President of the Whole Sixth Grade

by Sherri Winston

  “Before I let you all go so you can enjoy lovely finger foods and music, there is one other reminder,” said the speaker, his voice bringing my floating heart back to earth. Only, he didn’t just bring me down, he crash-landed me into a terrifying heap.

  “At the special session, all class presidents are required to participate in our farewell speech. This year’s topic is ‘Power with a Purpose.’ We want you to come up and share with the group how you show your dedication to your community. Each of you will have five minutes. Our partner and one of our sponsors, Executive, Jr. magazine, will award prizes to the most innovative speakers and feature them in an upcoming article.”

  I felt the color rush from my face. What if my speech turned out rotten? I mean, what if it sucked?

  “Sugar? You okay?” Red asked as she leaned in.

  I whispered, “I’m okay. It’s just… being here. It just got real!”

  Civics Journal

  Ancient Rome and Middle School

  After getting rid of their final king, the kingdom of Rome became the Republic of Rome. SPQR was stamped on tablets, coins, and everything to show the support of the senate and people of Rome. I think it was sort of like an advertising campaign, to show the countrymen that they were one society.

  If middle schoolers made their own coins, what would we stamp on them?

  Mine would probably say COSG.

  That stands for Citizens of Sixth Grade!

  It’s time for us to stand together and rock this thang!

  15

  Grand Pantheon

  Tuesday, December 9

  The U.S. Capitol building left me breathless, despite the fact that I hadn’t slept well thanks to worrying about my friends—and my speech.

  We came in through the visitors’ center and had to line up and get name badges. Everyone was whispering or giggling, trying to wake up or calm down. Mr. G. and the rest of the chaperones had on their “don’t you embarrass our school, our city, or our state” expressions. Most everybody seemed to understand that they meant business.

  “Think you could work in a place like this?” Red whispered.

  I whispered back, “It’s a lot nicer than holding sixth-grade meetings in the old auditorium at school. That place smells like feet and corn chips.”

  We both cracked up, but pulled it together when Mr. G. glanced our way.

  Once the tour guide arrived, we fell into step behind him. He seemed impossibly chipper for so early in the morning. Focusing on him took my mind off Sara and Becks.

  Earlier this morning, while waiting in line for breakfast behind Becks, I’d whispered that I needed to please talk to her and Sara. Alone. Instead of just answering me, she’d written a note:

  Meet us behind the Lewis Cass statue @ Capitol building.

  Our tour guide had a mustache that danced when he spoke. His eyes were pale blue and his cheeks glowed like Santa’s. Swear to goodness, when he laughed, his belly shook like, well, you know the deal. The way he talked about the history of the building and the architecture, you’d think he built it himself.

  “Did you know that the original dome of the Capitol in 1824 was made of wood covered with copper?” asked the Santa-looking guide. “By the 1850s, however, that dome was considered a fire hazard. So they set out to improve the old girl. Just one of her many makeovers.”

  He winked at us and we all laughed. But the snickering and snide comments of my classmates ceased as we climbed the steps and stared into the domed ceiling. We stood, about twenty-five of us, with our mouths hanging open. It was so cool.

  We remained speechless in the face of what the guide called “neoclassical design.” Our guide said the architect of the U.S. Capitol was a dude named Thomas U. Walter, who’d been inspired by the Panthéon of Paris.

  We were in an area called the Rotunda. “This space is the heart of the Capitol building,” said the guide. I nudged Lauren and she nudged me back. It was so cool, just being there.

  Mr. G. looked like his head was going to explode with joy. The man literally rocked back and forth, even though he must’ve heard this same speech at least twenty-five times! I wondered if he’d downloaded it onto his iPod.

  A “Pssst!” jarred me out of thoughts of Mr. G.

  I turned in time to see Becks. Her eyes were like huge brown saucers behind her glasses. Sweat dampened my palms. My heart tripped around in my chest, going faster and faster.

  I edged away from the group. When I got closer, she shook her head vigorously. I figured out why she’d looked so freaked out.

  The Peas!

  They’d moved into view. Like buzzards. Both wearing black jackets with some sort of ridiculous feathers around the hoods. Bet if I called animal control, they’d roll in here and shoot the Peas full of tranquilizers. Wonder if I could get that number.

  Becks turned. No doubt sensing I might put her precious Peas in danger by calling buzzard tranquilizing authorities. One Pea was saying something to her, face blocked by said hood. Becks’s eyes grew extra-large again. She didn’t look my way.

  “Any questions?” asked the guide. “Now I am going to lead you into an area that is always a hit with school groups, Statuary Hall.”

  Red, Lauren, and Ebony were ahead of me. I was hanging back, waiting for Becks. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sara snap several photos of Prya and Paisley. It occurred to me that I hadn’t seen Sara take one selfie since we left for D.C.

  The guide was leading us through a hallway from the Rotunda to Statuary Hall when I realized there was something going on at the back of the group. I turned just in time to see Mr. G.’s face flame red.

  A man dressed like some kind of guard or policeman was standing there. So were the Peas. I let my eyes drift over to Becks. She looked green. Sara seemed to grow smaller and smaller.

  My mom and another teacher turned themselves into curtains, blocking out the drama and directing the rest of us to mind our business and follow the guide and other chaperones.

  From somewhere on a lower level a door opened and a gust of bitter cold rushed in and nipped at my ankles.

  “Pssst!” Becks hissed, sounding like an angry teakettle. She and Sara stood together. The Peas were being led in the opposite direction.

  This time when I looked back, Becks was using her head to point to the rear of the gallery, a space filled with statues. We had learned earlier that each state donated two statues, most of which were located in other parts of the building. The rest gathered here, motionless, as though all had been in the middle of some great presentation when they simply froze for all eternity. A shiver skittered through me. Would I wind up like them during the closing session? Frozen in time when I couldn’t come up with a decent presentation for my “Power with a Purpose” speech?

  While the guide pulled the group toward one side of the space, Becks, Sara, and I wound up on the opposite side of the room. Just like she’d said in the note, we were behind a statue of Lewis Cass.

  “Is this the dude they named Cass Tech after?” I asked, squinting up at the huge white statue. Cass Technical High School was one of the best schools in Detroit. I tried not to notice that Becks was looking like she couldn’t care less.

  She jumped right in. “Why do you want to talk to us so bad?”

  Sara glanced all around. She looked tired.

  “You know, the Peas know you don’t like them. If you keep bothering us, they’re not going to let us hang out with them,” Sara said.

  “What?” I felt off balance. I looked at her—really looked at her. Her hair was frizzy. Her clothes were rumpled.

  “And what’s wrong with your hair, Sara?” They both looked wrong. Their body language was wrong.

  Becks huffed, “Oh? So now, because your aunt got your ‘natural’ blown out and it’s all swishing down your back, you want to make fun of Sara?”

  “I’m not making fun of anybody. Why do you have such an attitude? I was just asking a question. And what happened to your little friends, anyway?” My hea
rt was pounding hard and fast. It was like we had never been friends, the way they were pulling away from me. I just wanted to help them.

  Why were they making it so hard?

  “They got caught with gum, that’s all,” Becks said defensively.

  Now, believe me when I say, we had gone over Capitol Etiquette—an actual pamphlet that Mr. G. made us memorize—for the past month. He must have told us a million times: NO GUM!

  I shook my head. “Well, that was stupid. So typical. Anyway, this is cool, right? Lewis Cass. We should take pictures. Sara, are you gonna selfie?”

  “Brianna, shut up!” Becks’s anger crackled like lightning, its flash so hot and intense that both Sara and I took a step back.

  “What did you just say to me?” I asked, trying to regain my balance, feeling shaken.

  Sara looked around, then beckoned for us to follow her to another spot. I struggled to get my anger under control. She told me to shut up. I couldn’t believe it.

  When we were sure we were no longer in a whispering gallery (an area designed to amplify voices even if they whisper), Becks spun around. “Look, Brianna. You don’t know them, Prya and Paisley. So why do you always have something to say?!” She was practically panting. Not just in anger. Rage!

  Sara wasn’t helping. “Look, Brianna, it’s nothing against you, okay? It’s just, you know, we’re hanging with new people now. Don’t be mad. You’ve got that Red girl and your little friend Click. We’ve got the Peas. Prya and Paisley said when we go to the mall today, they would hook me up with a total makeover. That’s why I didn’t do much with my hair. Prya said I should wait until she helps me pick out my new clothes, then take a ton of pictures.”

  Before I even had a chance to think about it, the words shot out of my mouth. “Um, is she going to tell you when to go to the bathroom, too?”

  I blew out a large sigh. “Sorry,” I said. “Look, I wanted to talk to you because Beau Brattley told me something. He said the Peas are planning to trick you out of your money. They’re just hanging with you guys to try to get free stuff. Hey, I’m sorry, but they’re not good people. I was trying to find a nice way to say it, but, whatever. Anyway, don’t sweat it. If you’re scared of telling them where to go, please let me. I’ve had it with them bossing you guys around.…”

  “BEAU BRATTLEY?” This time Becks’s voice rose so loud that it didn’t take any architectural magic to make it carry. Several people spun around to see what was going on now. We all scooted tighter behind the statue.

  Becks pushed her face up close to mine. “Since when do you even care what Beau Brattley thinks about anything?”

  “Look, he came to me!” I sputtered.

  “Then you should tell him to mind his own business!” Becks was definitely panting now. “And by the way, you’re just mad because we want to hang with them and not you. If anybody wants to boss us around, it’s you, Brianna Justice. You’re just not satisfied until you’re telling everybody what to do!”

  Now I was stammering. “So it’s like that, then? You’re just going to jump at me like that when I’m trying to do you a favor?”

  My heart thumped in my throat. Heat crept into my neck, scalding me. All last night while Uncle Al had been showing me around his kitchen, worrying about the big gathering he was preparing for, all I could think about was these two. But all they’d been thinking about, it seemed, was how to get rid of me. I felt like screaming at them.

  Too bad she beat me to it.

  “You have a lot of nerve!” she said. Me? More like her. Talk about nerve! “We told you already, we want to be friends with them. Why are you still bothering us? Do yourself a favor and leave us alone!”

  “I…” My anger fizzled into something small and quiet. “I thought you were my friends.” I couldn’t let them see me cry. I wouldn’t.

  “Look, we’re outta here!” Becks snapped.

  “Wait!” I called, my voice soft. I knew I should just shut up, but I felt the words pour out. “Mom got the tickets. For the White House. It was going to be a surprise. I thought… I thought you really wanted to visit the White House.”

  “You think me and Sara would rather go to the White House with you than to the mall with Prya and the rest of ’em?”

  Becks scrunched up her features like she was trying to swallow something bitter. A combination of anger and hurt and something else—something I didn’t recognize. Sara’s voice was kinder, but she wasn’t much better. “No need for everybody to get all worked up. Bree, we can’t go to the White House. I’m sorry.”

  She tugged at Becks’s sleeve. The softness of Sara’s voice was way more of a punch than the ugly edge in Becks’s. Because Sara sounded like she felt sorry for me. Like I was the one acting pathetic.

  Which, let’s face it, I was.

  There. I’d said it. I, Brianna Justice, president of the whole sixth grade, was pathetic.

  Mr. G. called for his students to line up, but I felt more stuck than the statues. I trudged across the polished floor and when I reached my group, I told Lauren, Red, and Ebony what happened.

  Ebony was, like, “Girl, I’m sorry and everything, but I tried to tell you it was a bad idea. Those chicks know what they’re doing. Mama says sometimes when folks are determined to make mistakes, you just gotta let ’em.”

  Red gave me a hug. “Don’t worry about it, Justice,” she said. “It’ll be all right.”

  But it was Lauren who left a giant lump in my throat.

  She said, “Brianna, I’m so sorry. I know how much you wanted things to go back to the way they were. I know you’re not happy being friends with me without them. I…” She choked up. “I hope you’ll still hang out with me anyway.”

  I’d been so caught up in trying to make Becks and Sara be my friends that I didn’t even see how I was brushing Lauren off.

  I threw my arms around her. I said, “I’m sorry, Blondie.” She grinned. She always laughed when I called her that. “You’re my girl, Lauren. I don’t need Becks and Sara to still be friends with you.”

  As soon as I said it, it was like something inside me changed. I knew what I’d just said was true. It was time to start acting like it.

  Still, part of me felt so empty. I knew it was the part where Sara and Becks were supposed to be.

  While most of the students took buses back to the hotel, Mr. G. offered a few of us in the honors class a chance to stay a little longer. I was feeling so pitiful, I couldn’t bear the idea of leaving just yet and bumping into the girls again.

  Mr. G. took us into the back hallways of the Capitol, introducing us to our congressmen. Then we had the chance of a lifetime, to enter the Senate chamber, where senators conduct important business, deciding all kinds of laws and important stuff for the nation. Any other time, I would have been bug-eyed with excitement. But now my stomach burned as I tried not to throw up. I still felt awful about everything that had happened.

  We entered the Senate chamber and took seats up above the area where the senators sat. A woman, tall and curvy, wearing a navy blue pantsuit over a white shirt, had the floor.

  Mr. G. leaned in and whispered, “That’s Senator Madeline Wilson-Hayes.”

  At first, I slumped down in my seat. My head buzzed as my mind kept replaying what had happened with Sara and Becks. Still, the richness of the senator’s voice, and the way other senators kept trying to cut in while she was talking, well, it got my attention.

  After about half an hour, we ducked outside again. In the hallway I asked, “Why were those people yelling at her?”

  I could tell he was psyched that I was interested. “That is our adversarial government at work! Senator Wilson-Hayes is trying to make a point about the woeful lack of funding for teaching technology to young students. Since taking office, she has seen it as her purpose in life to make sure all students have access to this kind of education.”

  Her purpose. Now my stomach boiled yet again, but for a totally different reason. Despite how bad I felt about fighting
with Sara and Becks, I knew that if I didn’t come up with a speech about how to have “power with purpose,” I was going to feel even worse.

  I wished I could run down the steps and ask the senator how she came up with her purpose. Maybe she could help me find mine.

  Civics Journal

  Ancient Rome and Middle School

  The Grand Pantheon was constructed during the Roman Empire. It was to be an offering to the gods.

  The Capitol building was definitely a building worthy of them, too. It was grand and beautiful and awe-inspiring.

  I don’t really know how to connect the Grand Pantheon to middle school, except maybe that the structure has gone through many renovations to meet the needs and beliefs of the citizens as societies have changed.

  If a building from thousands of years ago can change and adapt, maybe I can, too.

  Would that make me the Grand Pantheon of friendship?

  16

  The Palace

  On the way to the White House, Mom swerved on the ice and we skidded.

  “Sorry!”

  The roads were getting slicker and snow had begun to fall. Snowflakes slid off the rental car, and immediately turned into ice.

  Mom was pretty smart. Didn’t take her long to realize there was only one kid rather than the three she’d expected. I’d told her a little bit of what had happened in my latest horror show, Night of the Living Dead Statuary Hall! I left out the bits about my utter humiliation.

  Still, I think she knew something was wrong. Like, really, really wrong.

  Even thinking about what happened made me tear up all over again. My so-called friends dissing me like that.

  And me, treating poor Lauren like she didn’t matter.

  I didn’t know who I was more sick of—Becks and Sara, or myself for spending so much time trying to win them back that I was neglecting people who actually did like me for me.