Long Shot - Mike Lupica [9]
“You can look around you today and see how big our school really is,” Mr. Lucchino said. Then he shook his head and said, “And how loud,” and that got a laugh out of the kids in the auditorium.
Pedro could feel the heavy beat of his heart now, felt it even more than he had when he and Joe and Sarah and the rest of their guys had first taken their seats in a row of chairs about halfway back from the stage.
“And I want you to know that being class president at our school is not some honorary position,” he said. “The person who wins this election will help me run what we call town meetings about various school issues, will join the Honor Council, which makes sure the laws of our school are obeyed, and will give the keynote speech at graduation this year.”
Mr. Lucchino paused then, looked out at the audience, and said, “This isn’t just a popularity contest. This is about being a leader.”
The principal of Pedro’s school was sounding exactly like his dad now.
Pedro half expected Mr. Lucchino to keep going and start talking about America.
Once more, he heard his father’s voice inside his head.
President Morales.
If Papa only knew, Pedro thought.
It was quiet for a moment, because Mr. Lucchino was still at the podium. Pedro had Sarah on his left and Joe on his right. He wondered if either one of them could hear his heart now, pounding away like there was an entire drum set inside him.
Then Mr. Lucchino explained the process. Candidates would be nominated and seconded, and then the nominee would announce from the stage who his vice president would be.
The highlight of the campaign would be the day when the candidates for president had a debate in front of the school, and then gave their speeches.
Sarah whispered into Pedro’s ear. “The campaign hasn’t even started and I am so into it.”
“Not nearly as into it as you’re going to be,” Pedro said.
“What does that mean?” she said.
Pedro just smiled and put a finger to his lips. Sarah’s response was to jab him with one of her elbows.
“So,” Mr. Lucchino said, “without further ado, we will accept the first nomination for president of Vernon Middle School.”
Pedro couldn’t catch his breath now, feeling as if he’d just finished running wind sprints.
“Showtime,” Jamal said from down the row.
Pedro could have sworn Mr. Lucchino was looking right at Ned Hancock as he said, “Okay, who’d like to go first?”
Jeff Harmon and Dave DeLuca were sitting in the front row, on either side of Ned. They ran toward the stage now as if it were a race to see which one of them could get to the microphone first.
In the crowd, a lot of the other kids were already applauding, almost by force of habit.
Jeff started it off, playing up his big moment, saying in a deep announcer’s voice, “I would like to place in nomination of the name of the next . . . ”
When he paused there, Joe said to Pedro, “The next American Idol?”
“ . . . president of the sixth grade . . . Ned Hancock!”
Over the cheers that erupted in the auditorium now, Bobby yelled into the microphone, “Second!”
More cheers, like Ned had just won another big game for one of his teams.
Then Ned walked up, taking his time, smiling, not sweating this because he never seemed to sweat anything. He walked across the stage as if he owned it, owned the whole place, really. He calmly stepped to the microphone and said, “I accept.”
More cheers.
Then he said, “And I pick Jeff Harmon to be vice president.”
Another cheer.
Ned not saying he was picking Jeff to run with him, Pedro noted. Picking him to be vice president.
Like they’d won the election already, without a vote. Won by “acclamation”—something Pedro had just learned in Social Studies when they’d begun talking in