On the way out, Weasel’s thin, hissy voice whispered, “My advice is to just study the answers. For the competition, the questions will be multiple choice—a, b, or c. There are forty answers. Memorize them and you’ll be fine. That way, if you get stuck on something, you have the answer sheet to fall back on.”
“Weasel, doesn’t it bother you at all that this is cheating?”
Not surprisingly, he said he did not see it that way. I climbed in the backseat, afraid that Mom might have some super-secret FBI agent decoder device that would let her detect the presence of a stolen quiz answer key. Hey, she said her kind of investigating dealt mostly with paper crimes.
Well, this was a HUGE paper crime.
“Honey, you seem unusually quiet,” Mom said after we’d dropped Weasel at home. “Tell me all about your first big day at the bakery!”
Darkness in the sky had overtaken daylight. Icy aprons of snow scalloped with an overlay of icicle lace stretched up and down the block. Snow had already begun to fall and we hadn’t even had Halloween yet.
Halloween was two weeks away, which meant one important thing:
The election was TWO WEEKS AWAY, TOO!
Managing to dodge Mom’s questions in the car, all I wanted to do was get out, go inside, and figure everything out.
I knew what I wanted to do.
I wasn’t going to do anything.
Using that answer sheet would be wrong. Cheating. I was no cheater.
Mom pulled a few days’ worth of mail out of the box and I turned and saw a group of girls up the street, turning our way.
When they were right beneath the yellow glow of the streetlamp, I saw them clearly.
Jasmine Moon!
And with her were Sara, Lauren, a few girls from other fifth-grade classes at our school, my former stalker, Tabitha Handy—and Becks!
Jasmine Moon saw me on the porch, my face frozen. She pointed and yelled, “Snake! Snake! Snake!”
Then she burst into laughter, and the laughter stung way worse than the icy air.
Oh, so it’s like that, huh? I mean, are you serious? Getting cracked on and laughed at even by my so-called friends. I didn’t wait to see how hard Lauren, Sara, and Becks were laughing.
I’d rather be a big fat dirty cheater than a loser.
No way could I let myself lose to Jasmine Moon.
She was going down!
26
George Washington Cannot Tell a Lie
(Can I?)
By the next day, I had pretty much convinced myself that the whole snake in the overhead projection screen thing wasn’t an accident. And since Sara and Lauren helped Mrs. Nutmeg every morning with the animals, I thought I knew who had set me up.
What a dirty rotten trick.
If it really was a dirty rotten trick.
I was sure it was the dirtiest, rottenest trick.
Almost.
Before school I yawned and tried to focus as I decorated my second batch of red, white, and blue–frosted cupcakes.
The day before, I’d made a special trip to the market for fresh bananas, fresh ground espresso, and a few other ingredients. I’d been planning a surprise for Becks, who loved all things banana. Thought maybe we could have a truce and a fabulous dessert.
But no more!
When Mrs. Wetzel asked what I was going to do with my new creation, I shrugged. So she told me I should go ahead and sell them.
Then she wished me good luck in the trivia contest and I tried to keep my answer-key rhyme straight:
“Abba, caba, cccc, ab-ab, abcc; ba-ca, (1, 2, 3), ca, ca, bbb… that’s almost the end; don’t forget the aabbcc!”
I’d memorized the answer sheet. I’d thought of it like a song.
Now I was sitting in Mrs. Nutmeg’s class with a terrible headache and yawning to stay awake because I’d stayed up so late studying.
I caught Jasmine Moon looking at me. She started to whisper “snake” and laugh, but this time, instead of trying to run away like yesterday, I just stared right back. She closed that flopping yap of hers real quick.
It was 10:15 when the office called for all “presidential candidates” to report to the cafeteria. I snatched up my book bag and practically raced out the door.
“Slow down, Miss Justice,” Mrs. Nutmeg said. But I didn’t. I wanted to get out of there as fast as I could.
Dr. Beelie stood inside the cafeteria wearing that same ridiculous getup he’d worn when he was riding the horse. Including the dopey wig. He looked like a history hairball spit right out of my social studies book.
I felt crankier and meaner than the snake that fell on me the day before. But one thing was for sure, I was going to win today. Thanks to Weasel’s secret agent, I had all the answers. Feeling guilty, no doubt, was turning me into a snarling Miss Cranky Thing. I hated Jasmine Moon for making me feel like I had to do this—to cheat. I wasn’t a cheater. I was a good person. But the knots twisting in my stomach made me wonder: if I was such a good person, why did I have a greasy cheat sheet memorized and hives breaking out on my neck?
“The trivia quiz is multiple choice, ladies and gentlemen. Please, students, if you know the answers, do not yell them out or answer. Only the ten candidates can answer, and they must ring the buzzer to do so,” Beelie said.
Buzzing.
That’s what was going on in the back of my skull.
Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Are you sure you want to cheat?
It was about the answer sheet. Using those answers to cheat was not right.
Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. What if you get caught?
I shut my eyes. Shook my head. I wanted the buzzing to stop. Of course, I didn’t want to cheat. But if I didn’t, I might lose. And losing stinks, right?
“Before the competition begins,” Beelie was saying, “I have a really big surprise for everyone…”
I zoned out again. Kids had started filling the room. Looking around, I spotted Weasel. He was looking as weaselly as ever. Pansy tossed her hair in my direction and Willow mouthed, “Don’t blow it!”
“… That is why,” Beelie went on, “I am introducing one of Orchard Park’s most esteemed graduates, Miss Delissa Marshall, also known as Miss Delicious!”
My heart stopped.
My mouth went dry.
Did he really say…
And there she was. Miss Delicious, in the flesh.
“Good morning, students,” she said.
Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Would my hero witness the greatest day of my life… or would she see me fall harder than an overcooked soufflé?
27
“The Only Thing We Have to Fear Is Fear Itself.”
(Unless you flop in front of your all-time biggest hero!)
Miss Delicious looked like a chocolate angel wearing a creamy white sweater and matching skirt and boots. She stood at the podium with the light reflecting off her soft brown hair.
We were onstage in metal folding chairs, and she turned to us and smiled.
But after Miss Delicious’s greeting, I wished I could melt away.
“Students of Orchard Park Elementary, it seems as if it was only a few years ago that I walked these very halls wondering if I’d ever make my dreams come true. Back when I was your age, the only thing more important to me than baking was my friends…”
My face got warm. That was just how I felt, too.
At least, it used to be.
“Being class president wasn’t about being the prettiest or most popular; it was about reaching out and helping others. It was about setting a good example. No matter what happens today or on election day, remember that as long as you have conducted yourselves with dignity and honor, you are indeed a winner!”
A few chairs down from me, I caught a glimpse of Jasmine Moon. She stood, along with all the rest of us, held her head high, and applauded like nothing had happened. Hadn’t she heard what Miss Delicious said? Now my stomach dropped harder than a pan of lead biscuits.
Over my shoulder I saw David Love and Jimmy what�
��s-his-name high-fiving. Like nothing was wrong.
We were not conducting ourselves with dignity and honor or anything of the sort.
We were behaving like power-hungry… politicians. We were running AMOK!
But no one seemed to be feeling sick about it except ME!
Before I knew what was happening, it was time to start the competition, and the first question was on the overhead projector, and someone’s buzzer was going off.
He was the first president to reside in the White House, moving in in November of 1800 while the paint was still wet. He was:
A: George Washington
B: John Adams
C: John Quincy Adams
My lips felt numb. My hands shook. According to the dirty-rotten filthy cheater’s cheat sheet, the answer was supposed to be “a.” But I knew that answer. It was “b,” John Adams. When George Washington was president, the capital was in Philadelphia, not Washington, D.C.
Before I could press the buzzer, though, Gretchen answered and pushed her glasses back up on her nose.
Kids and teachers started clapping, and more and more questions were asked. None of the answers matched the dirty-rotten filthy cheater’s cheat sheet. All the answers I’d memorized were WRONG!
That’s when I peeked at Jasmine Moon again. She was smiling at me. An evil, oily, slimy, dirty-trick-playing smile. I had cheated. And what was worse was I’d spent the entire night memorizing the WRONG answers!
After that, it was like my mind froze. Even when I knew the right answers, my tongue felt heavy and I was unable to talk. Twice I rang my buzzer:
He was the first president to die by assassination. He was killed on Good Friday, April 14, 1865. He was:
A: William Henry Harrison
B: Martin Luther King, Jr.
C: Abraham Lincoln
The answer was “c,” Lincoln. Martin Luther King, Jr., was a preacher and he didn’t get assassinated until 1967. Harrison died of pneumonia after giving the longest inaugural speech in history in the cold and rain. I knew the answers. I knew. I knew.
But when I opened my mouth—Eeeeep! I just stood there, the right answer stuck inside my mouth like a Tootsie Roll. A totally stupid expression glued to my face and my heart doing gymnastics behind my ribs.
The questions continued to sail by me… The first president to own a car (William H. Taft)… The first president to speak over the radio (Warren G. Harding)… The only U.S. president to resign (Richard M. Nixon).
All answers I knew; all questions I failed to answer.
Finally it was over and Dr. Beelie announced, “Well, students, you’ve done a fantastic job. All of you managed to score points. Well, almost all of you…”
Then I realized I was the only one onstage who hadn’t answered a single question. I was the only one who had NO POINTS AT ALL! Some kids in the audience started laughing. Dr. Beelie’s face turned red. He looked at me and started sputtering some sort of apology, but by then it was too late because everyone in the WHOLE WIDE WORLD, from SEA TO SHINING SEA, was laughing at me.
“Students, settle down, we needn’t…”
I didn’t hear the rest. I couldn’t listen. The last thing I heard was the sound of the metal folding chair tumbling over as I raced behind the curtain, down the stairs, and off the stage. I had to get far, far away from my most awful day ever.
28
From Boom to Bust… to Busted?
Even the teachers and staff felt sorry for me.
Oh, great!
Back before the Great Depression, when people had money and jobs and life was good, people called it a “boom” or “boom time.” But when the Depression happened and people lost their homes and couldn’t afford food, it was called a big, fat “bust.”
And we all know what it means to be busted.
Hello, my life!
After I’d hidden in the nurse’s office for most of the day, someone finally got my dad on the phone and explained what a total non-answer-giving loser I was and he came and took me home. He kept asking if I wanted to talk, but I kept silent. He got the hint.
Jasmine Moon won the competition.
Would the foolishness ever end?
That night I looked so pitiful, Katy offered to do the dishes for me. I couldn’t wait to get into bed. I wouldn’t swear to it, but if I didn’t know better, I’d believe even Pig Pig was ashamed of me.
Who was I?
When Mrs. Nutmeg had asked that question a while back, I felt as though the answer was obvious. I was… Me! And I was proud to be me.
But right now I didn’t feel so proud. Or sure of what kind of me I was turning out to be.
I had tried to cheat and wound up messing up a competition I might have won if I’d acted like I had some sense. Maybe I didn’t deserve to be president. Maybe Jasmine Moon really would make a better president.
That thought pressed into my brain. I tossed and turned. Was Jasmine Moon really the best person to be our president? Okay, sure, I’d sunk pretty low, but hadn’t she done the same? Was she feeling as guilty as I was? (She didn’t look so guilty today onstage!)
Who are you? What kind of president do you plan to be?
Mrs. Nutmeg’s voice seemed to whisper against my ear with each crisp autumn breeze fluttering through my bedroom window. I squished the pillow over my ears and kicked the covers off. When I took the pillow off my face, Pig Pig was staring right at me. And that got me thinking, too.
Tomorrow was Saturday. Woodhull Society Saturdays. Only I would be working at the bakery. Not that it mattered. Sara and Lauren had barely said two words to me all week. And don’t even get me started on Becks. If they created an Olympics for people trying to avoid looking at each other, I don’t know who’d take the gold—me or her. But we’d both be in the running.
I opened the drawer in my nightstand. The envelope holding my last two allowances lay inside. Even having all that cash so close didn’t make me happy. I closed the drawer quietly and tossed and turned some more.
All I’d been thinking about for almost a whole year was being president of the fifth grade. I had planned my campaign. Made posters. Practiced speeches. Told everybody.
Being president was going to help me start my future career—cupcake-making millionaire.
But I’d been so excited about what being president would mean to me, I never thought much about what it would mean to the school if I could be president.
I fell asleep trying to figure out if it was too late to turn into the kind of presidential candidate that would make me proud to be me again.
29
Abraham Lincoln, Report to the Battlefield
(Lincoln’s important “address” took place on the battlefield; mine begins in the kitchen.)
“I have a surprise for you,” said Mrs. W.
I covered my mouth with my hand and tried not to let her see me yawning. I didn’t get much sleep last night.
But when I opened my eyes, the grainy “I can hardly stay awake” feeling flew out the back door, past the huge rolling carts, and down the alley.
I couldn’t believe it. Standing beneath the skylight, silvery-gray moon dust sprinkling down on her like confectioners’ sugar on French toast, was my hero.
Miss Delicious glowed before my very eyes!
I looked around to make sure Mrs. W. saw her, too. A girl couldn’t be too sure.
But Mrs. W. did see her.
And do you believe it:
Mrs. Wetzel and Miss Delicious had been friends since their days at Orchard Park Elementary.
“Dee and I, we did everything together,” Mrs. Wetzel said.
Miss Delicious!
Right here. In the flesh! How cool was that?
But the grin that was pulling my face fell so fast that both women moved toward me.
“Little Lamb, what’s the matter?” said Miss Delicious.
Well, that did it. Stupid, stupid, stupid ol’ tears of shame burned at the corners of my eyes and made me blink like a big doof.<
br />
I spun around to hide my face, but Duh! I was so totally crying.
Miss Delicious wrapped her arms around me and said, “Little Lamb, why the sad, sad eyes? We’re all friends here. Between Lucille and me, we’ve probably made some of every mistake in the book. You’re too young to look so tragic! Lucille told me about the contest yesterday. Are you still upset about that?”
I pulled away, shook my head, and began to cry harder. Now I was a cheater and a crybaby. Was there no hope for me? I wonder if it’s too late for military school.
“Lucille tells me you’re an excellent cook with a bright future,” Miss Delicious said, taking my chin in her hand while dabbing a tissue against my wet cheeks with her other hand. “But I’m looking at a young lady who is feeling… something. And it’s not success. You’ll feel better if you just let it out.”
I had to tell someone how awful I’d been feeling. Who better than my hero?
So I told them everything. Well, sort of.
I told them how after Miss Delicious spoke to our class last year I figured the only way I could follow in her footsteps would be to become president of the whole fifth grade.
“Now all my old friends treat me like scum and most of the kids who’ve been hanging out with me only do it so they can get favors if I win. And after yesterday’s performance, I bet most of them won’t want anything to do with me, either.”
Mrs. W. took out two dozen of my cupcakes from the double oven and set them on the counter. “You’re being too hard on yourself,” she said.
Miss Delicious was stirring my minced apples into the cupcake batter while I spooned the crust for my new election cupcakes into cupcake liners. She said, “Ambition can be a girl’s greatest asset, as long as she follows her dreams in a manner that she believes in. My little talk at your school was never intended to give you the impression that the only way to achieve greatness was through fifth-grade presidency.”
Mrs. W. gave a hoot of laughter. “For real. If elementary school leadership skills were the secret to lifelong success, goodness knows where I might have wound up,” she said.
President of the Whole Fifth Grade Page 10
