Kristy for President

by Ann M. Martin

  She took out her red pencil. It really got a workout. Finally, just before the bell rang signaling the end of lunch, she finished.

  She looked up. “I’m sorry, Kristy,” was all she said.

  Numbly, I stood up and took the test from her hand. I felt my face turn red. I’d flunked. In fact I’d made an even lower grade.

  “Thank you, Ms. Griswold,” I mumbled and walked out quickly, before she could say anything else, ask any questions. What would I tell her anyway? I, Kristy Thomas, world-class organized person, was turning into a klutz and a failure? And it seemed that the harder I tried, the worse I did. I felt tears sting the backs of my eyes, but I pushed them away.

  Stop it, I told myself fiercely. You’re just tired. It’s no big deal. It’s just one test.

  But I never, ever, in my whole life would have thought I’d fail the same test not once, but twice.

  “This is a great outfit, Lucy,” cooed Claudia, following Jamie outside. They were going to see Jamie’s bike (what else?). Lucy, looking even more adorable than usual (if that’s possible), was wearing lavender overalls with pink stars on them, a pink shirt, pink socks, and little purple sneakers with shoelaces that had stars and moons on them.

  Jamie was wearing jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt, sneakers, and a look of ferocious determination.

  “Okay,” he said, wheeling his bike out of the garage.

  “Great bike, Jamie. See the bicycle, Lucy? Someday, you’ll be riding a bicycle just like your big brother.”

  “No!” said Jamie. “Not for a long time.”

  Uh-oh, thought Claudia. Sore subject. Aloud she said, “Of course not. Not for years. It takes a lot of hard work, Lucy, and don’t you forget it!”

  Lucy said something in urgley, grabbed Claudia’s hair (which was in a fat braid with seven bows in different colors tied up and down it) and pulled. It didn’t hurt, because Lucy is a baby. But it definitely said, “I’m here. Pay attention to me.”

  “Lucy, you are too much,” said Claudia, carefully extracting the braid from Lucy’s fingers.

  “I want to practice riding my bike,” said Jamie.

  “Okay. Why don’t I put Lucy in her stroller, and you can get on your bike and we —”

  “No. You have to help.”

  Claudia’s pretty easygoing, but she almost got annoyed at Jamie’s bossy tone. Then she remembered the trouble he’d been having with the bike and softened. “Okay, Jamie. I’ll tell you what, Lucy, it’s the playpen for you for a little while, okay?”

  So Lucy returned to her playpen on the porch to watch Jamie practice riding his bike. Fortunately, Lucy isn’t one of those babies who is picky about what she watches. Watching Jamie and Claud go up and down the driveway seemed just fine with her.

  Claudia knew what to expect from reading the BSC notebook. So she scouted out the driveway and made sure every single leaf, pebble, and twig were gone. Then she stood on one side of the bicycle and held it while Jamie climbed up on the other side.

  “You know, Jamie, Kristy told me how she put the training wheels on …”

  “They’re gone now,” Jamie replied.

  They started down the driveway. Claudia wasn’t sure, but she thought Jamie was probably as shaky as ever. Even though they didn’t run into any twigs or leaves, every time she let go the least little bit, Jamie wobbled like crazy.

  And he fell more than once, in spite of Claudia’s help. The front wheel would go one way, Jamie would make a dive, and all three of them (Jamie, Claudia, and the bike) would lose their balance. At least Jamie didn’t cry. Claudia decided that he’d probably gotten a fair amount of practice at falling and was getting used to it.

  But the third time he fell, Claudia thought she heard wailing. Only it wasn’t Jamie. It was Lucy.

  “Hold on a minute, Jamie,” said Claudia, extracting herself from the tangle of bike and boy and heading for the playpen. Lucy’s face was red and crumpled. Somehow, she’d managed to push her teething ring out between the bars of the playpen.

  Picking it up and putting it back inside, Claudia leaned over and tickled Lucy’s stomach. Lucy grabbed the ring and stuffed it in her mouth.

  “Umm, good,” teased Claudia gently. The red, scrunched-up look left Lucy’s face and she waved her feet.

  “Claudia!” said Jamie.

  “Jamie, Lucy needs to play, too.”

  “I’m not playing,” answered Jamie.

  “I know,” said Claudia. “You’re working hard. But why don’t we take a break?”

  Suddenly Jamie wailed, sounding not much older than Lucy. “I can’t. I can’t!” He bent over and began to wrestle the bicycle upright.

  What could Claudia do? She helped Jamie get back in the saddle, and they began to poke and wobble their way down the driveway.

  Just then, one of the posse of bicycle-riding kids on the street, whom Jamie had been watching with such envy, wheeled to a stop at the curb. The others pulled up alongside him.

  Jamie became stiffer and more red-faced. It didn’t help. And all those kids standing there staring didn’t make Claudia feel any calmer, either.

  But they turned out to be just what Jamie needed.

  As Jamie reached the end of the driveway, the first boy said, “You should slow down a little. What happened to your training wheels?”

  “Took them off,” said Jamie.

  “Why? You hardly got to use them …”

  “Because,” said Jamie.

  “You know what? It’s easier if you use them for awhile first. You’re trying to do too much. It’s impossible.”

  Claudia held her breath, half expecting Jamie to jump in and start arguing, but he looked at the boy and said, “Really?” His tone of voice was so relieved, Claudia wanted to hug him.

  Instead she asked, “Where are your training wheels, Jamie?”

  “In the garage,” he replied.

  “I’ll tell you what,” the boy said, “if you put them back on, I’ll help you practice.”

  “You will?” Jamie slid off his bike and took the handlebars from Claudia. She stepped back.

  “Sure. Rich helped me learn to ride.” The boy jerked his head toward one of the other boys, who nodded. “I practiced with two training wheels, then with one. Didn’t I?”

  Rich nodded.

  “Really?” asked Jamie again.

  The boy grinned. “Yeah. One wheel at a time. That’s all you can do anyway, you know. One thing at a time.”

  “Can we practice tomorrow? I’ll ask my mom and dad tonight to put the training wheels back on.”

  “Okay.” The boy hopped on his bike and pushed off. “See you tomorrow, Jamie.”

  “Okay,” Jamie called.

  And just like that, the red-faced, stubborn, miserable bike monster was gone. Smiling sunnily, Jamie wheeled the bike around (with a little help from Claudia) and headed back up the driveway.

  “I’m going to learn to ride my bike,” he told Claudia. “They’re going to help.”

  “That’s great, Jamie.”

  Jamie wheeled his bike into the garage and smiled up at Claudia. “Want to take Lucy for a walk?” he asked.

  “You think you have time for that now?”

  “Oh, sure,” said Jamie. “You can’t practice all the time, you know.”

  Hiding a smile, Claudia said solemnly, “I know.”

  “Kristy? Kristy!”

  I jumped about a mile. “Karen!”

  “I scared you, didn’t I?”

  “You did,” I agreed. “I think you made me grow some gray hair.”

  “Let me see.” Karen marched over to the sofa I was sitting on and stared. “Nope.”

  “Too bad.”

  “Why does hair turn gray? Why doesn’t it turn some other color? Like green?” Karen wondered.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Mine’s going to turn green and purple. I’ll be a scientist and make it do that.”

  That reminded me of the science test. And the list I was making.
Claudia’s afternoon with Jamie kept coming back to me. One wheel at a time. You can only do one thing at a time. That was the trouble. I was trying to do about ten things at a time. And not doing any of them well.

  “Can you?” asked Karen.

  “What?”

  “Come decorate the pancakes. We’re having a Sunday pancake lunch, and Nannie and Emily Michelle and David Michael and I are cutting up fruit and all this good stuff and we’re going to make the pancakes into shapes and put faces on them.”

  “Can I just come have some pancakes later?”

  “Oh, no! That’s not as much fun, Kristy.”

  I sighed. “I know. I just have so much to do. I have to finish this list.”

  Karen looked at me mournfully. With her glasses, she is very good at it. But I truly had to get organized. I looked mournfully back at her and shook my head.

  “Silly billy,” said Karen. “Good-bye.”

  “Good-bye,” I replied, and sighed again. Then I heard myself. Two sighs in two minutes. Not good. I am not a person who sighs much.

  But I was making a list. I was going to become the most organized person on earth. And as soon as that happened, I wouldn’t be so, well, disorganized. Things would get done. Things would be fine.

  But the best-laid plans of mice and men — and baby-sitters — go wrong. I knew my new organizational strategy was already in trouble by Monday afternoon, as I dashed up the stairs at Claudia’s house, late for our meeting.

  Claudia was on the phone, lining up a job. Mary Anne had opened the appointment book in her lap. Mallory and Dawn were throwing popcorn in the air, trying to catch it in their mouths. Stacey was leaning gracefully against the headboard of Claudia’s bed, watching. Jessi was opening a bag of yogurt raisins.

  My chair was empty.

  “Sorry,” I cried, rushing in. “I finished at the Papadakises’ and then I tried to start my homework and the next thing I knew, Charlie was calling me and I was late.” I collapsed in my chair.

  Everyone stared.

  “Okay, okay,” I said. I straightened up and took a deep breath.

  Mary Anne, who sees a lot, asked quietly, “What’s wrong, Kristy?”

  “I’m fine,” I said. I looked around at my friends’ faces as Claudia hung up the phone. “Well, maybe not fine, exactly.”

  “Exactly what?” said Dawn.

  “Ms. Griswold called Mom and Watson about my science grade.”

  “Oh, no. The worst. Are you grounded?” asked Claudia knowingly.

  “No. But they’re going to ‘monitor’ my assignments — that’s what they told Ms. Griswold — to make sure I complete my homework.”

  The phone rang and Claudia picked it up. I said quickly, “No jobs for me for awhile. Unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

  “Oh, Kristy! Did they say you couldn’t baby-sit?” cried Mallory.

  I shook my head. “No, I did. But it’s only temporary. I’ve just decided to cut back a little.”

  After the details of the baby-sitting job had been worked out and Claudia had called the client back, Mary Anne said, “What about your campaign? Are you ready for the debate yet?”

  “Well, I’m almost done with my homework,” I answered evasively.

  “Kristy! That debate is important!” exclaimed Stacey. “You have to get ready for it.”

  “I will.” Uh-oh! Did I sound as cranky as I thought I did just then? “Sorry, Stacey,” I said quickly. “You’re right. I’ll get to work on it as soon as I get home. After all, I know what my position is. That’s pretty clear-cut and simple. And Grace and Alan, lord knows, don’t have a position. And Pete’s not much better.”

  “Pete’s okay,” said Mary Anne.

  “I didn’t say he wasn’t okay, Mary Anne. But his platform, his reasons for wanting to be president are not much better than Grace’s or Alan’s …”

  “Whatever Alan’s reasons are,” muttered Claudia.

  Mary Anne looked stubborn, but she didn’t say anything.

  “Are you ready, Mallory?” I asked. Mallory’s face turned red.

  “I guess,” she said.

  “Your opening speech was good,” Jessi announced firmly.

  Mallory threw Jessi a grateful look. “I had planned to do a little more work on it tonight, though.”

  “You know, what you should do is relax,” Jessi told her. “I read about this relaxation technique for stress. You lie down, and you picture yourself doing whatever it is — like giving the speech — just perfectly, once, from beginning to end. Then you go do something nice for yourself.”

  “Like eat ice cream with chocolate sprinkles and butterscotch topping,” put in Claudia.

  Mallory laughed.

  “Hold the ice cream. I’ll get to work on the debate tonight,” I promised. “Now, if the meeting has already come to order, what about dues?”

  “Right,” said Stacey. “Thanks for reminding me, Kristy.”

  “What are presidents for?” I asked sweetly.

  Everyone groaned.

  That night, while Mallory was (maybe) practicing relaxation, I was doing my homework in world-record time. By nine-thirty, I was finished. Whew!

  I pulled out a new notebook and opened it. I picked up my pen.

  I remembered one of the rules of giving a speech: Tell them what you’re going to tell them, tell them, then tell them what you’ve told them.

  Hmmm. Useful, maybe, but this was a debate. I had to be absolutely clear on what I thought the goals of our class should be. And I had to be absolutely clear on what I thought were the weaknesses of the other candidates’ goals. My goals had to sound like the best. Not hard, I reasoned, since they absolutely were.

  “#1,” I wrote.

  The phone rang.

  “We,” I wrote.

  “Kristy, it’s for you,” my mother called.

  When I picked up the receiver a voice said, “Hello, stranger.”

  “Bart!” Stranger? Oh, lord. Was I going to have to add Bart to my list of things to worry about?

  I was starting to worry about the list!

  “Well, at least you recognized my voice,” said Bart.

  “Lucky guess,” I teased.

  Bart laughed and I laughed, too. And I almost felt guilty about being on the phone, laughing! But I was glad he called.

  Twenty minutes went by in no time at all. Then I told Bart, reluctantly, that I had to get off. “I have to get ready for the debate, you know.”

  “I wish I could be there,” said Bart.

  “Me, too,” I replied, and we said good night.

  I went back to my debate notes. “#1. We need to …” resolutely ignoring the ringing of the phone.

  “Kristy.” My mother’s voice. “It’s Jessi.”

  “Hello,” I said, snatching up the receiver. “Listen, I’ll have to talk to you tomorrow. I’m behind in my work.”

  “Geez, Kristy. What if you win the election? If you don’t have time to talk to me, how will you have time to be president of the whole class?”

  Jessi’s words hit home. “Oh.” I sighed again. “You’re right, Jessi. But what can I do? I can’t drop out of the race.”

  “Maybe you should drop out of something else, then,” said Jessi.

  “Like the human race,” I muttered. I felt awful.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Listen, Jessi, I really am swamped.”

  “I know. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  She hung up pretty quickly. I sat and stared at my paper.

  “#1. We need … a president who has time to be a president.…” And it was time to find the time.

  The “Kristy for president” team had done a great job. Everywhere you went in SMS, the signs jumped out at you. The buttons were a huge success, too. I saw them all over the place: on backpacks and purse straps, hooked onto lockers and taped to notebooks. “Good visual coverage,” declared Stacey. We would vote the Friday after the debate. The campaign was becoming intense.

&nbs
p; It seemed as if people were more involved, too. Which meant, I thought, that the issues were important to us. We did care about our school, and we did want some responsibilities (besides homework and going to class). Furthermore, I thought that with this kind of support just for the campaign, we were showing everyone we were serious and willing to work and handle other responsibilities.

  Responsibilities.

  Suppose Grace won? I doubted she was even capable of organizing a school dance. And I don’t think she’d begun to think about all the work involved. Once she found out, that would be the end of Grace’s participation. But what would we do? Impeach her? That would make a nice headline for the school newspaper.

  Which reminded me of Pete and his campaign. He had one, or maybe two good ideas, but they were really only the sorts of things that would appeal to a minority of kids. Special interest groups. That was the phrase. Pete’s campaign appealed to special interest groups.

  Alan. Please.

  It was my responsibility to run for president. Besides, so many people had worked so hard. (Including me.)

  But not hard enough.

  I thought about this over and over again. And I kept scrambling, squeezing in homework, a Krushers practice, a minimum of baby-sitting jobs.

  You wouldn’t think I would have a lot of time to think, but somehow I did. I was even catching up on my work a little bit. Part of the reason was I had simply put aside the campaign and my debate speech.

  If Jamie had become a sort of bicycle monster for a little while, hadn’t I become a sort of political monster?

  I’d let down the Krushers, canceling practice and then not being there mentally when we did have one. I’d gotten the worst grade I’d ever made in science — twice. I’d been late to meetings — BSC meetings, campaign meetings — and close to late for baby-sitting jobs. I’d had to give up baby-sitting jobs (and money!). I’d hardly seen Bart. And I’d practically bitten Jessi’s head off for telling me the truth.

  Plus, now my mother and Watson had to monitor my homework as if I were a little kid.

  All of those things were responsibilities, too. They were my responsibilities. And I wasn’t living up to them.

  It happened one night. I was sure I’d go straight to sleep, I was so tired. But instead, I lay in bed with my eyes open, thinking everything over one more time. Making my lists (again) of what I had to do (like homework, especially science), and what I wanted to do (like spend time with my friends and coach the Krushers and eat pancakes with faces on them).