Chapter 68
SIXTY-EIGHT
‘Everyone will find a ballot paper on their table,’ said Miss Young.
‘There are three candidates on there: Aisha, Rosie and Lara. You will secretly mark which candidate you want to be Spring Queen with an “X” in the box next to their name and then come and post your paper in here.’ She indicated a large box with a slot cut out of the centre at the front of the classroom.
There was much rustling and arms wrapped around ballot papers so no one could see.
Rebecca watched her class carefully. It was Lara’s first day back after her spell in hospital and she was more subdued than usual.
Rebecca had taken Lara and Rosie to Mr Whitman’s office first thing, and Rosie had conjured up a contrite face and soberly delivered her apology.
She read from a letter saying she was sorry for ‘taking the asthma pump’ and it was a ‘very stupid thing to do’ and she ‘regretted it and the harm it had caused Lara’.
Rebecca thought it sounded like something a parent had scripted – Mrs Wood, most likely – and that Rosie had rehearsed, although she couldn’t prove any of that, of course. Lara had listened, stiff with tension and her eyes downcast, then Rebecca had escorted them both back to class.
She got the kids to come up in small groups to post their vote even as she already knew what the result would be.
She’d seen Rosie and Tilly canvassing in the playground that morning, knew without a doubt that they would have been persuading the kids to put an ‘X’ next to Rosie’s name.
It would work too, of that Rebecca was certain.
The other two girls didn’t stand a chance.
Aisha was a nice kid but didn’t have the dazzle that Rosie possessed.
And Lara . . . well, it had been sweet of Mia to put her friend forward, but she wasn’t going to get the votes.
Not with Rosie’s campaigning. The whole thing was a stitch-up.
It was funny, thought Rebecca, as she tipped the box of votes onto her desk, you weren’t supposed to have favourites among the children in your class but every teacher knew that was a crock of shit.
It was impossible not to, especially when some could be so vile.
And Rebecca always thought it was grossly unfair how so many of the vile ones landed on their feet.
It was kids like Lara who deserved a chance at being the Spring Queen.
She consoled herself with the notion that, really, the whole Spring Queen thing was massively outdated and it offended her feminist sensibilities.
She told the children to read their English books then started to put the ballot papers into three piles.
The first vote was for Rosie – of course it was – as was the next.
Then, to Rebecca’s surprise, there were a couple for Lara.
One for Aisha. One ballot spoiled, the owner having scribbled on it, declaring it should be a Spring King.
Then another three each for Lara and Rosie.
Once she’d counted them all up, she called the class to attention.
‘We have the result,’ she announced, pausing for dramatic tension.
‘In third place is Aisha with five votes.’ There was a smattering of applause and Aisha tried not to look downcast. ‘In second place . . .’ Miss Young looked around the class.
The children were all holding their breath.
‘. . . with eleven votes . . . is Rosie.’
Gasps from the kids. Miss Young glanced at Rosie, but her expression was surprisingly calm resignation at her position.
‘Which means in first place, and this year’s Spring Queen with thirteen votes is Lara. Well done, Lara!’
More clapping. Lara’s face was a picture of shock.
For a moment it looked as if she didn’t fully understand what her teacher had said, then as it dawned, she took the tiniest little intake of excited breath before closing down again, obviously fearing retaliation from Rosie.
‘No,’ she said, ‘I don’t want to be queen. ’
But then, amazingly, Rosie turned to look at Lara. She shrugged. ‘It’s OK. It’s only fair that it’s you after what I did.’
Rebecca, stunned by this admission, watched carefully but Rosie appeared to be utterly genuine.
‘Right,’ she said, putting a sheet up on the overhead projector. ‘We’re going to do some comprehension questions on the text you’ve just been reading.’ Rebecca scrutinized Rosie’s face again but it was completely devoid of guile.
Rebecca had been right about Rosie canvassing in the playground that morning but what she hadn’t realized was who Rosie was telling the kids to vote for.
‘We’re changing,’ Rosie said to Tilly. ‘Tell everyone to vote for Lara.’
‘What?’ said Tilly, astonished. ‘Why would you do that? It’s your pony!’
Rosie shrugged. ‘I’m kind of bored with the whole Spring Queen thing. So Lara can do it.’
Tilly was still looking at her, gobsmacked, but Rosie walked away and, approaching the next child, began her campaign.