Dodger for President Read Free Page B

the race. I didn’t see the point because the facts weren’t going to change by then. Math was math. In the margin of my notebook, Istarted to write down the equations that would control the outcome of the election:
    Â 
Me = Dork
    Lizzie = Dork
    James = Popular Kid
    Craig Flynn = Scary Tough Kid
    Popular Kid + Scary Tough Kid = Unbeatable Combo
    Dork + Dork =
Very
Beatable Combo with Possibility of
    Record-Breaking Landslide Defeat
    Â 
    My pencil point broke, and I got up to sharpen it. When I got back, Dodger was standing silently next to my seat. I waved him away, and he strolled over to take a nap in his favorite spot on top of the radiator. Sitting back down, I saw that Dodger had added another line to my calculations:
    Â 
Dork + Dork + Magic = FUN!!!
    Â 
    I groaned. As you can probably tell, Dodger’s definition of
fun
was remarkably similar to my definition of
trouble
.
    At lunch, I told Lizzie about my conversation with Mrs. Starsky. She spent the next twenty minutes attempting to convince me that I should run no matter what happened. Then we went outside for recess, sat down under a tree, and kept right on arguing.
    Two shadows fell over us. I looked up into the sneering faces of James and Craig. “So,” James said, “are you planning your election campaign or your wedding?”
    â€œOoh, good one,” Lizzie retorted. “Did you think of that by yourself, or did you ask a first grader for help?”
    James said, “You know you’re totally going to lose, don’t you? I mean, I’m the best candidate. I’ve been on student council since kindergarten, and I have tons of friends. And you’re—well—you’re
you
.”
    Lizzie stayed calm. Looking James right in the eye, she said, “You know, the election isn’t just a popularity contest. A lot of kids in our grade would be happy to vote for an intelligent, thoughtful candidate who has a good understanding of the issues surrounding—HEY, WHAT ARE YOU LAUGHING AT?”
    James was practically doubled over with glee. “The issues,” he wheezed between fits of laughter. “She thinks the election is about the issues. Ooh, that’s a good one. The
issues
!”
    â€œOkay, Mr. Expert, what is the election about, then?”
    â€œIt’s about me being the best, and everybody else knowing it. And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll get your
friend
here to drop out of the race before things get really embarrassing.”
    Lizzie was fuming. When I was little, there was this kid named Davey on our block. Davey had this tiny, short-legged lapdog that looked like the weakest animal in the world. The first time I met Davey, I asked him the name of the dog, and he said, “Bloodfang.” I almost laughed. But then, about a week later, I saw a huge German shepherd running past my house in a panic. A moment later, Bloodfang came charging after it. That German shepherd practically ran up a tree to escape Bloodfang’s rage, and I don’t think it ever came back to our street.
    If James didn’t back off fast, he was going to find out that Lizzie’s parents should have named her Bloodfang.
    â€œListen, James,” I said. “I don’t really want to run anyway. So I’m sure we could work this out so that everybody is happy if you’ll just stop being so insulting.”
    Lizzie elbowed me aside. “Yeah, James. We’ll drop out of the race. All you have to do is ask nicely.”
    Craig, who hadn’t said a word this whole time, said to James, “Hey, that sounds fair. Why don’t you just ask the dorks—sorry, Willie . . . sorry, Lizzie—to drop out?”
    James whirled to glare at his running mate. “James Beeks doesn’t ASK, Craig. James Beeks TELLS. James Beeks has been running unopposed in these elections for years, and he isn’t about to stop now.” He turned back to stare down at us.