Fish in a Tree

After school, Mr. Daniels apologizes for not being able to help me today because he has class at the college. However, he suggests that I just be honest about why I want to be president of the class. He asks if my mom can work with me that night. I tell him that she will. I know she would in a heartbeat, but I would never ask her to help with this. It would just get her hopes up.

  • • •

  I figure I should write something down if Shay is going to. I’ll look like a baby with no speech. So I sit down at our dining room table with a blank piece of paper—all bright white and staring at me and making my head hurt.

  I want to ask my mom for help so bad, but if she knows I’m running for president of the class, she’ll get excited. She’ll want it even more than me.

  I’m afraid to want it.

  But a mind movie shows me at the front of the class and Mr. Daniels congratulating me, and I have to admit that I really would like it. I pick up the pencil and concentrate real hard. Real. Hard.

  When I write, I press on the paper too hard, but I can’t help it. It makes my hand hurt. I try to spell as best I can. It takes me an hour and a half to write two paragraphs.

  I finally go to bed, praying for a high fever, the kind of sickness the whole town talks about. The kind of sickness that Albert would find super interesting. A good reason to not show up tomorrow.

  CHAPTER 39

  To-Shay

  On the way to school, I wonder about taking the long way. Like through Mexico.

  When I arrive, the first thing I see is Albert, who has a black eye.

  “Albert,” Keisha says, “when are you going to teach those boys a lesson?”

  “It’s nothing,” he says all serious, and then gets happy. “Look!” He holds up a big sign for me.

  ALLY IS YOUR ALLY.

  GIVE HER YOUR VOTE!

  “You made me a poster for the election?” I ask, smiling. I know I’m going to lose, but this makes it okay. “Thank you, Albert.”

  He looks proud.

  “But, um . . . Why does it say my name twice?”

  “Your name is a homonym.”

  I should know better than to question Albert.

  “You know, a word with the same spelling but different sounds and meanings. A-l-l-y spells your name, but it also spells ‘ally’ with a long ‘i’ sound at the end. An ally is someone who is on your side. Someone who sticks by you. Like allies in wars.”

  Shay comes by with Jessica. She looks at the poster. Then at the three of us. “Good luck, six-legged freak. I guess Ally will get three votes, anyway.”

  After they leave, I look at the three of us and think about how there are three primary colors. Yellow, blue, and red. Those three colors create every other color ever.

  Keisha goes over to talk to Suki while I take a deep breath and turn to Albert. “I know I’m going to lose and Shay will never let me forget it.” I look down at the desk and see Albert’s sign. “But at least I’ll have a poster.” I smile at him. “Can I bring it home?”

  “Yes, but you can’t give up,” Albert says.

  “Okay. Well, maybe you’re right, Albert. But you shouldn’t give up, either.”

  “I am not nominated for class president.”

  I point at his black eye. “But you got beat up again, didn’t you?”

  He shifts his weight and looks away. “It’s hardly the same,” he says, and I feel sad that he doesn’t see that it isn’t too different.

  Then Keisha returns. “Are you ready for today?”

  “No.” I shake my head. “Ready for public humiliation? How do I get into these things?”

  She leans over and whispers, “You’ll do a good job. Albert and I are voting for you no matter what you say in your speech.”

  I half smile. “What if I say you have to lick the lunch tables clean?”

  “Well, I just won’t do it. That will be easy,” Keisha says, pushing my shoulder.

  Albert adds, “It depends what we have for lunch that day.”

  We laugh. I’m happy that he doesn’t seem mad about my questioning him.

  Mr. Daniels is wearing a George Washington tie. He gets up and calls Shay to present first. I notice she is dressed in red, white, and blue. I look down. I didn’t even think about wearing anything special.

  Shay talks about how great she is and all that she’ll do. Kids applaud over her promises. Some of the things she says she’ll do I can’t imagine how she would pull off. Like extra recesses and longer snack times. When she promises new, bigger lockers for the hallways, I know she can’t do that. With every sentence, kids are happier and I feel smaller and smaller.

  I get up there, holding my paper. The sound that comes out of my mouth doesn’t sound like a real word. I try again and get the same sound. Then four more times. The quiet laughs rise all around me, but Mr. Daniels holds his palm toward the class without taking his eyes off me, and the noise stops.

  I feel hot. Then Etch A Sketch brain hits me and I go blank. Staring at a page.

  That I wrote.

  That I can’t read.

  Shay looks smug and it makes it even harder.

  Mr. Daniels bends over, resting his hands on his knees. He whispers, “Look. You can do this. And you can hit it out of the park, too.”

  I shake my head a little.

  “I . . . believe in you, Ally. Now, forget what you wrote. Put the paper down and take a deep breath. Close your eyes if it makes you nervous to see everyone and just be honest. Be . . . you.”

  He slides the paper out of my hands and I stand there silent for too long. I do close my eyes, wishing it would block their view of me as well.

  Mr. Daniels’s voice is gentle. Almost a whisper. “I want to be president of the class because . . .”

  “I think it will be fun . . . and I think I would like it,” I say, eyes still closed.

  “Good . . . keep going,” he says.

  “I promise to be honest . . . I promise to work hard . . . I promise to listen to everyone who has ideas—not just my friends—because I would be in charge of the whole class. Well, not in charge exactly . . . but I want everyone to have a chance to give their ideas. I’ll go to meetings and I would try to get extra things, like recesses, but I can’t promise that I can do something like that.” I open my eyes and look at Mr. Daniels. “Can I do that?”

  “Actually, no. You don’t want me fired, do you?”

  I shake my head, feeling kind of dazed.

  “Do you have anything else to say?”

  “I don’t think so?”

  “Okay, then.” He motions toward my seat and I sit down, stunned that it’s over.

  “Now for the vote!” he says.

  He begins to pass out little pieces of paper.

  “Wait!” Shay says. “All the other teachers have just had everyone raise their hands.”

  “Well, I thought it should be more like a real election. A secret ballot. Everyone will write the name of their choice for class president on the paper and fold it up. I will walk around to collect them.”

  “That’s not fair!”

  “Well . . .” He shrugs. “If it’s good enough for the U.S. government, it’s good enough for us.”

  I smooth out the tiny piece of paper and try hard to be neat.

  There’s a lump in my throat as I write down my own name, and I don’t even know why.

  Maybe because I’m not writing it down on a sign-in sheet for detention or signing an apology for something.

  I fold it one, two, three times and put it in the basket when Mr. Daniels comes by.

  He says he’ll let us know later, but everyone begs him to count now. So, he does.

  He opens the first one. “Shay.”

  He opens another. “Shay.”

  He opens a third. “Shay.”

  But when he
opens the next four, they are for me. And I’m surprised.

  A couple more for Shay and then four more for me. Four more?

  I can’t imagine who would vote for me. I thought everyone loved Shay, but as I look around the room, some kids are glancing at me. And some actually look happy—Oliver and Suki and a bunch of other kids.

  Toward the end of counting, when it looks like I’ve actually won, Shay crosses her arms and falls back against her chair.

  In the end, Mr. Daniels shakes hands with Shay and tells her she ran a good campaign. Then, he turns to me and says, “Congratulations, Madam President Nickerson.” And then he salutes me and laughs. The class claps. Keisha is up and dancing while Albert gives me a single nod.

  “Mr. Daniels!” Max raises his hand. “I think this calls for a party!”

  “Why, Max? Because it’s Wednesday?”

  “Any day is a good day for a party, Mr. D!” he says, and Shay looks annoyed with him.

  But her real dagger eyes are saved for me. At least she’s quiet for once.

  And that’s all perfectly fine with me.

  CHAPTER 40

  Tears of Different Kinds

  Keisha and Albert call me Madam President every chance they get. At the end of the day, we head out the front of the school and I am just. So. Happy. Like I could fly happy.

  A loud, sharp voice interrupts my happiness. “What do you mean, you lost? You lost?”

  Shay is standing with her mother.

  “After all that time we spent writing that speech?” she says. “Did you look at the audience? Did you speak up? And smile?”

  “I did. I did all of that. The other girl just got more votes.”

  Shay sounds like someone completely different. The Shay I know, always so quick to pick a fight, now has a voice that sounds like a kindergartener. “Sorry, Mama.” She brushes a tear from her cheek.

  “Man,” Keisha says. “That woman is fierce.”

  “Geez, I can’t believe it, but I feel sorry for Shay,” I say.

  “Uh-uh. No way,” Keisha says. “Don’t be feeling sorry for her. It’s not an excuse to go around doing terrible things to other people.”

  “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

  “Have you learned nothing?” she asks. “Of course I’m right!” We laugh and she gets on her bus.

  All of a sudden, I’m in a rush to get to A. C. Petersen’s.

  • • •

  Running through the glass doors of Petersen’s, I forget that I was going to be cool about telling my mom that I’m class president. I forget about telling her like it’s any other thing. Instead, I jump up and down and say it loud enough that some of the regulars congratulate me before she does.

  Her face says she’s trying to figure out if she heard me right.

  “Yes!” I say, nodding furiously. “Mom! They voted me class president. The kids in my class! Not the teacher. The kids did!”

  She holds her arms out and I run into them. “I’m so proud of you,” she says in a shaky voice.

  I know why she’s crying. I can’t believe it, either.

  CHAPTER 41

  Not-So-Secret Letter

  In that foggy time between sleeping and being awake, before I even open my eyes, I already remember that I am class president. I ask myself if it was a dream, knowing that it wasn’t. Knowing by the way it feels like my insides are rising into the air even before I sit up. It’s like when you wake up on Christmas morning and remember what day it is.

  I lie there thinking that I’m happy Mr. Daniels counted the votes in front of everyone. I don’t think I would have believed him if he’d just said I’d won later.

  When I get to school, everyone acts the same, but I feel different. I put my stuff away and head to my desk, where I find an envelope with my name on the front. Weird.

  I sit down and slide it off the desk. Glancing around, I pull a piece of paper from the envelope. I expect it will be a note from Mr. Daniels congratulating me. But it’s not.

  It’s a full page of cursive writing. I recognize some of the words, like love, but I don’t know what most of it says. The name at the bottom is Max. I look over at him and he nods once. I look away, feeling like my face must be glowing like Rudolph’s nose.

  I fold up the letter and slide it into my pocket, wishing I could read it. I think that when I get home and can study it, I may be able to figure it out. But I can’t stare at it now. I look over at Keisha, who is putting her things in the closet.

  “Hey,” she says, sitting down.

  “Hey.” My mouth opens to tell her about the note, but she’s not the best person at being quiet about things, and I’m afraid everyone will find out about it.

  So I take a deep breath and decide it will have to wait. I don’t have a choice. I’m both happy and mad at myself. Happy about the note and mad I can’t read it. Max is cute and I like the red-and-white football jerseys that he wears all the time. And now that I think he likes me, I think I might like him, too.

  “So how does it feel to be president?” Keisha smiles.

  Oh yeah. Man, this may be the best week of my entire life. “Same old stuff,” I say.

  “Huh. Same old stuff? Already gone to your head?”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll still talk to you and everything.”

  “Like you could ever ignore me.” We both laugh.

  “Okay, my Fantasticos!” Mr. Daniels begins. He reminds us to put our homework in the basket and gets the class helpers working on lunch counts and stuff. And I sit up straighter. Feeling like I have a place in this class.

  After Mr. Daniels finishes with the boring morning stuff, he says, “One more thing. Our new class president, Ally Nickerson, has her first student government meeting today. So, if you have any suggestions for her, please let her know. If you have ideas for changes, she’s the one in charge.”

  I know that I shouldn’t smile, but keeping my mouth from smiling is like trying to keep Travis from loving cars.

  The first suggestion I get is from Oliver. I’m trying to do my work and he stands in front of my desk. “I have a suggestion.”

  “Okay. What is it?”

  “I think we should be able to bring candy for snacks. Like piles of it. Like dump trucks backing up to the school with the warning beeper going. And then it would dump, like, a huge pile of candy in front of the school and the kids could use shovels to collect it, because that rule they made this year about healthy snacks is dumb and took away the only thing about school I liked and—”

  “Oliver?” Mr. Daniels interrupts.

  He looks up.

  “You have a question?”

  “I’m giving my advice to the president. I have an idea.”

  He half smiles. “Okay, then. Well, finish up and get back to your seat.”

  Oliver looks back at me. “Okay? Can you do that?”

  “I’ll try?”

  He looks disappointed.

  Suki interrupts. “I disagree. The healthier snack rule was good. It is bad for your body to fill with candy.”

  He looks over at her. “Stop acting like you’re a grown-up. Geez.”

  Other kids give me suggestions, too.

  Just before lunch, I hear Shay complaining that if she’d been elected, she’d have started a horseback riding club at school. For a second, I feel bad, and then I realize she couldn’t possibly do that. Horses? Where would we get horses?

  I think about starting a Fly to the Moon Every Thursday club. And a mind movie plays in my head of a silver rocket with blue stripes flying to the moon with Keisha, Albert, and me strapped in. Albert calmly explains the energy required to lift the rocket. Keisha is screaming, she’s so happy, and I’m laughing because I’m happy they’re happy.

  I’m pulled out of my movie by Shay, who’s standing in front of me. “Everyone a
grees. You should go crawl into a hole and never come out.”

  “Since I won the election, I guess not everyone feels that way.”

  And I’m surprised that instead of saying something back to me, she just stomps off.

  • • •

  At the end of the day, as we are getting ready to board the buses, Shay tromps up to me with her shadow, Jessica, right behind her. “So, did you get the letter?”

  Why is she asking me about that?

  A little voice in my head warns me. “What letter?”

  Shay glances behind her and turns back. “You know. The letter.”

  “What are you talking about?” I ask.

  She is impatient. “The letter . . .” She drops her voice to a whisper. “From Max saying you should meet him for lunch. You never showed. He is really disappointed.”

  Oh. “He is?”

  She glances behind herself again. “So, do you like him?”

  “Why did he want to see me at lunch?”

  “Ally. You can’t just ignore something like that. It’s rude . . .”

  I see Max coming but don’t say anything.

  She continues. “He really likes you, so you should answer Max’s letter. And say the thing in it that he says to. Okay? Will you tomorrow?”

  “What letter?” he asks.

  “Max? Oh, hi,” Shay says, stumbling over her words.

  “What letter? You said my name.”

  I never thought I’d see Shay unable to talk.

  “Actually,” I say, “the love letter Shay says you wrote to me.” I hand it to him. “Thanks very much, but I’m busy.”

  “Um . . . wait. I never . . . I didn’t actually . . . ,” he says to me, trying to be nice. Then he looks at the letter and at Shay and Jessica. And he doesn’t look so nice.

  Jessica turns pale. But not as pale as Shay does.

  Whatever was going to happen at the lunch table is something I’m lucky to have missed. It’s the first time ever I’ve been grateful not to be able to read.

  CHAPTER 42

  The Gifts of No Excuses, Scotch Tape, and Antibiotics

  Mr. Daniels calls me up to his desk. “Here. I have something for you.”