President of Poplar Lane Read online

  “I got scooped by a second grader?” Mel said. She pointed her phone toward me. “Is it true?”

  Hot tears spilled down my face. All these questions and my family’s secret coming out were too much to deal with all at once.

  I nodded.

  “This press conference is over,” Rachel said.

  As the crowd cleared out, Rachel put her arm around my shoulder.

  “That was rough,” she said. “Is your mom really pregnant? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “She said not to tell anyone yet,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

  “That’s okay,” she said.

  “I felt like I was on trial,” I said through my sniffles. “And I didn’t do anything wrong. Who sent Mel all that bad stuff about me? And how did Susie find out about my mom?”

  Peter walked up beside us. “Maybe it was Amelia,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “She’d have access to your opposition research file,” Peter said. “I left it with Mike’s campaign. Some of the stuff Mel said is what I heard at your pool party.”

  “Seriously?” I said. “Don’t expect me to invite you to anything ever again!”

  Peter waved his hand. “I was doing my job,” he said. “Anyway, Amelia volunteers for your mom’s campaign, right? She must have found out your mom was pregnant and leaked it to the press.”

  “Amelia wouldn’t do that,” Rachel said.

  “You barely know her,” I said. “Maybe she wants to destroy me!”

  “She just wants to be your friend,” said Rachel.

  “Whose side are you on?”

  Rachel shook her head. “There aren’t sides. She’s not your enemy.”

  I wiped away my tears. “Stop defending her,” I said. “If she’s doing opposition research on me, I’m doing some on her.”

  What’s New with

  Mel Chang

  If It Trends, We’re Friends.

  MY THIRD THURSDAY POST—A “WHAT’S NEW WITH MEL CHANG” RECORD!

  Student support increases for Mike.

  “SMELLING your BELLY BUTTON LINT is not presidential. GAG.” —Seema Singh, seventh grader and former Clover supporter

  “Even if Clover didn’t do it, she probably released the Clover O’Reilly file, which was all just nice stuff about her. And even if she didn’t release that stuff, she agreed with it. That’s conceited . . . right?” —Hannah Greer, seventh grade

  “My dad says girls are too emotional to be president. And Clover cried. You do the math.” —Brayden Monk (ED note: Brayden is currently failing math.)

  POPLAR POLL

  55% of students who attended Clover’s press conf found the candidate to be “too defensive.”

  65% of students ID’d Clover as a “crybaby,” with only 35% calling her a “leader.”

  Others disliked the tone of the press conf:

  “Dude, some of those questions were so mean they gave ME a wedgie.” —Big TOE, seventh grader

  “Why is everybody jumping on Clover? Here’s my question: Why is there a picture of Mike kissing a baby doll?” —Thalia Jung, seventh grade

  Some voters are just ready for election season to end:

  “Am I SERIOUSLY getting emails from Peter again?” asked seventh grader Mateo Medina. “And why are the wagon children back? That’s it. I’m calling a lawyer.”

  “Mel, this is an intervention,” read an unsigned folded-up note passed in third period. “Please. Stop. Reporting. On. Seventh. Graders.”

  BONUS FEATURE! Nurse Cholley shares Facts about Fungus. “All I’m hearing is fungal this, fungal that. You kids need to start wearing clean socks.”

  FROM

  WARTY MORTY’S TREATISE ON MAGIC

  Copyright 1973

  P Is for “Parlor Magic”

  Parlor magic, also called platform magic, falls between close-up magic (where the magician performs so close you can smell his garlic breath) and stage magic (a big, fancy show where the audience sits too far away to smell any garlic breath. Lucky audience!). “Parlor” is an old word for living room.

  Lots of folks know the term “parlor tricks.” They use it in a negative way, like when a salesman or politician lies or tries to pull one over on you.

  But parlor magic is near and dear to Warty Morty’s heart. Take the sand frame, a parlor magic illusion where a photo, card, or other flat item mysteriously appears in an empty picture frame.

  Professor J. Hartford Armstrong, a successful black magician, brought black history into his sand frame routine. First he’d show the audience an empty picture frame. Then he’d pass around a picture of Frederick Douglass, an abolitionist, orator, and statesman. Somewhere along the way, the picture of Frederick Douglass would appear in the frame!

  FUN FACT-O-RAMA

  After Professor Armstrong died, his daughter Ellen took over his stage show. Ellen also cracked up crowds with chalk talk, a technique where she’d draw funny cartoons for the audience based on their suggestions. Ellen Armstrong was likely the only black woman magician of her time to run an independent magic touring show in the United States.

  20

  MIKE

  “How’s the campaign going?” Granberry asked me. We were drinking chamomile tea and putting together an optical illusion puzzle. The picture on the box could be either two faces or one, depending on how you looked at it.

  “The election is tomorrow,” I said. I was getting pretty good at not answering questions.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” she said. Well, maybe I wasn’t that good. She laughed. “You’re turning into a politician. Don’t be a politician. Be a leader.”

  “What’s the difference?” I asked.

  “A leader makes decisions based on what they feel,” she said. “A politician just goes along with what people want to get votes.”

  I thought about firing Peter and letting Clover take the fall for my messed-up posters. I didn’t want to be a politician, but along the way, I’d turned into one.

  “Haven’t seen you do many tricks in a while,” Granberry said, sorting through a pile of light blue puzzle pieces.

  I shrugged. I’d been doing plenty of tricks, but none of them were magic.

  “Magic is like politics,” she said. “A whole lot of tricks.” She wiggled a puzzle piece into one of the faces, but it didn’t quite fit. “It’s political in other ways, too.”

  “What ways?” I asked.

  “For instance,” she said. “Have you ever seen a woman do a magic trick?”

  “Huh?” I asked. “Yeah, you.”

  “Other than me,” she said.

  I thought really hard. “No,” I said.

  “But woman magicians exist, right?” she said. “Even if you don’t see them?”

  I nodded.

  “That’s politics,” she said. “The fight to be seen and heard.”

  She stirred her tea.

  “Imagine this,” she said. “You’re a woman in magic, so right there you’re invisible. And you’re also black in a field with few black magicians. I didn’t really have a community.”

  Granberry held up the puzzle box, squinting hard at the picture. She shook her head and set it down.

  “You know how I taught you about magic?” Granberry asked. I nodded. “Nobody ever taught me. Especially nobody who looked like me. So I taught myself. I learned from books. My hero was Ellen Armstrong.”

  I nodded. Granberry talked about her a lot.

  “She was a pioneer,” Granberry said. “I read everything I could about her. But there wasn’t a whole lot to read, just a few articles here and there. But they proved she was real, and that was enough for me.

  “When I was a teenager, I met Granbobby. He was doing some coin magic afte
r church. I showed him a few tricks, and he showed me a few of his. I found my kindred spirit in magic. Eventually, we took our show on the road.”

  I’d always thought Granberry was just Granbobby’s assistant.

  “We booked mostly churches and school functions,” she said. “Those were the places we felt welcome. I made most of our props. I sewed the costumes, played the music, developed our act. I even wrote a book.”

  “Whoa,” I said. “What book?”

  She nodded at the end table. “That one. Warty Morty’s Treatise on Magic.”

  I shook my head. “Wait,” I said. “You wrote that? But Granbobby was Warty Morty.”

  She laughed. “They call it ghostwriting,” she said. “And that’s how it felt. Like invisible work.”

  “Why did Granbobby do that?” I asked. “That’s not fair.”

  “He didn’t,” she said. “I wanted him to take credit. It was better for our career to use his name. He was the headliner. And frankly, at that point, I was used to being behind the scenes. I didn’t know if I was ready to come out from behind the curtain, as they say.”

  I picked the book off the end table and opened it.

  “Read the dedication message,” she said, smiling.

  It said, “To the invisible people: show yourselves. Be seen.”

  I swallowed.

  “Here’s the truth,” she said. “Every time I see that book, it hurts. I should have put my name on there. It seems important now.”

  She wiggled another puzzle piece into the face. This time, it fit.

  * * *

  That night, I couldn’t stop thinking about Granberry. She’d dedicated her book to invisible people like me. But even though I was “showing myself” by running for president, the real me was still hiding. My lying wasn’t just bad. It disrespected Granberry.

  The whole time I was thinking, I kept getting texts from my team.

  AMELIA:

  Did you memorize your speech yet?

  SCOTT:

  Hey, man, I’m outside your house. No one is trying to get in. Just thought you’d like to know.

  AMELIA:

  Did you see Mel’s polls? You’re on top! You’re so close to winning!

  I looked at the screenshot in Amelia’s text. It was Mel’s poll. I cringed reading all the bad stuff people said about Clover.

  Like Amelia said, I was so close to winning. And that’s even after I tried to sabotage everything.

  I couldn’t even screw up my campaign right.

  There was only one thing left to do. I had to drop out of the race.

  21

  Clover

  If Amelia Flem was going to spill my family’s secrets, I would spill hers.

  I just had to find out what they were. And there was one place everyone kept their secrets: on the internet.

  Rachel had stormed off after the press conference, so I walked home alone. All the way, I kept thinking about Amelia spying on me. She sat at our dinner table, in my seat. She was probably collecting secrets right then and betraying my mom the whole time. Maybe she was really working for Rocket Shipley!

  I felt a little like Holly Herman, but as Rachel says, a stopped clock is right twice a day.

  Mom was checking her phone when I came into the kitchen. “Clover!” she said. “So the cat’s out of the bag. I’m getting congratulation texts on the pregnancy.”

  “I know!” I said. “It’s going around school. And I think I know who did it.”

  “Oh, I know who did it,” Mom said.

  “You do?” I asked. “Devious, right? Can you believe her?”

  “Sure,” Mom said. “I mean, Daisy’s only four. I shouldn’t have expected her to keep a secret.”

  “Huh?” I asked. “Daisy?”

  Daisy ran into the kitchen. “I only told my whole preschool class!” she said. “Can I have a lollipop?”

  Mom reached into the pantry for the bag of lollipops. “In a way, it’s a relief,” she said. “I was only hiding it because I thought people would judge me. You know, if a woman is pregnant, she can’t do the job, it’s an inconvenience.” She waved her hand. “Blah, blah, blah.”

  Daisy snatched a mango lollipop and ran off.

  “The worst part is, I was repeating that nonsense to you girls,” Mom said. “And none of it’s true. It’s not an inconvenience. But the more I kept quiet about the pregnancy, the more I started feeling . . . inconvenient. So I’m glad it’s out there.”

  I grabbed a raspberry lollipop. Okay, so Amelia Flem didn’t spill the beans about Mom. But what about that other stuff? Like eating ketchup off my toenails, or whatever Mel said.

  That could have been Daisy, too, I guess. Or even Dahlia. But what if it wasn’t?

  I went upstairs and searched “Amelia Flem” on my computer. She had an InstaVid account with lots of pictures and videos, all titled “My First Day of School.”

  Why were there so many?

  I clicked on the latest picture, which was dated last Monday, our first day of school. It was a selfie of Amelia with a huge grin on her face. I’d never seen her smile like that before.

  The caption said:

  It’s my thirteenth first day of school! You know how on the first day you feel scared and hopeful and excited and anxious? I’ve felt that, like, a lot more than most people. It’s hard because I don’t want to be pushy, but at the same time, you have to work hard to make friends. If I don’t work hard, I won’t have any.

  I swallowed. I’d lived here all my life. I didn’t know what it was like being the new kid and having to start over, over and over again. I kept reading.

  I met a girl named Rachel over the summer. I feel like we could be real friends, not just until I move friends.

  Under the caption was a comment from Amelia:

  UPDATE: It was an A-minus day! Rachel invited me to walk to school with her! And I got to meet her best friend, Clover! She’s really friendly and good at art. When I get nervous I talk a lot. I hope I didn’t embarrass myself.

  That was the last entry.

  My face felt hot. I remembered the first day of school. Amelia had asked me so many questions about myself, and honestly, I thought she was pretty annoying. But I had my own problems. I was sad and mad that I wasn’t getting my own room, and I wanted to tell Rachel all about it, and I couldn’t. So even though Amelia said I was friendly, I wasn’t as nice to her as I could have been.

  And I was jealous. Jealous that Rachel made a new friend, a friend she had other stuff in common with. Stuff she didn’t have in common with me. It made me scared there wasn’t room for me anymore.

  Amelia didn’t have to be my best friend, but she didn’t have to be my enemy. I never gave her a chance to be anything in between. And there was something in between. I could have just said hi in the hallway or asked her to sit with us at lunch, just once. Instead, I pushed her away and tried to tear her down so Rachel would like me better. I was a girl power hypocrite.

  I added a comment under Amelia’s picture: “Welcome to Poplar Middle School!” I typed. “I can’t wait to get to know you better.”

  Maybe that was real girl power, being a friend to someone new and helping her through a tough time. There could be room for everyone.

  I checked the clock. I still had to write my speech for tomorrow. Usually Rachel writes my speeches, but I was pretty sure she wouldn’t be in the mood after our fight.

  Besides, I needed to do it myself, without help. Without a filter.

  What’s New with

  Mel Chang

  If It Trends, We’re Friends.

  FRIDAY

  SPESH ENDORSEMENT EDITION

  All the big profesh publications endorse a candidate. So without further ado, here’s my eval of the seventh-grade pres campaigns.

&nbs
p; MERCH

  Mike: Stickers

  Clover: Rubber bracelets

  At first I thought Clover’s rubber bracelets were five-star hot. They were all diff colors, so you could wear them with lots of outfits.

  And voters stated that Mike’s stickers were poor quality, complaining they lost their stickiness in humid places like the gym and cafeteria.

  But Mike’s stickers are trending over Clover’s bracelets, because more peeps are wearing them.

  Round 1: Slight edge to Mike.

  REFRESH

  Mike: Gave out root beer at the Candidate Luncheon. Some voters complained it was generic but admitted “it tasted the same.” Also, great tie-in with Peter’s Pie-Crust Cookies.

  Clover: Skipped Candidate Luncheon; zero root beer or other snacks

  Round 2: Mike, easily.

  VIP ENDORSEMENTS

  Mike: Endorsed by Stu the Sports Dude

  Clover: Endorsed by . . . nobody? Word on Poplar Lane is that her own campaign manager is mad at her.

  Round 3: Mike, by a landslide.

  VERDICT: Five stars to Mike for President.

  (ED. NOTE: I reached out to stylist Rafael X to get his pick for Most Stylish Candidate. As of press time, he had not replied to my InstaVid comment.)

  22

  Clover

  Over the treetops and ’round the bend,

  Poplar Middle School is a friend till the end.

  It’s our school spirit that sets us apart,

  A whole lot of joy and a whole lot of . . . HEART!

  I hardly even heard the FART echo. My hands were shaking with excitement.

  “Thank you,” Dr. Dana told the Poplar Middle School Pops after they finished playing. “We’ll start with our first candidate for seventh-grade class president. Ms. O’Reilly, please take the stage.”