“Will someone turn him off?” Shira said.
“Hey, we were just talking about you,” Josh said, turning to his friends. “You guys are voting for Claudia, right?”
Three guys I barely knew nodded.
“I bribed them with baseball cards,” Josh said in a stage whisper.
We all took trays and slid them onto the track. I was between Shira and Joanna.
“Anyway,” Shira said, “my horrible obnoxious cousins from Westchester go to this school that’s having a food drive for charity. Well, my mom thinks this is fantastic and wants me to start one here. The thing is, the drive is sponsored by some supermarket that isn’t even in Stoneybrook! I mean, it’s a good cause, sure — but how am I supposed to organize this thing?”
As we slid along, picking up food, a voice behind me yelled, “Yeah, Claudia the Queen!”
Over my shoulder I saw a boy named Neil punching the air.
“Boy, are you ever Miss Popularity,” Joanna said.
“I mean, I would like to do it,” Shira continued as we walked to a table, “but I don’t have the time, with homework and the school newspaper and yearbook and all. What do you guys think?”
“That’s Claudia,” Josh was saying loudly to a table full of kids I hardly recognized. “Trust me, she’s perfect.”
I didn’t know whether to blush or bop him on the head.
Jeannie was already sitting at a table by the window, deep in conversation with two other girls. We sat down across from them. Shira kept trying to talk about her dilemma, but she wasn’t having an easy time. For one thing, the conversation was going in a million different directions. For another, about four kids came up to tell me they were going to vote for me.
By the time the end-of-lunch bell rang, Shira still hadn’t decided what to do. Joanna and Jeannie were busy discussing whether the chicken sauce contained Elmer’s Glue, and Josh was reminding kids left and right to vote for me.
“Uh, Josh,” I said as we all headed for the door, “you don’t have to do this, really.”
“You’re new, Claudia,” Josh said. “You need visibility. You need P.R. Leave the dirty work to me.”
“I don’t know what has gotten into him,” said Jeannie with a laugh.
Josh blushed. “I love proms.”
As usual, Joanna and Shira went one way toward their classes. Jeannie, Josh, and I headed the other way.
We ran into Kristy, Stacey, Abby, and Mary Anne walking around the corner.
I have to admit, seeing my BSC friends on their way to eighth-grade lunch is painful. As we greeted each other, I could feel a tug in my chest. I missed going to lunch with them. I missed our conversations. Every day I wondered what they were talking about, what jokes I was missing, what gossip I’d be the last to hear.
“Mary Anne is having second thoughts about the Addisons,” Stacey said. “She thinks Mrs. Addison is hiring us to teach Sean a lesson.”
“A form of torture, in other words,” Abby added.
“I say, go for it,” Kristy declared. “They called us. We agreed. A job is a job.”
I looked toward Jeannie and Josh. They were staring off in the other direction.
“This kid, Sean?” I said to them. “He caused some major trouble because he set fire to some library books. Now his mom wants us to sit regularly for him.”
“Uh-huh.” Jeannie smiled politely.
Josh looked at his watch. “Are you coming to class?”
“What’s for lunch?” Kristy asked me.
“The chicken is disgusting,” I replied. “But Jeannie liked the sandwich —”
I looked over at Jeannie. She was reading the Heimlich maneuver poster across the hall.
“Last call, Claudia,” Josh called out.
“Thanks, Claudia,” Kristy said as she and my other BSC friends walked inside the cafeteria.
“ ’Bye,” I said.
Weird. I felt like a secret agent or something. My eighth-grade friends and seventh-grade friends didn’t seem to want to talk to each other.
Rrrringggg!
Oh, well. Time to run to class. Another assignment in the Double Life of Agent Claudia Kishi.
The day before the election, I was a wreck.
I know, it sounds stupid. I mean, it wasn’t as if I were in some contest on worldwide TV. At thirteen years old, I shouldn’t be worried whether a bunch of seventh-graders wanted me to be their prom queen.
But I was.
For more than a week, my friends had continued their “campaign” for me. Joanna and Shira had been pretty casual about it. But Jeannie was all gung-ho, and Josh was … Josh. Honestly, I think he will run a U.S. presidential campaign someday. He must have introduced me to a hundred classmates.
I kind of enjoyed that. I was meeting kids I might not have met otherwise. Most of them said they’d vote for me.
But hey, let’s face it, I didn’t have any high hopes. I was running against two incredibly popular girls: Abigail Leib, who’s modeled for J. Crew, and Duryan Weinstein, the class vice-president. If one of them didn’t win, the other would. And that would be just fine with me.
So why couldn’t I sleep the night before the vote? Every time I closed my eyes, I heard that dumb song you always hear at graduation ceremonies. (Kristy calls it “Pumpin’ Circumstance,” but I doubt that’s the real title.)
When my alarm woke me up, I was dreaming about Queen Elizabeth of England. She and I had switched clothes. I was wearing this dark, subdued, foulard dress that hung on me like a popped balloon. Her hair was tied to one side with a scrunchie and she was dressed in Spandex pants, a Hawaiian shirt with ED’S DINER stenciled across the breast pocket, and a pair of Doc Martens.
“How do I look?” the Queen was asking me as I awoke.
I jumped out of bed and stumbled to the mirror. My hair looked like a snake pit and my face was all wrinkled from my pillow.
“Auggggh!” I screamed.
Some Queen I was. The Queen of the Dead.
I switched into serious Bad Face Day mode. I showered, yanked, and combed, and generally forced myself to look human. It must have worked, because when I ran outside to the corner where I meet my friends every morning, neither Mary Anne nor Stacey fainted with fright.
On our walk, we didn’t talk about the vote. We met Jessi and Mal along the way. They wished me good luck. But that was it. Very low-key. I figured they knew I was nervous. I was grateful for that, but it would have been nice if they’d been a little more excited. Oh, well.
We went our separate ways inside school. I met Jeannie outside homeroom. She was leaning against the wall, her face set in a scowl.
“They’re cheating,” she muttered.
“Good morning to you, too,” I joked.
“Sorry, it’s just that I overheard Abigail say she’s been promising to buy kids ice cream if they agree to vote for her. She is so phony.”
“Jeannie, it’s okay,” I said as reassuringly as I could. “Whatever happens, happens.”
“How can you stay so calm?”
Good acting, I wanted to say. My stomach was on spin cycle.
We walked into class together. In the back of the room, Mark Jaffe was hunched over his desk, his head cradled in his arms.
“Beauty sleep?” I asked.
Loretta spun around angrily. “Shhhh,” she said.
“He’s tired,” Jennifer explained.
“Poor baby,” Jeannie said under her breath.
The class soon filled up, and Mark managed to rouse himself. Some of his buddies were slapping him on the back, shouting, “Long live the King!” and “Mark is number one!”
He wasn’t the only one being fussed over (harrumph). Joanna, Josh, and Shira each stopped by to wish me good luck. Jessi and Mallory did, too. That was a nice surprise. (I was a little embarrassed when Josh announced, “Anyone who doesn’t vote for Claudia will be expelled,” but I got over it.)
“All right, settle down, we have a lot to do!” announced our homer
oom teacher, Ms. Pilley, the moment after the bell rang.
As she slammed the door, I had a slight sinking feeling.
I didn’t know what it was at first. Then I realized — none of my eighth-grade BSC friends had stopped by to wish me good luck, the way Josh and the others had. It was weird. I mean, it’s not as if the eighth-grade homerooms are miles away.
Ms. Pilley was handing out ballots. “These will be anonymous,” she said. “Do not show your vote to anyone else …”
I took a deep breath. No use feeling hurt. I had to be realistic. I was the one who insisted the Queenship was no big deal. I told everyone I had no chance to win. What was I expecting? Wild enthusiasm?
How could they know what I was feeling inside? I wasn’t even sure myself.
The three Queen nominations were printed next to the three Kings. I checked off my name, of course. Then I looked at the choices for King: Mark Jaffe, Frank O’Malley, and Tom Blanton.
I didn’t know Frank or Tom. But Tom’s name reminded me of Thomas Hart Benton, an American painter I adore. So I voted for him.
“Ready?” Ms. Pilley asked.
Grunt, grumble, shuffle, nod, everyone replied.
She collected the ballots and put them in a pile on her desk. “My best to both of you, Claudia and Mark,” she said with a chuckle. “I guess if you win, we’ll have to roll a red carpet down the aisle.”
“Or put a love seat in the back, so they can kiss!” called a boy named Len Judson.
The whole back of the classroom thought that was hilarious. Of course, someone just had to make loud kissing noises.
I turned around and glared at the kissers. I caught a glimpse of Mark. He was just sitting there, stretched back with his feet on his desk, smiling. I’m not completely sure, but I think he gave me a wink.
Can you believe it? As if kissing him was the number-one most fabulous dream I could ever have. What a conceited creep.
“Quiet!” Ms. Pilley said. “As you probably know, the ballots will be counted today and the winners will be announced at an assembly during last period.”
“Yyyyesss, no math!” shouted Loretta.
Mark let out a big yawn. “Can we go home if we don’t want to be there?”
Titter, titter, giggle, giggle.
The bell rang a moment later. As I was packing up, Mark walked by and bumped into me.
“Excuse you,” I said.
“Sorry,” Mark murmured, giving me a long look. “Are you Claudia?”
I nodded politely. He may have been cute, but he sure didn’t seem too bright. I mean, he’d been hearing my name practically every day.
I thought he was going to wish me good luck or something. Instead, he smirked, gave kind of a snort, and left.
For a moment I imagined what it would be like to be Queen to Mark’s King. The thought was so nauseating, I put it out of my mind.
* * *
I remained in school, but my mind was somewhere just north of the Twilight Zone. Especially late in the day.
My last-period class is gym. Our teacher, Ms. Rosenauer, told us to stay in street clothes and led us to the assembly. (I’m a terrible athlete, but for once I would rather have been playing basketball. At least I could run around and not feel so tense.)
The auditorium sounded like the monkey cage at the zoo. Everyone seemed so excited. Joanna’s and Shira’s last-period class walked in with mine, so we managed to sit together. From a farther spot, Josh tried to start a cheer of “Clau-dee-A! Clau-dee-A!” but his teacher shut him up.
Shira and Joanna talked to me a mile a minute. I have no idea if my responses were in any recognizable language — but boy, was I glad my friends were with me.
Onstage, next to a microphone on a stand, stood two tacky-looking thrones. Actually, they were green padded-vinyl metal chairs from the school office, covered with velvet bunting, fake sheepskin rugs, and dangling doodads probably left over from someone’s Christmas tree. On each seat was a gold plastic crown studded with colored-glass stones.
“DAAAAAAAA-DADADAA-DAAAAAAAAA-DAAAAA …”
From the loudspeakers blared “Pumpin’ Circumstance,” and I had visions of Queen Elizabeth again.
Mrs. Hochberger, an English teacher, stepped up to the mike. “Hear ye! Hear ye!” she called out. “Villagers, courtiers, and scholars, lend me your ears!”
“Oh, please,” said Joanna, breaking into laughter.
“As seventh-grade advisor to ye royal prom committee,” Mrs. Hochberger continued, “I hereby convene the Sixty-first Annual Stoneybrook Middle School Seventh-Grade Prom Coronation!”
Wild yelling.
If my stomach could have fallen any further, it would have been trapped in the seat cushion.
“As you all know, the crowning of King and Queen has been a cherished SMS institution since the Great Depression,” Mrs. Hochberger went on.
“Zzzzz,” snored Shira.
“The lucky young winners will be very respected people around the school,” Mrs. Hochberger said. “They will need to choose attendants — ladies- and men-in-waiting — who will do their bidding in preparation for the big event. This year, because of the gym’s after-school-use schedule, the seventh-graders will have their prom early, at the end of this month. So our royalty will be very busy …”
“Wake me when they count the votes,” Mark’s voice murmured from somewhere behind me.
Mrs. Hochberger made each of the candidates stand up. I dreaded my turn. When I had to stand, I felt like such a goon. I heard Mark mutter something to one of his friends, and when I glanced at them they were grinning at me. Puh-leeze.
After we sat down, Mrs. Hochberger went on and on about the wonderful catering our prom was going to have, and the fabulousness of the custodial staff. Finally she announced, “And now, without further ado, I exercise my privilege of announcing the names of the newly elected King and Queen of the Seventh Grade!”
Gloop. My stomach rose right out of the seat and lodged itself in my throat.
Shira and Joanna both put their arms around me and squeezed.
Mrs. Hochberger pulled an envelope out of her blazer pocket. “For King …” She ripped the envelope open and pulled out a sheet. “Uh … hmmm.”
She lifted her glasses. She made a big show of not being able to read it.
The whole audience was hooting, urging her on.
Mrs. Hochberger turned the sheet upside down and grinned. (What a ham.)
“The crown goes to Mark Jaffe!” she exclaimed. “Come on up, King Mark!”
I could not help groaning. I don’t think Mark heard me, though, because most of the audience was shrieking with excitement. Loretta and Jennifer looked as if they were about to weep with joy.
Mark made a big show of waking up, blinking his eyes, and looking mildly amused. Yawning, he stood up and sidled toward the aisle while kids pounded him on the back.
He shuffled slowly up to the stage, giving casual nods to a few friends, as if he were heading to lunch.
Mrs. Hochberger hugged him when he climbed onto the stage. He made a face. Then she put the crown on him. From his expression, you would think she’d just covered his head with lice.
He plopped himself down on the “throne” to wild applause. Smirking, he clenched his fists in a triumphant Rocky-style pose.
I nearly barfed.
Okay, he was cute. I had to admit that. The more I saw him, the better he looked. But really. The kids were treating him like a movie star. How childish.
And he seemed so, so self-satisfied.
“Who will join King Mark on the throne? Let’s find out!” Mrs. Hochberger began opening another envelope.
“Eeeeeeee!” Shira was squealing.
At least I think it was her. It may have been my stomach.
“And the winner is …”
I was feeling faint. Nauseous. I gripped my armrests.
Mrs. Hochberger was fumbling with the paper. The comedy routine again.
Not funny! I wanted
to scream.
“Ihsik Aidualc!” she announced.
Foooosh! I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath until it all rushed out.
I was off the hook. Disappointed, yes. But relieved, too. Must have been a write-in candidate. Someone I’d never met.
I heard a stereo “Huh?” from Shira and Joanna.
Mrs. Hochberger turned her sheet around and gave that grin again. “Oops. Had it backward. The crown goes to … Claudia Kishi!”
Clank.
My jaw hit the floor.
Shira and Joanna shrieked so loudly I felt as if I’d stepped inside a police siren. The corny music was blasting away. I saw Josh’s baseball cap fly into the air. Below it, Josh was dancing and five-slapping like crazy.
I felt hands pushing me. “Go, girl, go!” Joanna was saying.
I stumbled over knees and feet. I could see arms reaching upward toward me in high-five position. I don’t know if I returned them or not. I was in a fog.
“Haaaaail, Claudiaaaa Kiiiiiiishi,” bellowed Josh to the tune.
I tripped up the steps to the stage and nearly broke my wrists stopping my fall. (How graceful.)
“Congratulations,” Mrs. Hochberger said as she placed the crown on my head. It was so big, it slipped over my eyes.
Lovely. Now everybody was laughing.
I kept my sense of humor. I lifted the crown and placed it at a slight angle on my head (hey, a little style never hurts).
As I sat on the “throne” next to Mark, he was cracking up.
“What is so funny?” I asked.
“You have floor dust on your elbows and knees,” Mark said.
Trying not to look too dorky, I placed my arms demurely by my sides and crossed my legs.
Mark grabbed some of the velvet bunting and began wiping the dust off my crossed knee. That made everyone laugh again.
At that moment, I could not have hated him more. “Stop!” I hissed.
He gave me a goofy smile. “Didn’t want you to be embarrassed.”
“Stand, please, Your Highnesses!” Mrs. Hochberger commanded.
Mark and I rose to our feet, and Mrs. Hochberger clasped heavy velvet capes around our necks. The capes were old and smelled of moth balls.
Claudia, Queen of the Seventh Grade Page 3