Sticks & Stones by Abby Cooper Page B

on the bench.
    â€œSo what do you think?” she asked.
    I thought it was a bad idea. I thought it was basically asking for more bad words, more itchiness, more gunky goop. But at the same time, I had come this far with the mystery-note writer. I had followed all the instructions, done all the hard things, and survived. And if there was a chance—even a teeny tiny, barely there chance—that this person could get me Explorer Leader, well, I couldn’t really quit now, could I? Especially since Mr. Todd had made it official on the morning announcements what Nice Andy and I already suspected—that at the show he’d be revealing who made the next round. He probably wouldn’t pick someone who didn’t bother to show up.
    â€œI’m going to do it. I’ll sign up tomorrow.”
    Mom’s eyes welled up and she looked like she might cry. I couldn’t tell if it would be a good cry or a bad cry. Maybe it was a scared cry. I felt a little like scared-crying myself.

 
    17
    AUDACITY
    The night of the show, I was a nervous wreck. My palms were so sweaty that I couldn’t touch anything without leaving a disgusting liquid trail behind. My heart was lurchy like whoa , and it pounded so hard and so fast that I actually thought it was going to leap out of my body and do some laps around the room without me. And mixed with all of that was the terrible feeling that I was going to throw up or forget how to breathe or both at the same time.
    â€œHey,” Dad said as we piled into the car. My hands were shaking so much that he had to open my door and put on my seat belt for me like I was a little kid. “At least the weather’s nice tonight. Not a cloud in the sky. That’s gotta be a good sign, right?”
    Mom squeezed his shoulder.
    â€œElyse is going to be great,” she said, more to Dad than to me.
    He cleared his throat.
    â€œOf course she is. No doubt in my mind. Who wants to listen to some smooth jazz?” He pushed the radio on.
    â€œAre you okay, sweetie?” Mom asked.
    â€œSort of,” I said, practically choking on my own spit. I couldn’t even say two words without feeling like my whole body was going to collapse. I glanced down at my lucky gold-star socks. You can do it, they told me. But they were not very convincing.
    â€œIt’s going to be good, sweetie,” Mom said, reaching from the front seat to awkwardly grab my hand.
    I held her hand for a second, but then I let go since I felt a little bad about getting my nasty, sweaty hand all over her clean mom hand. I guess she didn’t care, though, because she reached for it again, and held it all the way until we got to school.
    We paid, went in, and grabbed some spots near the middle of the crowd. I looked around for a friend, but Jeg was late (and I probably wouldn’t sit with her anyway), and Olivia was sitting with all her siblings. Plus, a little tiny piece of me liked sitting close to a clean mom hand. Not that there was any way I was going to hold it at school or anything. But it was nice to know that it was there.
    The auditorium had been decorated with signs. “Help us go to Minnesota!” one said in loopy writing. “Let’s Explore More!” said another in small, nearly illegible writing. Another one asked in a bold green marker, “Who would be the best Explorer Leader?”
    Me, I thought. I would do a great job. I would plan the trip perfectly, and it would be organized, exciting, and fun. And I might even plan things I knew other people would enjoy, like talking about silly stuff and doing boring things.
    I would probably call them something else on the schedule, though.
    Based on the interview with Mr. Todd, it felt like my chances weren’t great. But if I could do this show—and the note writer saw me, somehow, and could change Mr. Todd’s mind before he made his announcement—there was still hope.
    All the posters with the past