Sticker Girl Rules the School--Stickers Included! Page 2

  That could’ve been me, I think to myself. Thanks, Craig!

  Ms. Graham studies the list of candidates. “We still need a treasurer! Going once, going twice…”

  Now’s my chance. I lift my arm to volunteer, but Scott’s already shouting, “Me! Me!”

  “Okay, Scott. You’re on the ballot,” Ms. Graham confirms.

  “One question,” Scott begins. “What’s a treasurer?”

  “Treasurers are in charge of counting money and budgeting for school activities,” Ms. Graham says.

  Scott looks worried. “Can I still be treasurer if I have a C in math?”

  “In that case, I’ll run too.” Brittney raises her hand.

  There goes my last chance to run unopposed.

  Sticker Girl is officially running for president.

  Tommy catches up to me on our way out of class. “Good luck,” he says. “You’ll need it.”

  So this is what happens when I finally stick my head out of my shell? Why did I think it was a good idea to run for student council? I was obviously NOT thinking.

  After class, Bev appoints herself my official campaign manager. “This is going to be great—right, Craig?” she asks her new cupcake friend.

  “You said it!” Craig answers.

  Worst. Idea. Ever.

  I’m sunk.

  Something I’m Good At

  Since Ms. Graham is so big on teaching us about the election process, we’ll use the week before the election to run actual political campaigns. Bev thinks we should have a party and have my dad make some of his famous churros with chocolate, cinnamon, and chilies, but I have something else in mind.

  One of the benefits of being shy is that you can get really good at listening. I’ve been in so many situations where I had no idea what to say to people—not just grownups, but other kids too—so I learned how to observe and listen. I can use those skills now to find out what issues the other kids in my class are concerned with. Just thinking about approaching kids I don’t know and asking for their opinions is scary, but it makes more sense than offering kids a balloon or lollipop with my name attached to the stick.

  Recess has never been a favorite time for me—I usually spend it reading or playing with stickers—but it’s the best time to talk to other kids. I don’t want to look like a nerd, so I don’t take notes, but let me say for the record that I WANT to.

  When I ask Craig if he’s up for hiding in my bag and writing down responses, he says yes. “But then,” he says, “cupcakes are terrible at spelling.”

  I take a deep breath and go over to Hilary and Kim at the climbing structure. Here goes. “Hi! I was just wondering if there are any issues that are important to you in this election.”

  Kim gives me a strange look. “Aren’t you just supposed to give us food?”

  I tell her I will definitely have food at the rally later this week but right now I want to see if they can suggest any improvements for our class.

  “Bigger cubbies,” Hilary says. “Ours are old and too small.”

  I hope Craig is taking good notes from inside my bag. I thank Hilary and Kim for their input.

  It takes more courage than I usually have to interrupt Jake, Chad, and Danny’s game of alien tag, but when they finally stop running they also have some ideas to share.

  “We don’t take enough field trips,” Chad says.

  Danny and Jake agree.

  At my last school, I loved going on field trips. Getting out of the classroom was always a treat, and I liked seeing how my classmates acted out in the real world, not just behind their desks. Maybe taking field trips with my new class would help me figure out how to fit in better with them.

  By the time we go back inside for math, I’ve gotten a real feel for what everyone cares about in this election. I lock myself in the girls’ bathroom and look at Craig’s notes.

  “Feeld tripp?” I ask. “Really?”

  Craig shrugs. “I told you cupcakes can’t spell.”

  When I head back to class, Bev almost knocks me over. “Where have you been? We’ve got to finish making plans for the rally.” She leans in close and tells me she just heard Caitlyn is bringing fortune cookies with little slips of paper inside that read VOTE FOR CAITLYN.

  I guess if you’re someone like Bev or Caitlyn who’s comfortable with herself, you don’t need to overprepare. Bev might be worried about finding the perfect entertainment or food for the rally, but all I can focus on is going over Craig’s mangled notes and putting together my ideas.

  On the Campaign Trail

  At dinner, my brother Eric starts in as soon as he hears I’m running. “President of what?” he asks. “The wallflower club? You better hope one of your friends’ pet rocks doesn’t run against you.”

  My mom tells him to keep quiet, but he’s not saying anything I haven’t already thought myself.

  “I think it’s great,” Mom continues. “You have good organizational skills—you’ll be a real asset to the student council.”

  Dad shoots Eric a look that shuts him up before he can begin a new insult.

  James is in his booster seat, trying to eat with a spoon. There’s so much rice on the floor, it looks like outside the church at my cousin Sofia’s wedding.

  After dinner, I head to my room to try to come up with a campaign strategy. Of course, it’s hard to get anything done with Craig constantly throwing his two cents in.

  “I just thought it would be more challenging for you to run against somebody,” Craig says.

  I try to explain that not having someone to run against was exactly why I wanted to run for secretary. “I wasn’t looking for a challenge.”

  “You should throw a big party,” Craig says with gusto. “Every candidate has one.”

  He doesn’t need to tell me that I have to plan some kind of party; Bev says it’s a tradition. I’ll bet anything Tommy and Caitlyn aren’t one bit worried, and here I am a nervous wreck. Could any of my new stickers help?

  I find the magic sheet right where I left it—in the bottom drawer of my desk with the thank-you cards I send when relatives give me presents. I look at the stickers—maybe I can use the pizza sticker for a party? Or how about the palette of paint—every campaign needs posters!

  I run to my closet and find the poster for the volcano project I did a few months ago. I flip it over and stare at the blank sheet. Will the paint palette be magical? There’s only one way to find out.

  The

  fits perfectly in my hand; I pick up the brush carefully. Do I use this like regular poster paint?

  “Don’t look at me,” Craig says. “I was clueless about the treasure chest, remember?”

  I dip the brush into the circle of turquoise paint. It feels strange to write the words VOTE FOR MARTINA, but if I’m running for student council, voting for me is exactly what I need to persuade people to do. (Tommy probably won’t even make posters. He’ll just tell a few jokes and end up winning in a landslide. Caitlyn’s posters will, of course, be perfectly lettered, the way her homework always is.)

  Usually I can barely draw a tree—they all come out looking like lollipops wearing clown wigs—but today my art skills are AMAZING. Stars, balloons, rockets all flow from my brush. The lettering is fluid and perfectly spaced; the wet paint glistens the most gorgeous blue I’ve ever seen.

  When I show the poster to Craig, his eyes spin around in circles. “Must vote for Martina,” he says. “Must vote for Martina.”

  It’s almost as if he’s spellbound by the words on the poster. I snap my fingers in front of Craig’s tiny face.

  “Must vote for Martina.”

  Is this hypnotizing paint?!

  “I’m kidding!” Craig says. “But I have to admit that poster is beautiful.”

  Bev has to see this! With these results, we SHOULD have a POSTER PARTY! But she’s stuck running errands with her dad and there’s no way to show her a picture.

  I keep telling my parents I need to have a cell phone. They say I’m resp
onsible enough but still too young. Hel-lo! Time is of the essence! I’ve got a presidential campaign to plan and I don’t have a way to reach my campaign manager!

  Or do I?

  I look at the sheet of magic stickers. Maybe I can use the cell phone to text Bev a picture of my poster. I don’t usually like to use two stickers in one day, but running for class president is important.

  The

  sticker comes to life in my hand; it’s shiny and sparkly, in a rainbow case. The screen is full of colorful apps of the very latest games. This phone looks like it does everything!

  Except take photos.

  And send texts.

  And have a dial tone.

  I hit the SEND button several times but nothing happens. None of the apps work either. Am I supposed to hook up to some special magical network to use this phone? This is what I get for using two stickers in one day.

  I’m a terrible Sticker Girl!

  Surprise Party

  I don’t need Craig to remind me that using magical poster paint might be considered cheating, but Bev thinks it’s the greatest idea on the planet.

  “Candidates use whatever tools they have,” she tells me in school the next day. “If that paint is as good as you say, you’ll have the best posters in the history of student council campaigns!”

  I tell Bev I just want to be fair to Tommy and Caitlyn.

  Bev holds up her hand like she’s taking a vow. “I promise to run a hundred percent clean campaign. But if we take advantage of a little magic along the way, is that so wrong?”

  I end up agreeing with her—we should use the magic paint. Not only do I have to give a speech in a few days, I have a social studies test to worry about. At this point, I’ll take all the help I can get.

  Later, when I get home from school after barely passing my test, I find that Eric is working with Dad at the diner so at least he won’t be here to disrupt the poster party. I’m still worried no one will show up, but Bev insists she’s got it covered.

  I thought of peeling off the pizza sticker for the party, but Dad dropped off trays full of nachos, so I’ll save the sticker for another time. I take out several jars of poster paint I find in the garage.

  “No way,” Bev says. “We need these posters to be amazing—everyone should use the magic paint.”

  “But won’t people think it’s weird if we all use the same palette?”

  “You can say you’re trying not to be wasteful or that these are your favorite colors,” Bev says. “Besides, everyone just wants to have fun—they’re not going to ask a million questions.”

  I hope she’s right. It’s not only the palette that’s making me feel anxious, it’s being the center of attention. Yes, Bev is my campaign manager and she’s friendly with most of our classmates, but what if kids show up and I have nothing to say? Suppose I ask them to make posters and then just stand there, unable to find words? I know most people would think having a group of classmates come over to help and support you would be a good thing, so why do I feel so nervous and afraid?

  It’s as if Mom can read my mind, because she comes over and pulls me into a hug. “Even if it’s just you, Bev, and me who show up, we’ll have a great time.”

  But it’s not just the three of us. More than half my class arrives at four on the dot (even Samantha and Jillian, who I’ve never even spoken to). I put on music while Bev hands out poster board and some bottles of glitter she brought from home. Between the nachos, the glitter, and so many of my classmates being here, it’s a real party and no one seems to mind sharing one palette of paint.

  I just hope the magic comes through—and it does! My palette gives everyone incredible artistic abilities. None of my classmates can believe how well they can suddenly paint.

  “I’m a whiz today!” Jillian says. “Most of the time I can’t even draw a straight line.”

  Bev’s posters are all in gorgeous, glittery cursive. Samantha even wishes she had someone to run against for secretary so she could make campaign posters too.

  I keep checking the palette to see if any of the paints are close to running out, but the palette is endlessly full of the deepest, most vibrant colors I’ve ever seen.

  When I go to my room to get more poster board, I spot the fake table hiding the treasure chest and get an idea. I come back to the dining room table with a shoebox full of jewels.

  “These look so real!” Samantha says.

  “I know.” Bev smirks. “We thought so too.”

  The jewels and glitter we glue onto the posters make the glistening paint look even better. And Jillian’s poster of me standing at a podium looks as if it was made by a professional.

  “Oh my!” Mom examines the colorful posters leaning against the wall. “Each one is more gorgeous than the next!”

  Some of the slogans are embarrassing and make me feel like if I win, I’ll have a lot to live up to. Bev’s FLY HIGH WITH MARTINA is kind of funny, especially with the three lifelike figures she drew riding a Pegasus in the sky. I also like Samantha’s drawing of a koala in a tree with the caption “Martina is Koalafied for President!”

  When Chad asks what I’m going to talk about in my speech, I tell him he actually gave me one of the main ideas in my platform. “I liked your idea about taking more field trips,” I explain. “I think I’ll talk about that.”

  He seems happy his idea was good enough to share, and I wonder if maybe next time he’ll run for student council too.

  As everyone takes a break to eat, I look through the posters my classmates made. Do they really think all these nice things about me?

  Bev shoves a handful of nachos into her mouth. “All we have to do is hang these masterpieces outside the classroom and you’re a shoo-in!”

  Even though the poster party was supposed to end before dinner, there’s so much food, most of my classmates are full by the time their parents pick them up.

  After the posters are dry, Mom helps me carefully stack them to take to school tomorrow.

  “You’ve made some nice friends here.” She points to the beautiful flowers and ponies on one of the posters. “Artistic too.”

  I don’t tell her I’m the one who painted the poster she’s talking about. She knows I’ve never drawn anything so perfectly proportioned in my life, and I don’t feel like explaining the power of the magical palette.

  I give Mom a hug and head back to my room, feeling a bit overwhelmed.

  Halfway through diving onto my bed, I realize I’m about to land on Craig and roll out of the way. When he asks how the party went, I tell him it was great—but tiring.

  “It’s hard for you, isn’t it?” Craig asks. “Having to talk to so many people at the same time.”

  “Is it that obvious?” I stare at the ceiling. “I’ve never been much of a party person.”

  “It gets easier the more you do it,” Craig says. “At least that’s what I’ve heard.”

  I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and hope he’s right.

  Presto, Change-O

  The next morning, I’m exhausted but happy. I don’t know if this is what it feels like to be popular, but if it is, it’s pretty good.

  “What are you so happy about?” Eric says, shoving a piece of toast with peanut butter into his mouth as he talks. I make sure no crumbs fall into the trunk of Mom’s car, where I’ve neatly placed all the posters.

  Eric checks out the colorful posters. He’ll never admit it, but I can tell he’s impressed.

  And when Ms. Graham sees Bev and me hanging them up in the hall before class, she’s awestruck too.

  “Martina, these are gorgeous!” She waves her cast in the air and calls over Mr. Tavares and Mrs. Lynch, who also gush.

  I tell Bev the paint palette might be the best magic sticker I’ve ever had.

  Bev fastens the last poster to the tiled wall, then puts her hands on her hips. “You rode a Pegasus, remember? It doesn’t get any better than that.”

  Deidre and Abby walk by but stop when they see t
he posters. They both smile and Abby gives us a thumbs-up.

  “Martina, you might actually win this!” Bev says.

  I hope she’s right, but Tommy and Caitlyn made posters last night too. They might not be as lifelike and colorful as mine, but they’re still good. I especially like the collage Caitlyn made with photos of everyone in our class.

  It’s hard to concentrate in Language Arts when there’s so much buzz about the election. Usually when there’s a fair or show during school, I’m on the outskirts of all the activity. It feels weird to be in the middle of things this time. I wish I knew how other kids get work done with all these distractions, because I can barely listen to today’s discussion on nouns and verbs.

  Back in the hall after class, there’s even more commotion—but for a different reason this time. Kids are whispering and pointing to the walls covered with posters. My beautiful posters are now completely blank.

  Some of the edges still have glitter and glued-on jewels, but all the lettering and amazing drawings my classmates painted are gone.

  “How did this happen?” Bev whispers. “Was that disappearing paint?”

  If I wasn’t supposed to use that palette, why did it come alive?

  Tommy and a few of his friends hurry over.

  “Knock-knock,” Tommy says.

  Bev and I ignore him until I realize he’s not going away.

  “Who’s there?” I ask.

  “Not your posters!” Tommy and his friends laugh. Bev and I do not.

  “It’s actually kind of cool,” Tommy continues. “I wish the grades on my report card could disappear before I brought it home.”

  Caitlyn comes over wearing an exaggerated frown and tells me she’s sorry. I can’t decide if she really means it or not.

  It’s hard to believe an hour ago I was one of the happiest kids on the planet. Now all the work my friends and I did was for nothing. Bev hands me a marker and we frantically write VOTE FOR MARTINA on a few of the empty sheets of poster board, but they look hasty and scrawled compared with the other candidates’ posters.