the poster on the table in front of us. “A Vote for Tom is a Vote for TOMorrow. Get it?”
He looked at me now.
I looked at my mother. “What?” I said.
“That’s good,” said my mother.
A few minutes later, the poster was done.
A Vote for TOM is a Vote for TOMorrow!
I didn’t like the slogan. I didn’t like it because I wasn’t sure exactly what it meant. How do you vote for tomorrow? What would a vote for tomorrow look like? Isn’t tomorrow just a big question mark? They always say tomorrow never comes, right?
The more I thought about it, the more I believed the slogan might mean nothing at all. And after Courtney talked about the whole democratic process thing, and frowned when she said
heart,
how could I put up a poster that didn’t mean anything?
I looked at it in my room later, propped up against my backpack and ready for school.
“Tom … T-O-M,” I said. “Get it?”
That night, as I lay in the dark, I kept replaying the scene where Courtney would look at the poster and frown.
“What does it mean?” she would ask me seriously.
My mind would go completely blank. Then I would suddenly stare past her to the end of the hall, where the tiles began popping up out of the floor.
My father stopped me on the stairs the next afternoon. “How do your friends like your poster?” he asked.
“They love it,” I said. “It’s funny, but also true.”
He seemed to like that. “Did you do your talk yet?”
“Tomorrow, I think.”
The idea was that I would talk about how politicians were in office for two or four or six years and were supposed to leave office with things better than when they got elected. If politicians kept doing that, the world would really become a better place.
I felt bad, but there was no way I was going to talk in front of the class, and I sure didn’t want to show the poster to anybody, not even Jeff. I had already decided to keep it in my locker until after the election.
In the meantime, Joey Sisman kept threatening to nominate himself if no one else did and vote for himself, too.
On Friday morning, Jessica came in just after prayers. I think she timed coming in so she wouldn’t have to be there for that. The day was a warm one again, and while I helped Mrs. Tracy hook the window pole on the latch of one of the upper windows, wondering whether tomorrow was going to be sunny, too, I thought I saw Courtney and Jessica talk to each other when Courtney was handing back papers. I remember I felt all nervous in my chest and guilty, as if I’d done something wrong again and was going to be found out.
They probably just said a couple of words, like “here you go” and “thanks,” but it made me think that even though she’d been there for two weeks already, no one had really said much to Jessica. What I’d told my mother the week before was still true.
I hated it, but everyone (the whole class and me, too) seemed happier the days she wasn’t there.
Then, in the three minutes between subjects on Friday morning, while Mrs. Tracy was chatting in the hallway with another teacher, something else happened.
Chapter 11
As everyone put their religion books away and got out calculators and pencils for math, Jessica reached under her seat for her pencil case. Her fingers fumbled a bit in it, and as she leaned over to peer into the case, a pencil and a photograph fell out of it. The photo landed face up near the foot of my desk.
“Oh,” she said. She reached for it, but it was nearer to me.
I lifted the picture from the floor. It was an odd size, almost exactly square. It was a picture of a girl. She was short and pretty and blonde and looking straight into the camera. Propped on her left shoulder was a tennis racket. Behind her stood a man in a white sweater and shorts. He had a big smile on his face. Squarely behind them both was a big shingled building that looked like a fancy beach club in the summer. The right side of the photo, next to the man, was clipped off. But
He looked at me now.
I looked at my mother. “What?” I said.
“That’s good,” said my mother.
A few minutes later, the poster was done.
A Vote for TOM is a Vote for TOMorrow!
I didn’t like the slogan. I didn’t like it because I wasn’t sure exactly what it meant. How do you vote for tomorrow? What would a vote for tomorrow look like? Isn’t tomorrow just a big question mark? They always say tomorrow never comes, right?
The more I thought about it, the more I believed the slogan might mean nothing at all. And after Courtney talked about the whole democratic process thing, and frowned when she said
heart,
how could I put up a poster that didn’t mean anything?
I looked at it in my room later, propped up against my backpack and ready for school.
“Tom … T-O-M,” I said. “Get it?”
That night, as I lay in the dark, I kept replaying the scene where Courtney would look at the poster and frown.
“What does it mean?” she would ask me seriously.
My mind would go completely blank. Then I would suddenly stare past her to the end of the hall, where the tiles began popping up out of the floor.
My father stopped me on the stairs the next afternoon. “How do your friends like your poster?” he asked.
“They love it,” I said. “It’s funny, but also true.”
He seemed to like that. “Did you do your talk yet?”
“Tomorrow, I think.”
The idea was that I would talk about how politicians were in office for two or four or six years and were supposed to leave office with things better than when they got elected. If politicians kept doing that, the world would really become a better place.
I felt bad, but there was no way I was going to talk in front of the class, and I sure didn’t want to show the poster to anybody, not even Jeff. I had already decided to keep it in my locker until after the election.
In the meantime, Joey Sisman kept threatening to nominate himself if no one else did and vote for himself, too.
On Friday morning, Jessica came in just after prayers. I think she timed coming in so she wouldn’t have to be there for that. The day was a warm one again, and while I helped Mrs. Tracy hook the window pole on the latch of one of the upper windows, wondering whether tomorrow was going to be sunny, too, I thought I saw Courtney and Jessica talk to each other when Courtney was handing back papers. I remember I felt all nervous in my chest and guilty, as if I’d done something wrong again and was going to be found out.
They probably just said a couple of words, like “here you go” and “thanks,” but it made me think that even though she’d been there for two weeks already, no one had really said much to Jessica. What I’d told my mother the week before was still true.
I hated it, but everyone (the whole class and me, too) seemed happier the days she wasn’t there.
Then, in the three minutes between subjects on Friday morning, while Mrs. Tracy was chatting in the hallway with another teacher, something else happened.
Chapter 11
As everyone put their religion books away and got out calculators and pencils for math, Jessica reached under her seat for her pencil case. Her fingers fumbled a bit in it, and as she leaned over to peer into the case, a pencil and a photograph fell out of it. The photo landed face up near the foot of my desk.
“Oh,” she said. She reached for it, but it was nearer to me.
I lifted the picture from the floor. It was an odd size, almost exactly square. It was a picture of a girl. She was short and pretty and blonde and looking straight into the camera. Propped on her left shoulder was a tennis racket. Behind her stood a man in a white sweater and shorts. He had a big smile on his face. Squarely behind them both was a big shingled building that looked like a fancy beach club in the summer. The right side of the photo, next to the man, was clipped off. But
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