Rosie Swanson: Fourth-Grade Geek for President (5 page)

Think, Rosie
, I told myself as I stared at my math page.
Think of a way to get some votes
. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t come up with anything that sounded exciting enough.

I mean, there are lots of new rules and stuff that I’d like to see happen. Like imagine how much nicer lunch would be if it was against school rules for kids to laugh until milk comes out their nose. The trouble is, hardly anyone feels as strongly about this problem as I do.

Anyway, I was just sort of mulling over some of this stuff, when I happened to glance over at Norman Beeman. He was doubled over at his desk, and his face looked greener than usual. At first, I thought he was searching for something on the floor. But then he started hugging his stomach and going “Ooooo Ooooo.” So I got the picture pretty fast.

Ruthie Firestone got the picture, too. She tried to make a getaway. But she was only a step or two down the aisle when Norman’s lunch came up all over the place … including a few little splats that landed on the back of Ruthie Firestone’s left leg.

I won’t go into all the details of what followed,
except to say that Ruthie Firestone went off the deep end. She started running all around the room screaming, “GET IT OFF ME! GET IT OFF ME!” Which was so ridiculous, because no fourth-grader in their right mind is going to help you out in that situation. Finally, Ruthie Firestone ran out the door and we never saw her again.

All in all, Norman handled the situation pretty coolly, I think. Without saying a word, he went to the boys’ room and cleaned up. He was back in time to watch Mr. Jim, the custodian, come in with his bucket on wheels.

“You the one who did this?” Mr. Jim asked.

Norman nodded. “What do you expect? It was Salisbury steak and peas,” he said.

Anyway, the weird part about all of it was that Norman Beeman’s sick stomach saved the day for me. I’m not kidding. Because of Norman, by the end of the day, I knew
exactly
what my campaign platform would be.

“I’ve got it! I’ve got it!” I hollered when I saw Maxie and Earl on the playground after school. “I’ve really, really got it!”

“Got what?” asked Maxie.

I looked around and lowered my voice. When you’ve got an idea as great as mine, you can’t go blabbing it for all the world to hear.

“The perfect campaign platform, that’s what,” I told him. “Wait’ll you hear it, you guys. Just wait’ll you hear it. I’ll tell you as soon as it’s safe.”

I made them wait until we got all the way to my house. I don’t know how I held it in that long. It’s a miracle I didn’t swell up and explode.

When we finally got to my front porch, I started dancing all around. “Before I tell you, I’ll give you a hint,” I teased. “Today during math, Norman Beeman tossed his cookies.”

Earl covered his mouth with his hand. Maxie just looked confused.

“Okay, okay, here’s hint number two,” I said. “He’d eaten a hot lunch from the cafeteria.”

“I don’t know,” said Maxie. “I give up. What, what?”

“Cafeteria food!” I yelled excitedly. “My platform will be to improve cafeteria food, Max! Just think about it! Cafeteria food is perfect!”

Earl scrunched up his face. “Cafeteria food is perfect? Are you nuts? Last week my mother
made me buy the Alpo platter. It was some kind of shiny meat with brown-looking jelly gunk on top.”

He shivered a little and pulled out his pack of Rolaids.

I clapped my hands together. “Yes! But that’s exactly why it’s perfect, Earl,” I said. “Don’t you get it? Cafeteria food is gross, and I’m going to be the candidate to make it better!
That’s
the reason kids will vote for me!”

I put my arm around Earl’s shoulder. “I’ve even thought of a slogan for my campaign buttons already. Listen to this:

Maxie smiled a little. “Hmmm. That’s not too bad,” he said. “And maybe instead of making the buttons round, we could make them in the shape of little stomachs. Like those pink stomachs they show on Pepto-Bismol commercials. What do you think?”

What did I think? I loved it so much I lifted him right off the ground.

Maxie kept his arms at his sides like a statue.
He hates being picked up. Last year a couple of sixth-graders held him over their heads and passed him around the playground, and it’s left him bitter.

After I put him down, the three of us went inside and tried to come up with poster ideas. I made Earl my official art director. Art is Earl’s best subject. You should see the stuff he draws. One time he drew a picture of a monster’s foot stepping on the school that looked totally real.

He started doodling a little bit, and in no time at all, he came up with the first poster idea. It was pretty neat-looking, too. It was the same monster’s foot he’s so good at, only this time it was about to crush a little carton of milk with steam coming off it. Across the top of the poster, he printed:

I started to hug him, but he pointed his finger at me. “Don’t even think about it, missy,” he said.

After that, we really got down to work. For
the rest of the afternoon, the three of us drove ourselves nuts trying to come up with clever ideas and poems about cafeteria food. We wanted to mention all of the food that kids hate most, but none of it seemed to rhyme that good.

Earl kept saying stuff like, “I’d rather eat a parrot than a carrot.” I finally had to hit him to get him to stop.

Anyway, after about two hours, we were all starting to get headaches when suddenly Maxie sat up and blurted out,

I grinned. “Hey. That’s good, Maxie. I mean, that’s really, really—”

Before I could finish, another poem popped right out of his mouth:

Earl and I laughed out loud.

“Quick!” said Maxie. “Write these down! I think I’m having a burst of genius here or something.”

I grabbed my paper and got ready to write, but Maxie’s spurt seemed to be over.

“Come on. Keep going, Max,” I urged. “What about that shiny meat Earl was talking about?”

“Yeah,” said Earl. “The Alpo platter. The menu called it meat loaf, but it smelled more like feet loaf.”

We all cracked up over that one. I wrote it down.

Earl took a piece of paper and drew a smelly foot on a dinner plate. Then he covered it with gravy and drew a lump of mashed potatoes on the side.

The whole time he was drawing, I was laughing. “That looks almost as gross as those corn dogs they had on Friday. Ever wonder about those
things? I mean, what the heck are they, anyway? They sort of remind me of a—”

Earl covered his mouth. “Please,” he begged. “Don’t.”

After that, the three of us started wondering about corn dogs and what they were made of and stuff. Maxie and I began making up this funny, gross poem about them. It ended up being our best idea of the day. We called it “Dear Mr. Corn Dog”:

5
STAR-SPANGLED
ME

It was the day before the “Meet the Candidates” meeting, and I was really getting excited. Earl and Maxie and I had spent hours making posters, and I couldn’t wait to hang them in the halls so everyone could see them. No one loves disgusting poems and posters more than fourth-graders.

In fact, everything was going so well I was feeling spunky, almost. And, I’m sorry, but sometimes when you’re feeling spunky, you can’t help bragging a teeny bit. Especially when you’re standing behind Alan Allen in the drinking fountain line … and he looks directly right at you … and he doesn’t even say hello. An insult like that can even make you mad, if you want to know the truth.

Alan Allen is arrogant. It’s a word I learned from Maxie. It means you’re so self-confident,
you’re annoying. Arrogant people go around with this certain look on their faces. It’s almost a grin, but not quite. It’s the kind of look that makes people want to smack you.

I didn’t smack him, though. Instead, I tapped him on the shoulder so he couldn’t ignore me anymore.

“So, how’s the old campaign going, Al?” I asked. “Been working on your posters much?”

At first, Alan stared at me like he was trying to figure out who I was. Then he shrugged and said, “Nah.”

“Oh really?” I said. “Well, if I were you, I’d get busy, Al. ’Cause my friends and I have been working on
my
posters a lot.”

Alan didn’t reply.

“A
real
lot, I mean,” I added. “In fact, I’ve got two fifth-graders working on my campaign around the clock. Maybe you’ve heard of them. Earl Wilber and Maxie Zuckerman? Earl is like the best artist in the entire fifth grade. And Maxie’s practically an Einstein or something. So you can imagine the great poster ideas we’ve come up with.”

“Gee,” said Alan. “I’m
so
worried.”

“Yeah, well, too bad I can’t tell you what the posters are about, Al. But my ideas are so great I’m keeping them a secret until the ‘Meet the Candidates’ meeting tomorrow.”

Alan took a drink and looked back at me. “Don’t call me Al,” he said.

“Okay, fine. All I’m telling you is that I’ve got a great campaign going,” I said. “And that’s not bragging, either, Al. ’Cause my grandfather says something’s only bragging if it’s not true. And what I’m saying is all true. I’ve got an unbelievable campaign going. Seriously. I do.”

Alan wiped his mouth. “I’m shakin’,” he said. Then he turned and ran back out to the soccer field.

I smiled a little and leaned down to get some water. He could act as cool as he wanted to, but I could tell that I’d gotten to him.

As I was drinking, someone tapped me on my shoulder. “What were you two talking about just now?”

When I stood up, Summer Lynne Jones was standing behind me. She’d probably been listening the whole time.

Casual as anything, I shrugged. “Oh, nothing,” I said. “It’s just that my campaign for president is going really great. And Alan’s getting a little worried, I guess.”

I leaned a little closer to her. “I mean, it’s going
really
great, Summer,” I added. “
Amazingly
great.”

I almost grinned, but not quite. “Well … ta ta, Summer. See you on-stage tomorrow,” I said.

After that, I strolled away without even looking back.

That afternoon my grandfather picked me up from school. My mother said I could buy a special outfit to wear to the candidates’ meeting, so Granddad offered to take me to the mall.

When it comes to shopping, my grandfather and I get along a lot better than my mom and I do. That’s because my mother is always trying to buy me things a kindergarten kid would wear. Also, if I find two outfits that I really love, she hardly ever lets me get both of them. Not even if I cry and promise not to ask for another thing for the rest of my life.

Granddad is way easier to deal with. He sits in a chair, holds my jacket, and goes to sleep. Once, a security guard thought he was dead and poked him with a plastic hanger.

Not this time, though. This time I was so speedy my grandfather didn’t even have a chance to get comfortable. The outfit I wanted was right on the mannequin in the girls’ department. It was a red, white, and blue sweater with a matching navy-blue skirt. The perfect colors for an election.