Rosie Swanson: Fourth-Grade Geek for President (4 page)

“Oh man. Not good,” he whispered.

“Not good?” said Earl. “Try
hopeless
.”

He reached over and gave me a sympathetic pat. “I feel your pain,” he said quietly.

For some reason, this comment made me totally annoyed at him.

“How, Earl?” I asked. “How can you feel my pain? Huh? Have you ever run for office against two of the most popular kids in the school?”

“Well, not exactly,” he said. “In second grade, I nominated myself for Cub of the Month. But unfortunately, as soon as I did it, the den mother rolled her eyes and said, ‘Get real, Earl.’ ”

Maxie couldn’t believe it. “Are you serious? That’s
terrible
, Earl. You told your mother, didn’t you? At least, I hope you did.”

Earl stared at his hands awhile before he answered. “The den mother
was
my mother,” he said finally.

Maxie looked at him a minute. Then he totally cracked up. He doubled up into a little ball and started rolling all around the front seat.

“Not funny, not funny, not funny!” yelled Earl. But his yelling only made Maxie laugh harder.

Suddenly, I just wanted to go home. As I
opened the car door, Maxie’s head appeared over the top of the seat. He had tears in his eyes from laughing so hard.

“Where’re you going?” he asked, trying to get himself under control. “You’re not leaving, are you? Come on, Rosie. Don’t go. We’ve got to talk about this.”

One of my feet was already on the garage floor. Maxie jumped out of the car and put it back inside. He closed the door again, then hopped back into the front seat.

“Listen to me, Rosie,” he said. “It’s
good
that you’re running for president of your class. You’re the one who’s always talking about how we should stand up for ourselves, right? So, go for it. It’s not as hopeless as you think. I swear. My father ran for town council last year, so I know a ton about campaigning.”

That didn’t really surprise me. Maxie knows a ton about everything.

“Your dad’s on the town council?” asked Earl.

Maxie squirmed a little. “What does that have to do with anything, Earl? There are more important things in life than just winning, you know.
Winning, winning, winning—that’s all anyone ever thinks about.”

Earl looked at me. “He lost,” he said.

“So what?” snapped Maxie. “He
could
have won. The only reason he lost was that his opponent—this giant
fardel named Leona Tisdale—went knocking on people’s doors at all hours of the night begging for votes.”

He frowned again. “Leona was a woman with no pride.”

He paused. “And one of those really huge flashlights.”

I reached for the door again. Earl was right. It was hopeless.

“No, Rosie.
Stay
. I know I can help you. I’m serious,” Maxie insisted.

More than anything in the world, I wanted to believe him.

I took my hand off the door. “How?”

“Trust me,” said Max. “All you need to win an election is a smart campaign manager and a good platform. And I can help you with both.”

I stared at him blankly. A good platform? What the heck was he talking about?

“Have you thought about it yet?” he asked. “Your campaign platform, I mean?”

I couldn’t even fake an answer.

“Okay, fine. I admit it,” I said. “I don’t even know what a campaign platform is.”

Maxie just shrugged. “No big deal. My dad explained it to me. A campaign platform is like a general statement of what you’re all about. It’s made up of your all viewpoints and your stands on different issues and stuff. Except, in a campaign platform, your stands on the issues are called the
planks
. Get it, Rosie? Picture the campaign platform like a big wooden floor. The floor is made up of separate floorboards, just like a campaign platform is made up of separate planks.”

He thought a minute. “Let’s see. Like maybe your campaign platform could be that you stand for a fair and equal chance for every student in school. And one of your planks might be—”

“Punishing all the bullies!” interrupted Earl excitedly. “I mentioned it the other day, remember? When bullies break the rules, you could throw them in a dungeon where they can’t bother the rest of us. It doesn’t have to be a real dungeon
or anything. Just a big, dark, smelly room with no ventilation. Like the cafeteria.”

Maxie gave him a dirty look. “In case you don’t know it, Earl, we’re being serious here.”

“I do know it,” said Earl. “I’m being serious, too. Okay, forget the dungeon idea. What about just a big old hole? We’ll dig a big old hole in the corner of the playground. And when a kid does something mean, we’ll lower him down there with a rope. And he’ll have to stay in the hole for a while with a … a …

“
Snake
,” he said.

“Earrrrrl,” growled Max.

Quickly, Earl held up his hand. “No, wait. A
dingo
,” he said. “Yeah, a dingo would be better. A dingo is one of those wild dogs from Australia.”

That did it. Maxie leaped over the seat and pounced right on top of him. Then the two of them fell on the floor and began wrestling all over the place. I had to get out of the car to protect myself.

Some of the time they were laughing. The rest of the time Maxie was yelling, “Ow! That hurts! Knock it off!”

Finally, Earl let him up.

Maxie’s face was bright pink and he had little red blotches all over his arms. Also, his clothes were all twisted and one of his shoes had come off.

He got back in the front seat again. Then he took a deep breath and quietly muttered the same thing he always does after he gets pounded.

“I won.”

Earl just smiled.

“This isn’t helping, you know,” I said as I climbed in the back. “Having you two wrestle the day away won’t help my campaign one bit. And anyhow, why do I even need a platform, Maxie? Why can’t I just hang up a bunch of posters that say
ROSIE SWANSON FOR PRESIDENT
, like everyone else does? No one else ever has a stupid platform.”

Maxie didn’t answer for a minute, but I could tell there was something on his mind.

“Well?” I asked again.

“I don’t know exactly how to say this, Rosie. But just think about it a second,” he said. “You’re going to be running against the two most popular kids in the fourth grade. One of them is a star soccer player, and the other one looks like a model. If
all you do is hang up a few posters, who do you think is going to win?”

I hid my face behind my hands and groaned.

“Stop that and listen to what I’m telling you,” he said. “If you give people a good enough reason to vote for you, you don’t have to be a great athlete or a beauty queen to win an election.”

Earl nodded. “He’s right, Rosie. I did a report on Thomas Jefferson once, and he had the biggest nostrils I’ve ever seen. I mean it. The man could fit an ear of corn up his nose.”

“Thank you, Earl. I feel much better now,” I said.

Maxie wouldn’t give up. “Come on, Rosie. Earl and I can help you win this. I swear. The three of us will work on your campaign platform together. You know what they say—three heads are better than one. Right?”

I looked over at Earl.

He was measuring his nostrils.

I groaned again.

4
THANK YOU,
NORMAN BEEMAN

I don’t pout forever. I try my hardest. But usually I can only last for two or three days. Once, I pouted for over a week and a half, but that was pretty unusual. The red light was out at the end of my street, and my mother wouldn’t let me direct traffic.

After I got home from the garage that day, I curled up in my grandfather’s big easy chair and thought about what Maxie had said. All that stuff about how it was really possible for me to win and all.

I lay on my bed and closed my eyes. Before I knew it, I was imagining myself on the school stage again with that same American flag draped behind me. The crowd was going crazy, cheering and stuff. When I bowed, the gold crown I was wearing almost fell off my head.

I smiled. I realize that the president of fourth
grade doesn’t actually get to wear a gold crown. But still, it’s a nice fantasy.

By the time the candidates met again on Monday morning, I was feeling a little more positive about things. The meeting was called so that Mr. Jolly and Mrs. Munson could tell us more about how to run our campaigns.

It wasn’t a long meeting. Mostly, they just told us about making campaign buttons and posters and junk. They said that there was no limit on the number of posters you could make, but they had to be in good taste. Good taste means no blood or cusswords.

Also, they told us that there were ninety-five kids in the fourth grade (forty-four boys and fifty-one girls), so that’s how many campaign buttons we should make.

The whole time they were talking, Louise the Disease was sitting in the middle of the room with this real annoyed expression on her face. It looked like she was about to blow up or something. She practically did, too. As soon as Mr. Jolly stopped talking, Louise shot right out of her chair.

“Could someone please tell Robert Moneypenny
he’s not allowed to pass out real money,” she said. “He says his campaign buttons are going to be pennies, but that’s not allowed, is it?”

She spun around and pointed her finger in Robert’s face. “You can’t pass out real money, Robert. That’s just like buying votes. And in this country you’re not allowed to buy votes. This is America, mister.”

Mr. Jolly started to grin. Meanwhile, Mrs. Munson informed Robert that he’d have to use fake pennies instead of real ones.

“See? Told ya so,” said Louise the Disease.

After that, Mr. Jolly went on to explain more about the election. “In addition to making your campaign posters and buttons, there will be two meetings with the entire fourth grade,” he said. “The first meeting will be held next week. It will be called ‘Meet the Candidates.’ You will introduce yourselves to the class and talk a little bit about your campaigns. Directly after the first meeting, you will be given time to start hanging your posters.”

Mr. Jolly looked down at his notes. “The second meeting will be on Election Day. That’s the day
some of you will give your campaign speeches. As it gets closer to the election, Mrs. Munson and I will be available to help you with your thoughts.”

Mrs. Munson looked at the clock. “Any questions?” she asked. “The bell is about to ring, so we’ll have to make them quick.”

Summer Lynne Jones raised her hand. “Is it okay if our friends help us make our posters? We don’t have to do all the work by ourselves, do we? I was thinking about having a big poster party and inviting a bunch of kids over to help me.”

Mr. Jolly nodded. “That’s a great idea, Summer. The more kids that we can involve in this election, the better.”

“How ’bout my soccer team?” asked Alan Allen. “It’s not a school soccer team, but can I still use our picture in my poster? I’ve got this really awesome picture where the guys are carrying me around on their shoulders at the last game. It was in the newspaper, too. Maybe you saw it.”

Mr. Jolly smiled. “I didn’t see it, Alan. But go ahead and use it if you want to.”

Finally, Roxanne asked the most important question of the day.

“Are you allowed to vote for yourself?” she called out.

Mrs. Munson seemed surprised. “Of course, Roxanne. I’m sure that each one of you thinks that you’re the best candidate for the job, so of course you can vote for yourself.”

“How many times?” I asked.

Everybody laughed.

It wasn’t a joke.

For the rest of the day, the election was all I could think about. I couldn’t concentrate on my schoolwork at all. When Judith Topper turned around to sneak a peek at my math, I didn’t even have any answers for her to copy.

Maxie was right. Unless I could give everyone a good reason to vote for me, I wouldn’t stand a chance. I’m not a great athlete like Alan Allen. I don’t have enough friends to have a big poster party.

Still, I didn’t want to quit. Quitting would have meant giving up my dream of ever being on top. And even though I knew it would be hard, I kept picturing myself with that gold crown on my head.