Somebody on This Bus Is Going to Be Famous by J. B. Cheaney

wasn’t sure about that—she had nothing against Shelly, who could be annoying but wasn’t mean. Besides, they lived in the same subdivision and sometimes talked. And besides, wasn’t it kind of…like…wrong?
    â€œPlease?” Penelope asked.
    Miranda blinked. Had Penelope ever asked anything with a please?
    â€œOkay,” she heard herself saying—and dropped into a simmering pot of misery for the next forty-eight hours.
    On the outside, she looked the same but was really a virtual human, trying to act normal while a snake wrapped around her quick-beating, mousy little heart. Why did I say yes? Why couldn’t I say no? This was lots worse than an oral book report. What if they catch me? And I’m so clumsy they’re bound to. What will I say?
    On the morning of the Spring Fling, even her mother noticed: “What’s the matter? Do you have to do a speech or something?”
    â€œBye, Mom,” she said mechanically, walking out the door.
    In the end, Miranda did the right thing in the wrong way, maybe. That is, she didn’t do anything.
    She literally sweated through the lip sync and piano solos and barely noticed Penelope’s ballet. When Daniel Kenner came out in a red-lined cape to begin his magic act, Miranda was supposed to raise her hand and ask to go to the bathroom so she’d have plenty of time to get backstage before Shelly’s turn. But by the time Daniel concluded his act and bowed low to thunderous applause, Miranda still had not moved.
    When Shelly bounded out in a silver flash, Miranda didn’t join in the whoops and screams and was as surprised as anybody when the sound cut off. But when Shelly sang on, all alone, carried by self-confidence and determination, Miranda was one of the first to join the clapping, and the rest was history.
    So was her friendship with Penelope.
    â€¢ • •
    Of course, Penelope’s still around.
    A week after screwing up Shelly’s nursing home gig, Miranda picks up the phone at home to hear a voice from the past: “Back to eating lunch alone, aren’t you, Scott? That’s how Shelly repays her friends .” Penelope hangs up without waiting for a reply, not that Miranda could think of one.
    Her former friend knows where it hurts; more than anything, Miranda dreads eating alone. Lunch period feels like the Cafeteria Table at the End of the Universe, and she’s considering asking Mrs. Jenks if she could get a library pass for that time.
    Penelope spoke too soon, though: Shelly’s not perfect, but she doesn’t hold a grudge. The very next morning, she takes a seat next to Miranda as though nothing happened and asks her to manage her Youth Court campaign. That afternoon, they write the fliers—Miranda types them on the Alvarezes’ computer, and Shelly imports a publicity photo of herself with her head cocked and one hand behind her ear. They print five dozen, which Miranda hands out the next day:
    Shelly Alvarez hears you!
    A sympathetic ear, a caring heart,
    She’s the one who’ll take your part.
    Miranda also writes the campaign speech, and during the last week of October, Shelly delivers it flawlessly to the faculty meeting and the homeroom representatives. On the first Tuesday in November, all the candidates give their speeches to the general assembly of fourth, fifth, and sixth graders, with the voting to come right after.
    There’s no polling data, but Miranda is confident about her candidate’s chances. Especially if you take Spencer’s reaction as a kind of reverse indicator. Other sixth-graders are running, but the chemistry between those two makes it seem like a one-on-one matchup. The more Shelly charms, the more Spencer scowls; his speeches get louder, quicker, and angrier as the campaign goes on, in spite of Jay reminding him to chill. Miranda knows Shelly will win, right up until the last day and the last speech—actually the last minute