President of Poplar Lane

by Margaret Mincks

  “Aren’t you going to be late for work?” I asked him.

  Saturday is Dad’s busy day at the station, because a lot of college sports happen on Saturdays.

  Dad looked at the kitchen clock and smiled. “I can always make time to meet your friends.”

  “They’re not really friends,” I said. “Just acquaintances. Except Peter. Maybe.”

  We learned the difference between friends and acquaintances last year in health class. An acquaintance is when someone pretty much just knows your name. A friend is someone you can be yourself with, who knows you inside and out. Peter is probably in the middle of that. Nobody knows me inside and out except Granberry.

  Just then the doorbell rang. Dad and I both went to answer it, but he got there first.

  Amelia stuck out her hand toward Dad. “You must be Mr. Strange,” she said. “I’m Amelia.”

  “So pleased to meet you,” Dad said, shaking her hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  Sweat trickled down my back. I hadn’t even told Dad much about Amelia, just that she was working on my campaign. But now he was making it sound like I talked about her a lot. It wasn’t helping my panic levels.

  “You look familiar for some reason,” Amelia said to Dad. “Do you work on Mrs. O’Reilly’s campaign, too?”

  “You work on Mrs. O’Reilly’s campaign?” I asked.

  She nodded. “I told you, I love elections!”

  “No, I don’t,” Dad said. “But . . .” He looked at me, like he was trying to figure out if it was okay to tell her. I shrugged.

  “Maybe you recognize me from TV,” he said. “I work on WPOP as a sports analyst.”

  Amelia’s eyes lit up. “You’re Stu the Sports Dude!”

  Dad laughed. “Guilty as charged. And now I’m afraid I’ve got to go do my sports-dude duties. Have a compel time at the party, kids.”

  Amelia started squealing as soon as he left.

  “This is huge! Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked.

  “I didn’t know you liked sports,” I said.

  “It’s not that,” she said. “Your dad is Stu the Sports Dude. You have a celebrity in your family.”

  “So?” I asked.

  “It gives people another reason to vote for you!” she said. “This totally increases your likability, Mike. Well done.”

  “Thanks,” I said, even though I didn’t do anything.

  “What are you doing with your hands?” she asked me.

  “Huh?” I looked down. I guess I was shuffling the air. I do that when I don’t have my cards on me. Dad said I probably shouldn’t bring my cards to the pool party. “Just a habit.”

  We moved out onto the front porch.

  “Did you get a chance to look over my question-answering tips?” she asked.

  I nodded. My brain still felt all twisted trying to remember everything.

  “So I should try to lie . . . but not lie?” I asked.

  Amelia shook her head. “‘Lie’ sounds really negative,” she said. “I know it’s confusing. I don’t think a good president should lie during an election or when they’re in office. But this is how we win. It’s part of the game. What’s the alternative? We lose and the popular people win.”

  “But not all popular people are bad,” I said.

  Clover could still be a good president even though she was popular. But I didn’t say that out loud.

  “Someone else deserves a chance,” said Amelia. “Like you.”

  I wasn’t sure about that. I mean, I wasn’t trying to save the world. I just wanted to go to magic camp.

  “Greetings,” Peter said, coming up the sidewalk. Scott was right behind him, wearing his Secret Service sunglasses.

  As we walked to Clover’s house, Peter slipped on a pair of rubber gloves.

  “What’s with the gloves?” Scott asked.

  “Glitter,” Peter said. “I’m allergic. And I know Clover. She puts glitter on everything.”

  Walking next door didn’t take much time. For a minute we just stood outside Clover’s house listening to the shrieks and shouts coming from her backyard.

  “That doesn’t sound very intimate,” Amelia said nervously. “Okay. I’ll handle photos and video. Hopefully we’ll get some footage for our campaign-rally video. Scott’s on security. Peter’s on . . . glitter patrol?”

  “Networking,” Peter said. “And fundraising.”

  Amelia turned to me. “Remember, Mike . . . just say as little as possible. And try not to answer any questions.”

  * * *

  Amelia was right. It wasn’t very intimate.

  Clover’s backyard was jam-packed with kids. It looked like all of Poplar Middle School, plus Clover’s siblings, their friends, and the rest of the Poplar Lane cul-de-sac.

  “Plenty of networking opportunities here,” Peter shouted over the crowd. He waved good-bye with rubber-gloved hands and headed into the crowd.

  Clover ran over to greet us.

  “I’m really sorry,” she said. “I wanted this to be intimate. But somebody leaked the party to Mel Chang, and then she put it on her blog.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  “Anyway, I hope you guys brought your swimsuits,” Clover said.

  “Always,” said Scott, pointing to his board shorts.

  I was wearing mine, too, but they looked like regular shorts. Dad saw them at Garfield’s department store at the mall and got one for each of us so we’d match. “They’re swim trunks, but they look like real shorts!” he’d said, freaking out with joy.

  Amelia and Rachel hugged and giggled something to each other in a foreign language.

  Clover pulled Rachel back. “Hey, no touching the competition.” Then she broke into a huge grin. “Hey, Mike, let’s go check out the poster-making stuff!” She grabbed my hand.

  “But you just said no touching . . .” Rachel started. “Never mind.”

  As Clover pulled me through the crowd, I tried to meditate in the complete chaos. I was part of it, and it was part of me. But I’d never been around this many people when I wasn’t onstage before. Especially not without my headphones.

  Daisy O’Reilly was yelling about wearing a bathing suit. Then Susie Lorenzo ran across the yard. “Cannonball!” she screamed as she jumped into the baby pool.

  Glittery water splashed everywhere. Scott ducked behind a tree.

  Amelia clutched her phone against her chest. “Clover,” she asked, “is it okay if I take some pictures of Mike before you get started with the posters?”

  Clover paused. “If it’s okay with Mike,” she said. Then she smiled really wide. “Wait! Take some pictures of me and Mike! Together, I mean.”

  “First let me check that camera for anything suspicious,” said Scott, cracking his knuckles.

  “It’s our camera, Scott,” Amelia said.

  “Carry on,” he said.

  Clover threw one arm around me and made a peace sign with the other hand.

  “This picture is going to be really special,” she said. “Someday.”

  Someday? I coughed because I didn’t know how to respond. The next thing I knew, a small, wet person smashed into my legs.

  “Mike!” Gabby Jonas yelled. “Are you doing magic today?”

  Gabby and a few of her friends formed a soaking wet little-kid circle around me.

  “We want magic!” they chanted. “We want magic!”

  “Uh,” I said. My long hours of studying Amelia’s question-answering tips went right out the window. I didn’t see magic on Amelia’s approved list of stuff to talk about.

  “Mike is committed to making posters today,” Amelia said.

  That was a close one.

  Peter was handing out business cards. He stopped when Dahlia O’Reilly walked by.

  “Tell me somethin
g,” Peter said to Dahlia. “Who is the real Clover O’Reilly?”

  Dahlia pulled him under an oak tree and started whispering furiously. Peter took notes.

  Clover walked us over to a picnic table covered end to end with posters, paint, and art supplies. She’d hung a sign over it that said: HEART SUPPLIES: ELECTIONS MAKE FRIENDS!

  “Heart supplies?” Amelia asked.

  “Art supplies, but, like, for sharing,” Clover said. “And caring.” She blinked at me like there was a gnat in her eyelash.

  Peter joined us at the picnic table. “I’m out of business cards already,” he said. “Terrific party, Clover.”

  “You know this isn’t a Peter Gronkowski self-promotion party, right?” said Rachel.

  “Business tip: every moment is an opportunity,” said Peter.

  “Thanks for sharing all your stuff,” I said to Clover.

  “Sure,” Clover said. “It’s not really mine. As you know, Michael, I’m in the Random Acts of Artness Club, so I get to use the supplies. It’s like a special privilege.”

  Peter scribbled something in his notebook. I don’t think Rachel gave Clover a tip sheet on how to answer questions.

  “That’s a clear violation of campaign-finance rules!” Peter crowed.

  “Eh, you’re using them, too,” Clover said. “Boys are soooo annoying.” She looked at me. “I mean, not all boys.”

  Peter kept scribbling.

  Clover’s dad came out the back screen door. “Do you guys need any lemonade?” he asked.

  “No!” Peter and Rachel shouted at the same time.

  “Mike?” Mr. O’Reilly asked.

  He stood there, waiting for an answer. I swallowed hard and tried to remember everything on the tip sheet.

  “Would you like any lemonade?” I asked Mr. O’Reilly.

  “I’m good,” he said. “How about you?”

  Mr. O’Reilly was one tough cookie. He wasn’t backing down.

  I slightly changed the question. “Would I like lemonade?”

  “I don’t know, would you? Is this one of your routines?” he asked.

  I answered a similar question. “I’ve had lemonade in the past and enjoyed it. I find lemonade so refreshing, don’t you?”

  “Yes!” Clover said. “Mike, we have so much in common!”

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” said Mr. O’Reilly, walking back into the kitchen.

  Clover cut around an outline of a giant cat head. “My slogans are ‘Girl Power’ and ‘Clover Cares,’” she said. “What’s your slogan, Mike?”

  The direct questions were coming fast and furious now, like I had to duck to get out of their way.

  “We have, um, many options,” I said. That was a non-answer, and it wasn’t even a lie. But I felt bad for not telling the whole truth to Clover since she was being so nice with sharing her stuff.

  “Yeah,” Clover said. “It’s hard to decide. That’s why I have two! Don’t worry, I’ll help you.” Her eyes brightened. “What about ‘I Like Mike!’? Because you’re so likable.”

  “That’s pretty good,” said Amelia. “Thanks, Clover!”

  “I changed my mind,” Clover said, wrinkling her nose. “I don’t like it anymore.”

  Susie did another cannonball, splashing me. Scott ran over holding a bandanna.

  “Sorry I failed you again,” he said, dabbing my cheek.

  “What are you going to draw on your poster?” Clover asked, leaning so close I could smell her shampoo. It was kind of fruity but something else, too . . . pickles? Was I hallucinating odors?

  I stared down at my extremely blank poster. I had to draw something, since this was a poster-making party. But I felt trapped. I couldn’t even write Clover’s suggestion since she didn’t like it anymore.

  Everyone was watching me, so I drew the first thing I could think of: an X with a circle around it. I think I saw it on one of my T-shirt tags. It seemed like the illustrated version of a non-answer.

  “Ooooh, very abstract,” Clover said. “I didn’t know you were so deep!”

  I shrugged.

  “Now let’s talk about each other’s strengths and weaknesses,” Clover said.

  “Clover,” Rachel said.

  “I’ll start,” Clover said. “Your strengths are that you’re funny. And sweet. I like your headphones.”

  “Really? Thanks,” I said. I’d never heard anyone but Granberry say such nice things about me.

  “Your weaknesses are that you can be really quiet and sometimes I don’t know if you’re joking,” Clover said. “Your turn.”

  I looked at Amelia. She shook her head. I remembered a rule from the tip sheet and framed my response as a question. “Uh, you care about people?”

  “I totally do! Just like my slogan!” she said, her grin spreading across her whole face. “We are such a great team, Michael.”

  “Michael?” Rachel whispered. “And you’re not on the same team.”

  Clover ignored her. “Michael,” she said, “do you have a girlfriend?”

  I almost dropped my Property of Poplar Middle School black marker. “A what?”

  “A girlfriend.”

  The truth was I’d never had a girlfriend. I don’t think I’d ever even said that word out loud before.

  But before I could answer, Peter spoke up.

  “He’s in a relationship,” he said.

  I was?

  Amelia glared at Peter.

  “Oh,” Clover said, frowning.

  “Look at the time!” Amelia said. “We’ve got a full day of campaigning ahead of us.”

  “Another meeting?” Scott said. “Don’t Secret Service agents get breaks?”

  “We’re on a schedule,” Amelia said.

  * * *

  “We don’t really have a meeting,” Amelia said as we left Clover’s house. “Mike looks a little . . . tired.”

  “Tired” was an understatement. I could barely see straight, walk straight, or even think straight.

  “Well, my business intuition was correct,” Peter said. “People hate homework. I’ll play that up in my campaign-donation emails. I also spread the word about Gronkowski’s Pie-Crust Cookies.”

  “What do your cookies have to do with our campaign?” Amelia asked.

  Peter shrugged, checking his shiny green notebook. “I assembled a koddler-kid street team to get your name out there: my brother Daniel, Gabby, and Susie. They can’t vote for you, but they know older people who can. And,” he said, tapping the notebook’s cover, “I picked up opposition research on Clover. Just in case.”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “A business strategy,” Peter said. “They do it in politics, too. Dirt on the other side. It gives you a competitive advantage.”

  Amelia frowned. “Maybe,” she said. “But opposition research can hurt people. You don’t want to use it unless you absolutely have to.”

  “So . . . why did you say I had a girlfriend?” I asked Peter.

  “If people know that someone likes you, they’ll like you, too,” Peter said. “And then they’ll vote for you.”

  “He’s right,” Amelia said quietly.

  “But I don’t really have a girlfriend, so that’s a lie,” I said.

  “Not a negative lie, though,” Peter said.

  “Yeah, maybe your fake girlfriend is the love of your life or something,” said Scott. “Anyway, even if it was negative, that’s what people do in campaigns, right? Like that school board ad with Rocket Shipley. He says Clover’s mom has never had a real job and that’s why people should vote for him.” He shook his head. “Savage.”

  Amelia groaned. “His campaign doesn’t make sense. He calls himself ‘The Family Man’ and then tries to make Mrs. O’Reilly look bad for raising a family. Typical politics!”

 
Politics was exhausting. If this was what being a politician was all about, I wasn’t sure how I’d make it through a whole week of campaigning.

  FROM THE DESK OF

  Peter S. Gronkowski

  Dear Friend,

  There’s a pressing issue facing everyone at Poplar Middle School. That issue is too much homework.

  Imagine how your world would change if you had less homework. First, you’d have more time to start a new business in the Poplar Middle School student store. That’s not allowed now, but Mike will make that happen for you. Second, you could have more time to develop the businesses you already have. Third, you could spend more time finding new customers for your businesses.

  Can we count on your support? Please put money through the slits of Peter Gronkowski’s locker to support Mike’s campaign today.

  Best,

  Peter S. Gronkowski

  Peter S. Gronkowski

  P.S. Attached please find a coupon for 2 percent off your first purchase of Peter’s Pie-Crust Cookies. Thank you for being a valued voter.

  What’s New with

  Mel Chang

  If It Trends, We’re Friends.

  MONDAY

  Today marks the offish first day of the seventh-grade class election. Obvi, today is the Meet the Candidates Luncheon.

  The Meet the Candidates Luncheon is a Poplar Middle School tradish. Since 1973, seventh-grade pres candidates have broken bread with their peers to hear what’s on their minds. (It doesn’t have to be bread if you’re gluten free.)

  POPLAR POLL

  If the seventh-grade election were today, who would you vote for?

  Clover: 77%

  Undecided: 15%

  Anita Tinkle (write-in): 5%

  Mike: 3%

  Seventh-grade soundbites:

  “Clover for President! Her pool party had more twists and turns than a roller-coaster. It was so acrobatic it joined the circus.” —Todd Oliver-Engels (aka Big TOE), seventh grade

  “I’m voting for Clover because I keep getting annoying emails from Peter Gronkowski. I’m not even sure how he got my email address.” —Mateo Medina, seventh grade