We Are Party People

by Leslie Margolis

  Catching Sophie’s eye, I give her a thumbs-up. She waves and smiles. She’s sitting facing the audience, surrounded by the rest of the candidates. She seems happy, and not too nervous. Her hair looks shinier than usual. Did she use some sort of product, I wonder, or simply wash it extra-well? Or maybe she’s so excited about the day, her hair is actually beaming, too.

  I hold up my crossed fingers as I make my way to the bleachers, where the rest of us have to sit. It seems to take forever for everyone to file in and find seats.

  As soon as I do sit, I realize that Lola is waving to me from another row. She’s saved me a seat, so now I have to climb over a bunch of kids to get to her.

  “Hey,” I say, once I finally reach her.

  “Hey,” she replies with a wave.

  It’s too loud to say much else. The school is noisiest and most unpleasant right before assemblies start. I guess everyone gets overexcited about being together in a room where sound ping-pongs off the walls and escalates to crazy decibels. My head aches and my palms are sweating. I’m nervous for Sophie, and this noise is only making things worse, accelerating my heartbeat.

  Sometimes I wish I went to a school without assemblies.

  Principal Schwartz claps three times and maybe a third of the crowd hears and claps three times in response. She does it again and then more kids respond, and now the sound is loud enough so everyone, with a few goofball exceptions like Jeremy Lynn and Dustin Barnes, who for some reason keep hooting like owls, calms down. It’s quiet enough that my ears stop buzzing.

  Principal Schwartz makes some announcements about the upcoming fire drills and she reminds us that we have next Friday off because the teachers have a training day, whatever that means. Everyone whoops and cheers and claps and even foot-stomps at the news.

  Lola leans over and whispers, “I’m so nervous for Sophie. I can’t stand it!”

  “Me, too,” I say. And it’s true. Even though I know Sophie’s speech is amazing, I simply can’t imagine talking in front of the entire class like this. Giving the speech in her bedroom when there were only her two closest friends in Beachwood listening is one thing. But delivering the speech to the entire seventh grade, where kids are completely rowdy and out of control? That’s a different story.

  But here it is, starting.

  Principal Schwartz says, “I’d like to announce the first candidate running for seventh grade class president, Sophie Meyers.”

  Lola grabs my hand and squeezes it. “I can’t believe she’s first.”

  “Maybe it’s good because she’ll get her speech over with?” I say, although I’m not sure if I actually believe that. Because going first means Sophie has no idea of what anyone else is going to say. What if her speech sounds wrong, off in some way? Plus, since it’s so early, everyone is listening. Later on I figure everyone will be distracted and bored, talking to his or her neighbor or playing Rock Paper Scissors or “made you flinch.” But now all eyes are on Sophie, and I’m talking about a lot of eyes—hundreds of kids. I feel so nervous for her I start to shake. My throat feels dry and I panic as if I’m actually about to give the speech myself. It’s crazy! Lola squeezes my hand again as we watch Sophie walk up to the microphone, slowly and carefully.

  She has some note cards in her hands even though I know she’s memorized her speech. She doesn’t need the cards, but I guess it was smart to bring them along, just in case. Sophie looks super-professional in her trophy dress with silver leggings.

  She clears her throat and begins. “I’m Sophie Meyers and I’m running for class president. I moved here from Seattle, Washington, a month ago. And I think the fact that I’m new to this school and to this town is a good thing because it means that I see things differently.”

  Sophie’s voice is strong and distinct. Her voice projects across the gymnasium. Even from where we sit, near the back of the bleachers, I can hear her clearly. She seems confident, like she believes in what she is saying. She doesn’t act nervous in the least bit and she hardly glances at her note cards. She’s looking straight into the crowd and grinning like a real politician with an important message.

  “We could recycle a lot more than we actually do,” she says. “Just yesterday, I dug through the trash can next to the gym and found ten pieces of notebook paper that totally should’ve gone into the recycling bin.”

  It’s going so well, I can’t help but smile and sit up a little bit taller. Sophie is amazing and so is her speech. Maybe she does have a chance. She talks about everything we can do to help out at the animal shelter, speaking with conviction. Kids are listening, I can tell. Well, of course they are. My friend is brilliant. I’m proud to be associated with Sophie. She could make a difference and I feel silly for having my doubts, silly for being too embarrassed to wear the T-shirt. Maybe I’ll wear it next week, even though by then it’ll be too late, I’m sure. She’ll already be president. By that point the shirt will be vintage, I guess. Cool for a different reason. People will know that I discovered Sophie and her brilliance way before anyone else.

  Of course, that would also mean calling attention to myself, which is something I’ve never wanted. But maybe I’m changing. I guess it’s not impossible.

  Ruby Benson and Olivia Cohen are in front of me. I hadn’t even noticed them before, I was so nervous for Sophie, except now Ruby is whispering to Olivia too loudly. I can totally hear her. It’s distracting and annoying. Olivia seems annoyed, too, although not because she’s trying to listen to Sophie like I am. Olivia seems annoyed because she’s playing Candy Crush on her phone and she doesn’t want to be disturbed.

  “Did she just say she dug through the trash?” Ruby asks, her nose crinkled up as if she’d smelled something rotten.

  Olivia shrugs and says, “I don’t know. I’m not even listening to her.”

  “Who is she, anyway?” Ruby asks.

  Olivia looks up from her game of Candy Crush for a second and squints at the stage. “I don’t know. Some nerd,” she replies before turning back to her phone.

  I feel as if someone has sucker punched me in the gut, like every drop of air has whooshed out of my lungs. I am physically in pain. I cannot believe this. Sophie worked so hard. And she isn’t some nerd. She’s so much more. Sophie is an awesome Ping-Pong player and she lives alone with her dad and has a credit card she uses responsibly. She’s not afraid to talk to salespeople and she knows how to bake a chicken. I haven’t actually seen this, but she told me she can do it and I totally believe her. Sophie makes her own lunch for school every single day and she never even packs any junk food. She’s smart and friendly and responsible. There’s nothing nerdy about Sophie. She’s cool because she doesn’t try to be. She knows who she is. She doesn’t wear makeup and she doesn’t seem to spend a lot of time on her hair. She’s not the type of girl to giggle simply because her friends are giggling.

  I don’t understand how Olivia can be so dismissive, so cruel, so wrong.

  Except I don’t say any of this out loud—I don’t say anything. The moment has passed. Plus, I could never confront girls like them. I’d be toast!

  Olivia is still playing games on her phone and Ruby is biting her nails.

  Sophie finishes her speech and people clap, but there’s no thunderous applause like she deserves. There’s no standing ovation. And I got so caught up thinking about what I wanted to say to Ruby and Olivia, I missed the rest of the speech. Except I can tell by her smile, the way she’s standing up straight and proud, that everything went well.

  Mason gets up next. Ruby elbows Olivia, who looks to the stage, and then puts her phone away in her back pocket and sits up straight. She tucks her long red hair behind her ears as if Mason can actually see her from way up on the stage.

  Ruby leans closer to Olivia and whispers, “Are you going to vote for your ex-boyfriend or your best friend?”

  “I’m not sure, but if Mason wins we’re definitely getting back together,” she says.

  “You’re joking?” Ruby says, seem
ingly appalled.

  Olivia shrugs her shoulders and wiggles her eyebrows. She’s one of those girls who thrive on keeping people guessing.

  Ruby is about to say something else, but Olivia shushes her because Mason is talking.

  I peer down at the stage. Mason got dressed up, at least. He’s wearing khakis and a blue-and-white-checked collared shirt, and he even tucked it in.

  Mason says, “I’m Mason Daniels and I’m running for seventh grade class president, but most of you know that. I’ve been going to Beachwood Middle School for a long time and I have something to ask: everyone, please, stand up. Come on, people.”

  I hear a murmur across the gymnasium. No one really knows if he’s serious, but then we, as a group, decide he is because he’s waving his arms and saying, “Come on. Let’s go. Get up, everyone.”

  Finally, we all stand up.

  Mason beams to the crowd and holds out his arms. “Great job, I knew you could do it. Now please turn around to the left. Come on. I mean everyone. Turn around to the left. Let’s get a move on, people.”

  The entire crowd seems confused, unsure of what to do, but Mason is so insistent that eventually a few people turn around and it catches on and everyone does it. A bunch of people keep turning, actually, and Lucas Grayson gets dizzy and stumbles and almost falls into the next row.

  “Okay, you can take your seats now. Well done, everyone,” Mason says with a smile. “Awesome job, Beachwood. Now think about this: if I can get the entire seventh grade to turn around in a circle in less than thirty seconds, imagine what I can accomplish with an entire year.”

  He takes a bow and lots of people clap. I think his applause is louder than Sophie’s but it’s hard to tell.

  “That’s awesome,” I hear Ruby whisper to Olivia.

  Olivia smiles back. “How cute does he look in that shirt?”

  “Mason looks cute in any shirt,” Ruby says.

  Lola looks to me nervously. I understand exactly what she’s thinking. At least I think I do. Sophie actually has ideas and things to say, things she wants to change about our school to make it a better place.

  The making people stand up and turn around was interesting and Mason did manage to make it work. But the thing is, I remember someone giving the exact same speech last year, when I was in the sixth grade.

  To make things worse, Gigi McGuire stands up next and she does the same thing except she has people turn in a little circle to the right.

  By the time Jason Hobie gets up and asks everyone to stand, everyone grumbles in annoyance. We are tired of standing. We are tired of moving around. This trick is old.

  When it’s finally James’s turn to speak, I can tell the entire class is afraid he’s going to make us stand up again, but he doesn’t, which is a relief. Except here’s what he does instead: burp into the microphone.

  Yup, James McGough burps into the microphone and then sits back down. That is his entire speech.

  And somehow, his burp gets him a standing ovation. People are whistling and laughing. They love it.

  We are almost at the end of the speeches. There’s only one person left: Jenna Johnson. She’s wearing a gray fedora. Her hair is tucked up into it, which seems strange. Jenna doesn’t walk up to the microphone like everyone else. She struts across the stage like a rock star. I notice the gym is silent and all eyes are on her. Her dress is small and black and pretty tight. It’s the same one she wore in the picture on her birthday invitation, I think. I am annoyed at myself for remembering. Her makeup is done, as well. She looks super-fancy and sophisticated, like an actress visiting a real middle school because she needs to play the part of a twelve-year-old and has to do research. In other words, she seems way too glamorous to hang with the rest of us.

  I wonder if underneath the makeup, the fancy outfit, the cool hat, and the huge grin, she’s actually nervous. Like, deep, deep down.

  I wonder if she’s going to make us stand up and circle to the right or to the left. Or maybe she wants us to do a backflip? I wonder if—wait a second. I don’t have to wonder any longer because Jenna is at the microphone and speaking.

  The crowd is clapping before she even starts to talk. It’s like suddenly we’re at a concert and she’s the star of the show and about to belt out everyone’s favorite song. For the first time live. After waking up from a yearlong coma.

  “Hi there, Beachwood Middle School. My name is Jenna Johnson, but you already know that. I’m running for seventh grade class president because Beachwood deserves the best and, let’s face it, I am the best. And check out how much I love this school.”

  Jenna whips off her hat and her hair comes tumbling down and it’s yellow and blue. “Beachwood Chargers!” Jenna yells into the mic. Then she points to her head. “I did this for you.”

  There is a brief moment of silence as the rapt crowd processes what’s happened—that Jenna Johnson has actually dyed her hair yellow and blue, which are our school’s colors. Then just as suddenly as she whipped off her hat, the crowd goes crazy.

  People are whooping and screaming and whistling like they are actually about to hear Beyoncé sing live. Practically everyone in the entire gymnasium is on their feet, when Jenna didn’t even ask us to stand up and we’re already sick of standing, or so I’d thought. People are going mad, crazy, and completely out of their heads for Jenna and her yellow-and-blue hair.

  Lola seems like she’s in a trance, staring, and I see her start to stand up but I pull her back down.

  “What are you doing?” I whisper fiercely.

  “Sorry,” Lola says, blushing. “I got caught up in the moment.”

  I can’t blame her but I’m still annoyed.

  Jenna is loving the attention, strutting back and forth on the stage and blowing air kisses to the crowd. “I love you, Beachwood Middle School!” she shouts.

  And it’s clear, from the way everyone is carrying on, that Beachwood Middle School loves Jenna as well.

  Principal Schwartz comes back onstage and takes the microphone from Jenna. “That’s enough, everyone,” she says. “Please calm yourselves.”

  But it’s no use. The crowd is in a frenzy and it’s unstoppable.

  Even Principal Schwartz gives up and says, “Okay, fine. You are dismissed. Head straight to your fourth-period classrooms.”

  We stream out of the auditorium and head to our next classes.

  I have science with Mrs. August. When I walk into the room I notice that every single desk has a sheet of green paper on it.

  Stefan Briggs has already turned his into a paper airplane and launched it across the room.

  “That’s your ballot, Mr. Briggs,” says Mrs. August. “Please fetch it and unfold it and never do that again.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Stefan says, quickly scrambling out of his seat.

  Once everyone is in his or her seat, Mrs. August says, “Before we begin our lesson, please take five minutes to vote for class president. Please do not talk about your vote and do not try to influence other voters. Your vote is private. Don’t share your choice out loud. Instead, check the box next to one candidate, silently. If you check more than one box, your vote will not be counted. If you make a comment on your sheet, or cross out other names, or doodle on the page, your vote will not be counted. Does everyone understand?”

  Everyone understands. I stare at the list. All of the candidates are listed in alphabetical order:

    Mason Daniels

    Jason Hobie

    Jenna Johnson

    James McGough

    Gigi McGuire

    Sophie Meyers

  Sophie’s speech was by far the best of the bunch, but even I know that doesn’t matter. People’s minds were made up before the race began, for the most part. And for those few who were undecided? Well, Jenna’s hair stunt surely tipped them over the edge. There’s no point in denying it.

  I vote for Sophie anyway. I am probably one of only three votes she gets. Then we get a lesson on cell st
ructure. I try to focus but it’s hard.

  When I run into Sophie after our next class, she’s in a good mood. I can tell because her eyes are bright and shiny.

  “Hey, congratulations. You did an amazing job,” I say.

  “Thanks,” Sophie replies. “I’m so glad it’s over. I was so nervous.”

  “Really? You didn’t seem nervous at all.”

  “Good. I’m glad I was able to hide it! I just hope I win.”

  I think about the standing ovation that Jenna got. “Me, too,” I say, smiling as wide as I can even though I know she doesn’t have a chance. It feels weird and insincere, but I don’t know what else to do.

  At the end of the day, the election results are announced. Jenna Johnson has won by a landslide. Mrs. Schwartz even says that, “She won by a landslide,” which is mean, I think, to the other candidates, except for James, who probably doesn’t care one way or another. The guy didn’t even put up posters.

  Except then we find out that James, the guy who burped into the microphone, has come in second, so he gets to be vice president.

  23

  As soon as the dismissal bell rings I look for Sophie, but I can’t find her anywhere. I turn on my phone to text her, but see that my dad has left me a message. It must be urgent because it’s in all caps:

  Before going to my locker I fire off a quick message to Sophie:

  Then I grab the books I need for the weekend and head out to the U.

  Unfortunately I have to pass by Jenna, in all her yellow-and-blue-haired glory. Her friends are hugging and congratulating her, as if she’s won a marathon or was selected to be the first seventh grader to colonize Mars. The whole scene makes me feel even worse for poor Sophie. I wish I’d been able to find her, but it’s too chaotic.

  Luckily, I manage to breeze by them without anyone noticing me. It’s my specialty, after all.

  By the time I get to the parking lot my dad is already there—at the front of the line.

  “Hi!” I say, climbing into the van. “What’s up?”

  My dad starts driving before he even answers me.