Fabulous Five 003 - The Popularity Trap

by Betsy Haynes

  THE FABULOUS FIVE #3

  THE POPULARITY TRAP

  BETSY HAYNES

  A BANTAM SKYLARK BOOK®

  TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON • SYDNEY • AUCKLAND

  RL 5, 009-012

  THE POPULARITY TRAP

  A Bantam Skylark Book / November 1988

  Skylark Books is a registered trademark of Bantam Books, a division of Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, Inc. Registered in U.S. Patent and Trademark Office and elsewhere.

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 1988 by Betsy Haynes and James Haynes.

  Cover art copyright © 1988 by Ralph Amatrudi.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  For information address: Bantam Books.

  ISBN 0-553-15634-9

  Published simultaneously in the United States and Canada

  Bantam Books are published by Bantam Books, a division of Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, Inc. Its trademark, consisting of the words "Bantam Books" and the portrayal of a rooster, is Registered in U.S. Patent and Trademark Office and in other countries. Marca Registrada. Bantam Books, 666 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10103.

  PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

  S 0 9 8 7 6 5 4 3

  CHAPTER 1

  "Oh, no," moaned Christie Winchell. "Here comes Mr. Bell. I'll absolutely die if he speaks to me in front of everybody again." She looked around the corridor of Wakeman Junior High for some way to be inconspicuous. A drinking fountain where her face would be hidden. An empty classroom to duck into. Anything, just so he wouldn't notice her, but of course, she was out of luck.

  "I don't know why you're so paranoid over the principal's speaking to you," muttered her friend Katie Shannon. "I'd be thrilled if he spoke to me, much less smiled and called me by name."

  Christie groaned. She started to explain to Katie how embarrassing it was to be singled out by the principal just because your mother was also a school principal, and because he knew Mrs. Winchell personally. But by now Mr. Bell was within earshot and smiling broadly at her.

  "Hi there, Christie," he called out, causing a few students in the hallway to glance at her and smirk. "How are you today?"

  "Fine, thank you, Mr. Bell," she mumbled.

  "Well, that's great," he boomed. "Just great!"

  "That's great. Just great," mimicked Clarence Marshall as he zoomed around the girls on his way to the cafeteria. Calling back over his shoulder, he added, "Must be nice to be the principal's pet!"

  "See what I mean?" snapped Christie. It had been tough enough being the principal's daughter during the years she was at Mark Twain Elementary, but at least her mother had never embarrassed her by singling her out in front of the rest of the school. Why couldn't Mr. Bell figure out a thing like that? Still, when she had complained about it at home, her parents had assured her that it was both an honor and a responsibility to be a school principal's child. An honor and a responsibility? she had thought later. Baloney. What it was was a pain!

  The lunchroom was crowded as Christie and Katie pushed their way in. Seventh-grade lunch period was always a zoo, but luckily Christie quickly spotted the rest of their friends at a table near the back. The Fabulous Five, as their clique was called, had been best friends almost forever. Besides Christie and Katie, the group consisted of Jana Morgan, Beth Barry, and Melanie Edwards. Christie had to smile every time she thought about how different they were from each other. She knew that she was considered quiet and brainy, just the opposite of boisterous, theatrical Beth. Melanie was more interested in boys than anything else on earth, which really bugged Katie, the feminist of the group. And Jana was the peacemaker, the leader in many ways.

  "Guess what, Christie?" called Beth as Christie and Katie reached the lunch table. Beth's eyes were huge, and she looked as if she were about to burst with excitement. "We're nominating you to run for class president! Isn't that great?"

  "Terrific," said Katie, giving Christie a hearty slap on the back. "Christie Winchell for seventh-grade president of Wacko Junior High. It has a nice ring to it."

  "Whoa!" said Christie, doing a double take. "What are you talking about? I don't want to be president of the seventh-grade class."

  "We have it all figured out," Beth went on, completely ignoring Christie's objections. "We'll run your campaign. We've already started working on slogans."

  "Right," Melanie chimed in. "What do you think of, 'You can't miss if you vote for Chris'?"

  "I'm not Chris. I'm Christie," she insisted. "And besides, you weren't listening. I said—I don't want to run for class president."

  "Wait until you hear who else is running," said Jana. "Mandy McDermott from Copper Beach Elementary is running for vice president, Elizabeth Harvey from Riverfield is running for secretary, and Richie Corrierro is running for treasurer. They're all okay, especially Richie since he's from Mark Twain, but Melissa McConnell, the most perfect member of the human race, is running for president. There's no way we can let her win."

  Christie plunked her lunch bag onto the table and sank on the bench with a sigh. Was this what her horoscope had meant? she wondered. She had read it so eagerly this morning before leaving for school and had felt so tingly over the romance part that she had memorized every word.

  Aquarius (Jan. 20-Feb. 18): Today your best qualities will push you into the limelight. Special meeting will bring either conflict or romance. You could find yourself under pressure. Beware!

  Still, her friends had been right about one thing. Melissa McConnell would make a terrible president. She had the reputation of being a total perfectionist, all right. Not only was she a straight A student, but everything about her was perfect. Her hair was always perfectly styled. Her clothes were always perfectly matched. Even her handwriting was perfectly legible. It was disgusting. What's more, she would probably expect everyone in the class to be as perfect as she was if she was elected president.

  But the worst thing about Melissa was the fact that she was one of The Fantastic Foursome, another clique of seventh-grade girls who had set themselves up as major rivals of The Fabulous Five on the very first day of school. Their leader was Laura McCall, who was tall and pretty and wore her blond hair in one long braid that started on top of her head and fell practically to her waist. Everyone said that Laura made the other three girls, Tammy Lucero, Funny Hawthorne, and Melissa, do certain things to stay in her clique, but no one knew exactly what those things were.

  "I hear what you're saying," said Christie. Then she opened her arms and raised her shoulders in a giant shrug. "But why me?"

  "You're a natural," offered Melanie.

  "You're smart and well organized," said Beth. "And believe me, being well organized is essential."

  Christie shook her head. "You guys are putting me on. I'm not the one who should be running. Jana, you're a good leader. Why don't we nominate you?"

  "Thanks, Christie, but I'm seventh-grade coeditor of the yearbook, remember?"

  "So?" said Christie.

  "So—I'm going to be awfully busy," Jana insisted. "Working on The Wigwam is a big job, and I want to do it right."

  Katie's eyes brightened. "Just think, if both the class president and the seventh-grade coeditor of the yearbook are from The Fabulous Five, we'll show The Fantastic Foursome a thing or two."

  "And don't forget that Beth and I are cheerleaders," Melanie said proudly.

  "Okay, then why not nominate Katie?" suggested Christie. "Class president is he
r kind of job."

  "Actually, I thought about running," Katie admitted. "But I hear that Mr. Bell is thinking about forming a Teen Court to deal with kids who get in trouble at school. Three students from each class will be on it, along with some teachers. I'd rather try for that."

  "It figures," muttered Christie. "But I still don't see why I have to run for president. There are lots of kids who would make better presidents than Melissa McConnell. How about some of the boys? Randy Kirwan, for instance? Or Scott Daly? Or Shane Arrington? I'd vote for any of them."

  "Randy Would make a great president," said Jana. "And I'm not saying that just because he's my boyfriend, either. But don't forget, he plays sports all year long. He wouldn't have time to be president."

  Melanie had rolled her eyes when she heard Christie mention two of the boys she had crushes on. "The same goes for Shane and Scott," she added in a dreamy voice. "But wouldn't it be fun to be the class president's girlfriend?" She paused and gazed toward the ceiling. "Would that make me 'the First Girlfriend'?"

  "So we're back to you, Christie," said Beth, ignoring Melanie's question. "You have to do it. Besides, we really need you."

  "Come on, guys. Out with it," said Christie. "I know you aren't telling me the whole story. Why do you need me?"

  Beth lowered her eyes. Melanie squirmed and shuffled her feet, and all four of them looked suddenly uncomfortable.

  When no one answered, Christie took a deep breath and put her hands on her hips. "I asked you a question. Why do you need me?" she repeated.

  "It's just that nobody could beat you," said Jana. "Not with your connections to Mr. Bell. Just think, you could go to him with a class problem, and he would listen to you."

  Little explosions went off in Christie's brain, and red fireworks rained down before her eyes. It was incredible, she thought. Why did everyone expect so much of her all the time? And now . . . her own best friends . . .

  "Well ex-CUSE me," she cried, jumping to her feet. "But I just don't happen to feel like running."

  For once in her life Beth looked flustered. "It's too late," she said. "We got your nominating petitions signed when you weren't looking and turned them in this morning."

  Christie was stunned. She dropped back down onto the bench like a balloon with a slow leak. My horoscope was right, she thought. I'm definitely under pressure, but it's too late to beware.

  CHAPTER 2

  Christie had never felt so alone in her life as she nibbled on her tuna sandwich and listened to her friends making campaign plans. Their excited chatter swirled around her as if she weren't even sitting with them.

  "We've got to make signs and come up with a slogan," said Beth. "Now everybody think."

  "What we need is a gimmick," said Katie. "You know, a way to tie Christie's name in with something everybody knows."

  "If she spelled Christie with a K instead of a C, we could call her Special K," offered Melanie. "You know, 'Vote for Special K.' We could even cut the words off cereal boxes and wear them as campaign buttons."

  "But her name is Christie with a C," Jana reminded them.

  "I've got it!" shouted Melanie, banging her fist on the table so hard that her milk carton jumped. "C! Vitamin C! How about 'Cure all your troubles with Vitamin C'?"

  Christie glanced up, making a face, and Katie nodded in agreement. Pure cornball, thought Christie. Absolutely the pits.

  "Does anybody have a better idea?" Melanie asked defensively. When nobody said anything, she went right on talking. "We could make all the posters round and orange to go with the idea of vitamin C." She looked around proudly to see if everyone was getting her message.

  A light came on in Beth's eyes. "In fact, we could even give away oranges!" she shouted. Then she lowered her voice, as if she was worried that another candidate would overhear and steal the idea. "That's it, guys. Lots of kids give away things when they run for office. We could write Christie's name on little stickers and put them on the oranges. Then we could give one to every seventh-grader."

  "A day without Christie is like a day without sunshine," Jana sang, and Christie knew that no matter how she felt about being known as Vitamin C, her fate was sealed.

  Sighing, she absently broke her sandwich into a dozen pieces while she thought about her situation. First, she did not want to run for class president, but her friends were railroading her into it. Second, building her campaign around vitamin C hinted that she would be some kind of cure-all who could fix things with Mr. Bell because he knew her personally. Nothing could be further from the truth. She couldn't fix things if she wanted to, and what's more, she wouldn't—even if she could.

  "I still wish you would nominate someone else," she said. "It really bugs me that you guys sneaked around getting petitions signed without even asking me."

  "Sorry, but we explained," said Melanie. "We've already turned in your petitions to the office. There's nothing we could do about it now, even if we wanted to."

  "Maybe we could talk to Mr. Bell . . ." Christie began, but stopped herself as she saw slow smiles spreading across her friends' faces.

  "See," said Beth. "What did we tell you? Listen, Christie. Nominating you for class president is the greatest idea we've ever had."

  "Don't you get it?" Jana asked. "Anytime something goes wrong, all you have to do is talk to your friend, Mr. Bell. There's no way Melissa McConnell can compete with something like that."

  Christie felt her anger rising to the boiling point. "Well, she can have it. Maybe I won't even try to win." But the instant the words were out, she felt a stab of guilt. Her four friends had turned to each other with looks of dismay. I can't throw the election, she thought, and let my best friends down. Out loud she murmured, "I'll try to win. I promise I will. I know how much it means to you guys."

  "Terrific," said Katie.

  "We knew you'd go along with it once you thought it over," Melanie assured her.

  While the others went back to their campaign planning, Christie poked at the pieces of her tuna sandwich, pushing them back together like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. She stirred uneasily, suddenly feeling as if someone across the lunchroom was staring at her.

  Glancing up, she half expected it to be Melissa McConnell looking over the competition. But to her total surprise the eyes she met were not Melissa's. They didn't even belong to another girl. The person looking at her so intently was Jon Smith, the boy she had been noticing ever since the beginning of school, and whom she had caught looking at her three whole times last Saturday night at Laura McCall's party.

  Jon was one of the quietest boys in seventh grade, which seemed strange to most kids since his parents were both local television personalities and anything but quiet themselves. His father, Chip Smith, was sports director and interviewed famous athletes all the time. His mother, who went by the name Marge Whitworth, was a news anchorwoman and had her own late-afternoon talk show. Christie couldn't help but be a little bit impressed. Besides, she argued to herself, he was awfully cute, and being quiet was no big deal. She was quiet herself.

  Instantly she felt a little foolish as they continued to look straight at each other. How should she react? Should she smile at him? Maybe even try to flirt? But he wasn't smiling at her. In fact, he looked as if he was angry. His face looked stiff and his jaws were clenched.

  That's ridiculous, she thought, looking away. I've never done anything to him. We've never even spoken to each other. Then she smiled as another thought occurred to her. Did Jon Smith want to run for class president? And did he know he didn't have a chance because she had connections with Mr. Bell?

  The idea made her blush. Don't be silly! she told herself silently. I don't have connections to Mr. Bell. And even if I did, maybe Jon would win, anyway. I'll bet lots of kids would vote for him if they thought he would introduce them to his parents or let them hang around and meet famous people.

  Just then the loudspeaker at the other end of the cafeteria crackled to life. "Attention, please. Attention, please," said
Miss Simone, the school secretary. "Will Christie Winchell please report to Mr. Bell's office?"

  Christie rose slowly, avoiding the I-told-you-so looks that she knew would be on her friends' faces. This is all I need, she thought angrily. Now everyone will be more convinced than ever that I have an "in" with the principal. She couldn't help glancing toward the spot where Jon Smith had been sitting a moment ago to see if he was looking at her that way, too, but to her surprise he was gone.

  CHAPTER 3

  "What's that all about?" asked Jana.

  Christie shrugged. "You've got me."

  "Maybe he's going to ask your opinion about something," Melanie said with a giggle. "You know. Which teachers to fire. Or how many extra days of vacation we should have this year."

  "How many extra days of vacation we deserve, you mean," said Beth. Then seeing that Christie had gathered up her lunch trash and was about to leave the table, she added, "Go get 'em, Vitamin C!"

  Christie made her way through the crowded cafeteria, hoping that no one had heard Beth call her Vitamin C. She still might be able to convince them to take her name off the list of candidates. In fact, she might even talk to Mr. Bell herself and ask him what she could do to withdraw. Christie cringed. That would be using her relationship with the principal exactly the way her friends said she could. Which was worse? she wondered. Using it for personal problems or using it to help the entire seventh-grade class?

  "Hi, Christie," called Alexis Duvall from a table near the door. "I hear you're running for class president."

  Christie stopped beside Alexis's table. It was crowded with kids she knew—Kim Baxter, Lisa Snow, Sara Sawyer, Gloria Drexler, and Marcie Bee. They were all looking at her and smiling.

  Nodding, she said, "My friends in The Fabulous Five nominated me. I didn't even know they were doing it."

  "Yeah, we know," said Marcie. "We signed your petitions. We knew your friends were doing it in secret, but we didn't know if they had told you yet. I think it's super that they did a thing like that for you. It proves how much they like you if they even want you to be president."