Rosie Swanson: Fourth-Grade Geek for President

by Barbara Park

  Alan was a thief. And I was honest. How much clearer could it be? I was the better choice for president, not him. And if the voters weren’t going to find out the truth about Alan for themselves, I would just have to help them out a little.

  As soon as the coast was clear, I pulled out my notepad and wrote four short notes. They were all exactly the same:

  Dear Fourth Grade Friend,

  Alan Allen stole Rosie Swanson’s campaign ideas. Also, he stole a soccer ball from Mort’s Sports. Is this really the kind of person you want to elect for president of the fourth grade?

  Sincerely yours,

  The Committee Who Wants You to Be a Good Voter

  I folded each one separately and stuffed it deep into my skirt pocket. Knowing what I was about to do made me scared and excited at the same time. After school, I would secretly deliver one note to each fourth-grade classroom. After that, the gossip would spread like wildfire. And—as long as I was careful—no one would ever know that it was me who started it all.

  Suddenly, a brilliant idea popped into my head. Disguise the notes, Rosie.

  Yes! I thought. Of course! If I disguised the notes, no one would be able to tell they were from me.

  I pulled them out of my pocket and hid them on my lap. Then carefully, I opened each one up and I dotted all the i’s with the little hearts. I told you it was brilliant. I’m the only girl I know who would never, ever do that.

  I was just stuffing the last note back into my pocket when the dismissal bell rang. I didn’t leave, though. Instead, I stayed in my seat and waited for everyone to clear out of the room.

  It took forever, too. This kid named William Washington kept following Mr. Jolly around the room, telling him some stupid story about how his grandmother has a potato chip that looks like Abraham Lincoln.

  It took almost ten minutes before William wrapped up his potato chip story. The whole time he was blabbing, I pretended to be cleaning out my desk. Finally, Mr. Jolly walked William into the hall.

  That’s when I made my move.

  In a flash, I pulled one of the notes out of my pocket and put it on Neil McNulty’s chair. Neil McNulty has the biggest mouth in the entire fourth grade. He’s definitely the “go to” guy if you want to spread a rumor.

  After that, I grabbed my jacket and hurried out of the room. Then—on my way down the hall—I quietly ducked into each of the other fourth-grade classrooms and stuck a note on the seat of the closest chair.

  This might sound risky, but it wasn’t at all. Two of the teachers weren’t even there, and the other one was standing at the sink in the back of the room. It looked like she was trying to get glue out of her hair or something. She never even turned around.

  Once I finally got outside the building, I started to run. I didn’t stop, either. Not until I was all the way home. When I hit the front door, I ran straight up to my room and locked myself inside.

  I huffed and puffed and tried to catch my breath. “The voters will thank you for this, Rosie,” I whispered to myself. “Really. They will. You’ll see.”

  Downstairs, I could hear my mother rattling around in the kitchen. She usually gets home from work about half an hour before I do.

  After a few minutes, I unlocked my door and went down. If I don’t say hello to my mother when I come home from school, she comes stalking me.

  Trying to act relaxed, I strolled into the kitchen and grabbed an apple out of the fruit bowl on the table.

  Mom was making tuna salad for dinner. She smiled at me, and the two of us began our usual after-school conversation.

  “Hi, honey. How’s everything goin’?”

  “Good.”

  “How was school today?”

  “Good.”

  “How’d the history quiz go this morning?”

  “Good.”

  “How’s the campaign going?”

  “Good.”

  “Good,” she said. Then she went back to her salad.

  I drummed my fingers on the tabletop for a minute. I smiled like there was nothing wrong. But the truth was, my stomach had started to feel tense and achy inside. I guess my nerves were finally starting to catch up with me or something. That happens sometimes. You’re real brave at first, and then your nerves catch up with you.

  “Mom? I’ve got a question about something,” I said finally. “I mean, it’s no big deal, really. I just want your opinion, okay?”

  “About what?” she asked.

  I squirmed a little. How could I word it so she wouldn’t suspect anything?

  “Um, well, let’s just say it’s sort of about …”

  I paused to think a second. “ … um …

  “… moon men.”

  My mother raised her eyebrows. “Moon men?”

  “Yeah, yeah. It’s about moon men. I mean, let’s just say there’s this moon man who wants to be elected king of the moon. And he’s really, really popular with the moon people. But there’s something about him they don’t know about. Something he did a long time ago, that was sort of … bad.”

  My mother folded her arms. “Like what?”

  I stalled for a minute. “I don’t know. Like what if he stole something from a store, but none of the voters know about it. Somebody ought to tell them, don’t you think? I mean, the voters need to know about his past so they don’t elect a thief, right?”

  Mom looked funny at me. I’m sure she knew we weren’t talking about moon men.

  “How long ago did he steal it?” she asked. “And how old was he when it happened?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. Where was she getting all these annoying questions?

  “I don’t know, Mother,” I said. “What difference does it make?”

  “It could make a lot of difference, Rosie,” she said. “Maybe this guy is not really a thief at all. Maybe he just made a mistake, and it was a long time ago, and he learned his lesson. In fact, maybe it made him feel so bad, he’s just as honest—or even more honest—than anyone else on the moon.”

  I threw my head back. “No, Mother. No, no, no. That’s just stupid. How can somebody who’s stolen something be more honest than someone who’s never, ever stolen anything in her whole entire life?”

  My mom stared at me curiously. Then she took one of those long, deep breaths that mothers always take when they’re trying to brace themselves for bad news.

  “Okay, kiddo,” she said. “Let’s have it. What’s this all about?”

  I stood up. “Nothing. It’s not about anything. It was just a stupid question about a stupid moon man, and I don’t want to talk about it any-stupid-more.”

  Then, before she could ask anything else, I hurried out the door and headed toward the stairs. Halfway there, I looked back over my shoulder. I couldn’t believe she wasn’t following me. Usually when I act like that, she’s right on my heels.

  As soon as I got to my room, I locked my door again. Sometimes adults don’t make any sense at all. I mean, who the heck cares how old Alan was when he stole the soccer ball? Even a baby thief is still a thief, isn’t he? And besides, it was pretty clear that Alan hadn’t learned his lesson about stealing. He’d stolen my poem right out of Maxie’s mouth.

  Just then, there was a knock on my door. I knew it! I knew she’d follow me!

  “Rosie? Can I come in? What’s wrong? Did one of the other candidates steal something? Was it Alan?”

  I forced my voice to sound normal. “No. It’s nothing. Just never mind, okay? I’m taking a nap.”

  There was a pause.

  “Rosie.”

  “I’m asleep.”

  I listened closely. Mom sat down on the floor and leaned her back up against my door. “Suit yourself, but I’m not going away until you tell me what’s going on,” she said.

  I made a loud snoring sound.

  “Come on, Rosie. I mean it. Let me in. I want to help.”

  I covered my head with my blanket. “You can’t help, Mother,” I said. “Nobody can. You don’t have a magic wand, do y
ou? Do you have a magic wand that will make me pretty and popular?”

  I knew what she would say. It’s the same thing every mother in the world says at times like this. It must be in the official Mother Manual or something.

  “But you already are pretty, honey,” she said. “You’re as cute as you can be. And at school I bet you’re—”

  I put my hand over my ears. “No. I’m not, Mother! I’m a four-eyed, geeky girl! And I never should have been in this election in the first place. No one in their right mind would ever vote for me.”

  “That’s not true, Rosie,” she argued back. “I’m sure there are plenty of kids who will—”

  I started to cry.

  “No, there aren’t, Mother! I know better than you do, and there aren’t!”

  My mother waited a minute. “Please, Rosie. Open up,” she said quietly.

  Finally, I wiped my eyes with my blanket and I opened my door.

  My mother didn’t say another word.

  We just sat on the edge of my bed. And I let her hug me.

  9 LIKE WILDFIRE

  The next morning, Neil McNulty saw my note as soon as he pulled out his chair. I was still feeling mixed up about stuff, but I didn’t try to stop what was about to happen. I just peeked at Neil through a crack in my three-ring binder and waited.

  When he first saw the note, he brushed it onto the floor. I was afraid he might just leave it there. But he must have seen the writing on it, because he leaned over and picked it up again.

  He read it. “Whoa!” he hollered.

  Then right away, he turned around and tapped Mona Moore on the shoulder. “Get a load of this, Mo!” he said excitedly.

  After Mona finished the note, her eyes were practically bulging out of their sockets. She passed it on to Cory Piper. Then Cory passed it to Mallory Fowler. And Mallory passed it to Matthew Lily. And it just kept going on and on like that, all around the room.

  Everywhere, kids were whispering. Finally, Mr. Jolly raised his head and asked what “all the buzzing” was about.

  Nobody told him, though. Fourth-graders almost never tell teachers what the buzzing’s about.

  When the note finally got to Judith Topper, she spun around so fast it made me dizzy. “I bet you’re the one who wrote this note, Rosie Swanson,” she snapped.

  Innocent as anything, I stretched my neck and tried to see it. “What note?” I asked.

  She threw it on my desk. “This note! You wrote this lie about Alan Allen. You know you did.”

  I smoothed the paper out in front of me and pretended to read. By now, some of the other kids had turned around and were watching my reaction.

  As soon as I was done, I rolled my eyes. “Give me a break, Judith,” I said. “Do I really look like the kind of girl who dots my i’s with hearts?”

  Judith’s face turned red with anger. “Liar, liar, pants on fire,” she said. Then she started doing the “for shame” sign. That’s the one where you brush your pointer finger over your other pointer finger.

  I didn’t let it bother me, though. Instead, I gave her the “cuckoo” sign and went back to what I was doing.

  A few seconds later, a voice came over the intercom.

  “MR. JOLLY?”

  The voice belonged to Mrs. Trumbull, the grouchy school secretary.

  Mr. Jolly looked up from his attendance book. “Yes?”

  “MR. JOLLY, COULD YOU PLEASE SEND …”

  Mrs. Trumbull paused. Whenever she calls someone to the office, she waits a couple of seconds to make everyone in the room sweat it out.

  “… ROSIE SWANSON TO THE OFFICE.”

  At first, it didn’t even register.

  Mr. Jolly raised his eyebrows. “Rosie?”

  That’s when it hit me. Oh my gosh! It was me!

  Everybody turned around to look. Judith Topper clapped.

  I tried my best to act calm. “Probably just another candidates’ meeting,” I said as I stood up. But my mouth was so dry my lips stuck together.

  I still don’t remember walking to the office that morning. But when I finally got there, Mrs. Trumbull pointed her finger at Mr. Shivers’ office and said, “They’re waiting.”

  I peeked through the door.

  Summer Lynne Jones and Alan Allen were sitting across from Mr. Shivers’ desk. I felt myself relax a little. Maybe it really was a candidates’ meeting.

  When I finally got the nerve to go inside, I tried to act as normal as I could.

  I waved my fingers at everyone. “Hi, Mr. Shivers. Hi, Summer. Hi, Alan. Hi, Maxie.”

  Maxie? I thought. What was Maxie doing here?

  One thing for sure, he definitely did not look happy. His arms were folded real angry-like, and his cheeks were all sucked into his face. Normally, I would have sat next to him, but with his face all shrunken in like that, he was scaring me a little.

  Before I could sit down, I heard Mrs. Trumbull starting to yell.

  “Hey! Put that phone down, young man! Put it down this instant!”

  After that, there was some quiet mumbling.

  “No, you are not having a stroke,” she snapped again. “Now go into Mr. Shivers’ office right now.”

  The next thing I knew, Earl Wilber was standing in the doorway. No one falls apart at the principal’s office worse than Earl Wilber. His face was pale and sick-looking.

  He slipped into the chair next to Maxie and started taking deep breaths. I sat down next to him. Except for his nose whistling, the room was totally quiet.

  After making us fidget for a while, Mr. Shivers finally reached into his pocket and pulled out four small yellow notes. He unfolded one of them and began to read:

  “Dear Fourth Grade Friend,

  Alan Allen stole Rosie Swanson’s campaign ideas. Also, he stole a soccer ball from Mort’s Sports. Is this really the kind of person you want to elect for president of the fourth grade?

  Sincerely yours,

  The Committee Who Wants You to Be a Good Voter.”

  As soon as he finished, Alan Allen exploded out of his chair and pointed at Maxie and Earl and me.

  “It was them, Mr. Shivers,” he said. “They were the ones who passed those notes! Zuckerman is the only kid who I told about the soccer ball thing. And so he told Rosie. And she told Earl. And then the three of them got together and wrote those notes!”

  “No, we did not!” Maxie yelled back at him. “I’ve never seen those notes before in my life!”

  “Liar!” yelled Alan.

  Earl slid down in his seat. “Oh geez, oh geez, oh geez,” he muttered nervously.

  Mr. Shivers stood up. “Enough!”

  Instantly, everyone shut up. Even Earl’s nose stopped whistling.

  The principal walked around his desk and put Alan Allen back in his chair. Then he stood in front of us for a minute—mostly to show us how big he was, I think—and went back to his seat.

  After that, he made his voice so spooky quiet you could hardly hear it. “We do not scream in the principal’s office, people,” he said. “Not ever”

  He narrowed his eyes into thin slits. “Got it?”

  The five of us nodded as fast as we could.

  “Good,” said Mr. Shivers. “Now, here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to ask each one of you a very simple question. And all I want is a yes or a no answer. Understand?”

  After we nodded again, he swiveled his chair around to face Summer Lynne Jones.

  “Okay, Miss Jones. I’m going to ask you first. Did you have anything at all to do with the note I just read?”

  “No,” said Summer. “I didn’t. I promise, Mr. Shivers. I promise, I promise, I prom—”

  Mr. Shivers held up his hand to cut her off. “Good, Fine. Thank you,” he said.

  Next, he turned to Maxie. “Same question, Mr. Zuckerman. Did you have anything at all to do with the note I—”

  “No,” interrupted Maxie. “No, no, no, no, no.”

  When Mr. Shivers got to Earl, his face softened a little.
“How ’bout you, Earl? Do you know anything about that note?”

  Earl dabbed at the sweat on his face with his shirt sleeve. His voice cracked when he said, “No.”

  All of sudden, I just couldn’t stand it anymore. “I don’t understand this, Mr. Shivers,” I blurted. “Who cares who wrote the note? Alan’s the one who stole the soccer ball, right? Isn’t that what we should be talking about? I mean, if someone robs a bank and a reporter writes about it, the reporter shouldn’t get blamed for spreading the word. It’s the crook who should be in trouble.”

  Alan jumped up again. “But I’m not a crook! Just because I took a soccer ball from Mort’s Sports Store doesn’t make me a crook. I was only in first grade when that happened. That’s practically a baby! You can’t blame a person for something he did when he was six! And besides, I didn’t even get to the car before my dad saw it under my shirt, and he made me take it back.”

  Alan was so upset he was crying, practically. It kind of surprised me, if you want to know the truth. I just hadn’t expected him to almost cry, that’s all.

  I turned my head and tried not to look at him.

  Mr. Shivers narrowed his eyes at me.

  “Was it you, Rosie?” he asked at last. “Hmm? Were you the one who wrote the notes?”

  By now, I was so mixed up I didn’t know what to do. All I’d done was tell the truth. And now I was the one in trouble. Since when was being a truthful person such a terrible thing?

  Nervously, I pulled at my collar and tried to see the note on the desk. “Well, um, just for the record, I’m not the type of girl who usually dots my i’s with hearts.”

  Mr. Shivers closed his eyes.

  “Yes or no?”

  Stalling for time, I leaned down and pretended to dust off my shoes.

  Alan blew his nose.

  Quietly, I said, “Yes.”

  That afternoon, when I came in from lunch recess, it was written all over the board: