Like Mandarin - Kirsten Hubbard [42]
The date: Saturday, May 19.
My birthday.
It was kind of like somebody sticking his fingers in his ears, wagging his tongue.
Despite myself, I sighed. Then I hiked my jeans down another centimeter or two, shouldered my tote bag, and sauntered toward the school building. But I got stuck halfway up the stairs, because Mr. Beck was standing on the top step.
Mr. Beck had a gray mustache and long ponytailed hair that was a timeline of his years: black at the tips, and fading to pure white at the roots. He wore jeans belted high on his gut, a suit jacket over a white shirt, and one of those wannabe cowboy bootlace ties, with plastic bear teeth instead of toggles at the ends. His high-heeled brown boots made him look forever on the verge of toppling forward.
I tried to go around him. But to my surprise, he stuck out his hand to stop me.
“Grace Carpenter?”
The loudspeaker voice sounded strange coming from a real person. Discreetly, I tried to hike up my jeans. “Sir?”
He grabbed both my hands. “I wanted to be the first to congratulate you!”
I glanced at the students around me. Staring, as usual—but now for the wrong reasons. Hanging out with the principal on the top step wasn’t exactly enviable. Like when I got caught looking at pioneer postcards with Ms. Ingle. I wondered what would happen if I screamed at the top of my lungs. Then I realized what Mr. Beck had said.
“On what?” I asked warily.
“On your trip to Washington, D.C.”
“Huh? Excuse me, sir, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I tugged one of my hands loose. But that was worse. Now it looked like the principal and I were holding hands.
“There were some unfortunate discoveries about Peter Shaw. Specifically, we found out his essay was plagiarized. That means copied, Grace. He cheated.”
Thanks for the vocabulary lesson. “Okay, sure.”
Peter Shaw’s cheating wasn’t any big surprise. People claimed he’d won the junior-class presidency via devious tactics.
“So in that case, first prize—the three-week All-American Leadership Conference in Washington, D.C., plus a one-hundred-dollar savings bond—goes to our runner-up.”
I stood there for one silent moment before yanking my other hand out of his and slapping it over my mouth. “What do you mean?” I asked through the gaps of my fingers.
Mr. Beck withdrew a stack of pamphlets from his jacket pocket and offered them to me. “I’ve had a look at your itinerary. All kinds of field trips are included. The Pentagon. Arlington, and the cemetery. The monuments and museums. And of course, the White House. Maybe you’ll be lucky enough to meet the president of the United States! Wouldn’t that beat all?”
Alien places. Foreign words. Only a few of them made sense. I tried to wrap my brain around what he was saying.
“So I’m really going?”
“That’s right.” Mr. Beck beamed at me. One front tooth was the same shade of gray as his mustache. “And don’t forget the hundred-dollar savings bond. We’ll swap it for your fifty. I’ll call up 4-H and Kiwanis and let them know you’re in. All you need to do is fill out the paperwork and mail it in with your mother’s signature. Congratulations on your big win, Ms. Carpenter!”
The bell rang. Mr. Beck held open the double doors, and I stumbled into the hall. The white noise of the kids surging around me sounded like the roar of applause. In that instant, I forgot to saunter. I forgot everything.
I had won. For the first time in eight years, weeping was allowed.
I studied the pamphlets in my classes. Pretty quickly, I discovered the problem with leadership conferences: they were all about leadership.
My courses included:
The Fundamentals of Leadership
This course examines the philosophy of leadership, the difference between leadership and management, and the leader-follower relationship.
Leadership in the Political Sector
This course explores the nature of leadership in both traditional and contemporary politics. Guest speakers will include assistants to members of Congress and an associate Webmaster from a government website.