Sticker Girl Rules the School--Stickers Included!

by Janet Tashjian

  “Suppose when we tell the class, no one wants to go to the zoo?” I ask Samantha.

  “What are you talking about? The zoo’s a great idea! Stop doubting yourself.”

  It’s difficult to explain worrying to someone who doesn’t. I remember at my old school, when Chris Tobin and I were in charge of the refreshments for the class Halloween party. Even though I reminded him twice the day before not to forget the apple juice, I made my mom buy two extra gallons in case Chris forgot.

  “What makes you think he’ll forget?” Mom asked. “Maybe all you need to worry about are the cookies you have to bring.”

  But I was nervous about my part of the job AND Chris’s. He laughed when he saw me carrying the heavy bag of juice into the classroom the next morning and pointed to the plastic bottles he’d already placed on the table. He didn’t seem angry that I didn’t trust him to do his part, but he shoved the juice I brought underneath the table next to the trash. When Mom asked about it, I didn’t want her to think I wasted money, so I told her Chris DID forget the juice. I felt bad lying, but I didn’t feel like having another “chat” about how it’s not good to worry all the time. And here I am, a year later, at a different school, with different kids, doing the same thing.

  “Everything’s going to be fine.” Samantha smiles like she wants me to be happy, not like I’m doing something wrong. So I smile back and tell her it’s going to be the best field trip in the history of field trips.

  After Samantha climbs into her mom’s SUV, Craig pops out of my bag. “Don’t bite off more than you can chew on this field trip.”

  “Funny advice coming from a cupcake. Samantha’s right—everything will be great.”

  But as soon as I say it, it’s not true. I suddenly spot Bev and Eileen on the soccer field across the street, running balls toward a goal. They’re laughing as they race through the orange cones, having a blast.

  For once, Craig’s voice isn’t sarcastic, but kind. “It’s hard when you’re not included, isn’t it?”

  “My best friend would rather hang out with one of my stickers than with me.”

  “Your best friend IS a sticker,” Craig says. “And he’s right here.”

  When Dad pulls into the pickup lane, I get in the car and turn away from the field. But it’s like watching an accident on the other side of the highway—it’s impossible to look away.

  I watch Bev and Eileen race across the grass until Dad’s car turns the corner and their images vanish from view.

  An Afternoon with James

  When I get home, my parents have a meeting with their accountant, so I have to stay with James till they get back. I actually like it when James and I are the only ones home. Without Eric walking around the house with earbuds, having loud phone conversations with his friends, I can play with my two-year-old brother in peace.

  It’s embarrassingly fun to sit on the floor and amuse myself with the same games I enjoyed when I was a toddler. First, James and I make the Mary Poppins puzzle with the oversized pieces that my abuelita gave me for my third birthday and that James now loves. Then I try to teach James hide-and-seek and duck, duck, goose, but they’re more difficult and less fun with only two people.

  While I help him dip celery stalks into peanut butter, I think about how much fun it would be to share my magical stickers with James. Even though he probably only knows a few hundred words, I can’t take the chance of him blabbing to my parents. But how cool would it be to fly around the valley at sunset in a hot-air balloon with my little brother?

  When he’s done with his snack, James chases Lily around the coffee table and couch as if it’s his own personal racetrack. I really want to play with my stickers. Can I pretend any of them are a toy?

  I grab the palette and brush, which I haven’t used since my poster party. Even after wetting them at the sink, the paints are dried up and

  useless. (Like they were in my campaign.)

  “I love your brother,” Walter whispers when James zips by us. “He’s got such great energy.”

  I smooth Walter’s tail, which looks like it might’ve been dragged through the pool of shampoo Eric left on the bathroom floor. “You can hang out with us,” I say. “But you absolutely cannot talk to James!”

  Walter looks around, clearly not happy. After a minute, he finally says okay. “It will give me a chance to practice my interpretive dancing.”

  “Not a word!” I repeat.

  Walter uses his tiny hand and pretends to zip his mouth shut.

  “Look what I found!” I bring Walter out from behind my back and place him in front of James.

  With the most care I’ve ever seen him use, James gently pets Walter on the top of the head. Walter’s right foot bounces against the table with pleasure.

  Walter’s about to talk, but as soon as I give him the evil eye, he stops.

  “This is a chipmunk,” I say. “His name is Walter.”

  “Walter ride in wagon.” James scoops up Walter from the table and places him in his little plastic wagon.

  James thankfully doesn’t race through the house the way he usually does, but carefully pulls Walter from room to room, talking to him the whole time. It’s the kind of scene that would be great to video, but since I don’t have a phone, I can’t. I run into my room to get the phone that used to be a sticker, but it doesn’t take a picture this time either. USELESS! The phone makes me think of calling Bev. Or is she still playing soccer with Eileen?

  I suddenly hear something crash down the hall and I freeze. Is someone trying to break into the house? I hurry toward James—should we run over to Ms. Henley’s and call my parents? But when the next sound is a grunt, I cautiously tiptoe to my room.

  Zombie Boy is going through my desk.

  “What are you doing?” I grab Eric’s fedora from Zombie Boy’s head. I take the purple marker from his hand and return it to the coffee mug on my desk.

  Zombie Boy grunts and takes the orange marker instead.

  Not only has Zombie Boy gone through my desk, he’s taken a stack of my sacred neon index cards. I hold out my hand and he gives them to me. They’ve all been neatly printed with the letters DJDK. I point to the text and ask him to explain, but he just grunts.

  Craig looks over my shoulder at the card. “DJDK—DJ Decay! Get it? It’s actually kind of funny. He’s great with music AND with marketing!”

  I check on James and Walter, who are now reading picture books on the couch. When I get back to my room, I motion for Zombie Boy to take off his headphones.

  “I don’t know why you need business cards, but you have to get back to the garage before my little brother sees you.”

  What’s that noise? The sound of car doors—my parents!

  James is now the least of my problems. I rush Zombie Boy out the back just as my parents unlock the front door.

  “Chipmunk!” James says. “Chipmunk dance!”

  Walter bounds toward my parents and my mother screams.

  “How did a chipmunk get in the house?” Dad asks. “Is the garage door open?”

  “NO!” I block the back door, then realize I have to take my panic down a notch. “The chipmunk was scratching at the back door, so I let him in. He’s harmless, but I’ll put him outside.”

  Mom picks up James and washes his hands at the sink. “You have to be more careful, Martina. Rodents carry diseases—you two could get sick!”

  I tell Mom she’s right and usher Walter outside.

  “Diseases! What is she talking about?” Walter shrieks. “I can’t stay out here too long.”

  I tell him I’ll bring him back inside as soon as my parents fall asleep.

  Walter points to Zombie Boy tucked into the corner of the garage, bopping his head to the music on his laptop as he creates more business cards.

  “He only eats brains, right?” Walter asks. “Not ballerinas?”

  I’m beginning to think my life was easier before I had magic stickers.

  A Too-Cool Party

&n
bsp; Samantha, Scott, Mike, and I got approval for the field trip to the Los Angeles Zoo, but because tickets for the baby pandas are selling so fast, Ms. Graham moves up the trip before the exhibit sells out. The baby pandas are all anyone can talk about, even though the student council has accomplished other things as well. Scott and his dad found a dance studio that was going out of business and offered our class their cubbies for a dollar each—a total bargain. The stainless-steel baskets are in great shape, and Ms. Graham lets us spend the free period replacing our old cubbies with the new baskets. Stephanie’s mom runs an upholstery business, so Stephanie brought in four big square pillows to use in the reading loft, and for the window seat I donated some striped fabric Mom had. Mike borrowed a floor lamp from his dad’s home office and plugged it in between the bookshelves.

  “Your new student council has transformed our reading loft!” Ms. Graham tells the class. “I’m so glad you elected such a take-charge group!”

  Bev whips around in her seat and gives me a big smile. Eileen isn’t with her today, which is good—although I hope Eileen isn’t getting into trouble that I’ll have to get her out of later.

  I’ve been so busy with student council these last few days that I’ve had less time to do things with Bev. It’s great to hang out by the picnic table at recess and research pandas during library time.

  I haven’t minded staying after school for the meetings lately, but today I’d rather leave with Bev and go over to her house. The student council has a lot of details to get through before the trip, and I don’t want to let the other members down.

  Ms. Graham tells us again how happy she is with the job we’re doing and helps us make sure everything’s ready for the big day.

  “Best field trip in the history of field trips,” Samantha reminds me afterward.

  I wasn’t serious when I said it, but I’m beginning to think that actually might be the case. After the meeting, I wait outside for Eric to pick me up. Now that he has his license, he’s supposed to help my parents out with the driving, but what it means for me is that I spend a lot of time waiting.

  I stick my head back into the school to check the time. Reason #27 why I should have my own cell phone.

  Cell phone!

  I feel around in my bag for the cell phone that used to be a sticker. Being stranded at school technically counts as an emergency, right? The magic cell phone has to work this time.

  The screen lights up, but as I enter Eric’s number and press the CALL button, nothing happens—again.

  I throw the useless phone back in my bag and stand on my toes to see if Mrs. Spurlock is still in the office so I can use her phone. But I’m almost knocked over by the sound of tires screeching to a halt on the blacktop. Sure enough, Eric skids into the pickup lane in my mother’s Chevy.

  “You were supposed to be here at four!” I say. “Mom’s going to kill you!”

  “If she finds out, which she won’t, cuz you’re not going to tell her.” Eric turns the volume louder on the radio so he can’t hear me complain.

  “I have to make a stop first,” he says. “There’s a big party at Jessica’s and I told her I’d drop some stuff off.”

  “I don’t want to go to a party—I want to go home!”

  “You are most definitely not going to the party,” Eric says. “Only cool kids are invited.”

  It wasn’t that long ago that Eric used to sit next to me on the couch and explain basketball and football games, pick me up when I fell off my bike, and let me have the last bit of cereal at the bottom of the box. But this year, the only Eric I get is the grouchy one.

  He turns left toward the high school, holding the steering wheel with the palm of his hand the way Dad does. After a few blocks, he pulls in front of a house with a line of cars parked out front. “Wait here. Do NOT get out of the car.”

  “Don’t worry, I have no interest in spying on your party.” I fold my arms across my chest to emphasize the point.

  Eric takes a tray covered with foil from the backseat; he obviously got Dad to contribute some snacks. Smelling the sausage and onions makes me realize I’m starving. I lift the foil off the tray as he slides it out of the car, but Eric is too fast and heads to the house before I can get a nibble.

  I lean my head out the window. The field trip is in three days and I want everything to be perfect. It was great that Ms. Graham was so happy with our work in the classroom today, but the real test will be outside the class. I lean farther back and make a wish that the day will go smoothly.

  From where I sit, I hear music that sounds familiar yet new. Where have I heard it before? I climb out of the car and head to the long, modern house at the top of the driveway. I look through the living room window at kids who go to school with Eric. Several of them are dancing to the familiar beat, including my brother as he balances the tray of food. I hold my hand above my eyes as a shield from the lights and am shocked when I see who’s playing the music at this super-fun party.

  Zombie Boy!

  My brother will kill me, but I have to go inside and get my zombie sticker. How did he get here? Is he wearing Eric’s fedora again? And most important—why is one of my stickers more popular than I am? Make that TWO of my stickers.

  I quietly walk in and squeeze through the wall of dancing kids. Zombie Boy’s in the corner, wearing his headphones, cuing up the next song on his laptop.

  “What are you doing?” I ask. “We have to go home!”

  Zombie Boy excitedly tilts his screen toward me and starts typing.

  Then the computer starts talking.

  “I wrote some code so you could understand me,” Zombie Boy says. “How do you like my new voice?”

  His voice doesn’t sound robotic, but almost like a regular kid’s.

  “Jessica saw one of my flyers and asked me to be in charge of music,” Zombie Boy says.

  “You hung up flyers?!”

  “All over town. I’ve got a gig tomorrow night too.”

  I suddenly notice he’s wearing a belt fashioned out of the sapphires and rubies from my treasure chest. A sticker who’s a nerd, a music lover, and a craft whiz? Are all zombies this talented?

  When I see Eric hurrying toward us, I hold my ground.

  “What are YOU doing here?” Eric shouts. “I told you to wait in the car!”

  My brother is suddenly distracted by the new song Zombie Boy cues up. He starts bouncing up and down like he’s on a pogo stick. “Dude! This music is killer! You’re as good as Jessica said you were.”

  “Thanks—glad you like it!” Zombie Boy types.

  Eric breaks into a huge grin. “Hey! I have that same hat!”

  Zombie Boy fist-bumps Eric, who then says he’s taking me home. When I ask if we can stay a little longer, he won’t hear of it.

  “Martina’s your sister?” Zombie Boy asks. “She’s the only person I’ll take requests from.”

  Eric is impressed, but no one’s more surprised than me.

  Zombie Boy hands me his laptop and tells me to pick the next song. I choose one of Eric’s favorites, which buys me a little more time.

  I hand the laptop back to Zombie Boy.

  “Thanks for helping me come to life,” he says. “I hate not being able to play my music.”

  I can’t say for sure because his skin is green, but it looks like Zombie Boy is blushing.

  OMG—does my zombie sticker

  The Bus Ride

  The next days are full of meetings, permission slips, and general panda excitement. Four parents volunteer to come as chaperones; Mom says she is happy to take the day off from work to accompany us but that James will have to tag along. The thought of my hyperactive brother coming doesn’t make me happy, but having Mom around in case anything goes wrong does.

  Even though my title on the student council is president, I could just as well be called Official Worrier. Every night, I run through scenarios of what could go wrong, driving Craig and Walter crazy in the process. Zombie Boy even made a playlist of
songs for me to listen to and relax. The music he chose worked like a charm, and when the day of the field trip finally arrives I actually am excited and somewhat calm.

  My abuelita sees us off in the school parking lot along with two friends of hers I haven’t met before. (For someone who lives alone, my grandmother meets more new people in a day than everyone else I know combined.) One of the women looks familiar; it turns out her name is April and she owns the dry-cleaning shop I sometimes go to with Mom. April can’t stop telling me about the baby pandas we’ll be seeing later today. She and her grandchildren saw the exhibit at the National Zoo in Washington, D.C., and it was the highlight of their visit.

  After much debate, Craig insisted on coming, but I’m shocked when I reach for his plastic container and find Walter inside my bag too.

  “You can’t dance up and down the aisles of the school bus,” I tell the chipmunk. “Somebody could step on you.”

  “She just doesn’t want to get in trouble,” Craig tells Walter. “It’s typical Martina.”

  I shoot him a look to keep quiet and take some celery out of my snack bag for Walter.

  “I LOVE adventure,” Walter says. “And I hear Eileen is coming too!”

  Wait, what?

  Before I can ask for details, Bev climbs onto the bus with Eileen.

  “You didn’t tell me your new friend was coming,” Mom says.

  I don’t tell Mom that Eileen isn’t really my friend and I didn’t know she was coming either. Bev waves to me as if nothing is wrong, says hi to my mom as she passes us, then plops alongside Eileen in an empty seat in back.

  Mom must sense something because she pulls me in for a quick hug.

  “Today’s going to be great,” she says. “You did a wonderful job planning this trip.”