Double or Nothing (2 page)

“Logan probably does know everyone, but not Ella,” said Emily. “I'm pretty surprised she wants to run for president. It doesn't seem like her thing. She's all about being a brainiac, not Miss Popularity. Anyway, did you try going to some of the after-school clubs like you said you were going to?”

Alex nodded. “I went to the origami club last week. I had to fold about a zillion paper cranes, but I got six signatures, so it was worth it. And I went to Ultimate Frisbee and got hit on the head. That was fine, though, because practically everyone signed out of sympathy, at least those who hadn't signed Logan's petition.”

“Logan.” Emily rolled her eyes. “He's totally riding the popularity wagon. I don't think he's serious enough to be a good class president.”

“Tell that to the ninety percent of the girls in our grade who have a crush on him,” said Alex grimly. She stared down at her clipboard. “Where am I going to get fourteen signatures before the end of the day?”

“Maybe you should get yourself a detention,” said Emily with a laugh as Mrs. Bridges clapped her hands to get the class's attention. “There's always a ton of kids in there.”

At lunchtime Ava found Alex in the cafeteria and observed with annoyance that her sister was still brandishing her dumb clipboard. They had a quick, silent exchange—a twin thing, their mom called it. A creepy twin thing, their brother called it. Whatever it was called, Ava and Alex definitely knew how to communicate with each other without coming right out and speaking, and today they were in silent agreement that they both wanted to sit apart from their usual tables full of chattering friends. Ava led the way to a table in a corner, one that wasn't usually occupied because it was so far away from the serving stations.

“How are your signatures going?” asked Ava, unzipping her lunch bag and pulling out the peanut butter and banana sandwich Coach had made for her. She figured she might as well ask, since that was what Alex was going to talk about anyway.

“Still working on them,” said Alex with a sigh. “I just got one on the way here, when a girl dropped her water bottle in the hallway
and spilled it. I ran and got paper towels in the bathroom for her, and she was so grateful she signed, even though I think she had been planning to sign Logan's. Look at the guy.”

She gestured across the cafeteria with her sandwich.

Ava looked. Logan was perched at the edge of a table full of girls, talking and gesturing animatedly. Every few moments the girls would break into a fit of giggles. “Didn't he read the announcements over the intercom this morning?” Ava asked.

Alex rolled her eyes. “He reads them every chance he gets,” she said. “Emily told me he wants to work in Hollywood and be a voice-over guy someday—you know, like the voice that does suspenseful movie previews?”

“He does have a nice voice,” admitted Ava. “And that guy next to him—Xander somebody-or-other—came to our homeroom this morning and passed out candy bars that said ‘Vote for Logan—A Sweet Deal.' ”

Alex looked at Ava in alarm. “He did? That's so sneaky! We're not supposed to put up our posters and start campaigning until tomorrow! We haven't even turned in our petitions!”

Ava shrugged. “I guess he figured he's a shoo-in—Xander was bragging that Logan got his hundred signatures in, like, two days.”

“Candy bars,” muttered Alex. “Talk about buying votes.” Her eyes widened. “Wait. You didn't take one, did you?”

Ava was holding up one of Xander's candy bars. She gave her sister a guilty look and put it down. “I figured if I took one, that would be one less he'd hand out to someone who might actually vote for him,” she said. “It was all for the right cause.”

“Very noble of you,” said Alex dryly. She took a moody bite of her sandwich.

Ava took out her napkin to wipe some peanut butter off her hands and saw that there was something written on it. A message from Coach:
Work ethic, talent, and heart. You've got 'em all, Ava Sackett.
She smiled and leaned down to tuck the napkin into her backpack. She couldn't expect Alex to understand her jitters about tryouts today, but at least Coach did.

“And that's Ella over there,” Alex continued.

Ava tuned back in to what her sister was saying.

“She's sitting at the smart-kid table. And I
admit, she's really smart. She's in my science class, plus we're both in debate club and math club. I bet her posters are going to be super fancy. Her dad owns a copy company, which is so not fair.”

“Where does the campaign money come from?” asked Ava. “Where does Logan get the funding for candy bars and Ella for fancy posters?”

“That's just it,” said Alex. “They say we shouldn't spend more than twenty-five dollars for our campaign, but that's what, like, five posters cost to make. I'm positive they've both already spent way more than that.” She sighed and looked down at her clipboard.

“I don't think you should be too worried,” said Ava. “They might have fancy campaign stuff, but you're a great public speaker. And you're super organized, and you have great ideas. Just play your game. That's what Coach always says.”

Alex nodded and smiled gratefully. “Thanks, Ave. I appreciate your support.” But the worried look reappeared on her face. She took a long sip of her milk. Then she started gathering up her lunch stuff. “Sorry to leave you here, but I better get going. I still need thirteen signatures before the end of the day.”

As Alex stood up, Ava gave her an expectant look. “Aren't you going to wish me luck?”

Alex looked up from her clipboard, puzzled. “Do you have a test today?”

Ava sighed. “No. Never mind. Go get your signatures.”

“Oh, wait, sorry,” said Alex, light finally dawning. “Right. Football. Good luck, Ave. Knock 'em dead.”

As she left the cafeteria and headed toward English, Alex felt her desperation growing. Where was she going to find the last thirteen signatures? Clearly her two opponents had already gotten their hundred signatures easily. She looked around her at kids heading toward their next class. She thought about stopping people randomly, but she wasn't even positive who was in seventh grade! It really wasn't fair—she was new to the school. She'd already asked the kids in all her classes. Some had signed, but just as many had said they'd already signed for Logan or Ella.

Then a sudden idea struck her. She stopped
short, and a girl who'd been walking behind her bumped into her. The girl's books tumbled to the floor.

“Oh! I'm so sorry!” said Alex, stooping down to help her retrieve them.

“That's okay,” said the girl. She stood back up, and Alex handed her the last of her books. “Hey, are you in seventh grade by any chance?” asked Alex eagerly.

The girl shook her head. “Sixth,” she said, and went on her way.

But Alex remained undaunted. She was remembering what Emily had jokingly mentioned in homeroom this morning. Detention! Now there was an untapped source of new signatures! It was highly improbable that any kids in detention would be friends of Ella's. All Ella's friends were smart and motivated and would never be caught dead in detention. It was even unlikely that they'd be friends of Logan's. He was a jock, and kids who were serious about sports generally kept themselves out of detention, as coaches were usually displeased if their players missed practice time. Detention would likely be full of what reporters on the news liked to call “undecided voters.” In seventh grade,
that category would be kids who didn't follow school government very closely, or who didn't even know there was a campaign. The question was, how did one get a detention?

Alex stood outside Ms. Palmer's English classroom and waited for the second bell to ring.

Jack Valdeavano, a friend of hers and Ava's whom Ava played basketball with a lot (and whom Alex was pretty sure Ava had a crush on), paused as he was about to go inside. “Coming?” he asked her.

“Yup. Be right there,” said Alex. Her breathing was shallow, and she felt drops of perspiration on her upper lip. She was never late for class. Never.
How late do I have to be to get a detention?
she wondered.

Jack gave her a puzzled look and headed inside.

Thirty seconds later the bell rang. By now Alex was almost in panic mode. She leaned against the locker, breathing hard. A sixth grader sprinted past her at top speed, obviously late for class. She watched him skid to slow down and
then disappear out of sight around the corner. Now she was the only one in the hall.

She counted to five, then walked into the classroom.

Ms. Palmer was passing out papers.

“S-s-sorry I'm late!” Alex said in a high, quivering voice, as she slipped into her empty desk next to Megan Schiller.

“Hello, Alex,” said Ms. Palmer, putting a paper on Alex's desk. “Nice of you to join us.” She smiled and moved on. Alex sighed.

She picked up her paper and peeked at it. It was an essay about the poet Robert Herrick. She'd gotten a ninety-seven and a smiley face.

When she had finished passing out the papers, Ms. Palmer told the class to take out their books. They were reading
Antigone
.

“Um, excuse me, Ms. Palmer?” Alex waved her hand urgently to get Ms. Palmer's attention.

She turned. “Yes, Alex?”

“My book. I forgot my book. I didn't bring it to class.” Although her heart was pounding, Alex tried to put a defiant,
who cares
look on her face.

“Oh. Well, never mind. You can look on with Megan today.”

Alex glanced at Megan Schiller. Megan flashed her a friendly smile, revealing a mouthful of purple braces.

Alex tried again. “No, but see, I might even have lost it. My book. I might not bring it tomorrow, either. That's really bad, isn't it?”

Ms. Palmer looked at Alex, puzzled. “I'm sure it will turn up, Alex. In the meantime, I have a spare copy you can borrow. You can put your annotations on sticky notes until you find your book.”

Alex closed her eyes and blew out a breath. This was not working. What did it take to get a detention around here? Should she threaten to rob a bank or something? “Well, but see, I also might, um, might have to be late for class tomorrow, and I don't think I'll have a note with me.”

Her glance flickered over to Jack, who was sitting several seats away. He had an amused grin on his face. Ms. Palmer was staring at Alex over the tops of her glasses with a look of utter incomprehension. It was as though Alex had suddenly switched to speaking in Urdu.

“Alex,” she said. “You can look on with Megan. Can we get on with class, please?”

Alex slumped in her chair. “Yes, sorry,” she mumbled.

So much for that idea.