Lucy’s tip for surviving eighth grade:

Try to act confident even when you’re not feeling that way.

Sunny’s mom drives us back to school, and all I can see are Yamir’s muddy sneakers on the floor in the backseat. I didn’t notice them before, but now I do. Something about them being here makes me happy. It’s strange, though—who leaves sneakers in the car? Did he walk into the house barefoot?

“Good luck, darlings,” Mrs. Ramal says, and then we walk inside. It always feels funny to be at school after hours, when it’s dark out. It almost makes school seem more exciting, like I’d be able to pay attention better if we went to class at night. Even the ugly peach wall tiles look pretty when I see them at night.

“Ready?” Sunny squeezes my hand as we walk into the auditorium. There’s a table set up on the stage, and people are already filling out the seats in the audience. It’s hard to believe that so many came out on a freezing-cold winter night. They must really care about the schools.

“They pay taxes. They want to know what’s going on,” Sunny explains. I bet she’s repeating something her dad said once, but it sounds smart.

Annabelle and Evan are up front, by the stage, chatting with Mrs. Deleccio. Evan and Sunny high-five when they see each other, which I think is pretty cool. It’s not like they’re going to smooch in front of anyone.

“Why don’t you guys sit over here, and then we’ll all go up together when they call us?” Mrs. Deleccio guides us to a row of seats toward the front.

Suddenly it all feels real. I’m wearing a whole outfit of Sunny’s and it’s snowing outside and we’re in school at night and we’re about to make our presentation. In a way, I realize I’ve been waiting forever for this, and in another way, I find it hard to believe that it’s actually here.

This is all part of the end of middle school—a time that I’ll remember forever. It has to go right, and I’m confident it will. But it’s more than nerves I’m feeling. I really need it to be perfect. I’m only going to do this once; there’s no do-over. I don’t want to constantly think about what I could have done differently, if only I had the chance.

But life is like that too. There’s no do-over. Maybe we should approach every situation like this, constantly trying for perfection.

The president of the school board, Clint’s dad, goes up to the microphone and starts the meeting. I zone out for the beginning part, since it’s pretty boring to discuss the sizes of the parking spots in the high school student lot. Then there’s some discussion about adding an extra position for a technology teacher in the elementary school, which is borderline interesting. Next is a big debate about adding temporary classrooms on the field behind the elementary school to make room for students with special needs. People get heated over this one, but I can’t figure out why. The more the merrier, right?

Finally it’s our turn.

“Next on the agenda is our big presentation from the Old Mill Middle School Earth Club,” Clint’s dad says. “I’d like to call up Lucy Desberg, Evan Mass, Sunita Ramal, and Annabelle Wilson.”

I crack up when he says Sunita, because he stumbles over it a little bit and then gets all embarrassed. I don’t know why; he’s a lawyer, so he must talk in front of people all the time.

Annabelle goes to the microphone first, just like we planned. “Hello, everyone. Welcome, and thanks for coming out on this freezing night.” I’m really impressed with how she speaks. She kind of sounds like my rabbi, composed and smiley. “We’ve been working on this proposal since last year, and we’re so excited about it. We know it will make a huge difference in our school and help the environment.” She looks down at her notes and back at us sitting in the folding chairs behind her—and then everything goes downhill. It’s like she’s completely forgotten why she’s there and what she’s supposed to say. She’s quiet for only a few seconds, but it seems like a million years. “Um, I . . . Um.” She looks back at us, and I nod, and then she says, finally, “I’d like to introduce Lucy Desberg. Um, this was all her idea, and she will, um, go into the specific details.”

I look around. Evan was supposed to go next, but maybe Annabelle forgot that too. I stand up and straighten out my dress and walk over to the podium.

I smile at Annabelle so she won’t feel completely terrible. The audience looks so serious. Or maybe they’re bored and just want to get home. It’s hard to say. I take my place behind the microphone and smile at no one in particular.

“Hi, everyone. I’m Lucy Desberg. Nice to see you.” I glance down at my note cards. My hands are sweaty and they’re crinkling the paper. I try to stand up straight, speak slowly, and smile. “When I first joined Earth Club, I had no idea what I was getting into. I thought it would be fun, and I wanted the free snacks.” I pause for some laughter, hoping that people find it funny. Thankfully, they do. “But after a few meetings, I became passionate about helping the environment. Thinking of ways to go green literally kept me up at night. And I discovered that one of the main areas we could improve was a place we visited every day: the school cafeteria. Until now we have been using plastic utensils, plastic trays, and Styrofoam cups. Many of our snacks are prepackaged, and we don’t eat locally grown fruits and vegetables. All of this can be fixed, and pretty easily too.” I pause and smile and look out at the audience. They seem to be paying attention, and no one has fallen asleep yet. “So I’d like to introduce a fellow Earth Club member, Evan Mass, who will go over all the suppliers we’ve researched, and Sunny—I mean, Sunita—Ramal will talk about the budget for this plan. And of course, we’ll have time for questions at the end.”

“Fab job, Lulu,” Evan whispers, and slaps me a low five. He’s wearing khakis that are a tiny bit too short and a wrinkly blue button-down. He looks like a little boy. But he’s Evan. Steady, reliable, funny Evan.

When Evan’s up at the podium, I turn to Sunny and whisper, “He’s great.”

She nods. “I know. Also, you rocked out there. You totally saved Annabelle and didn’t even make it seem too obvious.”

Sunny finishes up by going over the costs and asking if anyone has questions.

Of course people have questions. This is Old Mill. And as my sixth-grade science teacher, Mrs. Kurtz, said, “Thinking people ask questions.”

“Where did you find these suppliers?” one man asks, so I go to the microphone and tell him all about our research.

“What’s the timetable for this kind of change?” a woman wants to know. I start, and Mrs. Deleccio finishes up that one.

A short man sitting in the front row says, “This is a question specifically for Lucy.” He pauses for a second, as if making sure he has the room’s attention. “How did you get started with this project? Can you talk a little about your inspiration for this kind of work?”

I stand up near my seat and answer. “My friend Sunny is actually the main reason.” I look over at her. I explain how she encouraged me to join Earth Club. And then I talk a little about the spa and the grant and all that. “But the cafeteria project was my baby,” I say. “There was just so much waste. I knew we could do better. I wanted to help us do better.”

“Thank you,” the man says, and a few people applaud. It’s weak applause, but it’s still something.

Finally the questions end, and Clint’s dad tells us they should have a decision within the next few days. “We are so impressed with the work you’ve done,” he says. “This is a testament to the fabulous school district that we’re so lucky to be a part of. Under the direction of Susan Deleccio, this club can save the world.”

He’s a little cheesy, but I like what he’s saying. Mrs. Deleccio suggests that we all go to 384 Sprinkles for dessert, and of course no one can say no to that. It may be January, but ice cream is a year-round food, if you ask me.

Sunny and I share the Sprinkles Explosion—five scoops of ice cream and five toppings. It’s a little much, but this is a celebration, after all.

“Congrats, guys,” Mrs. Deleccio says. “I’m so impressed. Now all we can do is wait. But I have a feeling the wait won’t be too long.”

That night as I’m falling asleep, I can’t help but feel grateful. The meeting went well, Yamir remembered to wish me good luck, and we got ice cream afterward.

To me, that’s a pretty perfect day.