Plastic Polly (12 page)

Pushover Polly, is that who everyone thinks I am? Have I been so great at acting like I don't have any firm opinions that everyone thinks I'll just take theirs?

For a second I remember the look on Alyssa's face after tryouts. Groove It Up is starting to feel like a giant version of the Court, with me, Melinda, and Jenna dictating who can and cannot get an invite. Is that what I really want?

But then again, why should I even care? The popular kids are my friends. This morning I received a jillion texts from people thanking me for selecting them. Shouldn't I just sit back and enjoy the ride?

But if I do, we're going to lose. Melinda and Jenna may not see that, but I do. If nothing changes, I can just imagine what tryouts on Monday night will look like:
popular kids getting put through, while the more talented but less popular kids get pushed out.

Maybe Mom wasn't being mean when she told me to find my own voice. Because when it comes down to it, as the PlanMaster
I'm
ultimately going to be held responsible for the Talent Team we select.

I lean over and tell Chip we'll be taking our order to go. Then I send Mom a text:

ATTN Mrs. Pierce: This is your daughter texting you. My fake crisis is now commencing. We must leave the diner immediately.

I gather up the bag Chip hands me and head for the door. Tonight I have a date with
The PlanMaster's PlanMaster
. Before school starts on Monday, I want to make sure my plan is perfectly within the rules.

Pushover Polly is history.

Enter Polly the PlanMaster.

True Confession: Sometimes I read my history textbook even when I don't have homework.

M
ONDAY MORNING
I'
M STANDING IN
M
R
. F
ISH
'
S CLASS
room holding a chilled pumpkin cheesecake.

Mr. Fish stares at me over a stack of corrected English essays. “Isn't it a little early for pie?”

“I just thought you might like some. There's one for now,” I say, and slide another pie out of the bag. “And one for later. I bet your daughters would
loooove
some cheesecake.”

Mr. Fish leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. “What are you up to, Miss Pierce?”

“What did you think of tryouts on Friday night?” I ask instead.

Mr. Fish's eyes change then. They get darker. Almost like he's pulled a gate across them. “I thought they were well organized,” he says slowly.

“Sure,” I say, “but would you like them to be just as
well organized
tonight?”

Mr. Fish nods once, and I think he knows exactly what I'm talking about. “What exactly are you planning, Miss Pierce? And are you using these cheesecakes to buy my silence?”

I hold up a plastic fork and hand it to Mr. Fish. “Over the weekend I read
The PlanMaster's PlanMaster
cover to cover.”

“And?” Mr. Fish opens up a pie and digs in with the fork.

“And the rules give the PlanMaster a lot of power over the judging and planning committee.” I tell him my plan. When I'm finished, Mr. Fish is silent.

“Well?” I ask. “What do you think?”

“I think,” Mr. Fish says, staring at a creamy bite of pie, “this may be the best pumpkin cheesecake I've ever had in my life.”

“Does that mean you won't try to stop me?”

“Like you said, the rules state you are in charge.”

“Okay, then.” I turn to leave, but Mr. Fish clears his throat.

“Miss Pierce?”

I turn back. “Yeah?”

Mr. Fish almost smiles. “Good for you.”

Later that afternoon I'm standing in front of the mirror that's in my locker, talking to myself. Right now I need a pep talk of epic proportions. Once I put my plan into place, there'll be no turning back. And I have to move forward. This morning when I looked at the sign-up sheet for tonight's tryouts, I noticed that everyone from the music or drama department had crossed their names off the list. It doesn't take a genius to figure out someone's telling them not to bother trying out.

“You are just as tough as Melinda and Jenna,” I whisper to myself. “The way they're acting is unacceptable. You will not apologize for what you are about to do. You are doing this because you care about this school and about Groove It Up. If they get mad at you, too bad for them. Do
not
apologize. Do
not
act weak.”

I practice a look in the mirror, one that I hope says
I'm tough, and don't even
think
of messing with me.

But then I sigh and slip my cell phone from my pocket. Maybe I should call Kelsey and ask her what she thinks of my plan. I mean, I'm pretty sure she'll hate it, but maybe
she'll have some ideas for what I can say to Melinda and Jenna.

But then I give myself a shake and continue with my talk:

“You do not need Kelsey's advice. You are the PlanMaster now. So go out there and—”

“Hey, Polly, what's up?”

Behind me Kate Newport is smiling and clutching a textbook to her chest. “Are you on the phone or something?” Her eyes stray to my cell.

“Uh, I was,” I say quickly. “I just had to tell Kelsey something real quick.”

“Cool.” Kate slips a paper from her textbook and hands it to me. “I went ahead and finished all the questions for our history assignment.”

“You did
all
the questions?” I look at the paper and frown. Kate and I are partners in history class. Last week we were assigned several essay questions we were supposed to divide up and answer.

“Yeah,” Kate says. “I figured with Groove It Up tryouts you wouldn't have time to do it.”

Why would you figure that?
I want to ask, but don't. It's clear from Kate's smile she thinks she's done me a huge favor and is expecting me to thank her. Right now, though, I don't feel all that thankful.

Look, I don't love homework, but I don't exactly hate it either. History is my favorite subject, and just by glancing at the questions I can tell Kate got at least one wrong. Plus, I already did my questions last night—after I finished rereading
The PlanMaster's PlanMaster
.

But I don't tell Kate any of that. Instead I say, “Thanks. That's super helpful. You really saved me.” Then I make a mental note not to let her see my homework.

“Are you heading over to the Court?” Kate asks.

“In a second, yeah.”

“Cool. Well, have fun.” Kate lingers for a moment, like she's waiting for me to say something.

Just then Principal Allen's voice crackles over the loudspeaker. “Attention students: I'd like to make an announcement. I've just received word from Polly Pierce, our replacement PlanMaster, that tryouts for Groove It Up this afternoon have been canceled and are rescheduled for Thursday.”

Principal Allen's announcement couldn't have come at a better time. Now Melinda and Jenna will be dying to talk to me. Perfect. I quickly say good-bye to Kate and leave. I make a point of looking calm and collected as I saunter into the cafeteria. After Principal Allen's announcement everyone's going to be looking at me.
But I have to work hard to keep my smile in place when I glimpse the Court.

Because sitting at the head of the table—in Kelsey's normal spot—is Melinda. Jenna is sitting at her right, in my usual spot.

As I go through the cafeteria line, I think about what I should do. If Kelsey were here, she'd throw a fit. Because Kelsey's right. She is a lot nicer than Brooklyn was last year. But if you cross her? Watch out. So I don't know what I should do. Demand they stand up and move over?

“You're in Kelsey's seat,” I say to Melinda.

Melinda puts down her soda and looks around. “Gee, I don't see Kelsey here. Jenna, do you see Kelsey anywhere?”

“I do not see her,” Jenna says.

“It's still her seat, even if she isn't here.”

Melinda rolls her eyes. “Jeez, Polly. Lighten up. You're acting like it's sacred space. It's just a chair in a cafeteria.”

Look, a lot of people would probably think Melinda's right, that something like this is trivial. Lame middle school nonsense. They'd probably tell me to just sit down at the stupid table already and not pout because I don't get my usual seat. But those people don't know anything about life at the Court. The past couple days I've wondered if Melinda wants to stage a coup d'état—if she's trying to
overthrow Kelsey as the most popular girl at Winston. And with her sitting at the head of the table, it sends a message, like Melinda's the newly crowned queen of the Court.

I stand there for another few seconds. Finally I decide I'll deal with this later, after Kelsey comes back. For now I have something more important I need to discuss with Melinda.

“What's up with that announcement?” Melinda says after I've sat down. “Why did you cancel tryouts?” Her voice sounds disapproving. “And why didn't you tell us sooner? We shouldn't have to find out along with everyone else.”

I shrug. “You heard what Principal Allen said. I need more time.” I give myself a final silent pep talk:
You can do this. Do NOT back down. It's now or never.

“
We
don't need more time,” Jenna says. “If
you
can't be bothered to make Groove It Up a priority, then maybe you shouldn't be the PlanMaster.”

“Oh, Groove It Up is a priority, all right,” I say.

Lindsey silently watches the three of us as we talk. More than anything, she's careful. She reminds me of me last year—always waiting to see who was in and who was out, before speaking. “Polly, what's going on?” she asks.

“I'll tell you what's going on.” I turn to Melinda and Jenna. “What's going on is, you're fired.”

“What?” Melinda says.

“Fired?” Jenna repeats. “Fired from what?”

“From the judging committee. Your services will no longer be required.”

The conversations going on around the rest of the table stop. Kristy's fork is raised in midair. Derek's mouth hangs open in a surprised O.

Melinda looks confused. “Kelsey told you to fire us?”

I don't even think she said it to be mean. I think Melinda honestly can't believe I would do something like this on my own.

“So Kelsey tells you to fire us,” Melinda repeats, “and the two of you get your way, just like always?”

“Kelsey has nothing to do with it.
I'm
the PlanMaster.”

Next to me Jenna is pale with fury. “You can't do this,” she hisses.

“Guess what, Jenna? I just did.”

Jenna's eyes narrow to little slits. “You don't deserve to be the PlanMaster. You don't have a clue what you're doing. Both my sisters were the PlanMasters, and they say you—”

“I don't care what anyone in your family thinks. You're fired, and that's the way it is.”

“You're kicking us off the planning committee?” Melinda looks dumbfounded.

“Nope. You're still part of the committee. You just won't be judges anymore.”

“So what do you expect us to do at tryouts? Coordinate all the acts?” Jenna speaks with disdain, as though even the thought of such a thing is beneath her.

“No, I don't expect you to do that,” I say. “Because Lindsey, as the Vice PlanMaster, is in charge of coordinating the acts. So she'll let you know what she needs you to do.” I turn to Lindsey. “Is that okay with you?”

Lindsey looks at Melinda and Jenna and smiles. I can tell she likes it, the fact that she's been elevated, while Melinda and Jenna have been brought low.

“Works for me,” Lindsey says, and goes back to her lunch.

“You can't do this,” Jenna repeats.

“Of course I can,” I say. “I'm the PlanMaster.” My voice is so sugary, I'm probably giving myself cavities. “Unless you'd rather not be a part of the committee?”