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

guess,” she said dismissively, “but I was referring to the artist. He was a sculptor, too, you know. His most famous piece was David .”
    â€œDon’t you mean Shiny David?” Spencer asked.
    â€œNo, I meant David ,” she replied, “as in the kid with the slingshot.” She glanced at me, then at my seat. “Were you gonna sit down?”
    â€œI don’t know,” I admitted. I wasn’t really comfortable eating lunch with girls. I’d picked up some bad habits from my youngest older brother, Owen (who ate food like he fixed cars—with his mouth hanging open and his tongue lolling out the side). But I didn’t want Esther to think that I wasn’t grateful, either.
    â€œLook, I don’t like this situation any more than you do,” she replied, “but if you want to win this race, then you have to count me in.” She flicked a thumb over her shoulder. “Did you really think your posters were gonna get you any votes?”
    â€œWell, at first, we thought they might,” I said, “but then we saw Veronica’s and knew that we were sunk.”
    She took a swig of chocolate milk. “It was a rhetorical question.”
    I crinkled my nose. “What does ‘rhetorical’ mean?” For some reason, it hadn’t come up in any of Mom and Dad’s old law books.
    She shook her head. “Never mind.”
    Luckily, Spencer arrived before I could dig the hole any deeper. His hands were full of milk straws, and his eyes were wide and sparkling. “Guys!” he said, breathing hard.
    Esther punched him in the arm. “I’m here, too, you know,” she said.
    The fact that Spencer didn’t punch her back went to show just how pumped he was. “They love it, they absolutely love it!”
    I figured it meant Shiny David, but I wasn’t sure who they were. “Who loves it?” I replied.
    â€œEveryone!” he said, then shook his head. “Okay, maybe not everyone. But some of them, at least, and some is way better than none!”
    Riley fished another carrot stick out of his lunch tote. I’d tried to let him borrow one of mine, but apparently, his mom didn’t believe in un-recycled plastic. The lunch tote was made of old milk jugs and, according to the label, wouldn’t spend the next millennium leaching chemicals into a landfill. That was a good thing, but then, it did look like a diaper, so I guess there were always trade-offs.
    â€œWhat are you talking about?” he asked.
    â€œI took a straw poll!” Spencer said.
    â€œWhat’s a straw poll?” I replied.
    â€œI don’t know,” he admitted. “But they’re always talking about them on CNN, so that must mean they’re important.”
    Esther lobbed a French fry at his head. “Well, if you don’t know what it is, then how could you take one, doofus?”
    The French fry hit him in the eye, but he managed to ignore it. “I took my own straw poll,” he said. “I stood at the end of the lunch line and gave everyone a straw, but before I gave them one, I asked who they were gonna vote for.”
    Anxiety tap-danced in my stomach. “I appreciate the thought, but the rules say we can’t hand things out…”
    â€œNot even milk straws?” Spencer asked.
    â€œNot even milk straws,” Esther said, lobbing another French fry at his head. “And isn’t it your job to keep track of things like rules?”
    This time, Spencer dodged it. “Look, I don’t need some airhead artist telling me how to do my job.”
    She drew herself up to her full height. “Well, unfortunately, this airhead artist is the only one getting things done!”
    â€œThat’s not fair,” Spencer replied, taking a swig of her chocolate milk. “I did the straw poll, didn’t I?”
    She folded her arms across her waist. “So what did they say?” she