“And we won’t be ’tweeners anymore?” Ellie asked.
“That’s right,” her mother said. “Houses are expensive around here, but I think we’ll be able to afford something small when I get customers of my own.”
“So you don’t think we’ll be moving out of town?”
“I’d hate to see you leave TC. It’s such a good school, and you seem to be happy there,” Mrs. Taylor said.
“What makes people snobs?” Ellie suddenly asked. She’d been wondering about that ever since she started at TC. Even though wearing uniforms was supposed to make all the girls at TC look the same, some still seemed to think they were better than others.
“Your father worked on a lot of horses owned by very rich people. He said the ones who had really made it to the top were almost always nice—real classy in an unsnobby way. I think snobs just pretend to be richer or more important than they know they actually are. They’re bullies who beat other people up with mean words or haughty looks. Classy people would never act like that.”
Mrs. Taylor coaxed Glory to eat by pouring more molasses into his oats. She put some mash in her hand and waited for Glory to gum at it.
“Anyway, Ellie, why do you ask? Have any of the girls at TC been snobby to you?”
“Maybe a little at first,” Ellie admitted. “But not now. Why, I even got nominated to run for class president today.”
Mrs. Taylor wiped the stickiness of the molasses from her fingers onto her jeans before hugging Ellie. “My daughter, the president. Ellie Ever and all that,” she said. “I told you that not all those girls could be snobs. I knew you’d fit in just fine.”
When her mom brushed Ellie’s hair away from her eyes, Ellie noticed how bruised and scarred her hands were. If only her mother really were a queen, her hands could be soft and her nails could be long and smooth and have pink polish on them.
Though she could still almost hear his voice, she couldn’t remember what her father’s hands looked like anymore. But Ellie could still touch her mother’s hands. She went to the tack room and found a can of sweet-smelling salve. Then she made her mother sit down on the steps and slathered it on her mother’s banged-up fingers.
11
Ellie wrote her campaign speech that night and read it first to Pogo, then to her mother. Her mother clapped loudly, the way Ellie knew she would. “Your ideas are great, Ellie, but shouldn’t the class be doing something to help others?”
Ellie knew just the thing to suggest. She added that something to her speech before she went to bed. She worked on her speech some more on the bus ride and even more during lunch.
“McGregor has been class president forever,” Hannah told Ellie, offering her one of her cookies at lunch. “Mrs. Cameron’s first grade, Mrs. Hurst’s second grade, and Mr. Larson’s third grade, and first semester of the fourth grade. We need a change.”
Ellie broke off a piece of roll, the best part of the cafeteria food. She nibbled at it gracefully, the way she thought a princess should.
“Don’t worry about McGregor,” Chloe told her between spoonfuls of vegetable soup. “She makes the same big suggestions every year—and none of her ideas ever happen.”
“I’d rather suggest small changes first,” Ellie said. “If you promise people something, you ought to do it.” Ellie thought that sounded like something a real princess would say.
“Promise me you’ll suggest that all fourth graders get extra recess time,” said Kennedy. She loved to play soccer at recess.
Ellie knew Mrs. Crispin thought even fifteen minutes of recess was a waste of time. She knew better than to make that promise.
“You could promise more time for art,” suggested Stratford. Ellie thought she might be running out of doodling room on her galoshes.
Samantha Cantrell wanted more time for chorus; she had the prettiest voice in the school and always got to sing the solos.
Right after lunch, it was time for the campaign speeches and the election. “The nominees can speak for no more than three minutes each,” Mrs. Crispin said, “and they’ll speak in alphabetical order—McGregor Adams, then Schyler Ferguson, and finally Ellie Taylor.”
McGregor walked to the podium. “I’m the most experienced person on the ballot,” she began, “and experience is what counts in this election. I’ve had three and a half years learning how to lead our class to new heights. I know how to get things done around here. I will listen to your suggestions. Remember that a vote for McGregor Adams is a vote for yourself, too.” The class applauded politely.
“Schyler, it’s your turn.” Mrs. Crispin motioned her to the podium.
“Now is a time for change at TC,” Schyler began. “My father is chairman of the board of directors, and I will personally ask him to get rid of our ugly school uniforms if you elect me. I already have something really cute in mind. Or maybe I can get rid of our uniforms altogether so we can each wear what we want. Now that is really a mega great idea!”
Ellie thought the applause was louder for Schyler than for McGregor. When it was Ellie’s turn at the podium, she remembered to stand up straight and hold her head proudly.
“I can’t promise you my ideas will work, but if you elect me, I’ll suggest this to Mrs. Crispin: that anyone who has her homework done on time all week can choose a treat for herself on Friday afternoon,” Ellie began. The teacher at her school B.H. had let them do that, and it made everybody work harder. “And I’ll suggest that a person could choose to play soccer or paint or sing.” Ellie saw smiles from Kennedy and Stratford and Samantha. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she could even see Mrs. Crispin nodding in agreement.
“And I’d want to appoint someone different every week to serve as my assistant.” Ellie thought that was fair. “Then the class can vote on who has worked the hardest at the job, and that person can be president for the last month of school.
“I would be happy to help that person out as President Emeritus.” Ellie knew that term was Latin for an honorary title held after a person retires, and she thought it sounded like a term a princess—a really smart princess with an American tutor—would know.
“And most important,” Ellie proposed, “I want to help people in homeless shelters—by giving them something they need and maybe something they just want. Nothing old or worn out. Nothing broken or banged up. Something brand-new and beautiful.”
“It must be awful to have as little as those people have,” Victoria Davis said when Ellie suggested that. “Imagine not even being able to buy any new clothes! No one I know is that poor.”
Ellie felt her throat lump, but she drew herself up and spoke in her most princess-like, most presidential voice. She knew that she could never admit to having lived in a shelter—she was sure no princess had ever done that.
Instead she said, “I have done some research on homelessness.” She guessed living in a shelter counted as research. “These days, lots and lots of people are”—Ellie paused, remembering her mother’s words—“between homes. Some have lost their jobs. Some are too sick to work anymore. Some have lost their houses in natural disasters—like hurricanes or tornadoes or fires or floods or earthquakes. Things like that can happen to anybody, and I think we should do what we can to help . . . those people.” The class broke into loud applause after she finished her speech.
Ellie was elected class president in a landslide. She knew it was a landslide because Hannah told her so. Hannah had peeked when Mrs. Crispin had told them to close their eyes for the hands-up voting; she said McGregor and Schyler each just got one vote apiece—her own.
“That speech could’ve gotten you elected president of the United States,” Hannah told her after the election. Ellie thought that being president of the United States might even be better than being a princess.
“I especially liked what you said about the homeless,” Mrs. Crispin whispered to Ellie.
Ellie had a moment of panic. Did Mrs. Crispin know about her past? Would she tell the class that Ellie herself
had been one of “those people”?
But Ellie’s worries subsided when Mrs. Cripsin sent Ellie to the library to get a copy of Bulfinch’s Mythology. It was her first official act as class president.
12
After the election, Ellie was determined not to be afraid of Mrs. Crispin anymore. In a strange sort of way, she was beginning to like her teacher.
Mrs. Crispin seemed to enjoy playing a game with Ellie when she came in each morning. She would try to stump Ellie by naming some kind of mammal or bird or reptile nobody had ever heard of—like a ptarmigan, for example—just to see if Ellie knew what a group of them was called.
“A covey,” Ellie had shot back even though she didn’t really know what a ptarmigan was, though she thought it was a kind of bird. Ellie was glad she had read about animals on those afternoons when she had nothing else to do at the shelter.
Mrs. Crispin had almost stumped Ellie once when she asked her what one called a group of cats. She had answered clowder. Mrs. Crispin said it was a clutter of cats. She seemed excited that she had finally gotten the best of Ellie. But when Mrs. Crispin looked it up, she had to admit that both clowder and clutter were right.
With so many people wanting to sit next to her on the bus, Ellie found it harder to eavesdrop while pretending to listen to music through her earphones. But the day after the election, she spread her book bag out over the other half of her seat and acted busy reading when her friends walked by. She turned the music off when the bus turned onto the back roads.
She heard Stratford’s tiny voice first. “I’m glad Ellie won,” she told McGregor.
Ellie could hardly believe that Stratford had the nerve to stand up to McGregor!
“She wouldn’t have won if she weren’t a princess,” McGregor said.
“Yes, she would have,” said Stratford. “Even if she weren’t a princess. Because Ellie Taylor makes everybody feel like somebody special. That’s why I voted for her. That’s why everybody except you and Schyler did.”
McGregor’s patent leather ballet shoes with the bows clicked hard against the floor of the bus. Ellie still couldn’t imagine little Stratford in her galoshes talking like that to McGregor. Ellie was so stunned she was afraid she might gasp out loud. Then everybody would realize that she had been eavesdropping.
Ellie heard Hannah talking about a birthday party. Her own birthday was coming up in a few days. She wondered who else had one, too. She hadn’t been invited to the birthday party they were talking about. Probably someone she didn’t know. Someone who didn’t go to Twin Creeks.
She heard Kennedy’s voice next. “I can’t wait till the party on Saturday,” she said. “I even canceled my music lesson so I could go. I hope Ellie doesn’t find out about it. It would ruin the surprise.”
Ellie gripped the side of her seat. A surprise party for her? Where?
“Everybody’s dying to see where she lives,” Kennedy said. “Everybody says her house is enormous. We’ll probably get to ride her horses if it’s not too cold. I sure hope it doesn’t snow this weekend.”
“It was mega nice the way her mother had Mrs. Crispin invite absolutely everybody,” Stratford said.
“Mrs. Crispin sure fooled Ellie. That was great how she sent her to the library so she could tell everybody about the party.” Ellie heard Hannah’s laugh.
“Maybe we should all bring something for our homeless project in addition to her birthday presents,” suggested Chloe. “I bet Ellie would really like that.”
“Great idea! I’ll tell everyone else,” said Hannah.
Suddenly Ellie felt herself swimming in panic. What was going to happen when the other girls discovered she was not a princess at all? Would they still like her when they found out she was a girl a hateful hurricane had left homeless—like some of the people their project was going to help?
Ellie realized she was about to lose her tiara.
She had to think of something. And quick.
She tried to act like nothing was wrong at school. But it was hard to focus on the ancient world of gods and heroes in Bulfinch’s Mythology when she knew her own world was about to fall apart.
On Thursday night, Ellie thought about her problem. First, she decided to call Mrs. Crispin, disguise her voice to sound like a grownup’s, and tell her to announce that the birthday party had to be canceled because of a family emergency.
But then what would her mother think when nobody showed up for the surprise party? That Mrs. Crispin had given everybody the wrong address? Mrs. Crispin didn’t make mistakes like that—certainly not something as important as the address to someone’s birthday party.
That nobody liked Ellie enough to come—that’s what her mother would think.
And Ellie knew thinking that would wrinkle her mother’s heart!
Then she thought she could pretend to be sick. Maybe she could put the thermometer under hot water so it would read really high when she showed it to her mother. Her father said that had worked for him once when he didn’t want to go to school. If she could convince her mother that she had a really high fever—maybe something highly contagious—she’d have to cancel the party.
But then she would just postpone it until Ellie got well.
Ellie sat down at her desk and flicked on the lamp. A sheet of notebook paper stared back at her.
The next day was Ellie’s turn to read her autobiography to the class, and she had been working on it all month. Last week, she had thought it was her best essay ever. But somehow the words that had seemed so good then didn’t seem so good anymore. It was full of countries she had never visited and people she had never met and animals she had never petted. Lots of big words. Perfect grammar. Even the handwriting was pretty good.
An essay fit for a princess!
Only Ellie wasn’t a princess. If she were, then her mother wouldn’t have scarred hands, and the governor wouldn’t have called her father a true American hero. She might not even know how it felt when your heart got wrinkled.
Ellie lay in bed worrying most of the night. What should she to do? Was it better to be accepted for who they all thought she was? Or to be herself and risk not being accepted at all? Was it better to have the other girls at TC think she was a princess, or admit to being a pauper in prissy patent leather shoes? Ellie had so wanted to be a princess that she hadn’t even thought about what Mrs. Crispin might have said if she had read her Princess Ellie essay. From Mrs. Crispin’s comment about Ellie’s class project idea, Ellie felt sure that she knew the truth. Was it time for everybody else to know, too?
Could she, would she, ever be brave enough to be just the best Ellie Ever again?
Nothing more. Nothing less, either. Just the best Ellie Ever.
13
Ellie got up early to redo her autobiography and hurried to finish it before she caught the bus. She wrote about B.H. and A.H. She wrote about waking up on Christmas Day in Noah’s Ark and the surprise of moving to the apartment where Mr. Hunter had let them live near his stables. She wrote about how her mother was learning to be a farrier like her father, who was a true American hero. And how when her mother got to be a real farrier, she would make enough money to buy them a new house, and they wouldn’t be ’tweeners anymore.
She wrote about how they honked the horn on the Blue Goose and sang “The Wheels on the Truck” every time they crossed another state line. She wrote about splurging on banana splits at Granna Banana.
She even wrote about how, what seemed like a long time ago, her father had bought her a pair of black patent leather shoes. Pretty, princess-y, prissy ballet flats.
Writing the introduction to her autobiography was the hardest part for Ellie, and she wrote it last. For her, it was the most important part, and she had to say things just right. She crossed out almost as many words as she left on the paper.
Mrs. Crispin started the day with the reading of autobiographies.
Ellie remembered to pinch the slouchiness out of her shoulders as she walked to the front of
the room. And to hold her chin high.
The way a princess would.
A Taylor-Made Princess.
“I wrote something I’d like to read before I read my autobiography,” Ellie began. “Sort of an introduction.” She cleared her throat and began.
“Even though we never talked about it, I know from overhearing your conversations that you all think I’m a princess and are expecting me to tell you how I live, how a princess lives,” Ellie said. “And the first essay I wrote did describe all of that, but the only crown I ever wore was a cardboard one I got at Burger King.”
Ellie cleared her throat again, then continued reading. “I wanted to make friends here. I didn’t want to be a misfit . . . a misfit like the horses Mr. Hunter rescued and brought to the farm where we live. Those horses are old and lame and foundered and abused and scarred and scared and forgotten. But they remind me every day how important it is to care about every living thing, even if—especially if—they can’t do anything for you in return.”
She turned to the next page of her introduction.
“I wanted to be a winner like the horses who used to live at the stable next to where my mother and I live,” Ellie read. “So I pretended to be the winner you wanted me to be. But it was wrong to pretend.” She paused again, running her eyes up and down the rows.
“Because, as my mom says, a person can lose almost everything else, and be okay,” Ellie ended, “but if she loses herself, she loses everything.” She laid her paper down on the podium.
“I’m sorry I ever let you think I was a princess,” she said. “That was a mistake. If my father were here, he would have reminded me that all I ever needed to be was the best Ellie Ever. Not some princess people liked because of what they thought I had. Just the best Ellie Ever.” Ellie paused again, trying to choke back tears. “For him, that would have been more than enough.” She glanced at everyone in the room, then locked eyes with Mrs. Crispin. “Now I’d like to read to you about my real life.”
Ellie Ever Page 5
