Gabriela Speaks Out

by Teresa E. Harris

  Layla thrust her hand into the air. Kayla yanked it back down.

  “As Sixth-Grade Ambassador, I plan to institute a lunchtime tutoring buddy service, where students can help other students learn, eliminating the intimidation factor and upping grades in the process. I will also work on raising money for our junior varsity teams so that they can have uniforms just as nice as the varsity teams. Additionally, I will work with administration and the PTO to come up with funds so that we can have one-to-one laptops. A laptop for every student means no one is at a disadvantage just because he or she cannot afford a computer at home. Those plans are just the tip of the iceberg, however. The rest of my plan involves you and the changes you want, and the Kelly you wish to see. Because as Sixth-Grade Ambassador, I promise to listen to you and to be your voice so that, together, we can make Kelly the best it can be—for all of us.”

  There was a stunned silence. Ms. Tottenham cleared her throat and we remembered, all at once, that we were supposed to applaud. When the time came to offer Aaliyah feedback, not a single person could think of any constructive criticism to give her.

  “You-You ssssounded rrrrrrr-really g-good,” I said, when it was my turn, my nerves—and bumpy speech—getting the best of me. How on earth was I supposed to follow that? I imagined Teagan sitting beside me right then. If she was there, she’d look at Aaliyah and say, “Gabby, she’s good, but you can take her.” And then she’d pretend to dust her shoulders off in a near-perfect imitation of Red. I smiled.

  “Gabriela?” Ms. Tottenham said gently. “It’s your turn.”

  I got to my feet and made my way to the podium.

  “Make sure you make eye contact with your audience,” Ms. Tottenham called.

  I looked up. And right at Aaliyah, who sat back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest, waiting. It was now or never. I steadied my breathing and focused on my words, just like Mrs. Baxter always told me to. Then I began to read.

  “G-G-Good afternoon. My name is Gabriela McBride, and I’m running for the role of Ssssixth-Gr-Grade Ambass-Ambassador, because I want to make K-Kelly Mmmm-Middle School the kind of place where all st-students—especially sixth graders—feel www-welcome. Ssssixth graders, how many of you got hit with water balloons on the first day of school?”

  I paused and looked out at my imaginary election-day audience, picturing the whole sixth grade raising their hands, then turned my focus to today’s audience. I couldn’t read the expressions on their faces, but Layla and Kayla, plus Darrin and Dominique, all raised their hands. Aaliyah crossed her arms tighter. I took a breath from my diaphragm and continued.

  “Ssssixth, seventh, and ei-eighth graders—h-h-how many people felt unwelcome when those nicknames were put on the lockers, either this year or the year you first started at K-K-Kelly?”

  Again, I paused, this time imagining the whole sixth grade, plus some seventh and eighth graders, raising their hands. Again the twins, plus Dominique and Darrin, raised their hands. For a split second, I wondered why Aaliyah hadn’t raised hers, but then I remembered that she told everyone she hadn’t received a sticky note. She stared at me as if daring me to say otherwise. I put my eyes back on my speech.

  “If-If-If you vote for me for Sixth-Grade Ambass-Ambassador, I will do everything in my power to get rid of Ssss-Sixth-Grade Initiation so that K-K-Kelly is a place where everyone feels welcome. If you www-want to lay d-d-down the welcome mat and invite everyone in-inside, on October fifth, vote for me, Gabriela McBride!”

  That hadn’t been nearly as good as when I’d said my speech for Maya, or even Mrs. Baxter or Mama and Daddy. But it hadn’t been awful, either. Right?

  “Let’s offer Gabriela feedback,” Ms. Tottenham said. “First, something positive.”

  “Um, well.” Layla looked down at her hands.

  “Gabriela had good eye contact in the beginning,” Darrin offered quickly.

  “You sounded positive,” Kayla said.

  “And upbeat,” Layla added.

  Dominique said, “And it’s about time someone got rid of Sixth-Grade Initiation.”

  I thought my heart would soar right out of my chest. Maybe I actually had a tiny chance of winning against Aaliyah.

  “Now, something constructive. Dominique, why don’t you start?”

  “Okay. Maybe practice more so you’re not so nervous?”

  “Aaliyah?”

  “It was okay,” Aaliyah said flatly, but the word had never sounded less okay than when Aaliyah said it. It seemed to hit the floor with a dull thud. My smile melted off my face.

  “That’s not really feedback Gabriela can use,” Ms. Tottenham said.

  Aaliyah shrugged, refusing to say another word.

  Ms. Tottenham shook her head, her lips pursed. “Let’s remember for our next meeting that we are here to help one another, and to do that, we need to be able to offer targeted and specific feedback.” She pushed her chair back and stood up. “And make sure you keep practicing. The election is only two weeks away.”

  I made my way slowly back to my seat and flopped down into it.

  “Ignore Aaliyah,” Darrin whispered. “I mean, she’s awesome at this, but we can’t all sound like Martin Luther King. You were good.” He tore open his second—or possibly third—bag of chips just as the bell rang.

  People scattered, but the zipper on my backpack was stuck. Pretty soon it was just Aaliyah and me left in the classroom. She walked over to where I was sitting.

  “Are you sure you have what it takes to be an ambassador, Repeat? Giving a speech in front of the whole school with that stutter …” She went silent, but she looked like she was trying not to laugh.

  Respond with humor, Gabby, I reminded myself. I put on my cheesiest smile and shoved my hands into my pockets. “Oh, do I stutter? I never noticed!”

  This time Aaliyah laughed, but I couldn’t tell if it was the good kind. “Whatever,” she said, shaking her head. “Just think hard about it. You wouldn’t want to do anything you regret.” She turned and strode out the door.

  I tried not to let her words get to me and hurried off to math.

  That night, after I’d finished my homework, Teagan came over to help me with my campaign flyers. She had Cody in hand, beanie in place, and a book bag the size of a boulder strapped to her back.

  A giant smile spread across my face. “Are you spending the night?” Weekday sleepovers with Teagan were rare but not unheard of. Mr. Harmon sometimes went to visit his older sister in a nursing home a few hours away.

  Teagan went pink. “Well, no. I brought over some homework, just in case you wanted to, you know, like—”

  “Do more homework?” I stared at her.

  She nodded, going pinker still. Then said quickly, “Just have another mountain to climb, is all.”

  It was still pretty warm out and the sun hadn’t gone down yet, so we grabbed some of Mama’s delicious homemade chocolate chip cookies and my laptop and settled down on the back porch. Teagan slid her backpack off. It hit the floor beside her with a pretty big thud.

  “How’s school going?” I asked, eyeing her book bag warily.

  “It’s awesome!” Teagan cried, taking a gulp of her lemonade. “I mean, it’s a ton of work—a ton—but I love it. My coding teacher is talking about teaching us Pascal, which is, like, one of the hardest coding languages to learn.”

  Teagan went on, talking about code. Physics. Parabolas. She may as well have been speaking in an alien language for all I understood, but I nodded and couldn’t help but smile whenever Teagan did. She had the kind of happiness that reached out and grabbed you, no matter how you were feeling.

  “So,” Teagan said at last. “Let’s get started on these flyers.”

  “Okay,” I said, opening up a new document on my laptop. “We have to make them over-the-top awesome sauce, because guess what?”

  “Aaliyah’s running?”

  My mouth dropped open. “What? How did you know that?!” Leave it to Teagan not to even go to my school
and still know what was going on there.

  “A little birdie told me. Then he quoted Shakespeare.”

  I laughed. “Well, it’s true. Aaliyah’s running and her speech is amazing.” I told her all about the practice speech session.

  “Well, she might be good at giving speeches, but you can take her, Gabby. You’ve got good ideas—it doesn’t matter if they come out bumpy. Besides, you’ve got a team of the best poets in Philly to help you with slogans.” Teagan grinned, and wriggled her eyebrows in a perfect imitation of Red.

  Teagan and Darrin were right. Aaliyah was awesome at giving speeches, but I wasn’t so bad myself, even with my bumpy speech. I just needed more practice. And then I’d be awesome, too.

  Brrrrriiiiinnngg. Brrrrrriiiinnngg.

  I slammed off my alarm and tried to shake the dream I’d just had. Something about a superhero named Natural Leader saving the day. The figure had a perfect bun I knew all too well. I guess Ms. Tottenham’s words to Aaliyah had gotten to me a little more than I’d realized.

  There are natural leaders, I told myself. But there are unexpected ones, too. I repeated that over and over to myself as I brushed my teeth and got dressed, and again while I ate breakfast. I repeated it in the car on the way to school, and as I waited for Isaiah on the front steps.

  I had my campaign flyers in hand—we were going to spend some time before homeroom hanging them up around the school, and then do what Isaiah called “on-the-ground campaigning” in the sixth-grade hallway. (I figured I’d tackle one grade at a time. First, double-guarantee I had all the sixth-graders’ support, then worry about the seventh and eighth graders.) The plan was to hand out flyers and be available to answer questions about my platform. Just the thought of it made my stomach lurch. This wasn’t like my speech that I’d practiced until Maya was tired of it. I was going to have to talk to people on the fly.

  I swallowed hard just as Mr. Jordan’s car pulled up to the curb. Isaiah bounded up the steps toward me with a hearty, “Good morrow, my lady. Ready to spread the good word?”

  “You betcha,” I said, hoping that saying I was ready would make me ready.

  I handed Isaiah half the stack of flyers. We made our way around the school, hanging flyers on just about every bulletin board we could find. As we approached the sixth-grade hallway, I felt myself get tense. Each flyer hung was one flyer closer to having to talk directly to my classmates.

  I checked my watch—only a few minutes left before class. If we were going to do this direct campaigning, now was the time. Or, maybe if I found a couple more places to hang flyers, the bell would ring and I wouldn’t have to—

  “Want to end Sixth-Grade Initiation?” Isaiah said loudly to two girls passing us, holding out a flyer.

  So much for being saved by the bell.

  The two girls stopped mid-conversation and mid-step and stared at Isaiah, as taken off guard as I was. I had no idea if the two girls were even in sixth grade—and I doubt Isaiah did, either—but that didn’t seem to bother him at all. He held out one of my campaign flyers, the one with the slogan that shouted as loudly as Isaiah just had, Hey, want to get rid of initiation and feel welcome inside? Then on October 5, vote for Gabby McBride.

  The girls exchanged a look, and for one stomach-sinking moment, I thought neither of them would take the flyer. Then one of the girls held her hand out for it, and with a quick “thanks” they continued down the hall.

  Isaiah turned to me, beaming. “Active campaigning. Far better than hanging flyers and hoping kids read them! Come on, Gabby. I know you can do it.”

  I can, I said to myself. And hadn’t I done something similar this past summer when I’d convinced complete strangers to stop in front of Liberty and sign our petition to save the center? If I could do it for Liberty, I could do it now, to end Sixth-Grade Initiation.

  Before I could chicken out, I turned and held out a flyer to the next person I saw. It was Victoria.

  “What’s that?” she said, frowning down at the paper.

  “It’s, um, I’m-I’m r-running for Sssixth-Grade Ambass-Ambassador, and—” I paused, trying to pin my words down. Victoria looked from the flyer to me, still frowning. She’s going to walk away, I thought. She doesn’t have time for my bumpy speech. But Victoria just looked at me, raised her eyebrows. And waited.

  “And if you v-vote for me, I-I’ll get rid of Sssixth-Gr-Grade Init-Initiation.”

  Victoria nodded. “Good. It needs to go,” she said, and then, with a quick glance around, took the flyer and continued down the hall.

  “She’s one of the most popular girls in our grade,” I whispered to Isaiah once she was a few feet away. “Maybe she’ll get all her friends on board, too.”

  “That’s awesome sauce!” Isaiah cried so loudly, he startled Victoria. She cast a glance back over her shoulder that, roughly translated, meant, Whoa, dude. Calm it down.

  I giggled. This wasn’t so hard. I made a mental note to do the same thing tomorrow in the seventh- and eighth-grade hallways. Maybe Red, Bria, and Alejandro would even help. Then, buoyed by Isaiah’s enthusiasm and the most popular girl in our grade agreeing with my platform, I handed out a few more flyers, my speech a lot less bumpy than before. In a moment of what Teagan would have called “sheer, logic-less bravery,” I even handed a flyer to Aaliyah when she passed us in the hall. She glanced at it but then handed it back to me.

  “No thanks,” she said. “Save it for someone who might actually vote for you.”

  Now my stomach really did sink. Right down to my shoes.

  “Come on, Gabby,” Isaiah said, stepping up next to me. “Let’s keep mov—”

  “Hey!” A boy’s voice cut across Isaiah’s. It was the same older boy who’d bothered him outside on the first day of school. He was talking to me but looking right at Isaiah. “Do you know that your friend Fakespeare here tried to call Shakespeare a rapper?”

  Anger rose in me. Fakespeare again? Couldn’t they move on? “H-H-His n-name is I-I-Isia-a-ah—”

  The boy’s laughter rang out, this time at me and my bumpy speech.

  “It’s G-G-G-Gabby!” came a voice from another older kid across the hallway.

  I sucked in my breath. I didn’t know anyone had seen my original sixth-grade nickname. Or maybe they hadn’t. G-G-G-Gabby wasn’t exactly creative.

  Well, I’d show them—for Isaiah and me. I closed my eyes against the sound of laughter, the boy’s loudest of all, and took a deep breath to calm myself down, just like Mrs. Baxter would have told me to. Just like a natural leader would. But before I could get a word out, there was another voice. Loud. Clear. Not bumpy at all.

  “Actually, rap is a form of poetry,” Aaliyah said, stepping right up to the boy. Her hands were on her hips. “And seeing as how William Shakespeare is one of the oldest and best poets in his-tor-y, who spun some of the best rhymes of all times, I would say it’s not too far off to call him a grandmaster rapper.” By this point, the boy’s mouth had fallen completely open. So had Isaiah’s. “All this you would know, of course, if you turned off the radio once in a while and picked up a book.”

  All around us, lockers stopped slamming, until the hallway was as silent as our social studies class had been the day Aaliyah stood up and shouted them down.

  My dream came rushing back to me. If Natural Leader Aaliyah had a superpower, I’d just witnessed it again.

  And then she turned to me and fixed me with a glare that sent an icy chill down my spine. “And you—how are you going to be the voice for the whole sixth grade when you can’t even be a voice for your friend?”

  Her words hit me like that time I slipped in hip-hop and had all the wind knocked out of me.

  We stared at each other for a moment, and then with one last glare, she turned on her heel and walked away. As if a spell was broken, the rest of the students went back to their own business, too, but not before I saw some of them look at me the way Aaliyah had after the practice speech session. Like even the thought of me, G-G-G-Gabby
, being ambassador was ridiculous.

  My face burned and tears pushed at the back of my eyes. Why did Aaliyah have to say that here in the sixth-grade hallway? Why did she have to say it at all? Now I was certain not to get enough votes from kids in my own grade, which basically meant … I didn’t even want to think about it.

  I shoved the rest of the flyers into my backpack and wiped my eyes with my sleeve.

  “Come on,” Isaiah said, gesturing in the direction of our first classes.

  I couldn’t bring myself to look at him as we walked, silence the size of three dance studios settling down between us.

  “Don’t listen to her, Gabby,” Isaiah said at last. “You would make a great voice for the sixth grade.”

  But Aaliyah would make a better one.

  If Speaking Were like Dancing

  I’d stop the world with my words

  Shout with a grand jeté

  Whisper with a fouetté turn

  I’d pirouette, then switch leap

  Kick-ball-change, mesmerize you with my speech

  If speaking were like dancing

  I’d never hesitate, never stutter

  So flawless that you’d wonder

  Where’d she learn to speak like that?

  So smooth, so strong, so confident

  If speaking were like dancing

  People might hear my words and listen

  If only speaking were like dancing

  But I know that it isn’t

  That night in tap class, I pounded the floor so hard, my feet were sore by the time I got home. But that pain couldn’t compare to the ache I’d felt throbbing inside me since that morning. Not being able to get my words out for Isaiah was bad enough, but I hadn’t even tried to stand up for myself after Aaliyah spat those words at me. How did I expect to inspire a whole school to stop bullying each other if I couldn’t even stand up to the person who was bullying me?