him in a locker—everybody thinks he’s a real kid! I finally remember there’s an out-of-order stall in the girls’ bathroom. If I hide him there, will he stay put?
After making sure no one�
�s around, Bev, Eileen, and I guide Zombie Boy into the broken stall.
He tries to drink out of the toilet.
I spin him back around and lead him to the janitor’s closet.
“Suppose he starts playing music again?” Eileen asks.
I slide the zombie’s laptop out of his hands; he grunts unhappily.
“We have to find something to keep him busy,” Bev says.
We rummage through the closet until I find something that might amuse him: a roll of toilet paper. “Hopefully this’ll keep him occupied till we come back.”
The three of us hurry to class. We race to our seats as Ms. Graham passes out ballots.
Eileen asks Ms. Graham if she can vote too, but Ms. Graham says no. Considering how much Eileen was just helping Tommy, I’m not sure it’s a bad thing she can’t.
Tommy high-fives and fist-bumps the kids on either side of him. I doubt anyone in our class took Tommy’s campaign platform seriously, but kids know what they’re getting with Tommy—a goofy comic who likes to have fun. I’ve been so quiet since I transferred to this school that most of my classmates don’t know me well enough to give me a second thought. Even with Bev as my campaign manager, there’s only so much of her popularity that can rub off on me. And Caitlyn’s speech was really good—even I want to vote for her. But I know I can’t.
As strange as it feels to cast a vote for myself, I do. Ms. Graham collects all the slips of paper and tells us to do some silent reading while she counts the ballots. As if I can concentrate on reading! Fifteen minutes later, she walks around to lean on the front of her desk and faces the class.
“It’s time to hear the results of your foray into the democratic process.” She clears her throat. “Our new student council secretary is Samantha Phillips.”
Everyone applauds. All I’m thinking is, that could’ve been me, winning with no opponent!
Sticker Girl Rules the School--Stickers Included! Page 3