No Place Like Home Page 7

  See, there’s what I’m supposed to do as a candidate and what I probably should do, and the two of them are having an all-out tug of war. I want this for Ashia, I really, really do, but if we win, it won’t be fair to anyone. Tate and his running mate are a real going-to-be-here-to-do-the-job team, but Ashia will only be half a team. I let the two sides tug and tug and tug until I’m sure of what I need to do.

  When the teacher passes out the ballots, I skip over my name and check the box for Tate O’Dea and his running mate.

  * * *

  At the end of the day, Mr. Kumar’s voice comes on over the loudspeaker. “Good afternoon, boys and girls, this is your principal with an exciting announcement.”

  He says it’s exciting, but there is never any change in the tone of his voice, so I’m not sure if I should believe him.

  “We have the results of the sixth-, seventh-, and eighth-grade elections,” he continues.

  As always, the kids take the chance to hoot and holler until they’re told to stop.

  “I’m happy to hear your enthusiasm,” Mr. Kumar says. “Now let’s all be great listeners as I read the results.”

  He goes through the sixth-grade winners, and the echoes of cheers make their way through the halls.

  “And now for the seventh-grade results.”

  Here it is.

  But as he lets the sixth-grade cheers get quieter, Ashia and Bren are coming through the doorway of my math class. They both rush over, giving the teacher a wave (he responds with a knowing nod), and they crouch next to my chair on either side.

  “We couldn’t stand not being here with you,” says Ashia. “So we got special permission.” I wrap an arm around her for a half hug and give Bren a smile.

  As Mr. Kumar announces the secretary and treasurer, I weave my fingers together and squeeze hard. Ashia is bouncing on her toes, and Bren is gripping the metal bar of my chair. Wow. I didn’t realize how big a deal this is for people. My guilt tornado is now out of control, but my nerves have taken over, and my heart—the part that still wants this despite everything—is telling the rest of me to SHUSH.

  “Our new vice president and president of the seventh-grade class council are . . .”

  Ashia grabs my hand.

  chapter fourteen

  Well, this is a first,” says Mr. Kumar. And he stops. The entire school is silent, waiting for the winner of the seventh-grade president position.

  “What’s a first?!” Ashia shouts out, getting a laugh from the class.

  “Sorry for the delay, folks,” says the principal. “It appears we have our first-ever tie.”

  A chorus of “huh” and “what” surrounds me.

  “Looks like we’ll have seventh grade co-presidents and co–vice presidents this year. Congratulations to Ashia Boyce and Kenzie Rhines and Tate O’Dea and Paul Vangen.” He goes on to announce the eighth-grade winners, but I don’t pay attention to any of it. I just sit here.

  “Kenzie,” says Ashia, shaking my shoulder. “We won! Well, sort of, but we still won. Are you okay?”

  We won. Sort of. I’m seventh-grade co–vice president.

  Someone grabs my hand and gives it a squeeze, but it’s not from Ashia’s side. “Hey, Kenzie,” whispers Bren. “This is awesome. Get out of your head.”

  I don’t know why it’s Bren’s voice that brings me back to reality, but I’m thankful for it. I shake out my arms and get to my feet.

  “Thank you. Thank you. Thanks so much. We’ll do our best.” I try to get to everyone who’s congratulating us, but before long the bell to go home rings, and everyone but me, Ashia, and Bren is gone. Even the teacher has left for bus duty.

  “Soooo,” says Ashia. “Are you okay with this?”

  My first thought is YES, I’M OKAY WITH THIS! Not only do I get to be on student council with Ashia and Tate (okay, yeah, so it’s only for a couple weeks), but when I leave, I don’t even need to find a replacement because there’s already a vice president.

  But my second thought is that I will eventually have to tell everyone—EVERYONE—that I’m leaving and I knew it all along.

  “Yeah, no, this is great,” I say. Not a chance I’m telling her I voted for Tate and we would have won if I hadn’t. “In a way, this is even better, isn’t it? I mean, it’s Tate.” And that’s when Bren’s face goes all weird.

  “I gotta go,” says Bren, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. “Congratulations, Kenzie.”

  I grab for his arm. “Wait, are you mad?”

  He gives me a look I can’t read. “No, I’m not mad. Enjoy your victory.” He leaves. Just like that. And I have no clue what’s going on with him.

  “Why is he upset?” I ask Ashia. We pack up our things and head for the hallway.

  “Are you seriously that clueless?” she asks.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say. And I really don’t.

  “He’s not mad, Kenzie. He’s jealous.”

  We say a few thank-yous to students congratulating us as we walk by. “Then why didn’t he run for office?” I ask.

  “Not of you winning, silly. Of Tate.”

  “Bren’s jealous that Tate won?” I am totally lost.

  Ashia stops. “Kenzie, if you can’t figure this out on your own, I’m not going to be the one to tell you.” She waves as she heads for the front doors, leaving me with a swarm of new congratulators.

  “Tell me what?!” I yell after her. But my only source of information on this mystery is long gone.

  * * *

  It’s the leads at musical rehearsal today, which means I run into Tate as soon as I get there.

  “My partner in crime,” he says, walking up the aisle toward me. “What do you think about the tie?”

  “Crazy, right?” I say.

  “And to think if I hadn’t voted for you, we would have won,” he says.

  Part of my brain says to keep my mouth shut, but the other part that doesn’t always think things through spits out the words. “Well, turns out if I hadn’t voted for you, we would have won.”

  Tate stops before we get to the front row. “Hold on a second. You voted for me?”

  I bite my lip, but can’t manage to hold back the smile fighting its way out. “Yes, but don’t you dare tell Ashia.”

  He pretends to zip his lips and smiles. “We’re going to make quite a team, Vice President Rhines,” he says, dropping his bag on one of the seats.

  “Co–Vice President Rhines,” I correct.

  “Right. Hey, since there’s no school on Friday, do you want to meet up at my house to work on some ideas and plans?” he asks. “Plus, we should probably be rehearsing lines.”

  My mind races back to the first day of school (my first day of school), when Tate O’Dea whipped by in a blur. And now he’s asking me to come over his house? Not even a top concierge like Fiona could have arranged this. THIS is all me.

  “Yeah, sure. Sounds good,” I say. “Wait, why is there no school?”

  “Nevada Day,” says Tate. “A little-known bonus of living here.”

  I smile. And even though I certainly don’t need a day off already, I don’t mind one bit that I’ll get to spend part of it with Tate. Rehearsal goes by without any trouble, meaning they still haven’t made me practice my solo, and I’m doing okay (even without Mayleen making faces in my phone) singing the group numbers and rehearsing lines.

  But when Mrs. Summers sits us down to go over the schedule for the next month, there’s a bit of a problem.

  “As you know, we have off on Friday and then there are staff development days Monday and Tuesday,” she says. “So I’d like to start practices on Saturdays in order to be ready for the performance, and I’ll need all of you to be here. Are there any conflicts?”

  Any conflicts? Um, yeah.

  The boy playing the Cowardly Lion speaks up. “I have soccer, but the games are in the afternoon.”

  “We were thinking ten a.m. to twelve would be best,” says Mrs. Summers. “Does
that work?”

  Lion nods.

  Everyone else seems to be fine with it, and this is my chance to say something. But if I do, it’s all over. Over. And I’m not ready for that.

  “My dad usually travels on the weekends for work and I go with him,” I say. “I don’t think I can do Saturdays.”

  Mrs. Summers taps her pencil on her clipboard. “Every weekend?” she asks.

  “Almost,” I answer. “Shelby could fill in for me. She’s the understudy and she really hasn’t gotten much stage time.”

  Mrs. Summers looks to the ceiling and touches her pencil to her chin. “It’s not ideal, Kenzie, but if you can’t be here, you can’t be here. Will it be a problem for the performance?”

  Until now, I’ve been able to fudge my answers, but that one is a pretty direct question.

  I can tell her I’ll be here, but that’s not the truth.

  I can tell her I won’t be here, but then I’ll lose everything.

  “Kenzie, honey, are you okay?” asks Mrs. Summers. The Cowardly Lion, the Scarecrow, and the Tin Man (who is actually a tin girl) are all staring at me.

  Or I can tell her a half-truth.

  “By then my dad won’t have to leave here every weekend,” I say. My blood is pumping as I wait for her response.

  “Great. I’ll tell Shelby we need her to take over for you on Saturdays,” she says. “But do try to be here if you can.”

  I nod.

  We all pack up our things and head up the aisle toward the doorway. When the others get up ahead of us, Tate leans over and whispers, “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were hiding something, Kenzie Rhines.” And without even looking back at me, he steps ahead and disappears to the left.

  “Except you’re right,” I say out loud. But there’s nobody there to catch my words.

  chapter fifteen

  I’ve done what I set out to do. I got the lead in the musical. I’m on the seventh-grade student council. I run book club events. I’m decent again at ice-skating. I can even take some great pictures. I should tell them now.

  Or maybe I shouldn’t.

  After the election results and musical rehearsal yesterday, I felt so guilty I told Mayleen what’s been going on. Someone out of town seemed like the best option, and I didn’t think telling Erin and Caitlin back in California that I’ve been lying to my new friends was the best way to rekindle our friendship. I text Mayleen.

  You can’t tell them, she writes back. You have two and a half more weeks and then it won’t matter.

  But it does matter, I type. I didn’t think it would, but it does.

  We already went over this when I told her the truth, and we both agreed that I’d gone too far to turn back now. But what am I supposed to do, leave without saying a word?

  You’re in a pickle, my friend, she writes back. Sorry, gotta go. Chat later!

  Ashia will be here any minute, and I don’t know if I can be around her right now without cracking. Dad pops his head in my room.

  “Hey, sweetie,” he says. I put down my phone and give him the okay to come in. He sits down on my bed. “How’s school going? We haven’t had a chance to talk much since we’ve been here.”

  I’m used to Dad being gone all day, but I miss all the airport and airplane quality time we usually have. “It’s all right.”

  “Really? Only all right?” he asks. “You’ve been staying after for so many activities. I thought you were having a great time.”

  Dad knows I’m part of the musical, but he somehow got the impression I’m helping to build sets—an easy job to leave. And he knows I helped Ashia with her election campaign, but I might have left out that we were working on mine, too.

  “Book club is going pretty well,” I say. As he sits there, I wonder if I can tell him. Maybe Dad’s the one who can help me figure this out.

  “I’m glad,” he says. “It’s great they’re letting you be a part of all this even knowing our circumstances.”

  My shoulders droop, and I play with a loose string on my sock. Maybe Dad can’t help me.

  “Oh, before I forget, I have two location choices for this weekend,” he says.

  I wait, hoping they’re good ones. Getting away might be exactly what I need right now.

  “Denver,” he says.

  Fiona. Apple pie. Yes.

  “Or Minnesota.” He smiles, and I know exactly why.

  “The Judy Garland Museum?! Can we go?” I ask.

  “I told them I could only make it if I didn’t have to work on Saturday from ten to five.” He reaches for my hand. “It’s up to you.”

  This should be a tough one, but I’m sure we’ll be in Denver again within a few months anyway. “Dad, they have an actual yellow brick road there.”

  He laughs. “Grand Rapids it is.”

  I leap forward and wrap my arms around him, hugging him tight. “I love you, Dad.”

  “I love you too, sweetie,” he says.

  The doorbell rings, breaking up the moment. I’d almost forgotten I’d been waiting for Ashia. It’s still so strange when my two worlds collide. I’m never quite sure exactly which one is real and which one will someday be just an adventure I went on once.

  * * *

  I was so very much on cloud nine once Ashia got to my house yesterday that I didn’t even consider telling her about my upcoming departure. We talked about this weekend’s trip, the musical, the election, the next seventh-grade skating party. But not the fact that there was something I was both dying to tell her and scared to death to tell her.

  At musical rehearsal after school, it’s time for my big solo of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” It’s been a week and a half since my epic panic-and-run-offstage disaster, but I’m definitely much more comfortable up there after practicing group numbers and surviving the debate, and I really, really think I’m ready to give it a shot.

  Mrs. Summers wastes no time diving right in. “All right, everyone. We have a lot to get through, so let’s get started.” She turns to me. “Are you ready, Kenzie?”

  I nod about a gazillion times in only a few seconds.

  I make my way up to the stage. One small step at a time.

  I move the microphone switch to on.

  I take a deep breath.

  Not only is Ashia sitting in the front row smiling at me, but so is Tate, and so are Bren and Divi, who aren’t even in the musical. I guess I shouldn’t have mentioned it was solo day.

  I take another deep breath, the music starts, and the words finally come out of my mouth.

  I picture being with Dad on an airplane as I sing about the clouds. And I remember Mom when I sing about rainbows.

  The song is all about having dreams. About chasing those dreams. About asking yourself why you shouldn’t be able to chase your dreams too.

  And as I finish the song as softly as Judy did, I’ve decided to take her advice.

  chapter sixteen

  After musical rehearsal, I motion Ashia backstage.

  “What’s going on?” she asks.

  Kids are still milling around, and stage crew isn’t done for the day yet. But we’re tucked away behind the curtains.

  “I have to tell you something.” My heart is racing, and I can’t form the words I want to say.

  “Okay, so tell me,” says Ashia.

  “I haven’t been completely honest with you, and I need to confess something,” I say, but after the words come out, I smack myself on the forehead. “No, that’s not a good start. What I mean is, I hope you’ll understand why I did what I did.” Smack. This isn’t going well.

  “Kenzie, just say it.” Ashia puts down her things and sits down on the floor. I follow suit and sit next to her.

  She’ll understand. I tell myself. But I’m not sure I believe it.

  “You know how in the song, Dorothy wonders why she shouldn’t be able to follow her dreams like the bluebirds?”

  Ashia looks at me, clearly confused. “Yeah.”

  “Well, I was kind of lik
e Dorothy when I got here,” I say. “There was so much I wanted to try, but I knew I shouldn’t, but then I thought, why not? It’s probably the only chance I’ll ever get.”

  She waits.

  “And there were some really good reasons why not, but there were maybe even better reasons to do it anyway.” I stop, knowing full well she doesn’t have any idea what I’m talking about. “Okay, here’s the thing. You know how my dad and I go on those business trips on the weekends?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Well, that’s what we usually do . . . all the time,” I say. “He’s an environmental consultant, and we travel from city to city, never staying in one place for more than a few days.”

  “Kenzie, I’m not sure what you’re getting at,” says Ashia.

  There’s some commotion near us as kids search for props.

  I speak more quietly. “I’m only here for six weeks,” I finally spit out. And then I freeze, because I have no idea what she’s going to say.

  “What do you mean, six weeks?” she asks, clearly a little confused. “You’re leaving?”

  I nod.

  “You’re leaving, in what . . .”

  I save her from trying to figure it out. “Two weeks.”

  Her eyes go wide and she takes a deep breath. “You’re leaving in two weeks and you didn’t think that was important information to share?”

  Right now I’m wishing I hadn’t picked this spot to tell her the truth. There are way too many people still around.

  “I tried to. A few times,” I say. “I kept telling you I wouldn’t be here for the musical. I told you I wouldn’t be here to be vice president. But you kept saying I was making excuses.”

  “You could have corrected me, Kenzie,” she says.

  “I tried. I really did. But you don’t understand how much I needed this,” I say. “And I have it all figured out. When I leave, there’s already another vice president to fill in for me, and Shelby will take over Dorothy’s role. Nobody will even care.”

  Her eyes turn to thin slits as she takes another deep breath and stands up. “I’ll care,” she says. She picks up her bag and takes off without another word.