Total Knockout Read online

  I spotted the bus coming down the street, and just as it began to slow down, I heard Melanie’s front door slam and out she came. She carried nothing but a spiral notebook, strolling down her sidewalk as if it were Saturday afternoon and she was going to check the mail.

  “Melanie, hurry up!” I yelled. She looked at me and waved, but I pointed anxiously to the approaching bus. She did a little skip, which made me smile, and as the bus doors opened up, she was right there beside me. I led us to a seat near the front, away from Robbie Cordova in the back, who was in our class and prone to making fart noises if I got too close.

  As the bus pulled away, I sat back in my seat and let out a deep breath. “Wearing your red hat for luck today?” I asked Melanie of her favorite red beret.

  “My magic red hat,” she corrected, opening her notebook. “Nothing can go wrong today. As long as I finish this history homework. Did you have this worksheet in your class?” she asked, and I shook my head no. “Can I borrow a pen?”

  I gave her one of the many pens in my bag and began to relax, realizing that Melanie’s sass and verve were just what a new and improved student council needed. I wondered why I hadn’t realized that sooner. As she scribbled in answers on a crumpled worksheet, I asked, “Ready for your speech today?”

  Melanie slapped her forehead, almost stabbing herself with the pen. “The speech. I forgot the speech.”

  “Ha-ha,” I said. “It won’t work today, Mels.”

  “I’m serious,” she said, and when I looked at her, I knew she wasn’t joking. “It’s on my nightstand. I think,” she added, biting her lip.

  My heart raced. “Well, but . . . you have it memorized, right?” I had written both her and Cooper’s speeches for them—since this whole thing was my idea, I felt I owed it to them to make it as easy and painless as possible.

  “It’s pretty much memorized.” She twisted the ends of her long hair, her skin blemish-free as always. “I looked at it last night during Conan.” I leaned my head against the window, feeling the blood rush toward my feet. I hadn’t planned on this. Why hadn’t I brought extra copies of both their speeches with me? What a rookie mistake. “Loosh,” Melanie pleaded, “don’t worry! I’ll give a great speech today. But not too great! The plan is still in place. You’ll totally win the presidency. Just don’t freak out on me.”

  “I’m not going to freak out,” I said. Because I wasn’t—freaking out wasn’t my style. Dad had taught me that keeping your composure was as crucial as a strong right uppercut. If you let some outside emotion get to you while in the ring, then all your physical training was for nothing. “The plan is still definitely in place. I’m not worried. Nothing is going to go wrong.”

  I said this more to convince myself than Melanie, but I thought it was a pretty bad sign that I didn’t even believe my own words.

  For the entire bus ride to school, I recited Melanie’s speech with her, reminding her of the most important parts and suggesting she take notes.

  “Don’t forget, you’re going for second place here,” I gently reminded her. “Don’t go too crazy, but act like you at least care.”

  “You think I should spice it up a bit?” Melanie asked, touching her pen to her chin as the bus rumbled toward school. “Like, say something about how much homework blows?”

  “No, that’s my line. Look, write this down: ‘I promise to take this position as seriously as our volleyball team, who were last year’s city champs.’ Make an exclamation point at the end.”

  By the time we got to school I felt a little bit better. What I didn’t like was that, once she got up on that stage, there was nothing I could do to help her—or myself.

  “Oh, hey. Did I tell you?” she said just before we parted for first period. “I’m thinking about trying out for volleyball.”

  Melanie loved finding new, interesting ways to fill up her time, and she had a closet floor full of abandoned passions to prove it. Most recently it was scrapbooking. She got so excited about putting all her pictures into really cool books, especially shots of her mom. Her dad gave her the money to buy all the stuff, which isn’t cheap, but it took a long time to do even one page, and she shoved the supplies in her closet, promising to get back to it soon. Last time I looked, the scrapbooking stuff lay next to her BeDazzler kit, which she had started last winter and given up on before the spring, along with crocheting and the blog she kept for about three weeks. I often thought about joining her in some of her new projects, like the singing lessons she did for a few weeks last fall. I worried, though, that it would take away from boxing and school.

  After first period, I hustled to my locker so I could get to the auditorium early for the student council assembly, which happened during second-period homeroom. I wanted plenty of time to settle in and get focused. As I dumped my books and took out my speech, I searched the halls for Melanie. Instead I saw Nicole Jeffries practically dragging her Tevas-clad feet down the hall, headed straight for me. Nicole had been the school’s sleuth reporter since sixth grade, and she was dang good at what she did. We didn’t hang out together, but I’d always liked her—she had the same drive and ambition for reporting that I had for politics. And just like I knew that I would one day be Speaker of the House, Nicole would no doubt end up writing for the New York Times someday.

  “Lucia, hey.” Nicole always seemed unfazed and slightly bored, probably because she wanted to keep impartial and focused about the stories she embarked upon. She’d interviewed me several times for various president-type things and always kept the same demeanor. “So, can we schedule an interview after the election tomorrow? Since you’re basically running unopposed, it won’t be a shock when you win, but I’d like to get your statement on what it’s like to be the only Blue Jay to be president all three years.”

  “Yeah, sure,” I said, excited about my future accomplishment. “Wanna talk at lunch tomorrow?”

  “Sounds good,” she said, writing this down in her lavender notebook. “Good luck at assembly.”

  In the auditorium, students filed in, screaming, laughing, pushing, and generally acting as if they were getting in line to appear on the next MTV reality series. Girls were talking and texting at the same time, and some guys were playing keep-away with a science book that belonged to some sixth grader.

  “Lucia! Hey! Lucia!”

  Max Rowe, one of Cooper’s friends, was waving wildly at me as if he were flagging down a rescue plane. I smiled and waved back, if only to settle him down.

  “Good luck!” he called.

  “Hey, Lucia!” called a football guy who didn’t like Cooper for absolutely no reason that I could even fathom. There was nothing controversial or offensive about Coop. “What are you going to make us do this year? Wear uniforms?”

  I politely ignored him.

  On TV shows and movies they act like if you’re student council president you’re automatically popular, but not at Angus. Some people respected the student council—like the Fun-Guys, a biology group dedicated to all things fungus—but most people thought we were a big joke, the nerds who never got spring break extended, free school supplies for everyone, or Taco Bell served in the caf. I don’t think most people understand what it took to make changes that were both popular and meaningful. Still, I took my job seriously and did the best I could for each and every student. I really did.

  When I got backstage, the first thing I saw was Cooper leaning his forehead against the wall.

  “Hey, you okay?” I asked. I poked his shoulder to get his attention.

  “I’m not exaggerating,” he said, panting, his skin pale. “The Shredded Sugar Shots from breakfast are about to make a comeback.”

  “Jeez, Cooper. You really should eat a better breakfast. No wonder you’re about to pass out, eating that kind of—”

  “Lucia! Seriously!” he snapped—pretty loudly for someone who was allegedly on the verge of collapse.

  “Take deep breaths, Coop. Relax. This will all be over in five minutes. Okay?” He
nodded, his eyes closed. “I’ll be right back, okay? I’m going to go look for Melanie.”

  I was actually going to ask, beg if I had to, Mrs. Peoria if she would let Cooper go first, even if the speeches were supposed to start with the treasurers. I couldn’t let him hang in agony like that, especially since he was only doing it for me.

  “I don’t care,” Mrs. Peoria said, barely looking at me when I asked. She always had brown circles under her eyes, making her look sleep deprived. I wondered what might keep her up all night, stressed and worried. “Do what you want, Lucia.” Anyone could see she hated being the student council adviser. I think someone forced her to do it because she’s the social studies teacher, which I guess meant she knew the most about student government stuff.

  When I got back to Cooper, he was sitting on the floor, his back to the wall and his legs splayed out in front of him. Color had returned to his cheeks, but his eyes stayed closed. “Have you seen Melanie?” I asked. He rolled his head from side to side. “It’s going to be fine, Coop. You’ll do great!” He moaned in response.

  I looked around at the other candidates for eighth-grade council. There was Jared Hensley, who was friends with Robbie Cordova from the bus; Jared was an arrogant guy who thought he was smarter, more popular, and better looking than he actually was. Also running was a mousy girl named Lily Schmidt, who was extremely shy and socially awkward—rumor had it that running for student council was part of a plan devised by her therapist to help her break out of her shell.

  “Okay, children! Let’s get lined up!” Mrs. Peoria clapped. I have a theory she called us “children” just to spite us. How would she feel if I called her “old lady”?

  Melanie was still nowhere in sight, but I tried to concentrate on my speech instead of worrying about her. Onstage, I sat in my chair with my ankles crossed. I remembered the first year I went through the elections and how nervous I’d been. But after the speech, I had felt such an overwhelming sense of accomplishment from giving my first political speech that from that moment on, I was hooked. I only wanted to get better as a politician. And over the last two years, I think I have. I’ve learned a lot—like how it’s important to have friendly people on your council.

  When Mrs. Peoria called Cooper’s name, the crowd gave him an enthusiastic cheer, making me beam with pride. Most people—aside from petty jerks—liked Cooper because he was so sweet and got along with most people. As he dragged his feet to the podium like he was about to run suicides, I wondered why today of all days he couldn’t tuck in his shirt. His standard uniform was an oversized polo shirt, untucked, with baggy jeans. I looked stage left for Melanie, but there was still no sign of her. I took deep breaths and told myself not to worry.

  Opening his crumpled speech—right into the microphone—Cooper read through it so quickly that it was as if Terrell Owens was about to come give him a smack down. If I hadn’t written the speech, I wouldn’t have been able to understand a bit of it.

  “Fellow students of Angus Junior High I want you to know that I will be the best student council secretary this school has ever seen I am very efficient accurate and organized and will to the best of my abilities uphold all that my duties require and more every student of Douglas A Angus Junior High can rest assured that when transcript so four meetings are needed they will be of utmost accuracy so please vote for me. Ugh, Cooper Nixon, for student council secretary. Thank you.”

  Cooper practically ran back to his seat as the crowd cheered. I clapped along with them, smiling and happy that he’d made it through the worst part; now he could sit back and relax. Which was more than I could say for myself. Where was Melanie? I craned my neck for another look into the wings, hoping to spot her. I wondered if something was wrong, and then felt bad for worrying about myself when it was possible that Melanie had sneaked off campus because of a sudden urge for toffee candy, only to be abducted by—

  “Lucia Latham!”

  I snapped to, seeing Mrs. Peoria staring me down from the podium through lazy wisps of straggly brown hair. I wiped my slightly sweating palms on my pants, composed my face, and walked carefully, deliberately, to the podium. I held my head high like Hillary Clinton always did, no matter how many people hated her guts.

  “Students of Angus Junior High,” I began, looking out into the crowd. I noticed a low rumbling of conversation and quiet laughing, which Mrs. Peoria seemed oblivious to as she sat rubbing her temples. I spotted Max in the crowd; he was once again waving at me. “Before I begin, can I get a round of applause for our football team, who I know will stomp on those Keller Cougars this Thursday night?” The students perked up, whooping happily. “Good luck, guys. I hear we have a record number of players this year, and I have a feeling this is going to be the best year ever for our fighting Blue Jays!” More hollers, applause, and We’re number one filled the auditorium. “When I am elected student council president, I will fight for your success, because I believe everyone here has the potential to be the best. Proven!” I called, raising my arm for emphasis. “I have proven myself to be a strong leader who gets results. Last year, as I’m sure you remember, I spearheaded the petition, signed by one hundred and twenty-seven of you, saying we wanted homework cut down. And what happened? Ms. Jenkins met with the teachers, who united against excessive homework.”

  That got a round of polite, albeit lethargic, applause. Most people didn’t believe the homework had decreased at all. No worries, though, because as I looked out at my people, I willed myself to energize those comatose faces. I wanted them to care as much about the council as I did—or at least to see that we really did do things that mattered. Things for them. It was my last year to prove that what I did counted.

  I struck my fist as I swore that every classroom would have a recycle bin. I pounded the podium as I vowed the cafeteria would serve more nutritious foods. I could feel my brow dampen as I lamented on the utter lack of an arts program and guaranteed that every student would be given the opportunity to play an instrument if she or he chose to. Okay, so maybe I went off script a little, but I felt so in the moment, yet out of it at the same time, like I was having an out-of-body experience. Words flowed without effort, without thought, without once referring to my speech. My chest rose with each new promise, each new declaration, and when I pointed out into the auditorium filled with students I would spend my final year at Angus with, I heard myself bellow, “If Lucia Latham wins, so do you!”

  I thought I’d hear a rousing round of applause. There I was, practically promising to change their lives, and all I saw was a bunch of slack-jawed students staring back at me. I realized Mrs. Peoria was standing beside me, a forced smile on her face. Nudging me aside, she leaned into the microphone and stuttered, “W-well. That was very . . . energizing. Let’s give a hand to Miss Lucia Latham, everyone.”

  It was sparse applause, at best. As I walked back to my seat, I tried to figure out what had just happened. When I saw Cooper’s face, I realized I may have been a little overzealous. His eyes were wide, almost frightened, like they were this morning when I popped him a little harder than I should have.

  It wasn’t until she practically ran onstage from the back, her curls bouncing with each step, that I realized Melanie had finally arrived. She clutched a plastic bag and her face was flushed.

  She mouthed, “It’s okay,” as she took her seat at the end, dropping the bag onto the floor and adjusting her red beret. When Mrs. Peoria called her to the podium, my stomach cramped up, wondering what was about to happen.

  Even though I wrote Melanie’s speech and then recited it back to her that morning on the bus and forced her to take notes, once she was up at the podium her actual speech went like this: “Who wants free stuff?” The crowd cheered. “Vote for me and I’ll give you free stuff!” And then she reached into her bag and began throwing what I later found out were black-and-white pirate pencil toppers. Students leaped over seats and each other in such pandemonium that Mrs. Peoria and our principal, Ms. Jenkins, finally had to phy
sically restrain Melanie from throwing any more, like a ref stopping a fighter after the bell.

  “Enough!” Mrs. Peoria yelled into the microphone as students tumbled on top of each other as if they were fighting for the latest Nintendo Wii game.

  I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. If there’s one thing people like, it’s free stuff. I don’t even think it matters what it is, just as long as they’re getting something for absolutely nothing. Plus, it looked like they were finally having fun. To make matters worse, I knew that Melanie’s doing this would make her seem sort of . . . cool. Her social status had dangled on the outer fringes, as many people had been afraid to approach her in the past, since she was the girl whose mom had died. For me to be president, Melanie had to come in second place, but with the pirate pencil toppers, I had a feeling that her social status had just been upped. Which meant the presidency might not be mine anymore.

  In the midst of the chaos, I slipped offstage and hid behind one of the musty black curtains, telling myself to relax, to take it easy like Melanie always does. I gulped in deep breaths and tried not to freak. This would be, had to be, my best year yet.

  “Did I ever tell you about the time I kissed my elbow and turned into a girl for a day?”

  Cooper had shown up on my doorstep just moments after I got home. When I walked into the house, I’d heard Dad shuffling around in the back, but only yelled, “I’m home!” before settling on the couch with Paddy, which was where I still was when Cooper came over. I hadn’t even bothered to look at my homework yet.

  On days like this, I found Patchwork Puppy—aka, Paddy—more comforting than a reading assignment. My grandmother made him for me when I was three, out of old scraps of fabric she had lying around her sewing room. He was the shape of an H and worked equally well as a small pillow or a type of security blanket—my arm hooked right around his center, between his tail and his head. There was no other stuffed animal in the world like Paddy—he was an absolute original.