Mia the Meek (11 page)

“As a reminder,” Mr. Benson said, “the assembly for the ninth graders is in the auditorium today at one-thirty. Jessie Carson and Dave Howard are running for vice president, and Mia Fullerton and Cassie Foster are competing for the position of president. I want you to listen to the speeches and make your decision based on who you think would be best for the job. Remember, they’ll be running your class government. Now, let’s move on to the other presidential speeches that are due today. Who would like to go first?”

“Mr. Benson?” Cassie asked in a voice so sweet I felt like I needed to brush my teeth. “I brought some cherry lollipops for my speech on George Washington, because everyone knows he never told a lie, even when he chopped down the cherry tree. Is it all right if I pass them out to the class?”

“I’m always open to a little sugar in the morning. Go ahead, as long as I get the first one.” Mr. Benson reached into the bag, then popped a sucker in his mouth.

I leaned over to Lisa and whispered, “She’s bribing the class! That’s so unfair. . . why didn’t I think of it first?”

Jake strode over to our newly purchased science table and leaned toward me until he was inches from my face.

“Did you get clocked by your units Friday night? I would’ve called you, but your betty is bunk. She won’t, like, flunk me for jocking you, will she?”

My heart began tap dancing in my chest as I felt Jake’s breath on my lips.

“Um,” I stammered, “my parents grounded me for the weekend, but I’m sure my mom isn’t mad at you. She saves all her hostility for me.”

“So, you want to chill with me again?”

“Sure.” I blushed so hard it hurt.

“If you two are finished,” Tim said, poking me in the ribs, “would you please shut up? Sister Donovan is talking and I really need to improve my grade because
somebody’s
mistake got me an F on my first lab.”

By lunchtime, I hadn’t even looked at my speech, so I ducked out of the cafeteria and snuck into my mom’s classroom for a quiet cram session. I opened her bottom desk drawer, pulled out a strawberry Pop Tart, and looked at the speech Lisa had written.

“There is no way I’ll ever remember all this,” I mumbled, spilling Pop Tart out of my mouth. Spying a marker, I sighed. “Desperate times call for desperate measures.” Starting with the pinkie finger of my left hand, I copied the entire speech until it ended perfectly on my right pinkie.

Mr. Grizzling heaved himself out of his seat and began walking up and down the rows, placing laminated cards on each student’s desk as he passed.

“Every year, I give the Quadratic Formula to my ninth grade students, just as my ninth grade math teacher did for me. I want you to keep this card on your person wherever you go in life, because you never know when this amazing equation will be of assistance to you.”

“Thank you, sir,” I mumbled as I looked at the card.

I shoved it into my folder and Cassie raised her hand.

“Mr. Grizzling, I couldn’t help but notice that Mia has something written all over her hands. Doesn’t rule number four on your list specifically state that there are not to be any marks on anything in the room, other than on our papers?”

“Ms. Fullerton, show me your hands,” Mr. Grizzling demanded.

I held them out, timidly, for his inspection.

“No student enters my room looking like a walking billboard. Go wash your hands, and don’t return until they’re spotless.”

Reluctantly, I got out of my seat and went to the restroom to wash my hands. Of course, I’d used permanent marker, so by the time my speech had been scrubbed away, so had a layer of my skin. I dried my hands on the sandpaper-soft paper towels the school provided us while I tried to finagle a new way to learn Lisa’s speech. It was no use. My brain had moved to a point beyond panic, just one step away from hysteria.

I sat down in a chair next to the other candidates on the stage in the auditorium. My heart was pounding so hard, I was sure I would need CPR by the end of this fiasco. As the rest of the students shuffled into their seats, Mrs. Jensen approached the candidates. She glared at us with her faded blue eyes.

“There will not be any tomfoolery, understand?”

I solemnly nodded my head, afraid to speak—if I opened my mouth, I knew I would throw up.

After that, I must have lapsed into a fog of fear, because the next thing I knew, Mrs. Jensen was poking me in the arm.

“What are you waiting for?” she said. “Get up there.”

I looked at her, curious.

“Don’t the vice presidential candidates speak first?”

“They just finished,” she said, cocking an eyebrow back at me. “What were you doing up here—taking a nap?”

I looked over at Cassie, who was already standing up. How could I have missed Jessie and Dave’s speeches? I was going to use them as the basis for making up my own address. Sensing I wasn’t going to stand up willingly, Mrs. Jensen grabbed my arm, pulled me out of my seat, and propped me up next to Cassie.

“I won’t be able to stay and listen to your speeches because I’m already late for a meeting with the Bishop,” she said. “But, believe me, I’ll hear about it if you two don’t behave yourselves.”

As we watched Mrs. Jensen totter off the stage, Cassie whispered to me, “I want to go first.”

Feeling like a prisoner receiving a stay of execution, I happily stepped back as Cassie strode over to the microphone. But rather than starting her speech, she instead smiled seductively at the crowd and began unbuttoning her uniform blouse! Before I could react, she had already ripped off her uniform skirt, which must have been rigged with Velcro, revealing a cheerleading outfit consisting of a short skirt and an off-the-shoulder midriff top. After she tossed her clothes into the audience, Stephanie threw her two pompons.

I stood in stunned amazement while Cassie did a back flip handspring. Then she grabbed her pompons and cheered, “I’ve got spirit. Yes I do! I’ve got spirit. How ‘bout you?”

Unable to resist the cheerleading dare to proclaim their own spirit, everyone yelled, “We’ve got spirit. Yes we do! We’ve got spirit. How ’bout you?” An auditorium full of fingers pointed back to Cassie, who immediately did three cartwheels and an arial.

“A vote for me is a vote for spirit!” she cheered, ending her routine in a straddle split with her hands in the air.

The audience erupted in cheers as Mr. Benson jumped up on the stage and quickly escorted Cassie out of the auditorium, leaving me alone in the middle of anarchy. A bunch of students yelled, “We want more! We want more! We want more!” And I began praying for a miracle.

The teachers hastily moved among the rows, threatening students with detention if they didn’t quiet down, and soon the auditorium was quiet. More than two hundred sets of eyes turned toward me and an expectant hush fell over the room. I unglued my tongue from the top of my mouth, stepped up to the microphone, and cleared my throat.

“If you don’t mind, I’m going to leave all my clothes on.”

A series of boos erupted from the back of the auditorium, but were quickly silenced by a teacher. I opened my mouth and words began to fall out.

“Um, I’m running for class president because my best friend thought I could make a difference in our school. And before today, I didn’t believe her. But as I stood on this stage watching all of you, I suddenly realized that I do have what it takes to be a good president because I am one of you. I mean, not many of us are really popular or able to look good while doing a cheerleading routine. But that doesn’t mean we’re unimportant.” I took a deep breath, not knowing what was going to come out of my mouth next.

“Everyone in our class adds something to it. Just imagine that we’re all a part of a giant quilt. What if our quilt only consisted of fancy patches? We wouldn’t have a blanket. We’d have a pile of fluff. In order to make a quilt, we need durable patches that can last over time. We need unusual patches that can give the quilt life. We need soft patches that can make the quilt more comfortable. We even need a few beautiful patches to accent it and make it more elegant. When you put all of us together, we can create a masterpiece. So, if you vote for me, I promise to make St. Hilary’s into a school that represents all of us and uses everyone’s talents. Because if all our voices are heard, we can make our class the best freshman class in the history of St. Hilary’s!”

I glanced at Maggie, sitting in the second row.

“So, if you want your voice heard, you must vote for me, Mia the Meek, Queen of the Freaks!”

Dead silence filled the air as I stepped away from the podium.
Oh my God, where did all that come from? Queen of the Freaks? Did I actually say that out loud? And a quilt? I don’t even know how to sew on a button!
I eyed the exit sign and began planning my escape to a remote, uninhabited island, when suddenly I heard a few faint claps from the back of the auditorium. These claps quickly grew into thunderous applause and I looked up from my clenched hands to see the entire freshman class on its feet, giving me a standing ovation!

I hastily rushed off the stage and Lisa enveloped me into a bear hug, shouting over the din of students, “What happened to my speech?”

I smiled sheepishly. “It got washed down the drain.”

“Good! Your speech was much better!” Lisa laughed as we joined the herd of students making an exodus for the auditorium doors. I felt my mom’s hand on my arm as she pulled me aside.