Rosie Swanson: Fourth-Grade Geek for President

by Barbara Park

  Rosie Swanson is a snitch!

  The news spread like wildfire.

  10 THE SECOND

  TUESDAY IN

  NOVEMBER

  Maxie and Earl didn’t wait for me after school. I walked home by myself. On the way, three of Alan Allen’s friends rode past me on their bikes and shouted, “Yo, snitch! Hi, snitch! How ya doin’, snitchy snitch?”

  I blinked back the tears. Then I cupped my hands around my mouth. “I know you are, but what am I?”

  The boys mimicked me. “I know you are, but what am I? I know you are, but what am I?” they said in high, screechy voices.

  I stuck out my tongue. Sometimes sticking out your tongue is the only insult you have left.

  Face it, Rosie, I said to myself. Your campaign is done for. No one will vote for you now. Not anyone.

  I closed my eyes and tried to picture myself with my bullhorn and golden crown, but nothing happened at all.

  As soon as Alan’s friends had ridden off, I ran home. It was one of those times when I really needed my mother. I’m not a baby or anything, but sometimes just knowing she’s there makes me feel better about stuff. Safer or something, I guess you’d say.

  I hurried into the house and slammed the door behind me. “Mom?” I called. “Mom? Are you home?”

  “Hi, sweetie,” said a voice. It wasn’t my mother’s voice, though. It belonged to my babysitter, Mrs. Rosen from Next Door. That’s exactly what she calls herself, too. “Mrs. Rosen from Next Door.” When I was little, I used to think it was her name.

  “It’s Mrs. Rosen from Next Door,” she yelled from the kitchen. “I’m in the kitchen, Rosie. How ’bout some Oreos and milk?”

  That’s mostly what Mrs. Rosen from Next Door does when she baby-sits. She sits in the kitchen, watches the TV on the counter, and eats Oreos.

  I like Mrs. Rosen from Next Door. But when the whole world hates your guts, it takes more than a cookie to make it better.

  I almost started to cry again. Instead, I ran straight upstairs and called Maxie. I knew he was mad at me. But he was still my friend and I needed him.

  Mrs. Zuckerman answered the phone. “It’s for you, Max!” she shouted. He must have asked who it was because his mother screamed, “I think it’s Rosie!” right in my ear.

  After that, I waited and waited, but Maxie never said “Hello.” I thought I heard him breathing once. But when I said his name, he didn’t answer.

  “Maxie? Come on. Please. Say something,” I said.

  I heard a click. Then the dial tone.

  That’s when I finally started to cry.

  The next morning, when I got to Maxie’s house, Earl was sitting on the porch step.

  “Hi,” I said as I walked up.

  Earl lowered his head and mumbled, “H’lo.” I knew he was still upset about his trip to the principal’s office, but at least he was still speaking to me.

  Earl kept his head down and stared at his shoes. He untied them, tied them, and untied them again.

  After a second, I heard a noise. I looked up. Maxie was standing in his doorway glaring down at me. When he finally came outside, he walked straight down the stairs and kept on going. It was clear that he didn’t want to talk to me.

  Earl jumped up and followed him. His shoes were still untied but he kept on walking.

  At first it almost made me cry again. But pretty soon, I started to get mad. What was wrong with them, anyway? I was the one who was in trouble at school, not them. And besides, hadn’t I forgiven them when they’d blabbed out all my campaign secrets?

  “Hey. Come on, you guys! Why are you acting like this? You’re not being very good friends, you know.”

  Maxie stopped in his tracks and threw his head back. “Ha! That’s a good one, isn’t it, Earl?” he said sarcastically. “You and I spend the afternoon in the principal’s office because of you-know-who, and we’re the ones who aren’t being good friends. Ha!”

  He whispered something in Earl’s ear.

  Earl turned around and cleared his throat. “Maxie says that you’re the one who doesn’t know anything about friendship, Rosie. You’re the one who almost got us blamed for something we didn’t do.”

  I put my hands on my hips. “Okay, fine. I’m sorry. But all I did was tell the truth about Alan. That’s all I did. And besides, I’m the one who everybody hates, not you two.”

  Maxie did another loud “Ha!” and whispered something else.

  Earl turned to face me again. “Maxie says if you’re the one they hate, then why did he and I get hit with water balloons on our way home from school yesterday?”

  Maxie couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Yeah! And ask her who crank-called my house last night and wanted to know if the dirty little pipsqueak squealer was home. Go ahead, Earl. Ask her that one!”

  Earl took a deep breath. “Maxie would also like to know who called his house last night and asked if the dirty little pipsqueak—”

  He tried to finish, but he started to laugh.

  Maxie gave him a shove. “It’s not funny, Earl,” he growled. “I told Rosie all that stuff about Alan Allen and the soccer ball ‘in confidence.’ Ask her if she knows what ‘in confidence’ means. Because for her information, ‘in confidence’ means that you trust somebody not to tell.”

  Maxie frowned at me. “You had no right to do that, Rosie! I get picked on enough as it is without having people think I wrote that note. And also, just in case you haven’t figured it out yet, you also screwed up your whole election. Who’s going to vote for you now? Huh? Who the heck is going to vote for a snitch?”

  The way he said “snitch” made me feel dirty, sort of. Like I was a criminal.

  “I’m sorry, Max. I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I told him.

  My eyes started to fill up again.

  When Earl saw what was happening, he ripped off a piece of his lunch sack for me to wipe them with.

  After that, all of us started to walk. We didn’t talk anymore, though. Not about anything.

  When we finally got there, the bell was already ringing. I reached for the door.

  Maxie put his hand on my shoulder. “Who knows? Maybe it’ll be okay,” he said.

  “I’m sorry,” I said again. “I didn’t mean to get you in trouble, Maxie. All I did was—”

  Maxie held up his hand. “I know, Rosie. I know,” he said. “All you did was tell the truth.”

  On the morning of the election, the candidates gathered in Mrs. Munson’s room before the assembly. Everybody looked really nervous. We were supposed to be reading over our speeches and stuff, but mostly all we could do was fidget around.

  Alan Allen asked Mrs. Munson if he could give the first president’s speech so he could get it over with. Summer Lynne Jones asked to go last.

  I asked to go home.

  Mrs. Munson said no.

  Finally, we all marched into the media center together. Just like before, the candidates for president were the last to speak. It seemed to take forever before they got to us, too. But when Alan Allen’s turn finally came, he stood up slowly and waited for everyone to get totally quiet. Then he walked to the microphone and began.

  “My name is Alan Allen,” he said. “And I’m running for president of the fourth grade.

  “Most of you already know me. I’ve gone to this school since kindergarten, so I think you know what kind of person I am. I guess if I had to describe myself, I’d say that I’m a good soccer player. And I’d say that I’m honest, too. I don’t care what you’ve heard, either. Because I am.”

  He glanced over at me, then back again. “There’s a rumor going around about how I stole a soccer ball one time,” he said. “And I’m not saying it’s a lie, okay? Only what you probably don’t know is that it happened when I was in first grade. I was only six years old. And even though certain people might not understand this, I did a lot of stuff when I was a little kid that I wouldn’t do now.

  “Like my mother says I used to scream in restaurants and rub crack
ers in my hair and junk. And one time when I was in a grocery store, I opened a box of animal crackers, ate a lion, and then put the box back on the shelf. But that doesn’t mean I’d do it now. ’Cause that would be stupid. Just like stealing is stupid.

  “And so I guess I’d just like to say that if you elect me president of the fourth grade, I promise not to do anything stupid. And I’ll be fair. And I’ll be honest. And oh yeah … I won’t rub crackers in my hair at lunch. Because even though certain people don’t understand this, I’m not six years old anymore.”

  There was lots of clapping when he sat down. It lasted longer than I expected, too. Long enough for Alan to do two extra bows.

  By then, my knees were shaking like crazy and I felt weaker than anything. I still don’t know how I made it to the microphone. But somehow I did.

  Finally, I took a couple of deep breaths and started my speech.

  “Hi. My name is Rosie Swanson, and as you probably know, I’m not one of the popular kids. Mostly, I’m just a regular, average girl. But in a way, that’s sort of what made my campaign different. Because you almost never see a regular, average kid running for office. And I don’t really get that at all, you know? Because not being popular doesn’t mean that you’re stupid or anything.

  “I mean, personally, I have lots of neat ideas about how to make school a better place. Like I know you’ve seen my funny posters about the cafeteria food around here. But I have an actual plan about how we can organize a committee to go talk to Mrs. Gumm, the head cafeteria lady. And how we can make lists of all the foods we really hate. And how we can make other lists of all the foods we’d really like to see on the weekly menus and stuff.

  “I’ve had all of these ideas for a long time. But I didn’t say anything because I was afraid they would be stolen. That’s one thing I’ve learned about politics. If you have a really good idea, it’s okay for somebody else to take it.

  “Oh yeah … and there’s something else I need to tell you about, too. It’s about what happened with Alan Allen and the notes and stuff. I mean, I’m sure you guys know that I wrote those notes about how he stole that soccer ball. And it was wrong of me to do that, I guess. Because I understand that Alan was only six when he took it. And I’m sure that he won’t ever steal another soccer ball in his whole entire life, probably.”

  I paused a second. “But, see, here’s the part that’s still kind of confusing to me. Because, even back then—when I was only six—I never would have stolen that ball. And it just seems like that should count for something, you know? That I’ve been honest all my life. And that I’ve always tried to obey the rules. So if you vote for me, I swear I’ll be the best, most honest fourth-grade president you ever saw. And I’ll try really hard to get us better lunches, too. And I’ll do other good stuff, too. I mean it. I will.”

  A lot of kids clapped. Way more than I expected. In fact, I was just about to take bow number two when Summer Lynne Jones pushed past me to get to the microphone.

  She didn’t look one bit nervous, either. Mostly, she just seemed in a hurry to begin.

  “Hi,” she said. “My name is Summer Lynne Jones.”

  She waited until the room was completely quiet. Then she leaned into the microphone.

  “I only have two things to say …

  “First, I’ve never stolen anything in my life.

  “And second, I’m not a snitch.”

  She looked around the room and shrugged.

  “It’s your choice,” she said.

  Then—without another word—she sat back down.

  At the end of the day, Summer Lynne Jones was president of the fourth grade.

  11 SOME STUFF

  I’VE LEARNED …

  I’m still not exactly sure what happened that day. I mean, I know that Summer Lynne Jones got the most votes and all. But I’m not positive it’s because everyone thought she would make such a great president. After what happened with Alan and me, I just don’t think the voters had much choice.

  Nic and Vic Timmerman lost, too. So did Roxanne Handleman and Louise the Disease. I saw Louise in the girls’ room after school. She was blowing her nose on a paper towel.

  Maxie wasn’t very sympathetic about my loss. “You did it to yourself, you know,” he told me. “You messed up your whole image by writing those tattletale notes.”

  I tried not to show my disappointment. “Yeah, well, whatever,” I said. “It’s not the end of the world or anything. I mean, the three of us aren’t any worse off than we were before, are we? You’re still smart, right? And Earl can still draw. And I still … well, I still …”

  “Wear glasses,” teased Earl.

  I hit him.

  One thing I know for sure. Running for president doesn’t get a person much respect. Like the other day, the three of us got twirled around on the swings again by those same sixth-grade bullies.

  “Wait! Hold it!” I yelled while they were twisting my chain. “Don’t you guys even recognize me? I ran for president of the entire fourth grade.”

  “Whoa, I’m impressed,” said one of them. “Aren’t you, Frankie? Aren’t you impressed?”

  After that, they spun me twice as fast as they spun Maxie and Earl.

  I got twenty-two votes. Judith Topper told me that. She overheard Mrs. Munson talking about it in the office. Alan Allen got thirty.

  “Twenty-two votes was the worst,” said Judith. “I guess you know what that makes you. That makes you the big loser … L-O-O-S-E-R.”

  The girl can’t spell worth beans.

  The truth is, though, I actually think that twenty-two votes is pretty darn good. I mean, after everything that happened, I still convinced twenty-one people besides myself that I would make the best president.

  I’m almost positive that Norman Beeman was one of them. He came up to me after school and watched me while I buttoned my sweater. Then all of a sudden, he swooped his ball cap off his head and covered his heart with it.

  “My sincere condolences,” he said. Condolences are sort of like heartaches or something, I think.

  It was nice. But still, it creeped me out a little.

  Another nice thing happened, too. The next day on the playground, two girls from Mrs. Munson’s class came up to me and said, “Too bad you lost. We were definitely going to vote for you before that snitch thing.”

  I’m not sure that they meant it as a compliment, but that’s how I took it. ’Cause if two total strangers were going to vote for me, then maybe a lot of other total strangers were going to vote for me, too.

  And so this is what I’m thinking. I’m thinking that maybe one of these days I might try running for class office all over again. ’Cause my grandfather says that when life gives you a kick in the pants, you’re supposed to pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and kick it right back again.

  And anyhow, I think I’ve learned some stuff about being a better candidate. I mean, I know I’d do better the next time. I even made a list of things to remember about politics. I call it:

  SOME STUFF I’VE LEARNED

  ABOUT RUNNING FOR CLASS OFFICE

  1. Think of the best campaign ideas you can. If they’re not any good, see what your opponents have come up with. (Borrowing ideas is okay in this case.)

  2. Be nice to people who make you sick—but not nice enough to make you ashamed of yourself.

  3. Smile a lot … but don’t give people the creeps.

  4. A person is not a crook if he stole something before the age of seven, apparently.

  5. No one likes a snitch.

  I put the list on my mirror. I look at it every day.

  Last night I had a dream about my bullhorn. And my crown.

  I woke up smiling.

  I think it was a sign.

  Maxie’s Words

  dingle (ding’ gul)—A narrow valley; glen.

  fardel (far’ dl)—A bundle; pack; burden.

  farkleberry (far’ kul ber e)—A shrub or small tree of the heath family.

 
; snool (snool)—One who is meanly subservient.

  Barbara Park is one of today’s funniest, most popular writers for middle-graders. Her novels, which include Skinnybones, The Kid in the Red Jacket, Rosie Swanson: Fourth-Grade Geek for President, and Dear God, Help!!! Love, Earl, have won just about every award given by children.

  She has also created the Junie B. Jones character for the Random House Stepping Stone Books list. Recent books about Junie include Junie B. Jones Is (almost) a Flower Girl, Junie B. Jones and the Mushy Gushy Valentime, and Junie B. Jones Has a Peep in Her Pocket.

  Ms. Park earned a B.S. degree in education at the University of Alabama and lives in Scottsdale, Arizona, with her husband.

  If you liked Rosie Swanson: Fourth-Grade Geek for President, then don’t miss the other two books in the Geek Chronicles trilogy!

  Geek Chronicles 1:

  Maxie, Rosie, and Earl—Partners in Grime

  Meet Maxie, Rosie, and Earl—three kids who unite as they await their doom at the principal’s office. Shy Earl is there because he refused to read out loud in class. Nosy Rosie is in trouble because her teacher is sick of her tattling. And then there’s Maxie, who finally got tired of being teased and took matters into his own hands. Now they wait like sitting ducks. But no matter what the outcome may be, these three bumbling outlaws have just begun the start of a memorable friendship …

  “Park does it again. Here’s a book so funny, readers can’t help but laugh out loud.”

  —Booklist

  Available wherever books are sold!

  ISBN: 0-679-80643-1

  Geek Chronicles 3:

  Dear God, Help!!! Love, Earl

  Wimpy Earl Wilber has just met death, and his name is Eddie McFee. Eddie is the meanest, toughest kid in the fifth grade, and Earl has to pay him one dollar a week to keep Eddie from beating him up. Luckily, Earl’s pals, Rosie the Snoop and Maxie the Brain, have decided to help him out. Maxie has a great plan that should keep Eddie out of Earl’s life for good. Now all Earl has to do is pretend to be dead …