Winner Takes All (8 page)

Celia heard her mom’s voice despite the layers of sheets and blankets she’d pulled up over her head to block the too-bright Friday morning sun.

“Time to get up. We gotta get you to school early if you’re going to have enough time to explain everything to Ms. Perdomo.”

Celia shot straight up, suddenly super-awake, her heart pounding. Her frizzy curls danced around her head. Her mom stood at the edge of the bed, her hands on her hips.

“So you
do
know,” Celia said, letting her posture go slack.

“Oh,
mamita
, moms always know these things. What I don’t get is why you’ve been keeping it from me. Do you
not
trust me?”

Celia leaned back on her arms, squinting in the light. “It’s not that, Mom.” She pushed the covers down with her feet and stared at her retro Wonder Woman pajama pants. “I just knew you’d tell me what a bad move it all was, that I should be confident and run myself, all the stuff you’re supposed to say.”

“If you knew that I was going to tell you that—which, by the way, is all true and I’m very impressed with my theoretical advice—then shouldn’t that have been a red flag that maybe this was a bad idea?”

Her mom didn’t look or sound angry; she was sincerely asking Celia this question. Celia wrapped her arms around herself and rubbed her shoulders, warming them up to fight the blast of the air conditioner.

“I was just hoping it would all work out somehow.”

Her mom sat on the bed, smoothing the sheets with her palms. She had the same dark curly hair as Celia but it had settled a little with age. Celia hoped the same would happen to her own locks as she got older.

“Sometimes I worry you’re too smart for your own good,
mi cielo.
” She kissed Celia on the forehead. “But let me tell you, you’re going
to need those brains today to get you out of this mess.”

Her mom started to arrange Celia’s curls around her face, smoothing them as she had the sheets. “I figured you needed last night to straighten things out for yourself, so I left you alone—and besides, you haven’t wanted my advice so far.”

Her mom pouted in an exaggerated, teasing way, but Celia still felt a lump of guilt rise in her throat. “But now I want to hear what you’re thinking about how to fix this.”

Celia shrugged, then let herself fall back to her pillows. When it came to a new plan, she was truly stumped. She’d spent all night looking at her ceiling, or at the minutes blinking away on the clock perched on her desk. She wished everything could be as simple as a science experiment, with its methods and outlined procedures, and systems for recording results. But the problem had actually
started
when she decided to tackle the election the same way she would an experiment. Celia hadn’t accounted for so many variables—Laz being the other candidate, his wanting her as his campaign manager, Mari landing the lead in the play, her and Mari’s mixed-up feelings over Laz—that the experiment had
officially gone haywire almost right away. She couldn’t find the right solution to such a complicated problem.

The only thing that made her feel better was something her science teacher had said last year, when she was struggling to interpret the results of the experiment that would go on to win her first place in the fair:
The best solution is usually the simplest one available.
But Celia had drifted off to sleep without coming to any firm conclusions about her next move.

“I guess it has to start with talking to Ms. Perdomo,” Celia finally said. “Coming clean, and at some point soon, apologizing to Mari.”

“I would say so,” her mom said.

Celia looked at the desk where she’d written Mari’s speech—the speech that had gone over so well and had gotten so many compliments. Mari might have gotten the credit, but Celia knew it was
her
speech.
The best solution is usually the simplest one available
, a voice echoed in Celia’s head. Then she heard Mari’s words:
You’re the real candidate anyway.

“Do you think I should ask Ms. Perdomo if I can take Mari’s place in the debate and take over as the candidate?” Celia said.

It was simple, but was this solution really “available”—would Ms. Perdomo even allow it?

“Is that what you think you should do?” her mom asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe,” Celia said. “She might not let me. But I know I’m right about apologizing. That, I
need
to do.”

Her mom nodded, and Celia started to feel a little better. As much as she’d worried too much about random people’s opinions of her, she realized she
should
care what the important people in her life thought about her. Mari, Ms. Perdomo, her mom, maybe even Laz—she wanted to keep their respect.

“I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you about this whole campaign fiasco,” Celia finally said.

Her mom was cool enough that she didn’t say,
I know, sweetie
or
I forgive you.
What she did say was, “You’re going to be more sorry in a minute when you realize how early it is. Now, get up and get dressed and I’ll make you some café con leche to jump-start your brain before I take you to school. From then on, you’re on your own. But I’ll be thinking about you all day.”

Her mom stood up from the bed and added, “We have enough time for me to flat-iron your hair
a little if you want. Not that I don’t love your curls, but if it’ll make you feel better about the possibility of going onstage for the debate, I can fire that baby up right now.”

Celia tugged on the tight ringlets now framing her face. If Ms. Perdomo somehow allowed her to take Mari’s place, having a new take on her old look might be a good campaign move. “Let’s do it,” she said. “Only because it might get people’s attention right before they go to vote.”

Her mom nodded and whisked herself away, yelling from down the hall, “But you have to get up right now if we’re going to have time. So don’t fall back asleep like you always do!”

But Celia was already out of bed, standing in front of her closet and thinking,
Which of these outfits says “seventh grade rep”?

Once Celia found herself in front of the main office’s big double doors, though, it was a totally different story. Her mouth was completely dry, and the café con leche in her stomach was swishing around more than she wanted to think about. The halls were deserted except for a janitor who was way down the main corridor sweeping up near the back wall of lockers while listening to
something through headphones. She waited for him to notice her, maybe wave hello as a small sign that everything would be okay, but he never so much as lifted his eyes up from his work.

She’d tried to keep herself from getting nervous during the drive to school, but had felt the panic kick in entirely when her mom put the car in PARK and unlocked the car door for Celia to get out.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” she’d blurted out to the windshield just as she put her hand on the door latch.

“Celia, I know you can.” Her mom squeezed her other hand, then kissed it. “And I’m sorry, but you really don’t have a choice here.”

Celia liked that her mom was so blunt. It was the same quality she admired in Ms. Perdomo. It made her calm to hear facts laid out so plainly. It was
feelings
she couldn’t factor into her equations.

But now that she was alone and faced with the reality of what she had to do, the facts were just as frightening. It didn’t matter that her curls were a little looser and that she was wearing her favorite dark jeans and the V-neck button-down top that always got compliments whenever she wore
it. She was about to confess a huge lie, and she’d never been in trouble at school before.

She’d briefly considered stalling—
Mari is sick
, or
Mari has cold feet
—but she knew that would only make the problem bigger in the long run. Mari was going to be at school for the play, so her lie would be exposed almost immediately. And there was that phone message to Mrs. Wanza that Celia was sure Ms. Perdomo would eventually hear about. Plus, she knew that if she were ever going to salvage her friendship with Mari, she had to admit that she was totally to blame for this, if only to prove to Mari how much their friendship mattered to her.

Celia dreaded having to explain everything to Ms. Perdomo, who might not let her take Mari’s place in the election. Even if she did, Celia wouldn’t be surprised if she lost her status as one of Ms. Perdomo’s favorite students. Was she ready to give that up?

On a whole other level of worry were Celia’s old fears, the ones that had made her not want to run in the first place: How were the other students going to react when they saw dorky Celia instead of the cute drama girl they expected behind the podium at the debate? Even worse, what if her old feelings for Laz somehow got in her way of
debating him? She felt sure she didn’t like him anymore, but what if things changed once she saw him onstage?

She heard a rustling down the corridor in the direction of the janitor, but when she looked down the hallway, he’d somehow disappeared.

Celia took a deep breath and placed her hands over her face to block out the fluorescent light glowing up above. She repeated Mari’s words in her head to keep her thoughts from spiraling out of control:
I can’t control what other people think. What matters is what I think.

She removed her hands from her face and smoothed down the side part her mom had etched in her hair. Her stomach settled a little—enough that she knew she wouldn’t be sick at any second. The doors loomed in front of her, the sounds of buzzing printers and ringing phones audible just behind them.

Just as she pushed the doubts from her head for just a little longer, Celia finally pushed through the office doors, her hope in Ms. Perdomo’s acceptance of the simplest solution shaky, but her confidence in it as the right thing to do finally feeling firm.

From backstage, the noise of the entire seventh grade shuffling into the auditorium for the debate was deafening. Celia stood behind the right side of the curtain, refusing to look out at the growing crowd. She tried to concentrate on her breathing to stay calm. Her head was still spinning from the events of the last hour.

Her confession to Ms. Perdomo that morning had gotten out of control fast. She started talking about the school’s cliques, about her unhappiness at landing herself in the “nerd” category, and about liking and not liking Laz. She explained how upset she’d been when people gave Mari the credit for her ideas—even though that had been her own fault. A voice in Celia’s head kept saying,
Too
much information
, but who better to spill your guts to than a certified counselor? She talked nonstop for a good ten minutes before Ms. Perdomo raised her hand to stop her.

“I am very proud of you for learning all of this, even if you had to learn it the hard way,” Ms. Perdomo said, unsmiling. She wore only one button today; it read DEMOCRACY! “I will let you take Mariela’s place,” she told Celia, “but only on the condition that before the start of the debate, you come completely clean to your classmates.”

Celia sat in the chair, stunned. She couldn’t imagine admitting everything she’d just said to the entire seventh grade.

As if she’d read her mind, Ms. Perdomo said, “You don’t have to confess
all
of what you just told me, but you do have to be honest with everyone. I know you’ll find the right way to explain this to them—you’re great at communicating, and that’s part of why I know you’d make a great seventh grade rep.”

Celia nodded, silently agreeing to the condition. After Ms. Perdomo’s compliment, she felt a little bit better, and she almost started to relax. But Ms. Perdomo had something else to add.

“One other thing,” she said from the other side of the desk. “You’re one of the top students in this
school, and I approved your candidacy because you’ve never been in trouble before. But from now on, you can’t ever claim to have an untarnished record with me.”

It was the most serious she’d ever seen Ms. Perdomo, and she felt horrible for letting her down, but she knew things could have been much worse. Ms. Perdomo finally broke her stone face and cracked a smile. “You’re ready for this debate, then?” she’d asked. And Celia had nodded and given her a nervous grin.

And now here she was, waiting to be introduced as a candidate for seventh grade rep. Mari would very likely be standing in this same spot later that afternoon for her first staged run-through. Somehow that knowledge made Celia feel better.

What
didn’t
make her feel better was knowing that Laz was waiting on the other side of the stage with no clue that he was now running against her and not Mari. Ms. Perdomo thought it was unfair to spring such a surprise on him just an hour before the debate; it would make him doubt whatever preparations he had taken. Celia thought it might be worse for Laz to just see her across the stage from him at the last second, but she was in no position to argue with Ms. Perdomo about that.
Besides, she was the one with a degree in counseling.

After some introductory remarks from the principal that mostly had to do with staying in your seats and not booing or talking, Ms. Perdomo took the microphone and explained how the actual voting would work.

“The polls will open during the first lunch period and remain open until the end of the day. Every seventh grader will have the opportunity to vote for one candidate via secret ballot. This debate is your last opportunity to get your questions answered before you vote, so please take advantage of the democratic process.” She cleared her throat away from the microphone, then said, “Without further ado, please welcome the first candidate, Mr. Lazaro Crespi.”

Laz came out from the opposite side of the stage, his hands raised in the air, pumping up the crowd. Celia pulled her side of the curtain back very slightly and watched him take his spot behind the podium farthest from her side of the stage. All the kids cheered wildly, their screams and whistles and claps merging into one solid tube of noise that funneled its way right into Celia’s chest. If she hadn’t been so focused on breathing through her nose, she might have thrown up.

“Thank you, that’s enough,” Ms. Perdomo said, quieting the crowd. Some renegade whistles and claps lingered in the air as she began to speak again, this time to introduce Celia.

“Our next candidate isn’t who you’re all expecting, but I can assure you she’s been part of this election from the very beginning. She has a few words to say before we officially begin.”

People in the crowd began to mumble to one another. The symphony of voices asking “What? Who?” grew louder and louder. Celia felt the murmurs rattling in her bones, but then she heard it: a tremendous “SHHH!” from somewhere near the front of the crowd. She knew without seeing that it was Mari, projecting from her diaphragm the way Mrs. Wanza had taught her to. The mumbling quieted down and Ms. Perdomo continued with the intro, but Celia didn’t register any of it. Mari’s shush had quieted her own thinking and made it possible for her to finally get her mind into Presentation Mode—facts, ideas, platforms, slogans, all of them rising and falling in her brain, sorting themselves out in an organized way. Despite her nerves and her fears, she knew she just needed to get on that stage and start talking. She couldn’t be more ready.

That was when she heard Ms. Perdomo say,”…to present Ms. Celia Martinez.”

As she walked out onstage, Celia was shocked: After an initial pause, people were clapping and cheering. It sounded to her exactly like what they had done for Laz. The cheers lasted the whole walk from the stage wing to her podium. Celia felt a surge of confidence. She’d feared the worst, and so was thrilled to see that most people didn’t care that she wasn’t Mari. All she had to do now was come clean, state her case, and win some votes.

Laz, however,
did
notice that he suddenly had a new opponent. He stood on the other side of the stage, his mouth open and his eyes scrunched in confusion. As she looked back at him, she noticed something in the corner of her eye: In the front row on Laz’s side of the stage was Raul, flailing his arms. He was trying to get Laz’s attention, but Laz just couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her. She stood up a little straighter, gave him a big grin, and shrugged, hoping that was enough of an apology for the moment. He seemed to remember then that he was onstage, because he finally closed his mouth, shook his head, and then shrugged back at her. He mouthed, “Good luck.”

Celia leaned forward to speak into the microphone. “Fellow seventh graders,” she began. “I know you expected to see Mariela Cruz standing here today. But the truth is…”

She scanned the crowd for Mari and found her in the second row. Mari stood up and waved, then whistled through her fingers, her now-tattered script tucked under her arm. “Go, Celia!” Mari screamed.

Celia beamed at her friend from the stage and felt like she could do anything now.

“The truth is I made Mari run
for
me, because I didn’t think I could win. The speeches, the campaign ideas—they all really came from me. But I made Mari pretend they were hers. I thought she had a better chance of getting elected because she’s popular. I got caught up in thinking about cliques and coolness and stuff that shouldn’t really matter in an election. That was wrong of me. I now realize that it isn’t up to me to decide if I can win—it’s up to all of
you.
So here I am. Please forgive me, and thank you for the chance to prove that I’m the right person for this job.”

“Celia rules!” Mari yelled from the second row.

When the people around Mari saw that she was totally supporting Celia, they started clapping, more curious about than upset by the
candidate switch. Raul had stopped his flailing and was now sitting on the edge of his seat, hanging on her every word, a look of total shock but complete attention in his eyes. Yvette, from her spot in the fifth row, didn’t even turn to her girls to start gossiping. They were waiting to see what Celia had to say.

“Thank you, Ms. Martinez,” Ms. Perdomo said, calming the crowd once more. As Ms. Perdomo began talking from her spot onstage—she would be moderating the debate, and was filling in the student body on how to go about asking their questions—Celia looked out at her fellow seventh graders. She saw Yvette and her posse, all of them with attentive looks on their faces. Behind them were the twins. She saw Luz Rojas, sitting with her feet on the seat in front of her. She saw Sami, Mari’s understudy, near the back of the auditorium, a sour look on her face. Maybe she wouldn’t be getting Sami’s vote now that Celia had made it possible for Mari to keep her part. But she couldn’t control what Sami—or anyone else—thought. Celia could only do the best job possible and hope people still liked her ideas when they came from her, and not Mari.

“Now that we’re clear on how the debate will proceed—”

Mari whistled loudly one more time, and Celia waved to her in the crowd. Even though she hadn’t had a chance to apologize directly to Mari for everything she’d put her through, Celia knew things would be okay between them. Mari seemed proud of her, and Celia knew that soon the roles would be switched: She’d be in the audience, cheering on her best friend’s performance. She couldn’t wait to see her onstage doing what she did best, and she couldn’t wait to tell Mari everything that had happened that morning. More than anything else, she couldn’t wait to ask Mari to forgive her, though from the loudness of Mari’s whistles, it seemed as though she’d been forgiven already.

Ms. Perdomo’s eyes flashed as she turned to each candidate before bending down close to the mike. “And now,” she said in a Presentation Mode of her very own, “let the debate begin!”