Cast Your Ballot! (7 page)

One of his good ideas was having high school students supervise after-school care for the middle schoolers, either proctoring study halls or sharing skills. It could be a for-credit course they designed and committed to for the semester, or something they did to satisfy their volunteering requirements for graduation. The high schoolers would act as mentors for the middle schoolers. Anthony had even contacted a big national foundation and learned it was just the kind of innovation they liked to fund in public schools. He didn't have a guarantee yet, but his contact there
was interested. So he'd met with the principal and the guidance counselors at the high school and they were raring to go on the program.

Another idea he had was homework buddies. Again, free, but something that allowed students who were strong in one area to be paired with kids who needed help in other areas, kind of like me and Hailey.

He also wanted to start something called “working lunches” where authors would visit over lunch and speak to students about their work, and maybe a visiting scientist or mathematician program as well, to get kids thinking about the future and how they could apply their skills in different careers. I thought about Mr. Trigg already factoring in college recommendations. It was a really good idea.

He'd also looked into securing a grant from a company that taught kids how to grow and prepare some of their own lunch food, as our school chef had hoped they one day could, maybe even raising chickens in the side yard of the school. Chickens at school might be a long shot, but the idea was definitely cool.

At a certain point, I smiled and he caught me. “What? What's so funny?” he asked, already grinning in anticipation of the joke.

I sighed and shook my head. “Just that John Scott is talking about less homework and longer lunch periods, iPads and gourmet food, and you're talking about whether we can afford an after-school program for kids who really need it. It's a big contrast.”

Anthony looked a little dejected. “I know. My stuff is not as appealing.”

I titled my head and looked at him. “Don't get down on yourself. You're realistic, and you've done a ton of legwork. John's . . . a politician.” I shrugged. “I think your ideas are amazing!”

He looked up and squared his shoulders. “I may not be the most exciting candidate, but I'm the right one. John Scott has to realize how overbudget the school is already. There's barely enough money in the budget to buy new pencil sharpeners, much less iPads! And longer lunch periods and less homework? Doesn't he realize the school has to conform to a set curriculum that mandates
how long periods can be and things like that?” He scoffed in disgust. “I wish I could get my message out—jazz it up. Make it sound fun and cool.”

I tapped my pen against my teeth and thought for a second while he took a sip of his peppermint tea. If only Anthony could have a campaign manager. Someone stylish and focused on presentation, good at giving advice, someone who knew how to get the word out on Buddybook or Twitter . . .

“I've got it!” I cried. Anthony leaned close to hear my idea and then . . .

Poof!

A flash went off and nearly blinded us. I turned to see what it was and found Jeff Perry squatting near our table.

“Jeff!”

“Hey. Couldn't resist a shot of such a heated conversation. What could be so exciting that you two are mere inches apart? This could make quite an interesting photo of life on the campaign trail. Awfully cozy for a reporter and a candidate, aren't we?”

I scrunched my eyebrows. What the heck was he talking about? I looked at Anthony in confusion, and he seemed as perplexed as I was.

“What?” he asked Jeff.

Jeff shrugged. “A picture's worth a thousand words,” he said, and then he walked away.

Anthony and I looked at each other. “What
ever
,” I said, and rolled my eyes. “Listen, here's my idea, and then I've got to run. . . . Anthony, you've got to meet my sister, Allie.” I filled him in, and he was eager to meet her.

“Why not? Let's do it!” he said.

We high-fived, and then I looked at my watch. “Darn it! I'm going to be late!” I said; then I clapped my hand over my mouth. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude. It's just that I wish we had more time!”

“Thanks,” said Anthony with a smile. “Me too. You're easy to talk to.”

“Anything else I should know about you before I go? Save any toddlers from drowning or anything?”

He laughed and shook his head. “I'm afraid not.”

“Don't worry. I think that's probably a good thing!” I said. “Thanks. I'll get in touch about Allie ASAP.”

“Thanks, Sam!”

I did end up being late for Slices. And the other three girls were halfway through their pizza when I arrived, breathless.

“I'm so sorry!” I cried, lunging into the booth to where Hailey had set my two slices and Coke.

But no one seemed perturbed by my lateness.

“First she says no to the cute boys; then she's late . . . !” joked Hailey.

“Sorry,” I said guiltily. “Michael said he and some friends might, just
might
come, and if so they'll meet us after for ice cream. They probably won't make it, though. You know how boys are so disorganized.” Then I thought of Anthony and, actually, Michael too, and I corrected myself. “Well, some of them are disorganized. Anyway, how much time do we have before we have to leave for the movie?”

Kristen looked at her watch. “Ten minutes.”

“Phew,” I said, and relaxed a little.

“Yeah, we know you wouldn't want to miss a minute of it,” said Jenna, her eyes twinkling.

Hailey fluffed her hair and tossed her head. “Well, I sure wouldn't!”

We all laughed. “We know!” I said, taking a bite of the crispy, thin-crust pizza.

“So who were you interviewing?” asked Jenna, sipping at the dregs of her soda.

I swallowed hard and said, “Anthony Wright!”

“Oh yeah! How was he?” asked Kristen.

“Actually . . . I'm not supposed to say, because I'm an unbiased reporter.” I took another bite of pizza and smiled.

“Come on! Just tell us objectively!” said Jenna.

I looked at them all point-blank as I chewed and then swallowed. “He was awesome.” I took another bite.

“Whaaaat? Anthony Wright? Are you serious?” said Hailey incredulously. “How?”

At this rate I was never going to finish eating in time. “Let's just say this guy has seriously done his homework. He's not promising glamorous
stuff, but he
is
realistic and has some really cool ideas that he's able to follow through on. I thought he was really, really good.”

“Is he promising steam showers in the locker room like John Scott's going to get us?” asked Hailey.

“Yeah, or a new art studio with a glass wall to let the northern light in?” asked Jenna. “John's going to get us that, too.”

“And a new gymnastics studio. I can't wait!” said Kristen.

“Wow,” I said, starting to feel even more skeptical about John Scott. “That guy's got a lot more promises than Anthony Wright. But Anthony's are at least realistic. I think he could really win.”

Hailey looked thoughtful. “Too bad he's so nerdy.”

“Yeah,” agreed Jenna. “He needs a makeover.”

“Bingo!” I cried, pointing my greasy, wadded-up napkin at her. “My thoughts exactly. And who's just the person to do the job?” I asked them all.

“You?” said Jenna tentatively.

Kristen was stumped.

Hailey's eyes widened as she got it. “Allie!”
she breathed reverently. Hailey worships Allie. “O-M-G, Sammy, that is genius.”

“What is Allie, like, the Makeover Queen?” asked Kristen.

“Mm-hmm,” I said through a mouthful of pizza.

“You have no idea,” said Hailey worshipfully.

I crunched on my crust and looked at my watch. “Should we head out?” I asked.

Everyone stood up and tossed their garbage; then we made our way over to the theater. Sure enough, who was in line but old Mikey himself. Hailey flashed a megawatt grin of happiness for me, and I smiled back. I caught Michael searching the crowd, and when he saw me, he stopped and grinned. “There you are!” he called. I waved. “See you in there!” He nodded. “Girls' night!” he replied, and he continued on to the ticket taker.

I smiled happily to myself and turned back to my friends, who were all grinning at me.

“
He might not come
,” teased Hailey.

“Oh, shush, you!” I said happily.

Opening night of a new scary movie is wild in our town. The show was sold out (thankfully Hailey had had her dad buy our tickets online in advance), and we were lucky to find four seats together. Of course, we were smushed up against the wall, but it was better than being scattered. I craned my head to search the theater and find Michael, finally locating the cute back of his head in the middle toward the front. He was with annoying Jeff Perry (rogue photographer!), his friend Frank Duane, and a couple of other guys I didn't recognize from behind.

Hailey sat first, against the wall, then Jenna, Kristen, and me. Jenna and Kristen volunteered
to go get snacks, and Hailey and I held down the fort, talking across the two empty seats.

“So was Anthony up for meeting Allie?” she asked.

I nodded. “Yeah, definitely. Whatever it takes, he said.”

Hailey nodded. “You think he'll ask you to be his VP?” she joked.

“Nah. He's so good, I don't even think he needs one! But maybe we should try to think up a few suggestions for him anyway.” I thought about who could balance him out. “He could use a girl, someone with a good reputation, if not downright popular, someone sporty, maybe not as academic as him. Someone . . .”

Suddenly Hailey let out an ear-piercing scream.

“What?” I jumped out of my seat and stared at her. She was pointing at the wall where a centipede was wiggling toward the light fixture.

Now, everyone has their phobias, and I know they're not rational. I hate snakes (normal), Allie hates mice (totally average), my mom hates
roaches (common), but Hailey has phobias about clowns and centipedes. A little odd, don't you think? Go figure.

“Hails, it's all right.” I grabbed my notebook out of my bag and stood and tried to give it a whack, but I couldn't reach it.

“Sam! It's crawling toward me now!” shrieked Hailey, her knees pulled up in front of her as if it were coming at her from the floor. “Get it!”

I flailed spastically at the multilegged insect as it wiggled across the wall, and I could feel people turning to stare.

Heroic Battle: Girl vs. . . . Centipede?

“Sam! EEEK!” screeched Hailey as I tried to whack it and fell over like the spaz that I am. I stood up to see a dad in the row in front of us give it a good whack with a newspaper, and it fell, dead, onto the floor, where the dad picked it up with a napkin and smiled at us.