Fabulous Five 003 - The Popularity Trap

BOOK: Fabulous Five 003 - The Popularity Trap
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THE
FABULOUS FIVE #3

THE POPULARITY TRAP

BETSY HAYNES

A BANTAM SKYLARK
BOOK®

TORONTO • NEW YORK •
LONDON • SYDNEY • AUCKLAND

RL 5, 009-012

THE POPULARITY TRAP

A Bantam Skylark
Book / November 1988

Skylark Books is a
registered trademark of Bantam Books, a division of Bantam Doubleday Dell
Publishing Group, Inc. Registered in U.S. Patent and Trademark Office and
elsewhere.

All rights
reserved.

Copyright
©
1988 by Betsy Haynes and James Haynes.

Cover art
copyright
© 1988 by Ralph Amatrudi.

No part of this
book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic
or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage
and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

For information
address: Bantam Books.

ISBN 0-553-15634-9

Published
simultaneously in the United States and Canada

Bantam Books are
published by Bantam Books, a division of Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing
Group, Inc. Its trademark, consisting of the words "Bantam Books" and
the portrayal of a rooster, is Registered in U.S. Patent and Trademark Office
and in other countries. Marca Registrada. Bantam Books, 666 Fifth Avenue, New
York, New York 10103.

PRINTED IN THE UNITED
STATES OF AMERICA

S              0 9 8
7 6 5 4 3

CHAPTER 1

"Oh, no," moaned Christie Winchell. "Here
comes Mr. Bell. I'll absolutely die if he speaks to me in front of everybody
again." She looked around the corridor of Wakeman Junior High for some way
to be inconspicuous. A drinking fountain where her face would be hidden. An
empty classroom to duck into. Anything, just so he wouldn't notice her, but of
course, she was out of luck.

"I don't know why you're so paranoid over the principal's
speaking to you," muttered her friend Katie Shannon. "I'd be thrilled
if he spoke to me, much less smiled and called me by name."

Christie groaned. She started to explain to Katie how
embarrassing it was to be singled out by the principal just because your mother
was also a school principal, and because he knew Mrs. Winchell personally. But
by now Mr. Bell was within earshot and smiling broadly at her.

"Hi there, Christie," he called out, causing a few
students in the hallway to glance at her and smirk. "How are you today?"

"Fine, thank you, Mr. Bell," she mumbled.

"Well, that's great," he boomed. "Just
great!
"

"That's great. Just
great,
" mimicked
Clarence Marshall as he zoomed around the girls on his way to the cafeteria.
Calling back over his shoulder, he added, "Must be nice to be the
principal's pet!"

"See what I mean?" snapped Christie. It had been
tough enough being the principal's daughter during the years she was at Mark
Twain Elementary, but at least her mother had never embarrassed her by singling
her out in front of the rest of the school. Why couldn't Mr. Bell figure out a
thing like that? Still, when she had complained about it at home, her parents
had assured her that it was both an honor and a responsibility to be a school
principal's child. An honor and a responsibility? she had thought later.
Baloney. What it
was
was a pain!

The lunchroom was crowded as Christie and Katie pushed their
way in. Seventh-grade lunch period was always a zoo, but luckily Christie
quickly spotted the rest of their friends at a table near the back. The
Fabulous Five, as their clique was called, had been best friends almost
forever. Besides Christie and Katie, the group consisted of Jana Morgan, Beth
Barry, and Melanie Edwards. Christie had to smile every time she thought about
how different they were from each other. She knew that she was considered quiet
and brainy, just the opposite of boisterous, theatrical Beth. Melanie was more
interested in boys than anything else on earth, which really bugged Katie, the
feminist of the group. And Jana was the peacemaker, the leader in many ways.

"Guess what, Christie?" called Beth as Christie
and Katie reached the lunch table. Beth's eyes were huge, and she looked as if
she were about to burst with excitement. "We're nominating you to run for
class president! Isn't that great?"

"Terrific," said Katie, giving Christie a hearty
slap on the back. "Christie Winchell for seventh-grade president of Wacko
Junior High. It has a nice ring to it."

"Whoa!" said Christie, doing a double take. "What
are you talking about? I don't want to be president of the seventh-grade class."

"We have it all figured out," Beth went on,
completely ignoring Christie's objections. "We'll run your campaign. We've
already started working on slogans."

"Right," Melanie chimed in. "What do you
think of, 'You can't miss if you vote for Chris'?"

"I'm not Chris. I'm Christie," she insisted. "And
besides, you weren't listening. I
said

I don't want to run for
class president."

"Wait until you hear who else is running," said
Jana. "Mandy McDermott from Copper Beach Elementary is running for vice
president, Elizabeth Harvey from Riverfield is running for secretary, and
Richie Corrierro is running for treasurer. They're all okay, especially Richie
since he's from Mark Twain, but Melissa McConnell, the most perfect member of
the human race, is running for president. There's no way we can let her win."

Christie plunked her lunch bag onto the table and sank on
the bench with a sigh. Was this what her horoscope had meant? she wondered. She
had read it so eagerly this morning before leaving for school and had felt so
tingly over the romance part that she had memorized every word.

Aquarius (Jan. 20-Feb. 18): Today your best qualities
will push you into the limelight. Special meeting will bring either conflict or
romance. You could find yourself under pressure. Beware!

Still, her friends had been right about one thing. Melissa
McConnell would make a terrible president. She had the reputation of being a
total perfectionist, all right. Not only was she a straight A student, but
everything about her was perfect. Her hair was always perfectly styled. Her
clothes were always perfectly matched. Even her handwriting was perfectly
legible. It was disgusting. What's more, she would probably expect everyone in
the class to be as perfect as she was if she was elected president.

But the worst thing about Melissa was the fact that she was
one of The Fantastic Foursome, another clique of seventh-grade girls who had
set themselves up as major rivals of The Fabulous Five on the very first day of
school. Their leader was Laura McCall, who was tall and pretty and wore her
blond hair in one long braid that started on top of her head and fell
practically to her waist. Everyone said that Laura made the other three girls,
Tammy Lucero, Funny Hawthorne, and Melissa, do certain things to stay in her
clique, but no one knew exactly what those things were.

"I hear what you're saying," said Christie. Then
she opened her arms and raised her shoulders in a giant shrug. "But why
me?"

"You're a natural," offered Melanie.

"You're smart and well organized," said Beth. "And
believe me, being well organized is essential."

Christie shook her head. "You guys are putting me on. I'm
not the one who should be running. Jana, you're a good leader. Why don't we
nominate you?"

"Thanks, Christie, but I'm seventh-grade coeditor of
the yearbook, remember?"

"So?" said Christie.

"So—I'm going to be awfully busy," Jana insisted. "Working
on
The Wigwam
is a big job, and I want to do it right."

Katie's eyes brightened. "Just think, if both the class
president and the seventh-grade coeditor of the yearbook are from The Fabulous
Five, we'll show The Fantastic Foursome a thing or two."

"And don't forget that Beth and I are cheerleaders,"
Melanie said proudly.

"Okay, then why not nominate Katie?" suggested
Christie. "Class president is her kind of job."

"Actually, I thought about running," Katie
admitted. "But I hear that Mr. Bell is thinking about forming a Teen Court
to deal with kids who get in trouble at school. Three students from each class
will be on it, along with some teachers. I'd rather try for that."

"It figures," muttered Christie. "But I still
don't see why
I
have to run for president. There are lots of kids who
would make better presidents than Melissa McConnell. How about some of the
boys? Randy Kirwan, for instance? Or Scott Daly? Or Shane Arrington? I'd vote
for any of them."

"Randy Would make a great president," said Jana. "And
I'm not saying that just because he's my boyfriend, either. But don't forget,
he plays sports all year long. He wouldn't have time to be president."

Melanie had rolled her eyes when she heard Christie mention
two of the boys she had crushes on. "The same goes for Shane and Scott,"
she added in a dreamy voice. "But wouldn't it be fun to be the class
president's girlfriend?" She paused and gazed toward the ceiling. "Would
that make me 'the First Girlfriend'?"

"So we're back to you, Christie," said Beth,
ignoring Melanie's question. "You have to do it. Besides, we really need you."

"Come on, guys. Out with it," said Christie. "I
know you aren't telling me the whole story. Why do you need
me
?
"

Beth lowered her eyes. Melanie squirmed and shuffled her
feet, and all four of them looked suddenly uncomfortable.

When no one answered, Christie took a deep breath and put
her hands on her hips. "I asked you a question. Why do you need me?"
she repeated.

"It's just that nobody could beat you," said Jana.
"Not with your connections to Mr. Bell. Just think, you could go to him
with a class problem, and he would listen to you."

Little explosions went off in Christie's brain, and red
fireworks rained down before her eyes. It was incredible, she thought. Why did
everyone expect so much of her all the time? And now . . . her own best friends
. . .

"Well ex-CUSE me," she cried, jumping to her feet.
"But I just don't happen to feel like running."

For once in her life Beth looked flustered. "It's too
late," she said. "We got your nominating petitions signed when you
weren't looking and turned them in this morning."

Christie was stunned. She dropped back down onto the bench
like a balloon with a slow leak. My horoscope was right, she thought. I'm
definitely under pressure, but it's too late to beware.

CHAPTER 2

Christie had never felt so alone in her life as she nibbled
on her tuna sandwich and listened to her friends making campaign plans. Their
excited chatter swirled around her as if she weren't even sitting with them.

"We've got to make signs and come up with a slogan,"
said Beth. "Now everybody
think.
"

"What we need is a gimmick," said Katie. "You
know, a way to tie Christie's name in with something everybody knows."

"If she spelled Christie with a
K
instead of a
C,
we could call her Special K," offered Melanie. "You know, 'Vote for
Special K.' We could even cut the words off cereal boxes and wear them as
campaign buttons."

"But her name is Christie with a
C,
" Jana
reminded them.

"I've got it!" shouted Melanie, banging her fist
on the table so hard that her milk carton jumped. "C! Vitamin C! How about
'Cure all your troubles with Vitamin C'?"

Christie glanced up, making a face, and Katie nodded in
agreement. Pure cornball, thought Christie. Absolutely the pits.

"Does anybody have a better idea?" Melanie asked
defensively. When nobody said anything, she went right on talking. "We
could make all the posters round and orange to go with the idea of vitamin C."
She looked around proudly to see if everyone was getting her message.

A light came on in Beth's eyes. "In
fact
,
we could even give away oranges!" she shouted. Then she lowered her voice,
as if she was worried that another candidate would overhear and steal the idea.
"That's it, guys. Lots of kids give away things when they run for office.
We could write Christie's name on little stickers and put them on the oranges.
Then we could give one to every seventh-grader."

"A day without Christie is like a day without sunshine,"
Jana sang, and Christie knew that no matter how she felt about being known as
Vitamin C, her fate was sealed.

Sighing, she absently broke her sandwich into a dozen pieces
while she thought about her situation. First, she did not want to run for class
president, but her friends were railroading her into it. Second, building her
campaign around vitamin C hinted that she would be some kind of cure-all who
could fix things with Mr. Bell because he knew her personally. Nothing could be
further from the truth. She couldn't fix things if she wanted to, and what's
more, she wouldn't—even if she could.

"I still wish you would nominate someone else,"
she said. "It really bugs me that you guys sneaked around getting
petitions signed without even asking me."

"Sorry, but we explained," said Melanie. "We've
already turned in your petitions to the office. There's nothing we could do
about it now, even if we wanted to."

"Maybe we could talk to Mr. Bell . . ." Christie began,
but stopped herself as she saw slow smiles spreading across her friends' faces.

"See," said Beth. "What did we tell you?
Listen, Christie. Nominating you for class president is the greatest idea we've
ever had."

"Don't you get it?" Jana asked. "Anytime
something goes wrong, all you have to do is talk to your
friend,
Mr.
Bell. There's no way Melissa McConnell can compete with something like that."

Christie felt her anger rising to the boiling point. "Well,
she can have it. Maybe I won't even try to win." But the instant the words
were out, she felt a stab of guilt. Her four friends had turned to each other
with looks of dismay. I can't throw the election, she thought, and let my best
friends down. Out loud she murmured, "I'll try to win. I promise I will. I
know how much it means to you guys."

"Terrific," said Katie.

"We knew you'd go along with it once you thought it
over," Melanie assured her.

While the others went back to their campaign planning,
Christie poked at the pieces of her tuna sandwich, pushing them back together
like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. She stirred uneasily, suddenly feeling as if
someone across the lunchroom was staring at her.

Glancing up, she half expected it to be Melissa McConnell
looking over the competition. But to her total surprise the eyes she met were
not Melissa's. They didn't even belong to another girl. The person looking at
her so intently was Jon Smith, the boy she had been noticing ever since the
beginning of school, and whom she had caught looking at her three whole times
last Saturday night at Laura McCall's party.

Jon was one of the quietest boys in seventh grade, which
seemed strange to most kids since his parents were both local television
personalities and anything but quiet themselves. His father, Chip Smith, was
sports director and interviewed famous athletes all the time. His mother, who
went by the name Marge Whitworth, was a news anchorwoman and had her own
late-afternoon talk show. Christie couldn't help but be a little bit impressed.
Besides, she argued to herself, he was awfully cute, and being quiet was no big
deal. She was quiet herself.

Instantly she felt a little foolish as they continued to
look straight at each other. How should she react? Should she smile at him?
Maybe even try to flirt? But he wasn't smiling at her. In fact, he looked as if
he was angry. His face looked stiff and his jaws were clenched.

That's ridiculous, she thought, looking away. I've never
done anything to him. We've never even spoken to each other. Then she smiled as
another thought occurred to her. Did Jon Smith want to run for class president?
And did he know he didn't have a chance because she had connections with Mr.
Bell?

The idea made her blush. Don't be silly! she told herself
silently. I
don't
have connections to Mr. Bell. And even if I did, maybe
Jon would win, anyway. I'll bet lots of kids would vote for him if they thought
he would introduce them to his parents or let them hang around and meet famous
people.

Just then the loudspeaker at the other end of the cafeteria
crackled to life. "Attention, please. Attention, please," said Miss
Simone, the school secretary. "Will Christie Winchell please report to Mr.
Bell's office?"

Christie rose slowly, avoiding the I-told-you-so looks that
she knew would be on her friends' faces. This is all I need, she thought
angrily. Now everyone will be more convinced than ever that I have an "in"
with the principal. She couldn't help glancing toward the spot where Jon Smith
had been sitting a moment ago to see if he was looking at her that way, too,
but to her surprise he was gone.

BOOK: Fabulous Five 003 - The Popularity Trap
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