Every student in the auditorium starts clapping and cheering like crazy, and it doesn’t stop until Principal Ferguson stands and holds up his arm. When the auditorium is quiet again, he motions for me to finish my speech.
“In closing, I just want to say that we’re all on the same team, with one goal—to make our school the very best it can be. During this election process, I’ve made new friends. Despite some of my actions, I’ve also managed to keep the old friends. Most important, I believe I’ve learned a lot about what it means to be a leader, and I promise that if you vote for me for president of the seventh grade, I will do my best each and every day to be the best president ever. Thank you.”
I hold my breath while everyone claps and cheers.
Finally, I exhale, relieved, because on the audience reaction scale, it’s a ten.
Chapter Twenty-Three
PARTY LIKE A ROCK STAR. OR A SEVENTH-GRADE CLASS PRESIDENT!
WOO HOO! I, Amanda Elizabeth Adams, am officially (as of 12:17 p.m. today, when Principal Ferguson called Frankie, Annalise, Meghan, Bree, Ben, and me to his office to tell us the outcome of the election) the new president of the seventh grade at Liberty Middle School.
It still feels surreal that I won.
Before Principal Ferguson announced the results, he gave us all a speech about how the campaign had some low moments. But that it all worked out in the end. And he said that no matter the outcome, he wanted us all to stay involved and work as class leaders. Then he looked at me and said the magic words.
“Congratulations, Amanda. You’re president.”
What happened next was a blur. Meghan hugged me. Frankie shook my hand. Ben was high-fiving me. And everyone (especially Meghan) was saying things like: “You gave a really great speech” and “You’re going to make an awesome president.”
The rest of the school day, kids in my class and all of my teachers congratulated me.
When the last bell rang, Mom and Dad were waiting to take me home. I think Mr. Ferguson must have tipped them off. They were in the pick-up line and looked happier than two little kids with plastic pumpkins full of candy on Halloween.
Mom was first to hug me. “No election victory is sweeter than your first one,” she said.
Dad ruffled my hair, and then he gave me a hug, too.
“We’re so proud of you!” gushed Mom once we were all in the car. “And I’m still impressed that you managed to think of such a smart way to spin the Capitol tour.” She flashed my dad a loving look. “She’s a chip off her father’s strategist block,” Mom added.
“And her mother’s candidate block,” said Dad.
Then he turned around and smiled at me. “Amanda, I know it was a tough campaign. They all are.” He paused for a moment before putting the car into gear. “I’m proud to have another winning candidate in the family.”
“Thanks,” I said. “For all of your support.”
Then Mom added, “Amanda, this was a wonderful learning experience for you. And you’ll be even better prepared for your next campaign.”
At that point, I burst out laughing. I couldn’t help it. Mom is one of those people who is always 100 percent focused on what’s next. “Mom, I just won this election. I’m happy to be president of the seventh grade. I have no idea if I have any future political aspirations.”
“Just be the best president you can be,” she said. “And I know you will.”
It takes effort, but when my phone buzzes in my hand, I open my eyes. I can’t believe I actually fell asleep when I got home from school. But then again, it’s not so surprising. I was so nervous about giving a speech. Then waiting all morning to find out who won the election.
I sit up on my bed and read the incoming text message. It’s from Meghan.
Meghan: What are you wearing to your victory party?!?
Amanda: IDK. Help!
Meghan: Yellow smiley face sweatshirt!
Amanda:
Meghan: Congrats again!
Meghan: Can’t wait to celebrate with you.
Amanda: C U soon!
I get up and pull on my sweatshirt, then brush my hair and wind it into two neat braids. Just as I’m finishing, I hear the doorbell ring. When I open the door, Ben grins at me.
“PARTY TIME!” he shouts. Then he heads straight to my dining room. Minutes later, it is filled with everyone who wants to celebrate our victory—the kids who voted for us, the kids who heard Ben was giving out more burrito and smoothie coupons, Meghan, and even Bree, who apologized for ruining my posters and volunteered to help out on whatever committee I need her on. Best of all, the girls from my soccer team are all there.
In the end, it wasn’t even my speech (though they all said it was great) that swayed them to vote for me. It was the fact that we’re a team, and team members stick together through the good and the bad. But they did make me promise not to take my eyes off the ball at the next game.
I made that promise, and it’s one I plan to keep!
Ben taps me on the shoulder and I look into his huge grin. “Hey, Adams, your dad sure knows how to put on a party,” he says.
I smile and survey the dining room table. It’s covered with Papa Rocco’s pizza, soda, and bowls of Skittles and M&Ms. Ben is right. Dad did pull together a killer party. He’s put on enough victory parties for Mom to know how to do it right. Ben taps a knife against a soda bottle, and the room goes quiet. “I think everyone is waiting for the victor to make a speech,” he says.
“Speech!” some of the girls on the soccer team chorus together.
I clear my throat. “I’m going to keep this short. You’ve all listened to me talk, like, waaaaay too much today.” The room fills with laughs, and I keep going. “I just want to say that I’m really excited to be president. I’m going to do my best to do a good job. I want to thank all of you for being here and supporting me. Especially Ben.”
I look at him and he blushes, something I didn’t know Ben Ball was capable of doing.
“Ben, I couldn’t have done this without you.” I pause, then add, “It’s funny how things work out. If you’d told me at the beginning of this campaign that you would end up being my vice president, let alone my good friend, I might have laughed. But the more I got to know you, the more I realized just how funny and nice you are. So seriously, thanks for everything. For all your help. But most of all for being my friend.” I flash Ben a huge smile. “And I know you’re going to make a great veep!”
He smiles back at me, then bows and says, “At your service, Madame President.” And the whole room cracks up.
“Okay, that’s it for the speech. Eat. Have fun!” I shout above the laughter and noise.
And everyone does.
I listen to the happy sounds of the victory party going on around me, and I exhale.
It’s crazy to think that I won, especially after everything that happened. And even crazier to think that I won because of my speech. I guess in the end, donuts and big signs and fancy stickers and even cool ideas about things like extra time in school to do homework and beach parties aren’t what it takes to win an election.
I think it was honesty and integrity that pushed my campaign over the edge.
And who knows… maybe free burritos and smoothies helped, too.
Chapter Twenty-Four
ON THE SLEEPOVER SCALE, THIS ONE’S A TEN
I tuck one of the throw pillows from Meghan’s bed under my head, then stuff a potato chip in my mouth while I wait for Meghan to tell me the BIG news she’s been saving.
“Okay. Okay,” says Meghan. “But this is big.”
“Um, the last time you had big news—”
Meghan laughs. She knows I’m just teasing her. “Drumroll, please.”
I slap my palms against my thighs.
Meghan clears her throat. “I have a boyfriend!”
“Holy guacamole! Caleb?”
Meghan grins. “None other.”
We squeal together, long and loud, then Meghan tells me the who
le story.
“When he found out I had a crush on him, he told me that he’s had one on me, too, but that he was too shy to tell me.”
“Caleb J? Shy?” On the surprised scale, I’m a ten. I mean, who would have thought that the star quarterback of the football team would be scared to tell a girl he liked her?”
Meghan nodded. “I was surprised, too. But he’s really shy. And sweet.” Meghan nibbles a chip. “Caleb told me he’s had a crush on me since he was in fourth grade and I was in third at Patriot. He used to see me playing on the monkey bars and knew I was the girl for him.”
“No way!” A memory of those monkey bars on the playground at our elementary school makes me smile. Meghan and I used to climb on them every day at recess.
“Yeah,” says Meghan. She pulls a little gold heart on a chain from underneath the collar of her T-shirt and holds it out for me to see. “He gave me this necklace last night and asked me if I wanted to be his girlfriend. And I said yes!”
This time when we squeal it’s even louder than we were when Meghan’s dad bought us tickets in sixth grade to go to the Jingle Ball, where Shawn Mendes was performing.
“I wanted you to know first,” Meghan says, “since you’re my best friend.” Meghan pauses. “And I want to thank you for spilling the beans.”
“Um, about that…” A fresh wave of guilt washes over me.
“Don’t worry,” says Meghan. “If you hadn’t told my secret, Caleb would never have known I liked him, and he never would have told me he likes me. So, it’s cool. Everything worked out the way it was supposed to.”
“Wow!” I say. It’s pretty incredible that Meghan has her first boyfriend. And even more incredible to think that something good came out of me doing something bad. Like telling my best friend’s secret. Ugh. I still can’t believe I did that. I give Meghan a serious look. “I’m glad it all worked out, but I promise I’ll never tell one of your secrets again.”
“I know you won’t.” Meghan sighs. “I’m really sorry, Amanda, about everything that happened.”
“Yeah. Me too,” I say. “Winning the election was important. But keeping you as my best friend is even more important.” My words sound kind of corny, but I need Meghan to know how I feel. “From now on, I’m going to be even better than a best friend. I’m going to be the most amazing best friend ever.”
“That makes two of us,” says Meghan.
Our eyes meet and I tell her what I’ve been holding in since I arrived. “Um, I have some news of my own. Drumroll, please!”
Now it’s Meghan’s turn to slap her palms against her thighs.
“I’m getting something I’ve always wanted.”
Meghan’s nose wrinkles. “Highlights?”
I roll my eyes. Meghan knows neither of my parents would ever say yes to that. I clear my throat. “Mom finally said yes… to me getting a dog!”
Meghan reaches over to hug me, then starts firing questions, about when and where I’m getting a dog and what kind of dog I’m getting, faster than I can answer them.
“Tomorrow, Mom and Dad are taking me to the shelter to pick one out. And I want you to come with me to help. Will you?’
“Yes!” squeals Meghan. “Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! But wait, what made your mom change her mind?”
“That’s a whole other story.” Then I tell it to Meghan.
I smile. Which is impossible not to do when I’ve got one dog in my lap and another one licking my face. “They’re both so cute. I don’t know how I’ll choose. Can I have two?” I ask.
“NO!” Mom and Dad say at the same time.
Picking one dog from all the ones at the shelter is a nearly impossible task. If Meghan hadn’t come with me today, I don’t know how I would have even narrowed it down to the final two. But now I have to choose between a little fluffy white dog named Fifi or a big brown-and-white spotted dog named George, who can’t seem to stop licking me.
“Amanda, the spotted dog is cute,” says Mom. “And I like his name.”
I look at Meghan and we both crack up. My best friend knows as well as I do that my mom has never had an opinion on what makes for a cute dog name. It’s pretty obvious she likes him because he shares a name with our nation’s first president—nice publicity for a congresswoman who is about to be photographed adopting a dog with her daughter at the local shelter.
In case you’re wondering, that’s why Mom finally agreed to the idea of me getting a dog. Good photo op. And I told her the story about Nixon and how Checkers saved his career. Not that hers needs saving. The point being, a dog can do wonders for a politician.
“It’s all about using the media to your advantage,” I told Mom.
When I said that, Mom was hooked. “If I can make my daughter happy and score some political points, then why not,” she said to Dad, who agreed wholeheartedly.
I smile to myself. It’s cool that my original campaign idea to get a dog worked after all.
Dad winks at me like he knows what I’m thinking. To be honest, I think Dad is just as excited about this dog as I am.
I rub the fur behind George’s floppy ears and he lays his big head on my shoulder. I grin.
“I think I found my dog,” I say.
George licks my face (again!) like he approves of the idea. And just like that, I’m the one who’s hooked.
Chapter Twenty-Five
AN INSIDER’S VIEW
(OR, MY MOM HAS HER MOMENTS)
Kind of hard to believe I’m standing here—which happens to be in the Rotunda of the United States Capitol—with everyone else in my grade, and my mom is our personal tour guide. It’s like Take Your Daughter to Work Day, except in this case, it’s take her and her whole class.
Mom gestures to the large dome above us and every eye of every student (plus the chaperones, which include Mrs. Lee and Coach Newton) looks straight up. One hundred eighty feet up, to be exact. Mom just told us that that’s the height of the Rotunda (which also happens to be ninety-six feet wide).
On the big scale, this rotunda is a ten.
Everyone listens without saying a word (something that almost never happens at Liberty Middle School) as Mom explains the history of the art on the Rotunda canopy and how it was painted in 1865 by an artist named Constantino Brumidi.
“It took him almost one full year to paint it,” Mom says.
“It’s awesome,” Meghan whispers into my ear.
I nod. It really is amazing. I’ve seen it before, with Mom, but I get chills all over again just looking up at it and imagining how hard it must have been for the artist to paint it.
“The Rotunda is used for important events, like inaugurations and presidential funerals,” Mom says. Then she tells my whole grade all kinds of cool facts about the history of the artwork on the walls and about many of the busts and statues around the Rotunda.
After that, we go to see the National Statuary Hall, which has sculptures that represent many of the states. Even though Mom is a congresswoman for just one of those states, she knows a lot about the history of many of the others, too.
“It’s way cool how much your mom knows about this place,” Ben says to me.
“Yeah,” I say. It is cool. And surprising. I had no clue Mom knew so much about art. Nice to think you can be surprised by your mom… in good ways!
When we’re done in the Statuary Hall, Mom leads us through the Crypt. The name of it sounds spooky—like something straight out of a horror movie—but it’s not that at all. It’s a room filled with forty beautiful brown stone columns that support the floor of the Rotunda above and thirteen marble sculptures that represent the original colonies.
“This is where George Washington was supposed to be buried,” Mom says in her tour-guide voice. “But he stipulated in his will that he wanted to be buried at Mount Vernon.”
Mom motions for our group to keep walking. She talks as she walks, filling everyone in on all kinds of cool trivia about the Capitol. It has 540 rooms and 658 windows. Underground tun
nels and a private subway connect the main building of the Capitol with all of the congressional office buildings.
“All the rooms in the Capitol are designated as either S for Senate or H for House depending on whether they are in the north wing, where the Senate members have their offices, or in the south wing, where the House members have theirs,” Mom says. Then she adds that there are marble bathtubs in the basement of the Capitol, where members of Congress would take baths in the nineteenth century.
Meghan giggles. “Ew! Gross!”
I try not to crack up. But I can’t help it. It’s pretty weird to think about all those lawmakers way back when taking their bubble baths at work. “Think they had little yellow rubber duckies that floated around in the marble tubs?” I ask.
Meghan and I are giggling like crazy about the idea of all those old lawmakers splish-splashing around with their rubber duckies, until a hand taps us on our shoulders.
“Ladies, care to share what’s so amusing?”
Meghan and I snap out of our giggle fit and look into the face of Mrs. Lee. But it’s obvious by the look on her face that she’s not really mad. So I tell her why we’re laughing.
“Ah, I see what you mean,” she says, like she sees the humor of it, too.
Mom leads our group to the last stop on our tour—The House Galleries, where visitors can watch the United States House of Representatives in action. They’re not in session today, but Mom paints a picture (with words, not a paintbrush) of what it’s like when they’re legislating.
“The elected officials of this country have an important job,” she says. “And it’s one that my coworkers in both the House and the Senate take very seriously.”
I listen proudly while Mom talks about what lawmakers do and how laws in our country are made. “Bottom line, it’s the job of your elected officials to make our country a better place,” Mom says. “But it’s also the job of every citizen of this nation to do their part by getting involved. If you believe in something, take a stand. Be a part of what you want to see changed.”
The Campaign Page 13
