Vote (7 page)

Even though I was dying for class to be over, I acted the model citizen and perfect student as I waited for the bell to ring. Candidates are always being watched. The scrutiny gets to some, but I was surprisingly okay with the pressure. I even snuck a few peeks around the room, trying to spot the people who were watching me for examples of leadership potential. I didn’t see anyone studying me, but I probably didn’t look up fast enough to spot them.

Tina tried to catch my eye, but I pretended not
to see her and flipped through my notes. It’s cool—and impressive—to be so busy and important that you can’t even notice the people around you. I hoped she was appreciating how hard I was working to be the right kind of boyfriend for her. She was totally worth all the thought and effort.

After class, I ran back to the library, slipped on my trench coat, did the Markie handoff with Milania, stuck him beneath the coat, which hung to the ground on me, and shuffled off to social studies. No one in the halls noticed a thing. Markie was perfectly camouflaged.

I unveiled him to Mr. Crosby and explained that Markie was my motivation for change in this school. “It won’t be long, um, ten years, before Markie will be walking through these halls. I want to leave a legacy of change and improvement for him.”

“I assume his mother is in the office, waiting to take him home afterward.”

I didn’t answer, because I don’t lie. I suddenly got very interested in tying Markie’s shoe, and by the time I looked up, Mr. Crosby was taking attendance. When he finished, I asked, “So, can I use the class period to talk about the importance of the campaign?”

Mr. Crosby didn’t totally buy my act, but he
nodded, looking like he wasn’t sure he was making the right call. Now I could practice my public speaking on the class and officially start the public portion of my campaign.

“Gosh, thanks.” I tried to look humble and surprised. “In the interest of fair play, I hope you’ll speak to Mrs. Skraw, Cash’s social studies teacher, and encourage her to give Cash the same advantage.”

“Start your speech before my gag reflex kicks in, Kevin.” Mr. Crosby doubted me? He must be a disillusioned and cynical observer of government and history. Or else he just has my number.

Whatever. No homework and I got to talk. Two of my favorite things.

I used Markie as a living, breathing, semi-sticky example. “Markie here is but one member of the future generation for whom, together, we’re going to make a better school if”—meaningful pause while I looked down fondly at Markie and he smiled winningly back up at me—“we believe in the future and pull together.”

I was going to ruffle his hair, but, nah—too much. The good politician knows when enough is enough.

We got a standing O. Little kids are the greatest
visual aid ever. Markie’s even cuter than the puppy on Cash’s poster.

Katie didn’t think so.

She stormed up to me after class and stalked me and a semi-hidden Markie on our way to art class even though it was obvious I was trying to blow her off.

“Can’t talk, Katie, no time. Catch you later.” I hurried as fast as it is humanly possible with a four-year-old tucked between your knees.

“You’re hiding him, aren’t you? His mother isn’t in the office, is she? He’s not authorized to be here, is he? Did you even ask permission from anyone to bring him to school?”

“Mind. Your. Own. Business.” Note: I did
not
lie. I merely failed to respond to her questions. There’s a difference. Politicians know that you can get in more trouble for what you do say than what you don’t. Therefore, keep your mouth shut. All for the greater good of the citizenry, of course.

Mouth shut, feet moving. Katie following. Still talking.

“Where did you get him? Did you
steal
him?” Katie looked horrified. Yeah, right, because every fourteen-year-old guy wants his own small child.
It’s barrels of laughs to look after a preschooler. I’d only been responsible for Markie for a few hours and already I was exhausted.

“No, I didn’t steal him. He’s mine, fair and square.” Possession is nine-tenths of the law. I’d read that somewhere. Candidates have to be current with all law, um, things.

“What are you thinking? He can’t possibly be covered by the school’s insurance policy, nor the legal responsibility–slash–social construct of
in loco parentis
that schools and parents abide by.”

Latin phrases. Super smart-sounding. I’ll have to throw them around in the debate. Katie’s not the only one who can do a computer search.

Markie’s face peeked out from between the flaps of Dad’s trench coat. “Am I in trouble, Dutchdeefuddy?”

I glared at Katie. See what you’ve done? my gaze said. Scared the little boy. Nice job. Now go away.

As I’d suspected, Katie can read my mind. Her cheeks got red and she looked down.

“Are you mad that I’m at the big-boy school?” he asked. She shook her head and gave him a crooked smile. “Why did you make a mean face at her?” He tugged at my coat. “We can’t make mean
faces at our friends in preschool. Well, we can, but then we don’t get stickers on our charts. It’s important to get along with our friends. That and not picking our noses.”

“Your preschool covers all the basics, Markie, but—” Our chat was interrupted.

“Mr. Spencer. Ms. Knowles. Small child. Just when I was under the impression that I’d seen everything middle school had to offer.” It was Ms. Lynch, the assistant principal. “I’d have thought you were more of the bag-of-crickets or box-of-frogs kind of troublemaker, Spencer. A little boy is a nice twist.”

“Hi! I’m Markie.” He flew out from underneath my coat—I can’t really blame him, the oxygen level was probably getting a little low and I was sweating buckets—and stuck out his hand. Markie recently learned how to shake hands in a kiddie etiquette class.

Ms. Lynch looked at Markie’s hand like JonPaul looks at sink knobs in public restrooms: no way am I touching
that
.

I am oh-for-three today when it comes to Markie charming females. First Milania, then Katie and
now Ms. Lynch. What happened to the nurturing maternal instincts in this school?

Why am I the only one who can see what a great little guy Markie is? Obviously, it’s because I’m so in touch with feminist issues. Most men aren’t really empathetic about stuff like that. Another point in my favor.

“What is it doing here?” Lynch asked.

I hope I never again see the look that was on Markie’s face when she called him an “it.” He took a step back and grabbed my hand.

Before I could move, Katie stepped over and took Markie’s other hand. He smiled at her and I could feel him relax.

“Kevin and I,” Katie told Lynch, “on behalf of Cash, after some brainstorming about the deeper meaning of a middle school election, brought Mikey—”

“Markie,” I corrected.

“Right, Markie, to school as, um—”

I jumped in: “—a reminder to the voters about what’s really at stake—the future students. Katie and I agreed that—”

Katie cut me off, but we were clicking, finishing
each other’s thoughts. “—the kids in this building don’t have an appreciation of the bigger picture. It’s not just about them this year—”

“—it’s about all the classes that’ll follow us through these halls.”

“And you’re wrong and mean to have called a child an ‘it,’ ” Katie said in that cold tone that I usually despise but loved her for right now.

Lynch looked like she was going to cut Katie down to size, maybe whip out a detention form, but before she could open her mouth, Katie said, “It would be a real shame, given your hopes for promotion—I heard you have a shot at being named head principal at the new middle school next year—if a complaint were lodged against you for, you know, bullying.”

Blackmail! Beautiful. Now we’re not just some middle school game, but a real political beast. I beamed at Katie.

Lynch said, “As long as I don’t see that
little boy
in this school again, we have no problem. Am I right?”

“You’re right,” Katie and I said together. Lynch turned on her heel and left.

Katie and I looked at each other and shared another of those silent moments in which we both
acknowledged the awe of our stellar minds and devious natures. Markie had to bring us down to Earth. Sometimes he’s too smart.

“I thought you don’t lie, Dutchdeefuddy. That’s what you said.” His forehead was scrunchy; he was thinking hard about what he’d heard.

“I didn’t lie.”

“You didn’t tell the truth.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“Uh-huh.” He was doubtful. “And I thought you said it was wrong to tattle on people, but your friend said she’d tattle on the scary lady.”

“That wasn’t so much about tattling as about sticking up for us.”

“Uh-huh.” Still not buying it.

“Look, Markie, politics are—”

“—not always nice,” Katie said, and squatted down to be at eye level with Markie. “But only sometimes. We’ll try to do better tomorrow, okay?” She lifted her palm and he hauled off and high-fived her.

Then she stood up and looked at me. “Right, Kev?”

“Absolutely.”

“And then maybe you can both win the ’lection.” Markie smiled up at both of us. “Sharing is good.”

Oh, Markie, you’re such a nice person. And so not cut out for politics.

“C’mon, let’s get to art class.” I shoved Markie back underneath my trench coat and mouthed “thank you” to Katie. She gave me a “whadda ya gonna do” shrug.

We’re growing on each other.

I rolled out of bed Thursday morning, ready to pounce into the day like a tiger.
Rrrrrrr
.

Markie was still sleeping. I headed to the kitchen, hoping we had some of that cereal that’s advertised as the Breakfast of Champions. I should probably ask Mom to stock up on that from now on.

My folks wore serious looks. They were avoiding my eyes and jiggling their keys. Dad was not only clutching his briefcase but edging toward the door. I’ve seen surveillance tapes of bank robbers in less of a hurry.

“Kevin,” Mom said, “I’ve got the consequences
of the water-main break at the bookstore to deal with and your dad has an important meeting. Neither of us can stay home with Markie today.”

I studied her. Mom likes Markie, but only in very small doses. I wondered if the water emergency was as much of an “accident” as she’d have us believe.

I turned to look at Dad. His meetings are always important. In fact, when I was little, I thought there was a hyphenated word
important-meeting
.

“No way am I taking Markie with me to school again,” I told them, and we all shuddered together at the thought. They hadn’t been pleased with my “irresponsible, sneaky and, frankly, reckless” decision (their words, not mine) the day before, but Mom had apologized for forgetting about him and sticking me with the responsibility and Dad had looked relieved to have escaped Markie duty. “And I can’t stay home and take care of him either. Not the day before the election.”

What’ll we do with him? We looked at each other.

The back door flew open to reveal Auntie Buzz holding an empty coffee cup.

“I ran out of coffee and I’ll do anything—
and I mean anything
—for a cup.”

“There you go! I’m out of here.” Dad slid past Buzz and sprinted toward his car. I bolted for the shower. Politicians must always know when another person is better suited to handle a problem. Mom could take this one.

After my shower, I found I had the kitchen to myself. Buzz and Markie were gone. I read Daniel’s and Sarah’s notes on the fridge—he had early-morning hockey practice and she was meeting Doug for their anniversary breakfast. Sarah makes him celebrate their anniversary every week. I’m so glad that’s not the kind of girlfriend Tina is. I’ll be relieved to get this election over with so I can start paying more attention to her.

I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat at the table, tipping the chair back and putting my feet up. Even the greatest of leaders need to take a little me time.

I thought about the day ahead. I had a lot of vote-getting to do with only one day left before the election.

“Kevin.” I was so surprised that I fell out of my chair. When I looked up from the puddle of coffee on the floor, I saw Milania leaning against the back door.

I scrambled to my feet as she let herself in. She tossed me a roll of paper towels and I wiped up the coffee.

“I came over to walk to school with you. We need face time.”

“We do?”

“We need to make plans.”

“What kind?” It wasn’t my voice that asked Milania; it was Katie’s. I looked up from a handful of soggy paper towels to see Katie standing at the back door.

I squeezed my eyes tight and shook my head, wishing I could trade them for Tina this morning. No such luck: when I opened my eyes, Milania and Katie were sizing each other up across the counter. I glanced at the clock. Too early for something like this, but almost too late to get to school on time.

“We’ll talk and walk.” I all but shoved them out the back door. Politicians have to multitask.

“So,” Katie said to Milania as we hit the sidewalk, “what about these plans you were discussing?”

Normally I’d describe Katie as having the kind of interpersonal communication style the military teaches in interrogation classes, but today—maybe I
was distracted trying to air-dry my coffee-drenched shirt—she sounded, I don’t know, human.

“Look”—Milania cut to the chase—“I know you’re working with Cash on his campaign, but you’re going to lose.”

“What makes you so sure Kev’s going to win?” Katie asked. “No offense,” she said to me. I shrugged.

“Why do you think he won’t?”

Ah! I’ve heard about this: answering a question with a question, putting your opponent on the defensive. Brilliant strategy, Milania.

“Nice rebuttal.” Katie and I admire quick thinking even when it’s someone else’s. “You know I’m captain of the debate team, right?”

“Right. And you know I’m captain of the state championship–bound basketball team?”