I wanted to win. And he was helping. Didn’t that count for something?
Sara said, “You know, Bree, maybe you should really think about giving Becks another chance. Please, please, please, please, please!”
WOW! She went to the rarely used quintuple-beg please.
“I mean, let’s face it, if she really wanted to end your chance to be president, she could have told your OTHER secret.”
WARNING! WARNING!
My friends knew that the OTHER secret must be kept among a small, EENSY, TEENSY few. I couldn’t even think about what would happen if the rest of the school found out!
“Becks sold me out. So you’re saying I should forgive her because she could have been an even bigger sellout?”
And that was that—sort of.
Before I could say anything else, a voice came over the loudspeakers:
“Attention, all fifth graders. Would each of the ten candidates for president of the fifth grade report to Mr. Tan’s audiovisual lab at one o’clock. Those of you having lunch may finish your meal and report to the office immediately afterward.”
Right as I reached the double red doors of the cafeteria, I looked over at the opposite corner. Jasmine Moon was on her feet, no doubt heading to the same place I was going. My lips felt a little numb, and my throat was dry and hot.
She had no right poking around in my business, messing with my friends’ minds just to win my election.
And then the fear turned into something hard and sharp. It was anger. I was getting mad!
That was when the question popped into my head:
Jasmine Moon, what secrets are you trying to keep?
18
From Cold War… to the Heat of Battle!
“You are live with Annie Darling!”
Lights. Music. A strange sort of heat.
I stared into the lens of the camera and felt a freaky sort of bubble in the back of my throat.
“So, Brianna, tell me, if elected president of the entire fifth grade, how will you and your administration change Orchard Park Elementary?”
Staring into that camera, the bright lights shining on my face, it was like the whole, entire world was waiting to hear what I had to say.
But before I could say anything…
“… And cut!”
That was Mr. Tan. He said, “Thank you, ladies, for demonstrating an on-set interview. You may return to your seats.”
Mr. Tan was talking about the importance of media in American culture. “What you young people say and how you conduct yourselves on camera can have a huge impact on how other students perceive you.”
We all sort of looked at each other and Mr. Tan sighed, knowing he was only seconds from putting someone to sleep.
“We plan to film each of you either here at school or at a location where you can demonstrate your unique talents or skills. I must know by the end of the week what you’d like to do. And all of you must be prepared for an interview with Miss Darling,” he said, pointing to Annie.
A shiver passed through me. I could see myself behind a kitchen counter, smiling into the camera just like Miss Delicious. Behind me the oven would be filled with baking cupcakes and the smell would be so good and sweet you could almost taste it through the TV.
This was it!
I was going to be a STAR!
(And thanks to several hair washes, I’d be a star with normal, non-blue hair!)
Then Weasel whispered in my ear, “M’lady, my mother’s kitchen awaits!”
It was like he could read my mind.
“My mom says we can film you baking at her shop. Just think of it. Not only will you show your superior skills, you’ll also be your own commercial. People will see you and want to try your cupcakes. It’s pure genius!”
We were in the hall outside the auditorium. Mr. Tan was finished and was sending us back to class. I jumped up and down and high-fived Weasel saying, “I’ll be famous, famous, famous!”
Then, the hair stood up on the back of my neck. The kind of feeling you get when you walk past a cemetery at night.
I knew before I turned around who would be there.
Jasmine Moon!
“Miss Moon,” said Weasel.
I said, “What do you want?”
She smiled in a way that didn’t look too smiley and shoved her hands onto her hips and moved her face too close to my ear. “You’re going to lose this election and your friends!”
My belly twisted. Did I eat sea snakes for lunch? I took a step back, but Jasmine just moved closer.
“You better watch it!” she hissed. “Just because you stopped me before I could photocopy your con-fes-sion, don’t think you’ll stop me again. I bet you have more than one secret.”
I gasped.
Weasel stepped in.
“Is everything well, m’ladies?”
Jasmine turned and gave him the unfriendly smile. “I’m just wishing Brianna luck. I think she might need it. You both might.”
That was pretty much that. A teacher came by and asked where we were supposed to be. Jasmine went from wicked witch to fairy princess faster than you could say “Abracadabra.”
We all went back to class.
But that wasn’t the worst part.
The worst part came later, at the bike racks. When I told Sara and Lauren what happened, the only thing they seemed to care about was Weasel.
“Get over the whole Weasel thing. Look, I know he’s been a pain in the past, but he’s being really… nice. He’s working hard on my campaign and I need him,” I said. “Besides, right now we have bigger problems. We can’t let Jasmine win! And what about my other super secret? She’s dying to find dirt on me. What if Becks flips out and tells that, too?”
“We just think Weasel is, like, pulling you down,” Lauren said.
I took the key out of my coat pocket and inserted it into the bike lock. It clicked and the lock popped open.
“Pulling me down? What does that mean?”
Sara looped her braids behind her ears as she bent down to unfasten her bike lock. She said, “You know, lowering your standards. You’re better than this, Bree.”
I stuffed my bike chain inside my book bag. I looked at Sara, her eyes in a disapproving squint.
“Better than what? And what standards?” I could feel myself getting hot under the collar. And that’s not just an expression. I was actually feeling pretty heated and wanted to snatch the scarf off my neck to get some cool October air.
“Brianna, you know he’s a weasel. It’s his name. He answers to it. We just think if you weren’t spending so much time with him, this whole thing wouldn’t have turned into some sort of vendetta between you and Jasmine,” Sara said.
And Lauren finished, “Class president is supposed to be about good leadership and values and being honest and the best person for the job. Besides, you promised not to, you know, get too carried away with the election. You’re so caught up in your quest to rule the world you’re not thinking straight. All you ever talk about or think about these days is beating Jasmine Moon.”
“That’s because all Jasmine seems to think about is BEATING ME!”
The swirling wind snatched my voice and snapped it in the wind like a flag. Sara’s eyes bulged and Lauren looked away.
I drew a deep breath. I said, “You guys, didn’t you hear anything I said? Jasmine admitted she was behind that dirty trick. She was so mean and nasty. I can’t lose this election. Think about all the things we’ve been planning. Being millionaires? My cupcake empire? Any of that ring a bell?”
Both Sara and Lauren had their bikes free from the rack. We were all moving toward the sidewalk. Sara let out a big sigh and when she looked at me, her eyes were sad.
“You just don’t get it, do you?”
And before I could answer, she and Lauren rode away—without me!
19
“We Have Not Yet Begun to Fight!”
(Brianna Justice is in it to win it!)
Outside the
autumn air had turned crisp and at night I wore my warm socks in the house to keep my toes from getting frosty. The big oak tree outside my bedroom window was losing its bright green leaves. Each day more and more leaves had begun to change from green to yellow. Some were already turning brown.
Everything was changing.
At school, I felt the changes, too.
Sara and Lauren were giving me the silent treatment.
Almost silent.
They said “Hi,” but not like friends. They both turned their backs. I sat slumped in my desk drowning in presidential trivia. I couldn’t even look at Becks.
And anytime I even thought about how time was ticking away and the election was getting closer and CLOser and CLOSER… my knees got as rubbery as a bad batch of over-rolled pie dough. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Me running for president of the whole fifth grade, that was supposed to be something for all of us. We had it all planned.
I had a goal. I declared it. I wrote it down. I did everything right. So how had it all gone soooo wrong?
The first attempt to really talk came a few days later. An elbow jarred my desk. I jumped.
“Is there a problem, Miss Justice?” Mrs. Nutmeg said. She’d been talking about how some guys named Meriwether Lewis and William Clark went to St. Louis or somewhere looking for… I don’t know what. It was in 1804. I wondered if the Arch was there then. Seemed a shame to go to St. Louis and not see the Arch.
“Teachers, may I have your attention, please?”
Saved by the intercom. The loudspeaker crackled:
“There are police in the wooded area behind the school. We are asking that all students avoid that area…”
I looked around and caught a glimpse of Becks. She dropped her eyes and pointed for me to look down.
A note.
I “accidentally” dropped my pencil, bent down, and picked up the pencil—and the note.
The announcement continued. We were being warned to stay away from the wooded area behind the school, the one everyone called the Forbidden Woods. Several kids oooed and ahhhed when Principal Beelie announced that the police said the woods “were unsafe due to recent discoveries.”
Dead bodies?
Alien space creatures?
The cast-iron kettle used by the lunch ladies to prepare the barfilicious meat loaf?
Everyone had their suspicions about what had been found and whispers sprang up around the room.
I unfolded the slip of paper from Becks. It read:
Can We Talk After School?
“Miss Justice, can you tell me who was the shortest president?”
Oh, snap! Busted again!
Mrs. Nutmeg was standing right at my desk. How did she get there so fast? And I thought we were learning about Lewis and Clark and their big expedition.
“With the presidential and historical trivia competition at the end of the week, you need to consume as much of this information as possible.”
All heads twisted in my direction. Becks looked down and I looked busted.
Shortest president… shortest president…
Abraham Lincoln was the tallest—he was six feet, four inches, but I don’t know if that included the tall, skinny hat.
“Miss Justice, we’re waiting.” Mrs. Nutmeg stared down at me.
I stared back.
Then I did what any red-blooded American schoolkid would do—I faked it!
“Um… Wilbur Howard Taft?”
Several kids giggled. Several more went “Ooo, ooo, ooo.” That meant two things:
One—my answer sucked lead.
Two—not only did I give a smelly answer, but I gave a smelly answer to a question that a lot of other kids could answer right. Not good, people!
Of course, what made the whole thing even worse was you-know-who.
Jasmine Moon.
She not only raised her hand, but stood. Before Mrs. Nutmeg could even call on her, she said, “Mrs. Nutmeg, we never had a president named ‘Wilbur.’ I think she means William Howard Taft. But that’s wrong. He was the, uh, plumpest president.”
My teeth clenched. Mrs. Nutmeg, in her perfectly fitted black suit with the white and black polka-dot scarf sticking out of the front, looked down at me. Then she looked at Jasmine Moon.
“Very good, Jasmine. Can you name the shortest president?”
We’d all been studying from the same four sheets of presidential trivia. FOUR SHEETS! Where is the justice? Each day, Mrs. Nutmeg put about five facts on the board and the next day she’d quiz us on those five and another five random facts from the sheets.
Jasmine Moon cleared her throat and bobbed her head. “The shortest president,” she said, “was James Madison. He was five feet, four inches and weighed less than a hundred pounds.”
Kenny, from my campaign, said, “Hey, I weigh more than that. Maybe I should be president.”
Almost everybody laughed. Anger and a big scoop of shame burned through my chair and lit a fire under me. I shot out of my seat. Mrs. Nutmeg looked at me. I said, “That’s not fair!”
Mrs. Nutmeg said, “Sit down, Brianna. There was nothing unfair in what just happened, precious.” I flopped back into my seat. Most of the time I loved it when she called me “precious.”
She said, “You’ve got to study harder to be ready for the big competition on Friday.”
I sprang back up. “I am. Ask me anything else. Come on…” I drew it out in a little whine. Besides, Jasmine Moon was still standing.
Mrs. Nutmeg had started back toward her desk. She stopped in the aisle and spun around. She looked from me to my new archenemy. She said, “You girls want to have a mini-competition today?”
What I was thinking was, Oh, yeah. Bring it, girlfriend.
But I just said, “Yes, ma’am.”
“Me, too!” Jasmine said.
She told us to come up front. Whoever had the most correct answers after five minutes would win. She set her timer.
“Who was the first president to travel abroad while he was president?”
“Teddy Roosevelt!” One point for me.
“Four presidents have been assassinated while in office. Abraham Lincoln, James Garfield, and William McKinley are three. Who is the fourth?”
“William Harrison!” Nnnnnnng! Wrong! No points for Jasmine.
“It’s John F. Kennedy. Harrison died of pneumonia one month after doing what? Brianna?”
“William H. Harrison died thirty-one days after making the longest inauguration speech in history.”
Bing! Two points for me. NONE FOR JASMINE.
“George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, and John Adams all collected and played with these. What are they?”
No answer. No answer. No answer.
“Marbles!” One point for Jasmine Moon; two points for me!
“The youngest president ever elected to office was John F. Kennedy. But he wasn’t the youngest to serve. Who was the youngest person ever to serve as president of the United States?”
“Teddy Roosevelt!” Three points for me; one point for Jasmine Moon.
And it went like that until the buzzer rang. At first it was as if the whole room went completely quiet. Wally Sandifer was at the chalkboard keeping score. White dust coated the front of his black, silver, and blue Detroit Lions jersey. With his chubby fingers, he pointed, first at Jasmine, then at me.
“We have five points for Jasmine Moon, and eleven points for Brianna Justice!”
I jumped up and down. I pumped my fists. I said, “Oh, yeah! Now that’s what I’m talking about!”
“Brianna, precious, you need a lesson in good sportsmanship. Congratulations. Now take your seat!”
Can you believe it? I won and she was still talking to me like I just said George Washington was the first baseman for the Tigers.
Back at my desk, Becks looked up. She whispered, “Good job, Bree.”
Then I looked over and saw Sara and Lauren smiling, too. Did that mean we were all okay again? Could we just sq
uash the madness and get back to being friends so I could kick some Moon butt and be president?
Right as I was feeling so high I could touch the sky, Mrs. Nutmeg brought me back down to Earth.
“Keep in mind, girls, today’s competition was just an itsy-bitsy taste of the real thing. Next Friday there will be ten of you. And lots more questions. Study hard, ladies.”
I could feel the joy and excitement draining out of me.
Beating Jasmine Moon had felt so good. But on Friday, that could all change. Did I know enough to beat everyone else?
Just then a thwack on my heel made me look down.
Another note. And this time from Jasmine Moon.
I didn’t even look at it. I just ripped it up!
20
“If You Can’t Stand the Heat, Get Out of the Kitchen!”
When the bell rang and everybody got into the hall, it was clear that Lauren and Sara knew about Rebecca’s note.
“So will you talk to Becks?” Sara asked.
I shrugged. First I had an errand to do.
Lauren moved in front of me. “C’mon Bree, please think about it. Forget about Weasel.”
“I will, but I’ve got to go.” I ditched them before they could say another thing. I needed to tell Mr. Tan about filming my cupcake demonstration at Wetzel’s. I didn’t want to get into it with Lauren and Sara about my plan to spend time with Weasel’s mom at the bakery.
I pushed open the door to Mr. Tan’s office. He covered the phone’s mouthpiece with his hand and said, “Hello, Brianna. Could you please wait outside my door? I will be with you in a moment.”
Then he closed the door in my face and I did what any kid would do—I plastered my ear to the door to eavesdrop.
“… Man spotted in the woods… behind the school…” I heard him say.
The Forbidden Woods!
Then he said, “… Just a poor, homeless person. It’s a shame. He’ll have to go, sure. But, well, a person’s got to stay somewhere.” He said some other stuff, but I couldn’t hear, then…
The door flew open, and I straightened up and pasted on my most confused expression. “Brianna? Were you eavesdropping?”
President of the Whole Fifth Grade Page 7
