Kristy for President Read online

  But this time, when I finished my lists, I knew what I was going to do. The only way to do everything I wanted to do, and needed to do, and do it right, was not to run for class president. I was going to have to drop out of the race.

  I said it aloud, for practice. “I have to drop out of the race.”

  It didn’t sound so bad. It could have been worse.

  I said it one more time. No. Not so bad at all.

  Immediately I was sleepy, so sleepy that I didn’t even know I’d fallen asleep until I woke up the next morning, ready to go, ready to do everything — except be class president.

  I wasn’t sure quite how I was going to go about telling everyone what I had decided. Silly ideas — like going around to all the posters and writing K– — came to mind. Or going to the principal’s office and making an announcement over the PA system (except, of course, no one would have understood it). Probably, I could have just told the rest of the BSC and they could have spread the word for me.

  Although I cringed to think how my friends would feel about my dropping out of the race. After all that work. I almost talked to Mary Anne about it. I knew she’d be calm and sensible and supportive (at least, I was almost absolutely certain she would be supportive). But then I thought of another way of handling it.

  Once I made that decision, it was easy to quit worrying about that along with everything else. It must have shown, too, because that very next morning, Mary Anne (she’s calm, sensible, supportive, and perceptive) said, as we walked into SMS together, “You must have finished preparing for the debate.”

  “I’m ready,” I assured her. “Why?”

  “You look ready. More pulled together.” I looked down. I was wearing jeans and a crewneck sweater, one of my standard uniforms.

  “Kristy! I’m not talking about what you’re wearing!”

  “I know, I know.”

  We caught up to Stacey and Claudia then. They both looked great. (I’d been so busy, I hadn’t even seen anyone, it seemed like, even though I’d been seeing everyone almost every day. If that makes any sense.) Stacey had pulled her hair back into a braid with a silver hat pin stuck through it. She was wearing purple capri pants, soft black flat ankle boots, black-and-white-striped socks, and a black-and-white-checked shirt, only the checks were all different sizes. She had square silver earrings in her ears.

  Claud’s hair was down, but she was wearing a hat. On the green hat ribbon was pinned a “Kristy +” button. Her tights were orange and her dress was tie-dyed every color you could think of. She was wearing her feather earrings, and she’d drawn a star on her face next to her right eye.

  “It’s great to see you all,” I said.

  Everyone looked a little surprised. “Sure, Kristy,” said Stacey.

  “She’s ready for the debate,” Mary Anne explained, laughing.

  “Ohhh. Good job, Kristy. Need any special art effects?”

  I shook my head. “Thanks, Claudia, but I’m all set. Now I only have to worry about science.”

  Claudia made a face.

  “Don’t worry,” said Mary Anne loyally.

  “Yeah … be happy,” added Stacey.

  Thinking about the science homework, complete and all correct (at least I was pretty sure it was) I laughed. “I am,” I said. “I am!”

  The day of the assembly, I joined the other eighth-grade candidates in the front row of the auditorium. After the principal explained the rules for the debate, he handed the podium over to the candidates so we could each make a one-minute opening statement.

  This time, Grace didn’t lean over to make snide remarks about my notes. She couldn’t have, anyway, because I didn’t have any. But she was busy shuffling through hers, looking worried. Alan was carrying a notebook stuffed full of papers, and a pen. Pete surprised me, though. He was holding one piece of paper, with typing on it. He looked like he knew what he was doing, and was pretty sure of himself.

  “Now, Kristy Thomas, candidate for eighth-grade class president,” said the principal.

  I took a deep breath, stood up, and walked slowly to the podium. I gripped the sides of it (I was a little nervous) and looked out at everybody.

  My friends were sitting together this time, in the middle of the auditorium: Mary Anne, Dawn, Stacey, Claudia, and Logan. Mary Anne gave me a big smile.

  I smiled back at her and at everybody.

  “I’m Kristy Thomas, and I’m not a candidate for class president.”

  A buzz swept through the auditorium, so I did what the principal did. I kept quiet and waited. While I waited, I looked at my friends.

  I don’t know what I expected, but they didn’t look upset. Mary Anne was nodding slowly, thoughtfully. Claudia looked surprised, and she and Stacey (who also looked surprised) were whispering to each other. Dawn looked as calm as ever. And Logan was frowning a little.

  The buzzing died down, so I went on. “I’ve enjoyed running for office,” I said. “I’ve learned a lot. One of the most important things I’ve learned is that a person shouldn’t try to do too much. The office of president of the class is one with a lot of responsibility — especially if the new president wants to make changes. I think we need some changes, but I’m not the one to make them. I already have a lot of responsibilites. I want to do well at the things I am doing right now, and I want to have time to enjoy what I do. If I stayed in the race and won, I wouldn’t be able to do the job right.

  “I wish the candidates for president the best of luck. I know whoever is elected will do a terrific job. I’m sorry to withdraw from the race, but I think — I know — I am doing the right thing.

  “I want to thank all of you for your support, and especially my friends.” I looked down at the members of the BSC. They all seemed pretty calm now. Did they understand?

  “Thank you,” I said.

  It was Mary Anne, I think, who started to applaud. Some of the other kids joined in. So the walk from the podium back to my seat wasn’t so bad after all.

  I’d done it! And it felt — okay. Even the smirk Grace gave me didn’t change my mind. I listened to the rest of the debate in a daze.

  When the assembly was over, Mary Anne was the first to reach me.

  “Kristy!” she said, and hugged me.

  The others were smiling. “Does this mean you’re back in the baby-sitting business?” asked Dawn.

  “Definitely,” I said.

  Claud held up her hand and I slapped it. “I’m still going to wear this button,” said Claudia.

  “A collector’s item now,” Stacey told her solemnly.

  I grinned. Then my friends and I walked out of the auditorium together.

  I took down the last of Mallory’s posters and put it on the pile.

  “Whew,” I said to Mary Anne.

  “You can say that again. It’s much easier putting up campaign posters.”

  “Yeah.” We headed for Mallory’s locker. She and Jessi had stacked a heap of posters beside it.

  “What are you going to do with all the posters?” asked Mary Anne.

  Mallory pushed her glasses up on her nose. “Turn them over and use them next year.”

  “And next year, I bet you’ll be the incumbent,” said Jessi.

  “I don’t know.” Mallory looked doubtful. “Besides, even if I do get elected to secretary of the sixth grade, I don’t know if that’ll count for anything in seventh grade.”

  “Next year, run for president,” I told Mallory as Claudia, Stacey, and Dawn appeared with armfuls of posters. “I can recommend a group of campaigners experienced in supporting presidential hopefuls.”

  “Good grief, Kristy,” teased Stacey. “You’re starting to talk like a politician.”

  “Or a newscaster!” Claudia let her posters slide to the floor. “It’s almost time for homeroom and the big vote. Are you nervous, Mal?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ah — an honest politician,” teased Dawn.

  “I’m a little nervous about the eighth-grade president
ial race,” I confessed.

  “You did the right thing,” said Mallory. “You don’t have to worry now.”

  But Mary Anne understood right away.

  “It would be unfortunate if the best person didn’t win,” she said.

  “You mean it would be the pits if Grace Blume did,” put in Claudia. “And she might.”

  “She’s definitely spent the most money on her campaign,” said Stacey. “For Grace, it’s a big popularity contest. Too bad.”

  “Especially if she wins … but then again, what if Alan wins?”

  “No way, Kristy.”

  “Pete could win,” said Mary Anne.

  The homeroom bell rang.

  “Time to vote for Mallory,” said Jessi. “Come on, Mal.”

  “Good luck, Mallory,” said Stacey, and the rest of us chimed in with “good lucks” of our own. Then we headed for our homerooms to vote.

  I voted for Pete. I wondered who else did. Mary Anne did for sure.

  The day was nerve-racking, I’ll admit it, even if I wasn’t a candidate anymore. But Mallory had to win. And I’d decided who had to win as eighth-grade class president, too.

  Finally, during last period, the PA system crackled to life.

  And for once, it worked — sort of. Or maybe it just sounded clearer because everybody became absolutely quiet in order to listen.

  The principal began with the sixth grade, starting with treasurer. Secretary was next: I held my breath …

  “And” (crackle static) “sixth-grade secretary … Mallory Pike.”

  I let out a whoop. “All right, Mallory!” I didn’t even care when everyone turned around to stare.

  Then we had to listen to a lot more snap, crackle, static as the winners of the rest of the sixth grade and the seventh grade were read aloud. “Faster, faster,” I muttered, but it didn’t help.

  Finally: “And the new pres-(screeech) the eighth grade is … Pete Black!”

  What a relief. I didn’t let out a whoop, but I was suddenly very glad Pete had run for class president.

  School was over after that, and for the last few minutes, while everyone else was talking, I thought about Pete’s campaign. I wasn’t crazy about his platform. But he’d made some good points (especially the ones that were similar to mine!). And he was serious about the job. Plus, he had said he’d liked some of the other candidates’ ideas. Maybe I would catch up with Pete later and congratulate him and go over my ideas in detail … just in case he wanted to use them.

  Yes. The best person had definitely won.

  I was on time for our meeting that afternoon. But I wasn’t the first to arrive. Everyone except Mallory had arrived ahead of me.

  “Hey,” I said. “What’s the deal?”

  Everyone stood up and applauded.

  “You did good, Kristy,” said Mary Anne. “We’re proud of you. And … welcome back to being merely incredibly busy — instead of out of your mind.”

  “Thank you,” I said. Just then, Mallory stepped through the door.

  We stood up and applauded again, while Mallory turned pink.

  “Speech, speech!” cried Jessi.

  “No way!” said Mallory, grinning.

  Then the phone rang. I sat in my chair and called the meeting to order, and Claudia began to hand around tropical-flavored jellybeans, Fig Newtons, and Frookie cookies (they’re sweetened with fruit juice so Stacey can sometimes eat them, and Dawn does, too).

  It was good to be back to normal. Toward the end of the meeting, I said, “You know what? Remember Pete said he thought the students should be the ones to choose the class play?”

  “Um-hm,” said Claudia around a mouthful of jellybeans.

  “So?” asked Stacey.

  “Well, listen. Suppose we get to do Our Town? And suppose I could try out and land the role of Emily? Wouldn’t that be fantastic?”

  A moment of silence greeted me. Then Mary Anne groaned, Mallory and Jessi started to laugh, and everyone else joined in.

  I realized what I’d done.

  “Well,” I said. “If it’s not softball season, I might …”

  “Kristy!” said everybody together.

  “Meeting’s over,” said Stacey, when she stopped laughing. “Come on.”

  “Where?” asked Mallory.

  “To celebrate your victory, Mallory! Surprise! We planned everything. Charlie’s going to drive us downtown. We’re going to pig out.” Claudia wadded up the empty jellybean bag, buried it in her wastebasket, and jumped to her feet.

  “Wait a minute,” I said, “let me see if I can fit this into my schedule …”

  “Kristy,” said Mary Anne. “Come on!”

  Laughing, we all trooped out to celebrate Mallory’s victory.

  * * *

  Dear Reader,

  In Kristy for President, Kristy finds herself involved in too many activities, and realizes she needs to drop some. Just like Kristy, I tend to be very busy. Because I’m so busy, I find that the best way to manage my time is by scheduling, scheduling, scheduling. (Mary Anne would be so impressed!) Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday are “typical” work days. They’re reserved for writing manuscripts and outlines, for reading galleys (books before they’re published), and for answering mail. Friday is devoted to other kinds of work. I’m the president of two foundations, the Ann M. Martin Foundation and the Lisa Novak Community Libraries. On Fridays, my assistant and I visit organizations that have received grants from the foundation, or we sort donated books into small children’s libraries which we give to shelters, day care centers, and other places where books are needed. I’m also on the boards of three additional organizations — I have to squeeze that work in whenever I can. You may be wondering what I do on Mondays. Mondays are reserved for sewing — my favorite activity. I think it’s important to make time for yourself, as well as for work.

  Happy reading,

  * * *

  The author gratefully acknowledges

  Nola Thacker

  for her help in

  preparing this manuscript.

  About the Author

  ANN MATTHEWS MARTIN was born on August 12, 1955. She grew up in Princeton, New Jersey, with her parents and her younger sister, Jane.

  There are currently over 176 million copies of The Baby-sitters Club in print. (If you stacked all of these books up, the pile would be 21,245 miles high.) In addition to The Baby-sitters Club, Ann is the author of two other series, Main Street and Family Tree. Her novels include Belle Teal, A Corner of the Universe (a Newbery Honor book), Here Today, A Dog’s Life, On Christmas Eve, Everything for a Dog, Ten Rules for Living with My Sister, and Ten Good and Bad Things About My Life (So Far). She is also the coauthor, with Laura Godwin, of the Doll People series.

  Ann lives in upstate New York with her dog and her cats.

  Copyright © 1992 by Ann M. Martin.

  Cover art by Hodges Soileau

  All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Inc. SCHOLASTIC, THE BABY-SITTERS CLUB, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.

  First edition, April 1992

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.

  e-ISBN 978-0-545-69046-1

 

 

 
0%); -o-filter: grayscale(100%); -ms-filter: grayscale(100%); filter: grayscale(100%); " class="sharethis-inline-share-buttons">share