President of the Whole Fifth Grade

by Sherri Winston

  We all made the stink-face. It’s an ugly memory, my friends, an ugly, ugly memory.

  Lauren said, “Some secrets are better left untold.”

  We waited a second, then burst out laughing.

  We hugged in a circle, and put our heads together.

  I said, “This is it, ladies. We’ve got to end Weasel’s reign of terror once and for all.”

  36

  Rosie the Riveter at Your Service!

  “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  Becks looked at me with half-scared, half-hopeful brown eyes. I nodded. “I’m sure.”

  They’d all stayed at my house for dinner last night and helped me and my parents bake dozens and dozens of cupcakes. By the time I rode with my dad to drive them home, we were all falling asleep in the car. But like true friends, they all volunteered to get up at five the next morning and come with us to the bakery.

  For hours, we all worked side by side at Wetzel’s. I came up with a cupcake assembly line and everybody had a different job, from frosting to decorating to placing them on trays for storage on a tall rolling rack to be stored in the refrigerator.

  Sara said, “Hey, we’re like those ‘Rosie the Riveter’ ladies Mrs. Nutmeg told us about.”

  “We’re nowhere near the river,” Becks said.

  We laughed. “No,” I said, “Rosie the Riveter was like a symbol for women during World War II. So many of the men had to go to war that lots of places didn’t have enough workers.”

  “So women started doing jobs that men had done. Now we’re doing jobs that grown-ups usually do,” Sara said.

  “But we’re doing it to help our friend,” Lauren said.

  Then we all pretended our butter knives, dipped in frosting, were power tools. We lifted them toward the skylight and shouted, “Keep riveting, ladies!”

  “You guys, I came up with another cupcake recipe just for President Obama,” I said.

  Sara said, “I thought his favorite dessert was sweet potato pie.”

  “It is. So now I’ve created a sweet potato pie cupcake.”

  Everybody worked hard. And if somebody came up with a better way to do things to make the work go faster, we did it. I couldn’t help thinking about the school election. Don’t think I’m being too mushy or anything, but running a good campaign is a lot like making a good cupcake. You try different ways, you use your best “ingredients,” and you always, always, ALWAYS stick with the people who know you best—your friends and family.

  (See, told you it was sort of mushy!)

  By noon we were finished and began taste-testing all the cupcakes, including the President Obama–inspired sweet potato yummies. We were exhausted, but our insides were warm and delighted.

  Mrs. Wetzel came over and hugged me twice, telling me how much her customers loved the new cupcakes.

  “I’m so proud of how hard you’ve worked,” she said. “Once the elections are over, we can discuss your school schedule and look at how you can earn money and keep working here.”

  Sara and Lauren had both glanced over at me; Becks had held her face over the cupcake she was eating, not daring to look up. They all knew what I was planning.

  And they knew it could change everything.

  Still, it had to be done!

  Brianna’s Cookbook

  Sweet Potato Pie Cupcakes with Cream Cheese Frosting

  2 cups all-purpose flour

  1 cup white sugar

  1 cup light brown sugar

  2 cups boiled sweet potatoes

  1 teaspoon baking powder

  1 teaspoon baking soda

  1 teaspoon salt

  1 teaspoon lemon juice

  1 cup melted butter

  4 large eggs

  See here for frosting recipe.

  Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Place the cupcake liners in a cupcake pan.

  With a parent’s help, peel two medium-sized sweet potatoes and boil until soft.

  Now combine all the dry ingredients. You can use a mixer for 30 seconds at a low speed, then add the rest of the ingredients; add the sweet potatoes last—and slowly.

  Use a tablespoon to fill cupcake liners 2/3 full.

  Bake for 20 to 25 minutes or until you can slide a toothpick in and remove it clean.

  Let cool for 10 minutes, then add your cream cheese frosting. Mmmm! If you see the president, tell him I’ve made a batch just for him!

  37

  A Patriot

  (Or was I a Rebel?)

  The plan was simple:

  Weasel had to be stopped!!!

  So at 5:30 p.m. while he was at oboe practice, we did what we had to do.

  We piled into Mrs. Wetzel’s living room.

  Now, when we talked about showing up to tell her that basically her only son was a dirty, rotten rat fink, we expected her to be shocked. To maybe order us out. Or at least tell me to get away and never show my face at Wetzel’s Bakery again.

  We were scared. I was petrified.

  What we didn’t expect, though, was for her to say, “Why, that conniving little scoundrel. I should have known he was up to something!”

  Bam! And just like that, it was on and poppin’. Mrs. W. was about to take down her little man with an evil plan of her own.

  I told her he was planning to use some sort of embarrassing presentation at the Halloween carnival. “It’s my fault,” I said. “If I hadn’t gotten so crazy about Jasmine Moon and kept acting like she was the enemy, maybe he wouldn’t have made himself crazy with revenge schemes.”

  “I love my son, Brianna, but he’s always had the tendency to go too far. Every now and then, he needs to be brought back to reality. And I think I have just the thing. He wants to see some embarrassing movies. I’ll make sure that’s exactly what he gets!”

  After some fast, pre-carnival trick-or-treating, we all headed to the school. Fifteen minutes later we were inside the school cafeteria, which had been transformed into a world of ghoulish adventure. Dr. Beelie was dressed as Frankenstein and wore Styrofoam bolts painted green sticking out of his neck. “Good evening, children, parents,” he said.

  Fog billowed from a tiny fog-making machine, and haunted house sounds filled the room from tiny, unseen speakers. It was all really fake, but at the same time, it was kinda cool. The little kids were screaming and running around.

  Me? I could barely catch my breath because I knew what Mrs. W. was planning.

  Becks was dressed like Frankenstein, too; Sara wore her horse-jumping outfit with a rubber mask, the kind that covers your head, with an ax through the skull; Lauren was a witch; and I was a vampire. Hey, when you’re in fifth grade, you kinda don’t get into the whole dress-up thing, but getting candy is cool, so you can’t blow it off completely.

  “There he is!” Sara said, pointing to a black knight. Even with a helmet on his head, he still looked like a weasel.

  He carried a book bag over his shoulder. We all exchanged looks.

  “He’s got it,” Sara said.

  “I hope it’s the right one,” Becks said nervously.

  I sighed. “We’ll know soon enough.”

  “Have you officially withdrawn from the election, Brianna? I was just thinking, after that embarrassing failure in the trivia contest and then your pitiful plea to keep your friends, well, maybe you’d want to quit now and call the whole thing off.”

  Jasmine Moon.

  She wore an Egyptian princess costume and was surrounded by a sad assortment of witches and ghosts.

  “Oh, Jasmine, I didn’t hear you arrive. You must have a broom with a quiet motor,” Sara said.

  “I’m not a witch, I’m an Egyptian princess,” she snapped.

  “No,” said Lauren, “I’m pretty sure you’re all witch.”

  “You guys,” I said. I really wanted to avoid as much drama as possible.

  “Like I need you standing up for me,” said Jasmine Moon with a snort.

  “Well…,” I began, but she cut me off.

  “I can
’t believe you went on TV and told everybody you didn’t even care about the election. And to think everybody told me you were my only real competition. And by the way, my parents are coming with a surprise. You’re not the only one who can bake cupcakes. With the help of a pastry chef friend of my mom’s, I’ve made some amazing cupcakes,” she said. Then she nodded her head toward the back row of tables filled with platters of chips and dips and cookies and cupcakes. The school had placed an order at Wetzel’s for my cupcakes. They sat in tiny rows on the table.

  “Your little… whatever they are… won’t look like anything next to my professionally made treats. I had real pastry chefs working with me. Not that Miss Delicious fraud you’re so crazy about!”

  So she’s attacking Miss Delicious now, too? Is nothing sacred to this girl?

  Tabitha Handy, my little geeky ex-stalker, gave me a little wave and nodded her head like we were in on some sort of secret. Jasmine Moon didn’t see her, however. She was too busy flouncing off in another direction. Well, sure enough, about fifteen minutes later, her parents arrived. And they were carrying huge white boxes. I was so busy watching them open the huge boxes from a downtown Detroit bakery that I never heard Weasel come up behind me.

  “M’lady, a word, please?” I looked over at Lauren. If her lip curled up any higher with disgust, it would wind up in her eyebrows. Weasel practically dragged me far enough away to whisper and not be overheard. With a big, slimy grin he said, “There’s someone you need to meet.”

  Well, here comes Tabitha Handy. I thought about the weird little wave she’d given me earlier. What was going on?

  “Tabitha has been my secret weapon,” he said.

  She bobbed her head like some crazed bobble-head doll. “It’s true,” she half hissed, half whispered. “You couldn’t think I’d really help Jasmine Moon win over you, could you? From the start Weasel and I made this plan. I would never want anyone to get in your way, Brianna. I think you’re sooooooo cool.”

  “You mean, you’ve been… been spying for Weasel?” I could barely ask the question.

  She nodded. “Yep! Sorry about that stuff with the bogus presidential trivia answers. Jasmine Moon cooked up that idea to give you bad information and make you look bad in front of the school. She also hid that snake in the projection screen to freak you out.”

  It was like I couldn’t breathe. I looked across the room at Becks. This was what I’d tried to turn her into. A big, fat, creepy spy. No wonder she couldn’t do it. I was glad she didn’t. I was going to have to bake a lot of Itsy-Bitsy Wild Banana Bites to make up for being such a lousy friend! We mingled—that’s a fancy word for walking around and talking to a bunch of different people. We also danced together. If I’d taken a picture of Becks doing the robot, well, let’s just say, for blackmail purposes, it might have been more destructive than the snot shot.

  Later, Principal Beelie was onstage blah-blah-blahing about all the memories he had of his spookiest school Halloween parties. We knew this was it. He was going to have Weasel do the DVD, but instead of using what Principal Beelie wanted, Weasel had other plans.

  The projection screen slid down behind the stage. Somehow Weasel wound up beside me.

  He said, “You’ll thank me later. This will show everyone what a hypocrite she is. Trying to get us kicked out of the competition for a harmless little second-grade prank, when she was willing to perform daring feats of treachery for a part in a fourth-grade play!”

  “Weasel, get over yourself. You need to stop this! I really don’t want to be president if it means acting like a jerk.”

  But it was too late. On the screen, the images came to life. It started out with screaming kids and a haunted house set up right here in the school gym. Woo-hoo-hoo ghost sounds came from the speakers. A few kids laughed.

  Then it changed. Now it looked like the camera was showing backstage at like an auditorium or something. You could see one girl and hear her talking to someone. Probably the kid recording her.

  “The part of Cinderella should have been mine,” said the girl in the costume.

  The scene changed. This time it was Weasel. Any of us who knew him, knew this was in third grade when he thought he was a character from Star Trek. He was pedaling his bike as fast as he could up his driveway, and you could hear the person holding the camera ask him what was wrong.

  He was crying and wailing, “I stole Missy Gardener’s candy and she said she put a curse on it. Now there’s a monster in my belly!”

  Then the camera lens went down to the ground and… aw, man. He was standing in a puddle of pee. Weasel had wet himself!

  All the kids were like, “Oooo!” Then of course they laughed so hard I thought a few of them might wet themselves, too. Then I realized that Weasel’s mom must have figured out what he was going to do and planted a nasty little lesson of her own.

  Wow! Way to go, Mrs. W. You’re the first diabolical mom I ever met!

  Weasel ran across the cafeteria yelling, “How did that get on there? Who did this to me? Moommmmmy!”

  Weasel started running out of the cafeteria even faster than he had on the screen. He was still making his getaway when Jasmine raced to the front of the room.

  “Look!” she cried. “My parents just arrived. I made a surprise for everyone, my own cupcakes. It’s my way of saying thank you all for being so kind to me.”

  Lauren said, “What do you think was on that tape? I wonder what dirt Weasel dug up on her.”

  I said, “I think we’re better off not knowing.”

  While Jasmine Moon was sending everyone to the back to taste her cupcakes, I looked over at the trays that had carried my sweet potato cupcakes. They were almost empty. But they hadn’t looked as fancy and professional as Jasmine’s. Even across the room I could see the perfect peaks of frosting.

  I tried not to feel bad, but I couldn’t help it. Cupcakes were my thing. If she was good at that, too… well, it made me shake my head.

  But then I started hearing noise coming from the back table. We moved closer.

  “Eeeeew! How can it look so good, but taste so bad?”

  Several kids held Jasmine’s cupcakes away from them like they were covered in hair. Then Toady Todd slam-dunked his into the garbage, and all the jocks around him did the same.

  “That was gross!”

  “Disgusting and gross!”

  “It tastes like glue and bad breath!”

  I sniffed, then took a bite of one. It smelled… weird. Like maybe the ingredients were cheap. Mrs. W. once told me that it didn’t matter how beautiful your creation. “If you skimp on ingredients so you can splurge on making it look good, customers will know.”

  Jasmine Moon looked like an Egyptian princess who was about to be fed to the crocodiles. Her face reddened, and with tears in her eyes, she raced from the room.

  I looked at Sara and the others. “You guys, that’s cold.”

  “It’s her own fault!” Lauren said. We watched as several other kids slammed their Jasmine Moon cupcakes into the trash. Some kids even booed. BOOED! Can you “boo” a cupcake?

  “Yeah, but, I don’t know. That was just way harsh.” I replied. “We should make sure she’s okay.”

  We left the cafeteria through another set of doors, then raced around the corner. It took a minute or so to find Jasmine Moon. The black makeup around her eyes had smudged. She was crying. She looked like a sad raccoon.

  “Jasmine…,” I began.

  “Go away! I don’t need you here to make fun of me. I feel bad enough already.”

  “We didn’t come for that. They were awfully mean to laugh at your cupcakes like that.”

  She looked at me with red eyes. “Leave me alone!” she shrieked, then pushed past us and down to another end of the hall. We ran to catch up.

  “Jasmine, please. Look. We’ve been at each other since Day One. I never took the time to get to know you. You never took the time to get to know me. Hey, we both seem to like the same things.”

&nbs
p; Becks said, “At least two of the same things, elections and cupcakes.”

  I nodded. “No matter who wins, maybe we could, you know, start over?”

  Well, that bit of niceness was like pouring the same kind of lighter fluid Dad used to start the barbecue on an already-flaming dessert. Whoooomph! Her eyes got wide and all the tears dried up. She looked like an angry, Egyptian raccoon. A raccoon with an attitude!

  Giving me her stinkiest stank-eye, she crossed her arms over her chest and said:

  “I know you are not trying to feel sorry for me! I don’t need your sympathy and I don’t need you.” She walked up really close to me and wagged her finger in my face.

  “It doesn’t even matter that you stunk up the trivia contest. Zero points! How can anybody get zero? You got the same amount of points as my dog—and he wasn’t even in the contest!”

  Oh, now that’s just rude!

  “You need to get your finger out of my face,” I said, taking a step toward her. I was mad now. Really, really mad.

  “What are you going to do?” She stuck her face into mine. Before I could reply, Sara pulled me from one side, and Becks pulled the other.

  “Forget her, Brianna, she’s not worth it,” Sara said.

  “Let’s just walk away,” Becks said.

  “You mean run away,” Jasmine Moon sneered. “Face it, you’ve been scared of me since I got here. You’re used to being Miss Popular here, and I’ve stolen it all from you. And when I win the election, nobody will ever think twice about you and your sad little cupcakes or whatever.”

  I blew out a sigh. The anger was gone. Always being mad at Jasmine Moon was making me tired and turning me into someone I didn’t want to be.

  “If winning means that much to you, Jasmine, then good luck. I think I’d make a great president, but I know I make an even better friend.” I put my arms around my girls’ necks. We started toward the cafeteria and then realized there were a bunch of kids in the hallway. Gretchen, Darrick, and a few other candidates were there, along with the Flowers and some kids from the fourth-grade hall.