President of Poplar Lane Read online

  “A brand evolution,” said Peter. “How do we do that?”

  “I’m glad you asked!” Amelia said again. She unzipped her tote bag. “Rafael X is a great start, Peter. And I drew up some literature to help explain what I’ve seen at other schools. Best practices, cautionary tales, stuff like that.” She looked at me. “Mike, the most important thing to know is that you’ll be playing a character. It might feel weird. But it’s only a means to an end. To victory.”

  “A persona,” I said.

  To win the election, I—Mike the Unusual, comedy magician—had to disappear.

  A Brief History of Failed Middle School Elections

  by Amelia Flem

  SLOGANS: Bad or unfortunate slogans can sink a campaign.

  Slogans should be short, sweet, and catchy.

  Positive rhyming and alliteration are good. Penny Kent for President. Awesome Anquan = A+ Choice for President.

  But not all rhyming works. Bad rhyming: Richie Is Itchy . . . to Be Your President! (Seriously, don’t rhyme just for the sake of rhyming. It doesn’t end well.)

  BEWARE THE LONG SLOGAN. For example, Jason LeRoy: Lighting the Fires of Justice for People Who Don’t Know How to Light Fires or Maybe Just Need Some Help.

  BEWARE THE OVERLONG ACROSTIC. Acrostics are great for kids with short names, but for kids with long names, they’re a no. Don’t suffer the fate of Michelangela Schroedersmith, who doubled down and even insisted on doing her last name. She had to put an arrow on her poster for people to turn it over.

  BEWARE THE EXTENDED METAPHOR. Ryan Pump. All he had to do was leave it at Pump for President. He could have had it all with that perfect P alliteration. But he took it too far. He extended the metaphor. Pump Up the Gas with Ryan with car-shaped posters. Cute, right? Wrong. You don’t put gas in a slogan. You can imagine how that went. Farting sounds followed him everywhere. (Other dangerous words: toot, flush, wipe.)

  BEWARE THE UNFORTUNATE COINCIDENCE. Consider the case of Gemma Killroy. Killroy for President. Classic, clean, and simple. Trouble is, she was running against a kid named Roy Ferrell. So her slogan sounded like a murder threat. The authorities got involved. Poor Gemma.

  BEWARE THE EASILY MADE-FUN-OF NAMES: Amelia Flem, aka FLEM BALL. Dustin Bunne, aka DUST BUNNY.

  SKELETONS: Skeletons in the closet (hidden secrets)

  Minka Schwart had a collection of overly large-eyed stuffed animals (nearly the biggest collection in the world, second runner-up). When people found out, she was toast.

  Kimball Nunes was on track to win the election. Then someone uncovered a video of him, as a kid, singing the national anthem at a swim meet. He not only cracked on the “land of the FREE” note, he strained so hard to reach it that he fell into the pool. It went viral. His campaign never recovered.

  SCANDALS

  CHEATER GATE: Ralph Washington was living a secret double life. He asked two dates to the Winter Ball dance. After that, no one trusted him.

  BACKPACK GATE: Tommy Larson hired Marshall Yi to break into his competitor’s backpack and steal information to win the election. At first Marshall took the fall, but a team of ragtag reporters blew Tommy’s crime wide open.

  HYPOCRITE GATE: Sonya Grenade ran on a “Save the Earth” platform. Whenever you went to her house and drank from a soda can or plastic bottle, she’d take it from you and pat you on the back, saying, “I’ll take care of it.” She took care of it, all right. Her opponent busted her putting the recyclables in the regular trash.

  Clover O’Reilly’s

  PRESIDENTIAL VICTORY PLAN

  Outfit: Gold glitter gown (if I ever find a sewing machine??). Violet’s black shimmer platform sandals. Tantalizing Turquoise nail polish on toenails, Hippo Purple-ous on fingernails.

  Makeup: See Rafael X tutorial “Evening Primrose”; borrow Violet’s makeup.

  Victory Speech: Hi! Thanks for voting for me! Um . . . ? (Rachel can write the rest.)

  MISCELLANEOUS QUESTIONS:

  Rainbow or gold glitter curtains for presidential office hours?

  Inauguration ball: yes or no?

  If yes, can I ask Mike to be my date, or is that awkward?

  If it’s awkward, how awkward, from 1–10?

  7

  Clover

  Rachel was late. Rachel was NEVER late.

  I chewed the end of my glitter-paint marker and stared out my bedroom window. She was supposed to be here by now, helping with my campaign.

  I pictured her walking home with Amelia Flem, taking up the whole sidewalk and giggling in French-laughter. Ugh.

  To get the image out of my head, I set a sheet of white poster board on the carpet. I pressed down with my marker, and gold paint swirled out from the brush.

  I breathed in the paint smell to relax.

  Some artists have a muse, something or someone that gives them inspiration. I’m mostly inspired by art supplies.

  I drew a large circle with cat ears and added a big smile. Right away, I knew it: the happy glitter cat would be the symbol of my campaign. My cats made people happy, and that was the goal of my art.

  But I still needed a slogan for my campaign, and words are really Rachel’s department.

  I opened an enormous bag of sea salt caramel popcorn.

  Dahlia popped up from under a pile of dirty clothes. I jumped, spilling popcorn all over my poster.

  “I’m telling!” Dahlia said. “That’s not one-person popcorn. It’s economy size. That means it’s for everyone!”

  “What are you, the popcorn spy police?” I said. “Get out!”

  “This is my room, too!” Dahlia screamed back.

  I gobbled up the spilled popcorn on the poster board (the kernels without paint) and studied my glitter cat. She was Anastasia Emerald, president of the glitter cats.

  “Can you believe what I deal with around here?” I asked her.

  She just smiled.

  “Why are you so happy?” I asked her. “You must have your own room.”

  “Who are you talking to?” Rachel asked. She stood in the doorway.

  “My poster,” I said. “Where were you?” Rachel’s eyes were red. I gasped. “What happened?”

  Rachel took a deep breath. “Freddy Tremble snapped my bra.”

  “No. Way!”

  Rachel collapsed onto my giant marshmallow pillow. “It was during silent study, in English class. Out of nowhere, I’m just sitting there, and I feel this snap.” She took a deep breath. “My bra broke.”

  I gasped again. “No,” I said.

  “One strap just . . . slid down to my waist. In class.”

  “This is terrible!” I said. “I can’t handle this story! What did you do?”

  “I went up to ask Mr. Carroll for a bathroom pass. And guess what happened? I’m the one who got in trouble.”

  “You. Cannot. Be. Serious,” I said. “For what?”

  “Yelping during silent study,” she said. “It hurt!”

  “That’s disgusting!” I said. “He is not getting away with this.”

  “Amelia said it happened to her at her old school,” Rachel said. “There was a bra-snapping epidemic. The girls wore backpacks all the time and walked with their backs against the walls. They even traveled in packs so they wouldn’t be targets.”

  “Wait,” I said. “You told Amelia?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “I saw her in the hall after class.”

  “Oh,” I said. I wasn’t glad Rachel got her bra snapped, but I was her best friend, and I should have bra-snapping story privileges.

  “What happened to Freddy?” I asked Rachel.

  “Nothing,” she said, looking down. “Because I didn’t tell on him.”

  “What?”

  “After I got in trouble, I just . . . f
roze. I went back to my seat. I know it sounds weird, but I was embarrassed. Mr. Carroll’s a man. I didn’t want to say ‘bra’ in front of him.”

  “But why were you embarrassed? Freddy’s the one who did something wrong!” I put my hands on my hips. “This is it, Rachel. This is my campaign.”

  “Bra-snapping prevention?”

  “Girl power! No boy will ever get away with that stuff when I’m president!”

  Rachel smiled. “I feel a little better now,” she said. “And also madder at the same time! Like, so mad I know what I’m going to name the villain in my next play: Freddy!”

  “Good!” I said.

  “You know, it’s pretty cool that you and your mom are running for something at the same time.”

  “Yeah,” I said, picking at popcorn kernels embedded in my carpet.

  “Amelia calls your mom Wonder Woman,” Rachel said.

  “Why does Amelia have a nickname for my mom?” I asked.

  “She volunteers for your mom’s school board campaign,” she said. “I thought you knew!”

  I clenched a handful of kernels in my fist. “Are you for real?” I said.

  “Yeah, she might be coming over here later,” Rachel said.

  “So Amelia wants to run for president just like me,” I said. “And now she’s hanging out with my mom? Why does Amelia want to steal my life?”

  Rachel looked at me like I grew two heads. “I don’t think it’s that serious. She just wants to make friends.”

  “With middle-aged people?”

  “She’s new here,” Rachel said. “And she really loves politics.”

  Amelia barely even knew my mom. If she did, she’d know my mom wasn’t Wonder Woman, because Wonder Woman had a lasso of truth. My mom was nowhere near that honest.

  “Moving on,” I said. “Let’s talk about girl power. What is it exactly?”

  “Other than bringing bra-snappers to justice?” Rachel asked.

  “Yeah.”

  She chewed her lip. “Um . . . I don’t really know. Just supporting girls, I guess.”

  “Right!” I said. We sat in silence.

  “So, what do you want girls to have the power to do?” Rachel said.

  “Um,” I said. “Just . . . be a girl. And be powerful. “

  “Yeah, but what does that mean?”

  I shrugged. “Like, telling girls it’s cool to be confident and go after your dreams.”

  “Right! And other stuff.”

  “Yes! Other stuff.”

  We sat in silence.

  “Like raising your hand in class more,” said Rachel. “And not being afraid to speak up for yourself.”

  “And not letting Scott MacGregor interrupt you when you’re talking,” I added.

  “Oooh!” said Rachel. “You know how boys take up the benches at lunch because they spread their legs wide open? Let’s stop that.”

  “Awesome!” I said. I paused. “If we talk about girl power, what about the boys?”

  “What about them?” Rachel asked.

  “Are they just . . . left out?” I asked. “Will that, I don’t know, make them mad? Or, like, offend them?”

  Rachel blinked. “Equality isn’t offensive!” she said. “Inequality is. If a boy is offended by that, you don’t want his vote anyway.”

  I still kind of did, but I didn’t say that. Rachel was pretty fired up.

  “Can I have girl power and still like Mike?” I asked.

  Rachel paused. “I think so.”

  “Good,” I said.

  “But maybe don’t have a crush on him this week,” Rachel said. “Because you’re running against him.”

  “So? I can still like him. You don’t have to be enemies with the person you’re running against,” I said. I sat up straight. “I just got the best idea ever.”

  “Oooh, what?” Rachel asked.

  “I’m throwing a political party.”

  E-vite from Clover to Mike

  WHO: You!

  WHAT: A VERY INTIMATE “NO POLITICS, JUST PARTY” POOL PARTY! (In case you don’t know, “intimate” means small and private.)

  WHEN: Saturday at 11:00 a.m.!

  WHERE: Clover O’Reilly’s backyard!

  WHY: Does politics have to be mean? We’re in this together, so let’s be friends! We can share supplies and make posters and stickers and stuff.

  Your election buddy,

  Clover

  P.S. Don’t forget your swimsuit!

  Reply with YES, NO, or MAYBE.

  Team Mike Group Text

  MIKE:

  [FW: Screenshot of Clover’s Party Invitation]

  Uh, should I say yes, no, or maybe to this invitation?

  PETER:

  Greetings,

  NO. This sounds like a trap. Remember, Rachel Chambers is Clover’s campaign manager. She likes to scheme against me.

  Best,

  Peter S. Gronkoçwski

  AMELIA:

  Huh. I’ve never seen çan invitation for a v. intimate candidate-bonding pool party before.

  AMELIA:

  On the + side, we’dç save $ on posters. I think u should go, but not alone. We’ll go as a team.

  AMELIA:

  Who knows . . . maybe we’ll catch something exciting, like a flip-flop!

  SCOTT:

  Will there be cupcakes?

  SCOTT:

  Also, why are we catching a flip-flop? Why would we catch only one?

  SCOTT:

  What happens to the other one?

  SCOTT:

  Unless . . . is this a shoe-throwing party? That could be pretty sweet.

  AMELIA:

  ?

  MIKE:

  I only wear sneakers.

  PETER:

  Loafers for me. Flip-flops are unprofessional.

  SCOTT:

  No way.

  AMELIA:

  Not shoes! A flip-flop is when a candidate changes their position on an issue.

  PETER:

  You wonks and your nonsense phrases. Anyway, we’ll touch base in the a.m. and circle back tomorrow.

  SCOTT:

  Touch which base? First, second, third, or home?

  AMELIA:

  How to Not Answer Questions

  by Amelia Flem

  Politicians have to answer a lot of questions. The most successful ones know how to do it the right way. Your goal is to not offend anyone or make anyone mad. Remember, you want votes! Here’s how to get them.

  Answer a question with a question.

  Question: Do you like pineapple on pizza?

  Answer: The real question is, does pineapple like being on pizza?

  Ignore the question.

  Question: What is your position on pineapple-topped pizza?

  Answer: Have a great day!

  Say “I look forward to getting back to you on that.”

  Question: Do you plan on ordering pineapple pizza in the future?

  Answer: I look forward to getting back to you on that.

  Answer another question to push your real agenda.

  Question: Pineapples on pizza, yea or nay?

  Answer: Thank you for your question. I believe students should have unlimited access to bathroom passes.

  Change the question.

  Question: Does pineapple belong on pizza?

  Answer: Does pineapple belong to the fruit family? Yes, I believe it does.

  Answer a similar question.

  Question: I’m ordering a pizza. Do you want pineapple?

  Answer: I enjoy pizza topped with both red and white chopped onions.

  Use the truth wisely (ak
a tell the “truth”).

  Question: FOR THE LOVE OF SHREDDED MOZZARELLA, DO YOU LIKE PINEAPPLE ON PIZZA?

  Answer: I like pineapple. And I like pizza. Have a great day!

  8

  MIKE THE UNUSUAL

  “I put out pizza rolls,” Dad said, wiping his hands on a Poplar Pigeons dish towel. He was wearing his on-camera suit: navy, with a tie that had little numbers all over it. “Should I grab some soda from the garage?”

  He folded the towel carefully on the oven handle so the logo stood out. Dad gets a lot of “swag” from working at the TV station.

  When he turned his back, I shoved the towel into my pocket. Sleight of hand, just in case. I didn’t really feel like explaining Dad’s job to anybody.

  “We’re not staying here long, Dad,” I said. “We’re going to Clover’s.”

  “I just want everyone to be comfortable,” said Dad.

  Guess who wasn’t comfortable? Me.

  How do you have a magic mindset at a very intimate pool party, especially without headphones? I’d also stayed up half the night trying to memorize Amelia’s tips for answering questions.

  When I’m onstage as Mike the Unusual, I don’t have to think on my feet. I have an act, a plan. When you’re talking to people one-on-one, you don’t know what you’re going to say or what they’re going to say back. It’s scary.

  And questions in general are kind of a sore spot for me. They always make me feel like I’m going to answer wrong.

  What made matters worse was Dad being so happy about the party. He was acting like I’d never had a friend over before. I guess I never really had, but still. He was so excited it was embarrassing.

  “Is Demetrius coming?” Dad asked, arranging the pizza rolls in neat little rows.

  “He’s not on my campaign,” I said.

  “He can still come over,” Dad said.

  “He’s not coming over.”

  “Well, tomorrow his dad’s stopping by to watch the games,” he said. “Maybe you boys can hang out with us. Or you can play something on the PowerForce.”

  With everything Dad said, I felt like there was something underneath: anything but magic.