19
The Roman Legion
“Mrs. G.? Can I go into the hall? I need to text someone.” I slid to the edge of my seat. A plan was churning in my brain.
She gave me a look. “Right now?”
“It’s really important. I think I know how to help the senator!”
She looked at Mr. G. They both stared at me.
Mr. G. was, like, “You really met the President’s nephew?”
“Uh, yeah. Long story. Can I tell you later?”
Everyone else had been listening, too, dying to know more. “You can tell ALL OF US later!”
I agreed and Mrs. G. gave me permission to step into the hallway. The guard outside the door went to the basket of cell phones and handed mine back.
A minute passed. Then two. I was getting jazzed about my idea. At the same time, I felt scared and excited and nervous all at the same time. My heart had turned into a marching band.
Three minutes passed.
Then…
I gave my phone back to the guard and slid back into the room. “Mr. G., Mrs. G!” I was so excited. “I have a plan.”
“What kind of plan?” Mr. G asked.
“The senator said don’t be idle, be active. So I need for all of us to get active. Come on, let’s go!”
Once we were out the door and around the corner, I explained what I wanted to do. The senator had asked for people to join her in getting the message out about technology in the classroom. I liked that idea. And I didn’t like thinking that by the time I was in eighth grade Mrs. G. or the journalism program might be gone.
I explained my idea:
We would go back to my uncle’s restaurant and bake lots and lots of cupcakes. Then we’d trek them back over to the Capitol building and use them to attract attention from all the tourists and guests out on the mall. I figured if we baked for an hour, it’d be pretty crowded when we came back.
When we passed out the cupcakes, we’d ask people to get on Twitter or Facebook or whatever and show their support. If we could persuade other people to get their parents or schools to contact their congressperson and tell them how much they loved technology in the classroom, maybe it would give Senator Wilson-Hayes the votes she required. And in the meantime, maybe all the support would inspire her to keep going and beat that filibuster record!
But first, we needed to come up with our message. It was time to let the people know the sixth-grade Blueberries meant business.
When I finished explaining my plan, Mr. G.’s eyes got big. At first I thought he was going to tell me I was crazy. But before he could say a word, Mrs. G. ran down the row of us kids giving high fives like she was in the starting lineup for the Pistons.
“Brianna Justice! I’ve never been prouder,” she said.
Then Lauren said, “That’s my girl! Brianna. Let’s go help the senator set a record!”
Everybody was cheering—well, whisper-cheering, because we didn’t want to get into trouble. You know. For disrupting the Capitol and all.
Mr. G. grinned, but then his face got serious.
“Brianna, I love your idea. And your enthusiasm is great. I… we’re behind you.” He looked at Mrs. G. before continuing. “However, if you do this, just remember that you may not finish in time to give your speech today at the General Assembly. That would disqualify you for your session with the magazine folks. So, are you sure?”
Oh, no! I’d forgotten all about that.
Everyone stared, waiting for my answer.
I could hear a television somewhere in the distance. It was the senator’s voice. She was still hanging on.
I thought about one of the discussions we had in class about gladiators in ancient Rome. They were tough and fierce and didn’t back down. I thought about the senator’s speech. Listening to her made me feel like I had to do something.
It was time to be a gladiator!
“I’m sure,” I said. “Let’s go get our filibuster on!”
Once we pushed through the double doors into the kitchen, Uncle Al was lining up bowls and spoons and ingredients on the table. He looked up and did a double take.
“My army!” I grinned.
I told him my plan and he started nodding.
“Sugar, I like the way you think. Everybody wash your hands and let’s get a move on. We don’t have long to work,” he said.
I looked at the clock on the wall. It was almost ten. We’d need at least an hour to bake, cool, and frost.
“So, sugar, what’s your favorite cupcake flavor?” Uncle asked.
I told him about the new recipe I’d been working on for a caramel-apple cupcake. When I told him what I needed, his large dark face split into a grin.
“Sugar! The group that canceled was from Michigan, like you. They had me ordering a boatload of apples. All we need are some peelers and some smashers,” he said.
It took us a good ten minutes to figure out who would do what. Lauren and Mrs. G. left to go see if we had other classmates willing to help.
Ebony was all about heading up the social media. “Can’t nobody tweet like me. Let me do it.”
I looked at her and felt a warmth spread through me. After that first meeting with her selling cupcakes at the football game, I kinda thought she was a total flake. Yet, here she was, right by my side, making it work.
With Mr. G.’s help, we came up with our message:
Don’t be idle—be active! Support Senator Wilson-Hayes’s filibuster. She’s fighting for our future.
Mr. G. explained that the senator was trying to stop a bill that gave too much money to the businesses run by friends of other senators. He said Senator Wilson-Hayes wanted her fellow senators to give more money to schools for technology, and less to their buddies. We read our message back a few times. Mr. G. and Ebony said we needed a hashtag, too. The more times people used it, the more attention we would get for the senator.
We decided on #GetFilibustered.
Ebony started sending out messages and posting pics on Instagram, asking people to join us in front of the Capitol building at noon. She said we’d be handing out cupcakes “with the truth all up in ’em.”
Mrs. G. and Lauren returned with Click, Romeo James, and a few others. I couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed that Sara and Becks didn’t show up. But I pushed it out of my mind.
We got to work. The cupcakes required a caramel glaze, so I did that part; Uncle and Mr. G. used a special machine to remove the apples’ cores. The batter called for less liquid since we were substituting apple into the filling, so we had to calculate that, too. Thanks to Uncle’s super-large cupcake pans and multiple ovens, we were able to bake 150 cupcakes at once.
“Everybody, I need to get something from my room. Be right back!” I called out.
Uncle said, “Hurry back. I’ve got some miniature pie-pans just begging for my famous sweet potato pie recipe.”
I called back, “Uncle, I’m in the cupcake business.”
“Sugar, once I share this recipe with you, your business is going to change. Besides, I have a lot more stuff for little pies than I do for cupcakes. So get goin’, then bring your butt back here.”
Uncle was trying to get all up in my laurels. Hmph!
In the lobby of the hotel, several kids milled around. Not just from our school, either. Some other conference activities had been canceled because people driving in had been unable to come. I ran past and raced to the elevator. It didn’t take long to get into my room, find my recipes, then zip back out.
While making sure the door locked behind me, I saw two people moving up the hallway toward me.
When they got closer, I saw who it was—Becks and Sara.
My first impulse was a big, goofy smile. I didn’t think about being mad at them or hurt or anything. I was just flat-out glad to see them. Okay, so when I’d first left the White House I thought about texting them to tell them about meeting Neptune. Maybe I wanted to rub it in just a little. Then I thought about what Mr. President and the First Lady had said, how kind and generous they’d been. And most of all, what the First Nephew said about growing and moving on.
So I didn’t text.
It had all been so much to think about in such a small amount of time. So I’d kept the whole White House thing to myself. And since turning into a gladiator and all, I hadn’t had time to think about it.
And now here they were.
“Bree-Bree!” Sara called out first, running toward me. Becks hung back, looking down at her shoes.
“Hey!” I said. Didn’t know what else to say. “What’s up?”
When I got a good look at Becks, I could see that her eyes were red, like she’d been crying.
Sara looked from Becks to me and said, “Oh, Bree-Bree! You were right. Yesterday, at the mall, the Peas were like, ‘Oooo! This is so cute’ or whatever. Then they were all, ‘Can you buy this for me?’ So me and Becks, at first, were, like, ‘No problem.’ But Bree-Bree, soon as we spent our money on them, Prya used her phone and…”
Sara paused. Becks picked up the story. “Prya used her phone to record me trying to get into a pair of pants.” Now it was Becks’s turn to hesitate.
Sara went on, “And girl, they’ve already been showing it to people. Brianna, what are we going to do?”
At first, my heart did a skip-hop. We? As in us friends?
The idea made me feel happier than anything I could think of. But then I looked at them. Really looked at them. Sara was wearing yet another ridiculous outfit. Becks was looking angry and confused.
“Sara, I’m so sorry to hear that. The Peas are not good people. But I’ve got to get back to Uncle’s restaurant. Did you guys hear about the filibuster? We’re making cupcakes to help this senator lady stick it to her opponents.”
When Becks looked at me, her eyes were hard. “Oh? So you’d rather help some senator you don’t even know than your friends?”
My cheeks felt hot. I could feel myself getting pulled right back into another argument. Sure, I was a gladiator, but maybe it was time I did a better job of choosing my battles.
“Like I said, I’ve gotta go. I wish you two would come help. We need you.…” I said it as sweetly as I could. I tried not to have any judgment or I-told-you-so in my voice. Which was hard, because I really did have thoughts about the whole situation and wanted to yell, “I TOLD YOU SO!” real loud.
Becks huffed, “Let’s go, Sara. I can’t believe this!”
For a moment, I felt myself standing there, like I was caught on some sort of sticky web, hanging above the earth. They had been my friends for so long. We’d done so much together. I had hoped it could always be that way.
Right now, however, I knew who I wanted to be—and what I wanted to be. Coming to this conference was supposed to teach me about leadership. One thing I’d learned was that leading sometimes meant letting those around you do their own thing.
My stomach knotted a bit as I said, “I’m not sure what to tell you. I think you two need to talk to the Peas. Wish I could help, but I gotta run.” Then before they could say another word, I was off, racing down the hall, jumping into a waiting elevator, and sprinting across the lobby.
I knew I had to do it that way. I didn’t trust myself not to turn around and try to fix everything.
The afternoon was a whirlwind.
At eleven, we trudged across an endless sea of whiteness carrying trays of baked goods. College kids from the senator’s alma mater, Georgetown University, were on the plaza in front of the Capitol. They were competing to see who could make the most awesome snow sculpture, while cheering her on. Turned out, they were pretty impressed that a bunch of middle schoolers—sixth graders!—were trying so hard to make a difference.
Little by little, more people showed up. We kept tabs on the senator’s speech. A lady from one of the TV stations came over and asked some questions. Then she interviewed me about what we were doing.
I told them the senator had asked for gladiators, so that’s what we were. Since we were too young to vote, we were trying to encourage voters to show their support for Senator Wilson-Hayes and for schools. Ebony was a Twitter goddess. In no time she’d hooked up with teen groups and fangirls for various boy bands all across the country. Soon they were helping us, too.
After that, the whole scene turned into a carnival. People with signs, folks cheering and clapping.
C-R-A-Z-I-N-E-S-S!
It was nuts. And if that wasn’t enough, one of the senator’s aides came out and talked to Mr. G. She wanted us to know that Twitter was blowing up—in a good way. People from all over the country were listening.
“We have heard from several congressional offices that they are hearing from their constituents. Apparently, a lot of teens are pushing their parents to take a stand. And the stand they want them to take is beside the senator. Thank you,” she said.
When noon came around, I looked around and let out a huge breath.
We did it!
Every cupcake—gone!
Every pie—eaten!
Out on the steps of the Capitol building, we stood beside empty pastry trays.
At ten past noon we learned that the senator had killed the bill. At least for the time being. And she’d beaten the previous record for the longest filibuster in history.
And the record she beat? That was the icing on the cupcake. It was held by a senator named Strom Thurmond, who worked hard to prevent civil rights legislation. I might not know a ton of history, but you didn’t grow up in Detroit without learning something about the civil rights movement. Can you say Rosa Parks? Hello!
Now we were practically being drowned by people cheering, and even more newscasters with cameras and microphones. Crazy, right?
A horde of the Georgetown students huddled up with us Blueberries as a TV camera pointed at us. Word of what we were doing had spread incredibly fast. Ebony and Mr. G. had mad skills when it came to social media.
Now they were asking us a bunch of questions. People were pushing. My heart was pounding. I’d never felt so tired—or so proud.
Then I heard a ripple of noise. Next thing I knew, someone was pushing through the crowd, approaching from my left side.
When I saw his face rushing toward me, I grinned. It was Neptune, with Adam the Secret Service agent close by his side.
“You did it!” he cried. Then he gave me a big hug. “You are awesome, Brianna Justice.”
Yep, that was exactly what the president’s nephew said. And he said it like “awesome” was really awesome.
Right after that, the scene went from mere chaos to absolute insanity.
And right in the middle of it was little ol’ me. Didn’t see that coming!