Dodger for President Page 9

  Because, you know, I don’t want to be unfair.

  [NOTE: I was getting pretty annoyed at this point. Either Craig was really, really innocent, or he was a political genius. Unless Beeks had actually written the speech.]

  So instead of pointing out the many problems with Willie and Lizzie, I’ve decided to focus on why you should vote for my good friend, Mr. James Beeks. James is a leader. James is the guy who had the most hits of any player in the history of fall Little League. He’s also the best quarterback in the town football league, and captain of the wrestling team.

  James Beeks is clutch. James Beeks comes through. He’s the kind of guy you want to follow. As you know, James has also been involved in student government longer than anybody else. And he has really made some great changes in our school.

  For example, do you remember the Great Recess Ball Controversy of 2008? I wonder how many of you know that it was James Beeks who came up with the famous A to Z Compromise. For all of you kindergarteners, I’ll explain what happened. Last year, the big kids were having massive battles every day over which class should get first pick of the balls for recess. There were arguments in the hallways, near-riots in the lunchroom. For a while, it was student against student, teacher against teacher. Until James Beeks came up with his idea: that for the first half of the rest of the year, classes would pick balls in alphabetical order based on the first letter of their teacher’s last name.

  And then, to make things fair, for the rest of the year, classes would pick balls in reverse alphabetical order based on the last letter of their teacher’s last name.

  Needless to say, James’s great compromise went through. And there was joy in the halls, peace on the playground, a better school for all of us.

  Because that’s what James Beeks is really about: a better school for you and me.

  Thank you.

  [NOTE: Oh, barf. That speech was so corny you could put it in the microwave and pop it. I hoped Lizzie’s speech wasn’t like that.]

  The whole room burst into applause, and Craig stood there for a moment, taking it all in. After all, it’s not like Craig had experienced many victories in his academic career. But then, gradually, a strange hush came over the crowd, as everybody realized that one girl was standing up right in the middle of the first row. I couldn’t believe this: It was Amy. She was raising her hand. Craig had no idea what to do. I’m sure Mrs. Starsky had no idea what to do either. And before she could figure it out, Amy spoke.

  Her high-pitched second-grader voice carried to every corner of the room. “Excuse me, Mr. Flynn? I have a question.” The whole roomful of people stared as Amy took a deep breath and continued, “You know how James came up with that whole compromise thing?”

  Craig nodded.

  “Well, wasn’t James’s teacher that year named Mrs. Alabaz?”

  Craig nodded again, wondering where she was going with this. I was wondering the same thing.

  “So then, for the first half of the rest of the year, his class got to pick a ball first, right? Because her name starts with A.”

  Craig said, “Uh, I guess that’s true.”

  “And then, for the second half of the year, when it went in reverse order, by the last letter of the teacher’s name, James’s class still got to pick first, because the last letter of her name was a Z. Isn’t that true?”

  Craig had to think about it for a bit, but then he nodded.

  “So really, James’s so-called compromise simply made sure his own class would always be first.”

  Craig stared at her, openmouthed. So did everybody else.

  “I’m just sayin’,” Amy concluded, and sat down. In the long, awkward silence that followed, Craig kind of crept his way back to his seat; I could see his whole face was red. Then Mrs. Starsky recovered, and introduced Lizzie. I sweated my way through her speech, which went like this:

  Hello, everyone. I have to admit, Craig was right about several important facts. For one thing, he is absolutely right that James Beeks is a natural leader. If you give him the chance, he will lead, and you will follow. In fact, you’ll be glad to follow, and you will feel great about doing what James Beeks says, and thinking what James Beeks tells you to think. Unfortunately I don’t think you really want to go where James Beeks wants you to go.

  As an example—and Craig was right about this, too—I was not born in America. I came here from England in the middle of third grade. I remember that day so well. I was so excited to be in this beautiful new country, to make amazing new friends. I even put on my best, fanciest red winter jacket because I wanted to make a great first impression. Then, when I got introduced to my class, James Beeks started shouting, “She’s a redcoat! She’s a redcoat!” And the entire class followed—because James Beeks is a leader. In fact, there were only two kids in the whole room who didn’t join in the cruel chant. One of them was my running mate, Willie Ryan. James led the class, but Willie did the right thing. Which kind of president do you want?

  Now I’d like to say a few words about my best friend, Willie Ryan. Oh, some of you might laugh, but it’s true: Willie is my best friend, and I’m proud of it. I have to admit he doesn’t look like much—

  [NOTE: Thanks for pointing that out to the whole school, Lizzie.]

  —but if you knew Willie like I do, you’d see him for the great candidate he really is. I’ve seen Willie fight a raging fire. I’ve seen Willie sweat and bleed to get better at baseball so that he wouldn’t let his team down in their big last game of the season. So he might have only had the one big game, but that wasn’t luck. That was the hard work and courage of Willie Ryan.

  But this election shouldn’t be about sports. There is no doubt that James is a better athlete than Willie—but tomorrow when you step into that voting booth, you won’t be electing a quarterback. You’ll be electing a president. And no matter how much James tries to convince you otherwise, that isn’t the same thing.

  I have more examples of the goodness of Willie Ryan. How about the time Willie stepped in between me and three angry pit bulls? How many of you would have done the same thing for your best friends? How many of you have faced an angry Craig Flynn? I have to tell you: Willie has.

  So you can vote for James Beeks if you want a quarterback or if you are looking for chances to get led around into doing things you won’t be proud of. But if you want a good, honest, kind, brave, smart president—someone you can trust to take care of your best interests—please vote for Willie Ryan, the true-blue candidate.

  Lizzie looked at me and held out her hand in my direction. I couldn’t believe it: People clapped. They actually CLAPPED for me, Willie Ryan! It was astounding. When Lizzie came back to sit next to me, I whispered, “Did you really mean all that stuff?”

  “What stuff?”

  “Like, do you really think I’m good, honest, kind, and brave?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Am I really your best friend?”

  “Duh.”

  “And do you really think I’m smart?”

  “Well, Will, in order to get elected, sometimes a politician has to, um, bend the truth a little bit. . . .”

  “Oh, be quiet,” I said.

  All in all, it was a pretty good assembly.

  At the bus stop after school, Amy stopped me and Lizzie. I started to thank Amy for the brilliant question she had asked Craig during the assembly, but she shrugged that off. As soon as the bus pulled away and left us alone at the corner, Amy turned to both of us and said, “Okay, I’ve helped you with this election all along. Now I’m fairly sure I’ve figured out the secret of your campaign. I promise I won’t tell anybody, but I just want to know if I’m right. Is that fair?”

  I shrugged. Lizzie pushed around some pebbles with the toe of her shoe.

  “I said, is that fair?”

  “Uh, I guess so,” I mumbled.

  Amy said, “Okay, so the way I see it, you’re getting secret assistance from somebody large who has a low-pitched voice. We’ll call hi
m He Who Must Not Be Named. I notice that you’re spending a lot of time in the woods. Also, our bananas have been disappearing at an alarming rate, and I’ve been finding blue hairs everywhere. My conclusion is this: Your secret campaign helper is an invisible blue orangutan!”

  Lizzie and I stared at each other. I mean, what do you really say to that? Then we both burst out laughing.

  “What’s so funny?” Amy asked indignantly.

  “An invisible blue orangutan!” I said. “Come on, Amy! Who ever heard of an invisible blue orangutan?”

  “So you’re denying the existence of this—this mystery primate?”

  I turned to Amy, put on my straightest, most serious big brother face, and said, “I swear that I am not receiving secret campaign advice from an invisible blue orangutan. There! Are you satisfied?”

  She gave me her toughest little-sister-detective look and said, “I believe you. But this investigation isn’t over!” Then she stormed up the front walkway of our house. Lizzie turned to me and said, “Wow, Willie. That was an excellent, technically correct answer! Where did you learn to be so slick?”

  “Well, Liz, in order to get elected, sometimes a politician has to, um, bend the truth a little bit. . . .” And then, right there on my front lawn, we broke out laughing again.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Election Day

  THROUGHOUT THE NEXT DAY, classes got called down one by one. The teachers explained the voting system, and one by one, the kids went into the booth to pull a lever. If they pulled it to the right, James and Craig racked up a vote. If they pulled it to the left, Lizzie and I got the nod. Our class was the last to vote.

  Mrs. Starsky called the four candidates aside and told us we’d be voting last of all. While the whole rest of the group lined up in front of us, and the line crawled forward, Craig said to Lizzie, “Good luck. And thanks for, uh, you know.”

  Lizzie said, “Good luck to you, too.”

  James turned to me and said, “May the best man win, Willie.”

  “And woman,” Lizzie added.

  “Maybe,” said James, with a smirk.

  My turn came. Mrs. Starsky patted my shoulder, smiled at me, and said, “Top of the pyramid, William!” I smiled back and entered the booth.

  EPILOGUE

  Snack Time

  WHEN LIZZIE AND I got off the bus that day, we were alone. My mom had picked Amy up early for an orthodontist appointment. We still didn’t know the results of the election, and I was kind of too nervous to go home by myself and sit there sweating it out. I invited Lizzie over, and she said yes.

  My dad was downstairs in his office writing, so we didn’t disturb him. We just went right upstairs, but I heard something coming from my room that stopped me cold. It was Dodger, singing:

  Drop for drop

  And day for day,

  What you owe me

  You will pay.

  Ounce for ounce

  And pound for pound,

  Payback time

  Will come around—

  Oh yeah, doo be bop bop doooooo . . .

  Lizzie and I exchanged worried glances, and knocked on my door. “Hey, buds!” Dodger said, waving a cracker at us. “Come on in! I was just having some mashed bananas with peanut butter, jelly, and tuna. It’s really quite delicious. Hey, did you have a good election thing? Were you right about the whole lack-of-swimsuits issue? Because, Willie, if you want, you can borrow my spare surf shorts. I mean, I lend them to my brother all the time. I know they’d be a little on the large side, but they have a drawstring and—”

  “Dodger,” I said, “what was that song you were singing?”

  “Why, do you like it? I’m proud to say I wrote the tune myself. And the doo-be-bop-bop part at the end. Pretty catchy, no? We chimpanzees are revered throughout the rain forest for our majestic songs of—”

  “Dodger! Where did you get the words?”

  “Oh, those? They’re just a little spell that my old friend Lasorda cast on m—I mean, a little ditty that the Great Lasorda wrote. Why do you ask? It works, right? Pound does rhyme with around, doesn’t it?”

  Lizzie stomped her foot. “Dodger,” she said, “Lasorda gave you the potion so you could go to school disguised as Willie, right?”

  “Um, yeah, but—”

  “Was that your idea, or his?”

  “His, I guess.”

  “And then he gave you the Tincture of Distraction, right?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “And the Essence of Belief?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “So now you owe the Great Lasorda a really big favor?”

  “Uh, not exactly.”

  “What do you mean, not exactly?” I asked.

  “Three,” Dodger said. “Actually, I owe him three favors. But it was totally worth it to help Willie get popular. I mean, Lasorda was just giving me a hand with Willie’s Life Improvement Plan—for old times’ sake. You don’t think that’s a problem, do you? I mean, he’s a good friend of ours, right? So what could possibly go wrong?”

  Lizzie and I sat down on both sides of Dodger. She put her left arm around him, and I did the same with my right. “Nothing,” Lizzie said brightly. “Nothing at all.”

  In the silence that followed, Dodger reached under my bed and pulled out a smushed box. He held it out to us. “Cracker, dudes? You know, for dipping?”

  “Dodger,” I said, “I thought you’d never ask.”