Don't Vote for Me (10 page)

“I do some of it for Lietz House,” she admitted, running a hand down the piano. Her fingers traced the keys as lightly as they would a sparrow's wings. “But I do the music for me.”

By the time Mom came back, I was ready to run away, waving my arms over my head. Veronica was a decent human being (which scared me more than I cared to admit), and maybe, just maybe, she needed to win this race more than I did.

Still, I shuddered at the thought of trying to break this news to Spencer. He'd probably lecture me for days (and that was only if he didn't pants me and run my boxers up the flagpole). So when he called an impromptu meeting in the middle of detention, I slouched down in my seat and tried not to catch his eye.

Officially, this meeting was for Riley, who was supposed to be writing my speech, but we all knew it was for Spencer, who liked playing campaign manager a little too much, if you asked me. I would have felt safer if Ms. Clementi hadn't left, but as soon as we'd arrived, she'd yanked her staple gun out of her desk and made a beeline for the door, mumbling something about bullet—or bulletin—boards. Either way, she'd disappeared, leaving us alone with Spencer, who wasn't wasting any time.

“Forty-one!” he crowed as he pulled a straw out of his pocket.

“That's not that many,” Riley said. I had no choice but to agree. Forty-one out of a hundred and fifty-three wasn't going to win any elections.

But maybe that was a good thing.

Spencer rolled his eyes. “Well, I didn't ask
everyone
,” he said.

Esther straightened up. “So how many did you ask?”

“I don't know,” Spencer replied. “Fifty or sixty…or a hundred.”

“Forty-one out of a hundred is a heck of a lot worse than forty-one out of fifty,” Esther said.

Spencer waved that off. “It doesn't have to be exact. That's why they call it a straw poll.” He returned the straw to his pocket. “But the numbers are definitely climbing. I'd say this calls for a toast!”

Now it was Esther's turn to roll her eyes. “You can't toast without a drink.”

Spencer produced a chocolate milk out of nowhere. He must have gotten it at lunch, which made it at least three hours old. “To David!” he went on as if she hadn't interrupted. “We've run an excellent campaign.”

Esther made a face. “And what am I, a slug?” she asked.

“And to Esther!” Spencer added as he downed a healthy swig. When he didn't even flinch, I couldn't help but be impressed. “You've had some excellent ideas.”

At least that seemed to appease her. But Riley, who'd been scribbling busily for the last several minutes, didn't even look up from his notebook.

Esther tried to catch his eye. “Don't you want a toast?” she asked. When Riley didn't answer, she craned her neck to see his notebook. “I said, don't you want a toast? The least you could do is answer me. The speech can't be
that
interesting.”

Spencer and I had gotten used to the way that Riley could zone out when he was tinkering with something new—he'd once spent a whole episode of
The
Legend
of
Korra
perfecting his “Ode to a Carrot Stick”—but Esther clearly hadn't. When she tried to grab his notebook, he snatched it back with feisty hands, pressing it against his chest.

Spencer downed his chocolate milk. “If he's acting that cagey, he can't be working on the speech.” Spencer's grin turned menacing. “I bet he's writing love letters instead.”

The tips of Riley's ears burned red, and I shifted awkwardly. Riley had had a crush on Sarah Sloan since the end of the first grade, when she helped him to his feet after he'd tripped into the shallow end at SV's annual swimming party. The truth was, he'd almost drowned, but we never talked about it, and now Spencer was discussing it in front of a real, live girl.

I expected Riley to faint dead away, but when he snapped his notebook shut and dragged a hand under his nose, I knew that it would be much worse.

“At least I don't pretend to hate someone I'm actually in love with.” His gaze flickered to Esther. “So why don't you just kiss her and get it over with already?”

Spencer's eyes widened, then narrowed. Riley arched an eyebrow. My hands started to sweat, since it seemed like bloodshed was imminent. I snuck a peek at Esther, but she was tightening her shoelaces, so I couldn't read her face. I would have been tightening mine, too, if I was going to need to make a break for it.

Spencer stuck his chin out. “All right, then, maybe I will!”

Riley motioned toward Esther. “All right, then, be my guest!”

That knocked Spencer back a step, but he managed not to lose his balance. After leveling one last glare at Riley, he turned his attention to Esther. She looked up just in time to see Spencer coming toward her with his lips partially puckered. She leaped out of her seat and scrambled back against the counter. Ms. Clementi's Kleenex box collection, which extended nearly to the ceiling, promptly cascaded to the floor.

“What are you doing?” Esther screeched.

“Something I should have done two weeks ago.”

“What does
that
mean?” she replied as her eyes darted back and forth between Riley, Spencer, and me. “Would someone please explain what in Shepherd's Vale he's doing?”

Riley just sat there smiling as Spencer advanced on her position. I tried to look away, but a part of me wanted to see if he would actually go through with it.

She must have sensed my hesitation. “David, what's going on? Tell me right now, or I'll pound you.”

I opened my mouth to answer, then changed my mind at the last second. I doubted that she wanted to hear that Spencer was going to kiss her because Riley had dared him to.

Spencer planted himself in front of Esther. Guilt and curiosity tugged at my insides. Was he really going to kiss her? And was I really going to watch?

Esther just stood there gaping, but whether she was too shocked or too grossed out to move, I couldn't have said. She had five inches on Spencer, but it looked like she'd forgotten. “David!” she finally shrieked. “Don't just sit there, do something!”

It was the shriek that did me in. Mom had been trying to civilize me, and despite my best efforts to resist
her
efforts, I couldn't deny that that shriek had gotten to me. No gentleman would stand idly by while Spencer accosted a young lady, so I did the first thing that popped into my often empty head:

“I want to quit!” I said. It came out as a hiccup, but at least it did the trick.

Spencer spun around. I couldn't help but notice that his cheeks were red and splotchy. “What did you just say?” he asked.

“You heard me,” I replied, locking my wobbly knees. “I said, I want to quit.”

Spencer dropped his arms. “You can't mean that,” he replied.

Maybe I couldn't. I guess it was possible that I'd only said it to save Esther, but even as I thought it, I knew it wasn't really true.

“I do mean it,” I said. “Absolutely.”

“But why?” Esther demanded. She'd never cried in my presence, but it suddenly sounded like she was trying to hold back tears.

I scratched the back of my head. “I don't know,” I admitted. “I guess a part of me just feels sorry. I mean, what if this election is more important than we think? Maybe she wants to
be
a politician.” It was harder to tell lies when you knew what the truth was. “Or maybe she just cares about her future.”

Esther's forehead crinkled. “What are you talking about?”

But Riley had already figured it out. “It's ‘La Vie en rose,' isn't it? You fell in love with some dumb song, so now you think that you're in love with her.”

“In love with
Veronica
?” I asked. I could honestly say that it hadn't crossed my mind. “I'm sorry to disappoint you, but Veronica isn't my type.”

“Too popular?” Esther asked.

“No, too short,” I replied.

That earned me a grin from Esther, but Riley was less than impressed.

“Well, if it isn't the song, then what is it?”

“I don't know,” I said again. “You know, she's really not that different. And what if she doesn't care about being class president or even being popular?”

Spencer crinkled his nose. “If she doesn't care about that stuff, then why does she bother?” he replied.

I made a show of shrugging. She hadn't exposed Hector's secrets, so I wouldn't expose hers. “Maybe she just does it for fun.”

Spencer kneaded my shoulder. “I know this has been overwhelming and the spotlight's been kind of bright—”

“More like blistering,” I muttered.

“—but the
point
,” Spencer went on as if I hadn't cut in, “is that you're not just running for David Grainger anymore. You're running for every kid who's ever stopped and seen his face in Shiny David. And you're running for every kid at every school who's ever wanted to beat the populars. So are you really gonna let them down—not to mention let
us
down—and drop out of this race?”

I swallowed, hard. Spencer was great at guilt trips, and he did have a point. When you dressed it up like that, running for class president was the most worthwhile thing I'd ever done. It hadn't started out that way, but that was what it had turned into. And at least forty-one sixth graders in SV agreed.

“All right,” I finally said, wriggling out of his grip. Just because I had to say it didn't mean I had to like it.

Spencer thumped me on the back. “That's what I want to hear!” he said. And with that, he marched back to the front, reassuming his position as designated campaign manager.

Spencer went on, of course, but I was no longer listening. This back-whacking had to be the toughest part of a campaign. It was too bad I'd said I'd stay.

When I saw Veronica in band, I couldn't bring myself to meet her gaze. I was afraid that she'd see through me, that she'd somehow know I'd caved. I stared straight ahead instead, keeping my eyes on Mr. Ashton, but it nowhere near as easy to keep my thoughts on him, too.

We were halfway through “The Stars and Stripes Forever” when a man appeared in the doorway. He was slender and bespectacled, with a lonely tuft of silver hair in the middle of his head. He was also wearing a bow tie and a coat with elbow patches. I couldn't decide whether he looked more like a professor or an evil mastermind.

Curious, I lowered my trumpet. Then the others lowered theirs. I'd never had so much power over my classmates before, but then, maybe it was the man who'd drawn their attention on his own. He definitely looked out of place.

Finally, Mr. Ashton noticed, too. “Doug!” he boomed in welcome, and I couldn't help but crinkle my nose. The man didn't look like a Doug. “I'm so glad that you could make it.”

The man glanced at his watch. “I believe you said nine thirty? It looks like I'm interrupting.”

Mr. Ashton waved that off. “Get your workbooks out,” he told us, “and go over the scales at the bottom of page sixty-two.” Then he glanced in my—our—direction. “David, Veronica, come over here for a second!”

I honestly couldn't imagine what the man might want with me. College was still years away, and recent events had shown my evil-masterminding skills weren't exactly up to snuff.

As I climbed down the risers, I snuck a peek at Veronica. She was smoothing her shirt like she was about to meet Bruce Wayne. I glanced back at the man—maybe he was a superhero in disguise—but except for those suede elbow patches, nothing about the man stood out.

We followed Mr. Ashton out the door, where we found the man waiting patiently. He offered his hand to Mr. Ashton, but instead of shaking it, Mr. Ashton threw his arms around his shoulders. The man chuckled nervously, but it didn't look like Mr. Ashton noticed.

The man cleared his throat. “It's been a long time, James,” he said with what sounded like an accent.

“Too long,” Mr. Ashton said. “But I'm so glad you could come and meet my two rising stars!”

The man extended a pale hand. “I'm Douglas Lietz,” he said. At least his real name wasn't Doug.

“Douglas
Lietz
?” I asked. That couldn't be a coincidence. I started to ask if the school was named after his family, but before I could get the words out, Veronica poked me, hard.

“It's a privilege to meet you, sir,” she said. “We've heard great things about your school.”

Mr. Lietz chuckled. He had one of those deep, pleasant laughs that reminded me of a bassoon. “And I've heard great things about your music.” He motioned toward Mr. Ashton. “James here can't say enough about you.”

I found that hard to believe. “What exactly has he said?”

“Only that he thinks you two are his most talented students.” Mr. Lietz clicked his heels together. “Only that he thinks you may be Lietz House material.”

Veronica blushed. “I can't believe you just said that.”

Mr. Lietz smiled, revealing a row of slightly crooked teeth. They made him seem more authentic. “Believe it,” he replied as he fished two fancy pamphlets out of his briefcase. “Lietz House may be small, but I believe you'll find we're worth considering.”

I accepted the pamphlet and carefully turned it over. The paper was so textured that it made me think of the shirts I wore to church, and the pictures looked way too nice to be of a real place. I couldn't help but be impressed.

“I'm hoping to come to the recital,” he went on, tucking his arms behind his back. “I understand that you'll be playing Edith Piaf's ‘La Vie en rose'?”

“Actually,” I said before Veronica could interrupt, “we were thinking about playing one of Frédéric Chopin's nocturnes.”

She poked me again, harder. I tried to escape, but Mr. Lietz and Mr. Ashton had unintentionally boxed me in. It wouldn't have been so bad if I could have asked her what was wrong, but I wasn't about to have a heart-to-heart in front of other boys.

Mr. Lietz shifted uncomfortably. “I didn't realize they had a trumpet part.”

“They
don't
,” she growled, her nostrils flaring. “David here was only joking.”

Her eyes dared me to deny it, but for once, I had the good sense to keep my mouth shut.

Mr. Lietz fixed his bow tie, and I got the impression that Lietz House students never joked. “Well,” he replied with another nervous chuckle, “it was lovely to meet you.” He retrieved his briefcase. “Until the recital?”

“Until the recital,” she said, nodding. If she nodded any faster, her head was going to fall off.

I didn't bother to reply until Veronica stamped on my foot. “Yeah, sure,” I said, wincing.

Mr. Lietz dipped his head, then headed back up the hall. We just stood there blinking until he disappeared around the corner, then exhaled in unison.

Mr. Ashton rubbed his jaw. “I guess that's what I get for letting David do the talking.”

I hadn't meant to do
any
talking, but Veronica didn't let me explain.

“I need to use the hall pass,” she announced, then whirled around and stalked away without waiting for his answer. The girls' bathroom was only a few doors down, so we were well within earshot when the door slammed shut behind her.

I winced instinctively. “I should go after her, shouldn't I?”

Mr. Ashton held his hands up. “Don't ask me,” he replied. “I know even less about women than I do about sixth graders, and apparently, that's not much.”

“I could have told you that,” I said, then scurried off after Veronica.