Free Don't Vote for Me by Krista Van Dolzer Page A

Blob?” Spencer replied.
    Esther shook her head. “No, like a metaphor,” she said. “When other kids look at this poster, I want them to see themselves.”
    I was catching the vision, but Spencer still wasn’t convinced.
    â€œIt doesn’t say his name,” he said.
    Esther rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t have to say his name. David’s the only other candidate in the race.”
    Spencer shook his head. “As the campaign manager, I’m telling you that it has to say his name.”
    He faced her, and she faced him, putting herself between him and the poster. It was like we’d traveled back in time to a dusty street in a cardboard town. I started whistling the theme song for The Good, the Bad and the Ugly , but when someone fired up a lawnmower, the engine drowned me out.
    Esther stuck out her chin. “You’re not touching Shiny David.”
    Spencer snorted. “Shiny David?”
    â€œThat’s his name,” Esther replied. “And he’s more than a poster. He’s a work of art.”
    He opened his mouth to argue, but before he could get the words out, I threw myself between them.
    â€œIf the name is so important, then we’ll add a sign,” I said.
    Spencer’s forehead furrowed. “But what will it say?”
    We set our sights on Riley, who was our designated speechwriter and official slogan maker-upper. He puckered his lips and folded his arms across his chest. I was familiar with that look, but he usually only got it when he was writing in his notebook.
    We just stood there waiting as the sun’s belly appeared, casting the mountains’ craggy faces in a checkerboard of lights and darks. The lawnmower smelled like gasoline but also grass clippings, my second favorite smell. I drew a deep breath through my nose, but before I could release it, Riley’s lips un-puckered.
    â€œI have it,” he said breathlessly, then raced into the school.

Nine
    We mounted Shiny David on the wall outside the lunchroom. Esther had brought a roll of Velcro tape (which was surprisingly sturdy stuff). Spencer even liked the placement. Connecting my campaign to French fries was good subliminal advertising in his book.
    And of course, there was the sign.
    â€œYour Face, Your Vote,” it said in Esther’s spidery handwriting. We’d had no choice but to write it on the back of an old math assignment, but Riley’s words still rang with authority. It was the best thing he’d ever written, even better than his last slogan, “This Grainger Ain’t No Stranger.”
    Between classes, we camped out in the alcove down the hall from Shiny David so we could watch other kids discover him. They would stare for a few seconds, their faces scrunched up in confusion, and then everything would click, and they would poke their friends and random strangers and whisper excitedly. We couldn’t hear what they were saying, but we had good imaginations:
    It’s amazing!
    It’s incredible!
    Do you think Esther designed it?
    Okay, so maybe she was the only one who thought they were saying that.
    By the time lunch rolled around, kids had smacked me on the shoulder so many times that I’d lost track, so to avoid the teeming hordes, I opted to enter through the side door. I skirted the edges of the lunchroom, keeping my eyes trained on the ground. I’d never had to work so hard to be invisible before. And I was working so hard to be invisible that I didn’t notice Esther, who was sitting at our table, until I almost sat on her.
    I clutched my lunch box like a shield. “What are you doing here?” I blurted.
    Esther didn’t answer, just stuck her chin out at my lunch box. It wasn’t until I looked down that I remembered it was Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles day.
    â€œMy favorite’s Donatello,” Esther said.
    Slowly, I lowered my shield. “You’re a TMNT fan?” I asked.
    â€œI