Historical Fiction

Sara jumped and spun around, her pleated skirt flaring out above her knees. “Oh, Em, you startled me.” She let out a sigh of relief. Then shook out her fingers. “I’m running for seventh grade rep. Isn’t it exciting?” Except the hopeful light in her eyes dimmed as she squinted, staring at the rest of my flyers in my hand.

Fighting past the pout of my lower lip, I slowly said, “But I’m running for seventh grade rep. You can’t.”

Her stare drilled into me, making me look away. A clang from a closing locker down the hall from us rattled my nerves.

“I need this,” Sara said with a firm voice. “I’m tired of being invisible at this school.”

“Me, too.” I bravely met her stare. If I couldn’t stand up to my best friend, I didn’t belong in the race. “I spent all night on my flyers.”

Sara’s eyes narrowed. “I spent all night on my posters, cutting and gluing and coloring. It took a lot more time than using a ditto machine.”

My paper flyers, which I was so proud of about five minutes ago, looked far less spectacular with its purple ink compared to Sara’s large, colorful posters.

“I need to run. You can be my campaign manager.”

“You should be mine.”

Another locker clanged closed near me. A quick glance confirmed a number of students were heading to and from their lockers. Before Sara could agree with me, two girls stopped directly in front of us, like they wanted to talk to us.

“Are you both really running for seventh grade representative?” the girl with a wide pink head band and silky brown hair asked.

The other girl gave us a sad smile. “Brandon Baker’s running, so you don’t stand a chance.”

I frowned. Brandon Baker was an immature boy more concerned with making silly jokes. “Just because he’s a boy?” I asked.

The second girl shrugged. “Sorry.”

I didn’t know her name, but she looked more ready for the part of student council, dressed in a smart, plaid dress and Mary Jane shoes.

As if our giving up because Brandon was running was a forgone conclusion, the first girl said, “Hey, are you going to Brady Bunch tonight?”

My eyebrows shot up. “Of course. Greg Brady is so cute.”

Sara eagerly added, “My family’s watching it too.”

“It’s so exciting,” the second girl said, her brown eyes as big as Sara’s.

The Brady Bunch was a new show where this dad with three sons marries a mom with three daughters and the girls move into his really large house. Everyone on my street watched the first episode. The two girls saw someone else more important to talk to and left.

I immediately turned back to Sara. “I can beat Brandon.”

“So can I.”

I held her stare for another minute before glancing away. “I guess we’ll see, won’t we.”

I hoped I sounded a lot more confident than I felt, because I wasn’t all that sure I could beat Brandon, or my best friend.

During English class that morning, I studied my competition. Brandon’s long dark sideburns and a knit cap reminded me of Mike Nesmith on the Monkees, but the rest of him was straight out of the circus, including his tie-dyed shirt of many colors. The book took nothing serious, which I could use. He sat in front and raised his hand all the time, and the teacher still called him despite his numerous jokes.

Halfway through class, the teacher surprised the class by calling on a girl to answer the question. I sat up straighter, just in case I was next. Cindy answered the question perfectly and once the teacher moved on to another point, Cindy looked around at the rest of us girls, who smiled and secretly congratulated her.

Cindy grinned and made a show of fluffy the curled ends of her blonde bob.