Samantha holds her hands in front of her mouth as if she’s shocked, which is cute but kind of obnoxious at the same time.
“Our new class treasurer is Scott Palermo.”
Scott did have some great posters. He seems thrilled to be treasurer—even though most of the time he still counts on his fingers.
“Mike Belmont will be our new vice president,” Ms. Graham continues.
I’m happy for Mike. He’s always been one of my favorite kids in class, even before we were friends.
“And the president of our class this year will be … drumroll, please.”
Tommy interrupts. “Aww, man! I can’t believe I lost to a kid named Drumroll Please! He didn’t even give a speech!”
Leave it to Tommy to get in one more joke before the announcement.
Ms. Graham smiles. “Martina Rivera.”
WHAT?! Is this happening or is this some kind of alternate reality, like my stickers? Did Ms. Graham just say my name? How could Tommy and Caitlyn have lost to me?
Kids are turned around in their seats, applauding and smiling. It’s a good thing no one asks for a speech because my throat feels locked; I doubt I could squeeze out a word if I tried.
Bev jumps up and down in her seat, and when the bell rings she almost knocks me over.
“I told you,” she says. “Kids want to do things like go on field trips, not have food fights! And that zombie DJ at the rally was killer!”
Caitlyn is one of the first to congratulate me. I tell her she ran a great campaign. Tommy looks shocked that he lost. Eileen gives me a big hug.
I’m embarrassed by all the attention and luckily have an excuse to hurry out of class—I’ve got to get Zombie Boy out of the custodian’s closet. When I open the closet door, I can barely see him underneath all the toilet paper, which is now strewn everywhere. I pull him out and close the door just as the custodian turns the corner toward us.
Where am I going to hide a zombie?
The DJ boy trails toilet paper behind him all the way home. I pick it up as it falls and try to make sense of today. Whether it was the zombie’s great music, the issues, or that Caitlyn and Tommy split the vote, I don’t know—but somehow I’m the new president of our class.
It doesn’t seem real—but neither does walking home from school with a zombie.
This is my life!
I am
The After-Party
Bev and Eileen insist on coming over to celebrate. Bev wants Zombie Boy to DJ again so we can dance in my room, but I need to figure out where he’s going to stay. Both my parents park in the driveway, so there’s room in the garage. The weather’s been warm and the zombie will probably be fine. (Unless zombies are SUPPOSED to be cold.) We fill a cooler full of apples, juice boxes, and potato chips and pile up blankets in the corner of the garage behind the Halloween decorations.
When Eric was my age, he was obsessed with Halloween and spent hours filling the yard with Styrofoam tombstones and plastic bones. Now that he’s in high school, the only thing he wants to do on Halloween is hang out with his friends and scare younger kids. I make sure the coast is clear, then lead Zombie Boy to the makeshift cemetery in our garage.
“Look, all your buddies are here.” Bev gestures to the Frankenstein and vampire statues that light up the lawn in October. He seems right at home with the graveyard gear, but his face really brightens when I give him back his laptop.
“Who knew zombies were such nerds?” Bev says.
I close the garage door and head inside.
Back in my room, Bev and Eileen start jumping around. “You won the election! We have to celebrate!”
I DO want to celebrate, but I also wonder if it was ethical to use my stickers in the campaign. I ask Eileen and Bev if they think I won fair and square.
“Yes, but if you’re not sure, there’s only one thing you can do about it now,” Bev says. “And that’s be the best class president you can be.”
She’s right, and that’s exactly what I plan to do.
Eileen sees the sheet of magic stickers poking out from my bag. She traces the outline of herself with her finger. “How does it work?” she asks. “Do you have to do anything special when you peel us off?”
I explain about the poof of confetti and the noise.
“I don’t remember that,” Eileen says.
I ask her if it feels like she’s sleeping when she’s on the sheet of stickers.
Eileen closes her eyes. “It’s quiet.” She takes one of my bracelets from the nightstand and tries it on. “It’s much more fun here.”
For the first time since Eileen’s been with us, I feel like she’s my friend as much as Bev’s. But I don’t ask where she’s staying tonight, in case she decides to crash at Bev’s again.
Eileen points to the chipmunk ballerina on the magic sheet, and I can tell she’s curious to see what the process looks like. I feel kind of weird letting loose a rodent, especially since I just hid a zombie in our garage.
“Come on,” Bev says. “You just won an election—why not?”
With the two of them egging me on, I peel off the second sticker of the day.
in a tiara and a pink tutu pirouettes across my bed, faster than I’ve ever seen anyone dance before. The tiny creature leaps over the pillows so quickly that I have to duck. Lily barks, unsure what she’s barking at. Eileen, Bev, and I squeal with delight.
The brown blur in pink ballet slippers spins across my nightstand faster than a top in a tornado. The chipmunk comes to an unexpected halt and bows deeply before me.
“That was amazing!” I hold out my hand and the ballerina leaps into it, landing perfectly. “And what is your name?”
“Walter,” the ballerina says. “And I love to dance!”
Family Night
Surely the opportunity to hang out with a chatty male chipmunk ballerina would be enough to persuade Eileen to stay over, but when Bev’s mom comes to pick her up a few minutes later, Eileen sheepishly asks if she can go too. I can tell by Bev’s eyes that this is awkward, so I immediately tell Eileen it’s fine.
Craig, of course, can’t help but comment. “I think it’s strange that Eileen’s at Bev’s again. I mean, what’s wrong with us?”
It’s a question I’d been asking myself too. I hope I didn’t just win an election only to lose a best friend.
My parents are thrilled that I won and insist on inviting our extended family to the diner this weekend to celebrate my victory.
My cousins Beth and Lucia are excited that I’m the new class president and make me tell them all about the campaign. Eric and my older cousins set up goals in the parking lot and play soccer while my aunts bring out food from the kitchen and my uncles tell stories and talk about sports.
Beth and Lucia would love to meet Craig and Walter, but I would have opened myself up to too many questions if I showed them to Beth and Lucia. Before everyone arrived, I hid both of them in the back room behind a giant bag of potatoes, where they could enjoy the party without being seen. I did think about taking Zombie Boy, but since there’s electricity and Wi-Fi in the garage, he chose to binge-watch old episodes of The Walking Dead instead.
In the back room of the diner, Craig pulls me aside. “Don’t leave me alone with Walter—I’m afraid he might try to eat me.”
“Please!” Walter says. “In the history of the world, have you ever seen a ballet dancer eat a cupcake? Have you?”
I tell Craig that Walter does have a point, but to reassure him, I slip my cupcake friend back into his plastic container. Walter finds a corner of the storage room to practice, then laces his pointe shoes.
I can share one of the stickers with my cousins—the treasure chest. Before leaving the house, I filled my backpack with the beautiful—but fake—gems, which I now empty onto the table of our booth. Beth and Lucia love the jewels, and we line them up along the tabletop in different patterns, like a gemstone quilt.
“Now that’s the kind of table I need in my house!”
The three of us jump out of the booth to hug our abuelita, who’s just arrived with a group of friends. I’m still not sure if she had anything to do with my magic sticker sheets, and every time I ask her, she changes the subject or just smiles.
“Congratulations, Marti,” she says when she kisses me. “You’ll make a wonderful class president.”
“Well, I did have some help.” I raise my eyebrows to see if she gets the hint about my magical stickers, but she doesn’t take the bait.
“I heard you had lots of friends making posters,” she continues. “Posters always help in an election.”
Does she know about the palette sticker? Does she know the paint was magical—until it disappeared?
Beth and Lucia lead our grandmother over to Dad, who twirls her in the middle of the diner as if they’re dancing. It doesn’t take long before everyone starts dancing for real.
When Bev invited my class to a party at the diner earlier this year, she told me afterward how surprised she was by how fun-loving my family is. I know she meant it as a compliment, but I also know she was taken aback because when people first meet me, fun-loving probably isn’t the phrase that comes to mind. Hanging out with Bev has certainly been nice; I just hope it’s been that way for her too.
There’s suddenly a commotion—it turns out Mom’s trying to pry some jewels out of James’s mouth. After removing a few drooly sapphires, she shoots me a stern look to put the jewels away.
In between helping with the food—and accepting congratulations from my relatives—I check up on Craig in the storage room.
“I HATE not being invited to parties,” he complains.
“You’re here, aren’t you? I could’ve left you at home.” I look around the room. “Is Walter still rehearsing?”
Craig shakes his head and tells me Walter took off a while ago.
That’s when I hear my aunt Carmen scream.
“Rata!”
I run into the front room to find Dad swinging a broom and my abuelita trying to calm down my aunt. When a pink blur passes through my legs, I realize it’s Walter. I’m immediately concerned for his safety, but when I catch up to him back in the storage room he’s exhilarated.
“That’s the best cardio workout I’ve had in ages,” he says. “I can feel the adrenaline racing through my whole body.”
I scoop up the chipmunk and hide him behind several large jars of olives.
“I hate olives,” Walter says. “They’re so fatty—get them away!”
“This is no time to be fussy,” I whisper. “Thanks to you, everyone thinks Dad’s restaurant has rats!”
“RATS?!” Walter screams. “Rats are terrible dancers! Have you ever seen a rat do an arabesque? It’s embarrassing!”
Of course Eric has to get into the act—he and my cousins Otto and Jorge race into the storage room to find the rodent that’s crashing our family party. I lean against the shelf, blocking not only Walter but Craig.
“Get out of the way, Martina,” Eric shouts.
“If there was a rat, it’s gone by now,” I say.
Otto stops in his tracks. “Are you calling my mother a liar? If she says there was a rat, there was a rat!”
I apologize to my cousin, basically so the three boys will leave. When they finally do, I shove Walter and Craig into my bag.
“There’s not enough oxygen,” Walter complains. “My muscles will tense up.”
These stickers can be so high maintenance.
“Just stay put until we eat,” I say. “Then we can go home.”
I remind myself that this party was supposed to be for me. Is it asking too much to have a little fun tonight? Especially since my best friend seems to be spending all her time with one of my stickers?
When I get back to the counter, my aunt has calmed down and the fuss is pretty much over—although Dad is still telling anyone who’ll listen that his diner does not have rats.
My abuelita raises her glass in a toast. “To Marti—may she be a fair and compassionate president.”
My grandmother obviously thinks my new post on the student council is way more important than it is, but my relatives lift their glasses anyway. We pass around platters of food; because I’m sitting next to James in his booster seat, I serve him a little from every dish.
Since I’m wedged into one of the circular booths with James and several of my cousins, checking on Walter and Craig in my bag on the floor is nearly impossible. When I can finally duck underneath the table, I find Walter sitting on the floor scooping up rice with his tiny chipmunk hands.
“Your brother is a slob. Did any of this arroz con pollo end up in his mouth?” Walter licks his tiny fingers. “I know it’s mostly carbs, but it’s delicious.”
Luckily, there’s so much commotion that no one hears Walter—except maybe Eric, who suddenly lifts up the tablecloth and looks for the diner’s nonexistent rat. I shove Walter into my bag before he has a chance to run.
“Martina, sit up,” Mom scolds from the next table. “Use your manners, presidenta.”
I smooth the tablecloth back down; she shoots me a wink that lets me know she’s not really mad.
After coffee and dessert—grilled apples with cinnamon—everyone finally makes their way home.
My abuelita takes my hand and asks me what my first act as president of the student council will be. I tell her I ran on a platform of learning outside the classroom, so I’ll be taking suggestions for our first field trip.
“Maybe the ballet,” my abuelita suggests. “I’ve always thought there’s nothing better than watching someone dance.” Her eyes twinkle as she hugs me goodbye.
Does my abuelita know about Walter? My family is more mysterious—and fun—than any sticker, hands down. (Especially if that sticker is a soccer player with red hair, freckles, and a habit of stealing best friends.)
Our First Meeting
Last week, Caitlyn was one of the first to congratulate me on a good campaign, but I’m a little nervous about seeing Tommy. Will he be mad I won the election? Will I be the new target of his constant joking? The thought of being the punch line of lame knock-knock jokes for the rest of the year makes me want to hide under the covers and pretend to be sick.
Craig, of course, won’t stand for this kind of moping. “Come on! Time to start the day, Madame President!”
I jump up when I realize Walter is snuggled next to me on the pillow. The chipmunk is as skittish as I am and immediately leaps into first position. He grabs onto the spindle of my headboard and begins a series of warm-ups.
“Stretching is key,” Walter says between leg lifts. “Starting the day without warming up is worse than not eating breakfast.”
“Unless breakfast is a pastry,” Craig adds.
Walter motions for Craig to join in, but Craig wants nothing to do with morning exercises.
“Martina, let’s go!” Walter says.
I decide that stretching with a chipmunk probably makes more sense than hiding under the covers and worrying about Tommy, who I can’t control. I wonder if someone like Bev deals with this kind of mental tug-of-war before her day starts too.
After breakfast, I hide Craig in my backpack and head to school. Walter is unhappy he doesn’t get to come along, but I remind him of the ruckus he caused at the diner and how much trouble I’d get into if he did that in the classroom.
I take the piece of fabric and the plywood off the top of the treasure chest and dangle Walter over the shiny stones. He can’t help but oooohhhh at the glistening jewels.
“It’s a visual feast!” Walter pirouettes across the colorful gems.
“That should keep him busy,” Craig says. “But you’re stalling, Martina! Get to school!”
Is it weird that the person who knows me best isn’t a person at all, but a cupcake?
When I get to school, several kids congratulate me, and it turns out Tommy couldn’t be nicer. It’s almost as if his mind moved past the election five minutes after it happened. I can’t ima
gine having a mind that doesn’t cling to and worry about every single thing that happens in a day. I may have won the election, but I’m the person who’s envious today. How does Tommy do it?
Classes fly by quickly, which is usually great news for a Monday, but my anxiety about our first student council meeting makes me want to slow the day to a crawl. At the final bell, when most kids are on their way home or to activities, I head to the multipurpose room to meet up with the others.
At my old school, anyone from class could attend student council meetings, but here it’s only the elected officials and Ms. Graham. I know Mike, and hopefully it will be fun getting to know Scott and Samantha too. Mike is his usual carefree self, but Scott is taking his treasurer role so seriously, he brought in an old-fashioned calculator from home. As we talk about how much our plans might cost, Scott pounds away on the number keys. I’m not sure if what he’s typing is real or gibberish, but he sure seems to be working hard.
“We do need bigger cubbies,” Mike says. “But I think a field trip is the most important thing. What do you guys think?”
Samantha, Scott, and I agree and share our ideas. We discuss everything from the La Brea Tar Pits to the California Science Center to a Kings game to the Santa Monica Pier.
I save my best option for last. “There’s a new panda exhibit coming to the Los Angeles Zoo next week,” I say. “With two baby pandas!”
“I saw it on the news,” Samantha says. “They’re adorable!”
Scott tucks his pencil behind his ear as if that might help him think. “I’m pretty sure there’s a monkey exhibit too.”
I want to respect Scott’s suggestion, but we’re talking baby pandas here! Luckily, Samantha and Mike feel the same way I do, and it takes less than a minute to convince Scott that baby pandas are WAY more exciting than regular monkeys. Ms. Graham thinks our class will be thrilled with our first excursion.
By the time we finish the meeting, most everyone else has left for the day, so Samantha and I walk out together to wait for our rides. It may sound ridiculous, but for some reason I thought being on student council might suddenly make my shyness go away. I just spent over an hour as president of my class and feel totally the same—just with more work to do.
Sticker Girl Rules the School--Stickers Included! Page 4