by Steve Cotler
3. Kandy DeLeon ended her speech for vice president by yelling “Vote for Kandy!” That was the signal for Lana, Oddny, and two other friends in the audience to stand and fling handfuls of candy in every direction. The crowd went wild! (Very clever, IMO. I voted for Kandy.)
4. Livia Grant was running for treasurer. She said, “I will take care of our class’s money. And if anyone tries to steal it, my attack dog will get them.” Livia then waved “come on” to the side, and two girls pushed a huge cardboard box—the kind refrigerators come in—onto the stage. As Livia picked up the thick rope that hung out of the box, a loud roar came out of the sound system. Livia pulled the rope, and the tiniest dog trotted out. (Livia’s okay, and I really like dogs. I voted for her.)
Finally we got to the speeches for president.
“You’re third,” I whispered to Georgie. I know he heard me, but he didn’t do or say anything.
Eddie Chapple was first. He walked slowly across the stage to the lectern, nodding to his friends and waving. He acted very confident.
“I am a leader,” he began. “I believe a leader is someone who is not afraid to do what he thinks is right.”
I was listening, but I was looking at Georgie. His lips were pressed tightly together, and he was breathing way too hard for someone who had been sitting in one place for thirty minutes.
Eddie gave a very good speech. He used lots of positive words like strength, determination, and confidence. The audience interrupted him several times to cheer. As Eddie neared the end of his talk, four boys came onstage, two on each side of him. They were wearing RLS Tshirts. Eddie raised his hands and shouted, “I know every kid who attended Bass Rock with me last year is with me now. And as for the rest of you, if you want the best president, here’s who to vote for.”
That’s when all five guys surprised everybody by pulling off their shirts. Their chests were painted bright blue, with big red letters spelling out E-D-D-I-E. The audience screamed and applauded.
Diana Mooney was introduced next. She sort of ran onto the stage, waving to everyone. She passed right by the lectern, waved to everyone on that side of the audience, and then came back to the center.
Two girls standing in the wings on the far side of the stage let out a rope that lowered a giant cardboard crescent moon. The moon was painted blue and had red letters that spelled out MOONEY. I looked at the red and blue balloons floating above Georgie’s head. We weren’t the least bit unique. Everyone was working the school-colors idea.
Then I looked at Georgie. He was sweaty, his eyebrows were waggling up and down, and he was breathing real fast … hyperventilating. When I was little, sometimes I’d cry and get so worked up I couldn’t stop. Georgie wasn’t crying, but his breathing was definitely out of control.
“You can do this, Georgie,” I said. “Take a slow breath.”
He tried, but he couldn’t do it.
“Take a breath through your nose, make your mouth into a small circle, and blow it out real slow.”
This is a trick Granpa showed me when I was little. It calms your breathing. Georgie looked around quickly. No one was paying any attention to us.
“Georgie, trust me. This really works.”
He drew in a breath, his chest quaking with anxiety. He pursed his lips and blew out. I could tell he was trying to go slowly and evenly, but his air puffed out in short bursts.
“One more,” I urged.
He did it again. This time his exhale was steadier.
“And again … slowly,” I said.
I was so focused on Georgie, I only caught bits of Diana’s speech. She sounded super happy and upbeat. I heard the word fun three or four times.
After a few more exhales, Georgie’s breathing was almost normal. Then he said, “I’m not doing this speech, Cheesie. I can’t.”
“It’s okay,” I said.
“I just can’t.” Georgie slumped in his chair.
Diana was finishing. She was saying, “So maybe Eddie thinks guys from Bass Rock will vote for him. Well, I’m counting on my Goose Cove friends.”
She pointed up at her red-and-blue crescent moon. “With your vote we can take the sixth grade to the moon! Vote for Diana Mooney!”
A bunch of kids in the audience began yelling over and over, “Goose Cove for Mooney!” Then some of Eddie Chapple’s supporters began screaming, “Bass Rock for Eddie!” It was really loud. Diana just stood there, smiling broadly and waving happily to everyone like she was the Queen of Gloucester. Finally the chants died down, and she walked offstage.
“Good luck, Georgie,” she said as she passed by.
Georgie was in a daze. He didn’t respond.
Mrs. Wikowitz introduced Georgie, and someone in the audience started yelling his name. In seconds, it was a booming chant: “Georgie! Georgie! Georgie!”
Georgie looked straight at me.
Sometimes you have to know when enough is enough. Georgie is my best friend. I count on him, and he counts on me. If he couldn’t do it, I knew what I had to do.
“Okay. You don’t have to give the speech,” I said. “But we’ve worked too hard to give up. I’m going to give your speech.”
Georgie stuck out the arm with the balloons. “Here, take these.”
I shook my head and walked to the center of the stage.
Don’t Vote for Georgie!
I measured the distance afterward. It was only thirteen steps from the wings to center stage. But in my memory, it took forever to walk that far.
I was carrying the speech Georgie and I had written, and I guess I was planning to make up some lame excuse why it was me and not him giving it. When I got to the microphone, I placed the speech on the lectern and stared out at the audience.
The “Georgie” chant stopped.
There was silence.
Someone coughed.
I looked from one side of the room to the other. Everyone was staring back at me. I looked down at the speech. It began, “My fellow sixth graders, today is a day we will all remember. Today is when you’ll vote for the most courageous, most outstanding …”
I could have read that, but I didn’t.
Instead I took a deep breath and just spoke, not having the slightest idea what was going to come out of my mouth.
“My name is Ronald Mack. Some of you know me. I’m Cheesie. I mean, I’m not actually cheesy. That means something kind of crummy. That’s not what I am. I’m Cheesie. That’s my nickname.”
I took a deep breath. I wasn’t sure I was making any sense.
“Georgie Sinkoff is running for class president. Maybe you’re wondering why I’m standing here and not him. Good question.”
It was a good question, and I didn’t have a good answer. I just stood there looking dumb until my awkward pause was interrupted by some boy yelling “Bass Rock for Eddie!” followed by a girl yelling “Goose Cove for Mooney!” Then Glenn Philips surprised everyone who knew him by standing up, waving his arms, and screaming “Rocky Neck for Georgie!” That got everyone shouting.
Coach T, Mrs. Wikowitz, and a couple of other teachers in the audience moved like they were going to take charge, but they stopped when I raised my arms, leaned close to the microphone, and said slowly and loudly, “May I speak, please?”
I kept repeating that, and the room quieted down. All that screaming had given me an idea. I lowered my arms.
“I’ve known Georgie Sinkoff my whole life. Like I said, he’s running for class president, and I’m his campaign manager. Georgie and I went to Rocky Neck Elementary. We went to that school every year from kindergarten to fifth grade. We had fun there. We’ll never forget that. Yay, Rocky Neck!”
Some of my friends started to cheer, but I raised my hand and it stopped.
“Diana Mooney went to Goose Cove. And just like me and Georgie, I bet she had fun there. And I bet she’ll never forget that. So I say yay, Goose Cove!”
A couple of kids shouted, “Goose! Goose!” But that died down fast. I glanced into the win
gs. Diana was standing next to Eddie.
“And Eddie Chapple went to Bass Rock,” I went on. “I’m sure he liked his school, too. Yay, Bass Rock!”
The audience was silent. Everyone was totally paying attention now.
“But that was then. This is now. This is Robert Louis Stevenson Middle School. This is RLS. And that’s why I say to all of you … DON’T VOTE FOR GEORGIE SINKOFF!”
The crowd went nuts.
I heard, “What? Huh?” And all sorts of hoots and shouts. Everyone was confused. What kind of a campaign speech tells you not to vote for someone? I glanced over at Georgie. He was standing now, balloons above his head, his mouth hanging open. I gave him a big thumbs-up, grinned, and turned back to the audience.
“That’s right. Don’t vote for Georgie. And I’m telling you”—I was yelling now—“don’t vote for Eddie or Diana, either! Don’t vote for someone just because you went to some elementary school with them! We’re all at Robert Louis Stevenson now. Vote for the candidate you think will be …”
I held up one finger. “The number one …”
I waved both arms in the air. “Most spectacular …”
I grabbed the microphone off the lectern and began running around the stage. “Best sixth-grade president in the history of ever!”
Everyone was screaming and clapping. Georgie surprised me by running onto the stage, grabbing the microphone, and yelling, “I’m Georgie Sinkoff, and I approve this message!” He then popped the balloons with the safety pin, tucked me under one arm with his good hand, and carried me offstage.
The applause was tremendonormous!
When we got offstage, the two of us were laughing so hard, we fell down. Mrs. Wikowitz pulled me to my feet. I couldn’t believe it. She was grinning!
It was the best election assembly in the history of ever!
As we walked to PE, the whole school was buzzing. Lots of kids came up to me with high fives and back pats. We got stopped so much, we barely made it to the gym in time. While we changed clothes, Coach T gave us each a ballot and a little pencil. I voted (for Georgie, of course!) and put my ballot in a box on Coach T’s desk.
Eddie was right behind me. He dropped in his ballot. “Very sharp speech, Cheesie.” His face, which is normally thin, seemed pinched and nervous. “I thought I had this, but now, I gotta admit, I think Georgie’s got a real chance.”
Everyone else in PE played volleyball, but I convinced Coach T to let me run around the track because I was so revved up. I just flew! Coach T said I clocked my best time yet.
After school we were unlocking our bikes and Georgie was asking if he could use my bike pump when we got home because his front tire felt a little squishy, when Oddny and Lana ran up.
“Oh my gosh, Cheesie,” Lana squealed. “Everyone is talking about your speech!”
“Georgie’s going to win!” Oddny blurted. “We have to celebrate. Frozen yogurt! My mom’s driving me and Lana.” She pointed to a waiting car. “Meet us there, okay?”
Georgie is cuckoo for frozen yogurt, so before I could say anything, he yippeed, and we were bicycling after Oddny’s mom’s car.
We coasted down the hill into town, passing bunches of middle school walkers, lots of whom waved or shouted greetings. Running for class president seemed like an excellent way to become popular.
“Do you think I’ll win?” Georgie asked me.
“I don’t know,” I replied. “But I bet it’ll be close.”
There was no bike rack at the yogurt place, so we locked our bikes together and went in. Minutes later we were at a table with the girls eating our treats. (Thanks, Oddny’s mom!) Nobody said much for the first five or six spoonfuls.
“You know,” Georgie finally announced between big, drippy bites, “I was actually ready to give my speech. All that nervousness was a fake-out. I was trying to psych the opposition. Cheesie messed me up, taking over like that.”
“Liar,” I said, bonking his elbow just as he lifted his spoon to his mouth.
The spoon hit his nose and a piece of strawberry stuck there. Everybody laughed, so Georgie left it there on purpose, and we all went back to yumming ’gurt.
(I just checked online, and I think I invented a new phrase! If you prefer ice cream, you can say, “Yumming ’scream.”)
“I bet you lose by one vote,” I said.
“Why do you say that?” Lana asked.
“Because I voted for Eddie,” I replied with a big smile.
Georgie lifted his hand. I expected him to grab me or punch me, but all he did was flick the piece of strawberry off his nose. It missed me.
“Actually, it was totally weird how I freaked out,” he said seriously. “I just lost it.”
“Everybody freaks out sometime,” Oddny said with a smile.
Then we all yummed ’gurt until Lana said to me, “You saved the day for Georgie.”
It was embarrassing for her to say that. Georgie’s my friend, and that’s what friends do.
The four of us sat and talked for a long time, first about RLS and then about China. Lana has grandparents in Beijing, which is the capital. Then we talked about Iceland. Oddny told us people there don’t have last names like we do.
“My brother is Halldor Thorsson,” she said. “Get it? Thor’s son because Thor is my father’s name. And I’m Oddny Thorsdottir. And my father is Thor Baldursson because my grandfather’s name was Baldur.”
“Cool,” I said. “I’d be Ronald Caldwellsson.”
“I’d be George Davidsson,” Georgie said.
“My dad’s name is Donald, but his real name—his Chinese name—is Quon, so I’d be Lana Quonsdottir.”
“In Iceland the telephone books list everyone by first names and occupations,” Oddny explained. “And everyone calls each other by first names. People even call the prime minister by her first name.”
Georgie raised his spoon. “After I’m elected, I will let everyone call me President Georgie!”
Oddny then told us Iceland is so close to the North Pole it never gets dark in the summer, and kids sometimes play outside games after midnight.
“And in the winter, it’s just the opposite. There’s no daylight. The sky will start to look a little like sunrise, but then it just gets dark again. My parents say that makes it easier for kids to be good students because it’s too dark to play outside.”
“You are kind of smart,” Georgie said. He was leaning way back in his chair because he was really full from eating his huge treat.
“But,” I asked, “are you smart because you study? Or do you study because you’re smart?”
“Maybe both,” Oddny replied with a small smile.
I have to admit it was fun hanging with the girls.
But Lana is not my girlfriend.
Running for Goon!
When it was time to go, we walked outside and discovered that someone had knocked our bikes over, which was bad because they were locked together. My pedals got stuck in Georgie’s spokes and vice versa. It took us a while to unstuck them, and the girls sort of giggled at how clumsy we were. But it was okay because the entire day had been unusual, exciting, and fun, and we were full of yogurt and really happy.
It was after four when we got to Georgie’s house. We carried our backpacks up to his room and did our homework (it was easy), then walked through our backyards to get my bike pump for Georgie’s squishy tire. I used the hidden key to get in my backdoor, trotted through the house and into the garage, and took the pump off its wall hanger. (Granpa keeps a very orderly garage.) When I got back to the kitchen, Georgie was pointing at the table.
“Look at that! Purple marker.”
On the table, just where she had left it, was Goon’s envelope with her essay for the ballet in Boston. I hadn’t noticed at breakfast … Goon had written the address with a purple marker!
“Your sister! She messed up my posters!” Georgie said.
I could visualize the purple nose and mustache on each poster. The purple writing on G
oon’s envelope wasn’t exactly proof (like Lana said, lots of people have purple markers), but I was pretty sure Georgie was right.
“This is more messed up than you realize, Georgie.” I picked up the envelope. “This is Goon’s application to that Boston dance thing. It has to get to the post office today, and Granpa forgot to mail it!”
“Serves her right.”
“Yeah, maybe,” I replied. “But c’mon! We have to hurry.”
I stuffed the envelope inside my shirt and ran full-speed through our backyards and around Georgie’s house to where we’d left our bikes.
“Where are we going?” Georgie yelled to me as we jumped on and pedaled.
“The post office. I really want her to win!” I yelled back.
It was way more than a mile. We should’ve pumped up Georgie’s tire; it was too soft to go full speed.
And we hit every red light.
And I’d left my cell phone in my backpack at home, so I didn’t know what time it was. I didn’t even know what time the post office closed.
Finally we were on Prospect Street, only a few blocks from the post office, racing downhill. We shot right past a group of girls.
Georgie shouted to me, “That was your sister!”
“I know! I saw her! We’ve got to get this postmarked!”
We turned onto Dale Avenue, did a crash stop in front of the post office, and ran inside.
No luck.
I read the sign and looked at the clock on the wall: 5:25. The window had closed at 5:00. I ran over to the mail slot. Maybe there was still time. Nope. The last mail went out at 5:00 as well. And there was no postage on Goon’s envelope anyway, so even if …
Never mind. Goon was doomed.
I leaned against the wall and slid down until my butt was on the floor. Georgie sat down next to me.
“What do we do now?” he asked.
I shrugged. “She’s a really good dancer. She could’ve won. And I would’ve won because she’d have been gone for a whole week.”
We sat, catching our breath.
