Cleo Edison Oliver in Persuasion Power Read online

  “Which one?”

  That stopped Cleo. She didn’t know he and Lexie had another sister.

  “Because if you mean Lexie, no way. She’s got her own money.”

  “You have another sister?”

  “Not technically. Neecie’s our three-year-old cousin. But she lives with us. I’d buy one for her.”

  “Cleo, Cole. First warning.” Mr. Boring wrote their names on the whiteboard. Cole gave Cleo a stink eye.

  “I’d buy a pair,” Micah whispered.

  “Is there someone you’d be buying them for?” Cleo crooned.

  Micah’s eyes shifted back and forth. “Uh … no.”

  Cleo stared, nonplussed. “Shall I put you down for a pair, then?”

  “Cleopatra Oliver,” Mr. Boring said loudly, as though he’d possibly said it a few times already.

  She looked at her teacher. “Yes, Mr. B?”

  “How are you doing on checking those answers?”

  “Why do we have to spend time figuring out things like how many passengers are on a train that doesn’t even exist? I’m not planning on working for the railroad company.”

  Some of the other kids snickered.

  “I know it’s nowhere near as thrilling as the high-flying stakes of entrepreneurship, but you’ll need to be able to do computations like this—especially in the world of business.” He put a line on the board after her name. A strike! Cleo had never gotten a strike from Mr. B. Of course, it was only the end of September, but still, she’d hoped to go this whole year without getting one. She needed a “power makeover”—from “disruptive talker” (last year’s report card comment) to productive, professional CEO. For the rest of homework check, her lips were zipped.

  Finally, Mr. B gathered their papers. “Okay. Time to move on to lovely language arts! So, yesterday, we read poems and talked about metaphors. Quick, who can tell me what a metaphor is?”

  Cleo thrust her arm in the air again.

  “Cleo.”

  “Um … hmmm. It had something to do with hope and feathers. And you told us failure didn’t really smell but it could have a stench, which I totally get. Failure stinks. Oh! And time is money! I definitely remember that one.”

  Mr. Boring nodded. “Okay … that’s a start. You re-member some of the metaphors we talked about, but what is a metaphor? Amelie?”

  “I think it’s when you compare one thing to something else and it makes your description more memorable by creating an image?”

  Mr. B put his finger on his long, skinny nose. “Bingo!”

  Cleo felt a jealousy attack coming on.

  Amelie Martinet smiled. She flipped her long auburn hair over her shoulder. Everyone always said what cute dimples Amelie had. Cleo wished she had dimples instead of crowded front teeth and an overbite that needed braces to fix.

  “This morning,” Mr. B went on, “we’re going to get started on writing our own poetry.”

  A few kids groaned, including Cleo.

  “Don’t worry. It’s going to be fun. First, I want you to think about your personality.”

  Great! Cleo could definitely do that.

  “For example, let’s say you’re cheerful, or chummy, or chatty …” He looked pointedly at Cleo. She gave him a sheepish grin. There were worse things a person could be.

  “Or chill,” Cole Lewis said, trying to sound cool.

  Cleo rolled her eyes. Or cheesy, she thought.

  “Exactly!” Mr. B said. “But your adjective doesn’t have to start with c-h. Pick a word that describes you really well. Then I want you to come up with at least five similes—remember that’s a metaphor that uses like or as—to illustrate that part of your personality. For example, I’m as crazy as a blizzard in July. I’m as crazy as a circus clown. I’m as crazy as a duck wearing a dress.” People laughed. The image of a duck in a dress was pretty funny. The image of tall, skinny Mr. Boring in a dress was even funnier. “Got it?”

  Cleo got it. She opened her language arts notebook. She would show Mr. B she could be focused. As focused as a telescope.

  What adjective described her best? Definitely not focused. She could be crazy … but she didn’t want to copy. She was friendly … but Caylee was friendlier. She was messy … hmmm, not exactly the trait she wanted to highlight with her teacher.

  Cleo looked over to Anusha’s paper. Upside-down reading was one of the most useful skills she’d gained from school.

  I’m as quiet as a star in the nighttime sky, she had written. Wow. That was practically a poem already. And it was true—Anusha was the quietest girl in their class, maybe even in the whole school.

  She read Micah’s. I’m as hungry as a bear that’s just woken up from hypernation.

  “Being hungry isn’t a part of your personality,” she whispered.

  Cole butted in. “I like it, man. I’m always hungry.”

  “And it’s hibernation,” Cleo pointed out.

  “I like hypernation better,” Micah said.

  Micah was hyper, all right.

  Cole pushed his notebook into her space and pointed to his paper. He smiled broadly. I’m as chill as a Wendy’s Frosty. I’m as chill as an ice cube on a frozen lake. I’m as chill as snow on a dead person.

  Cleo scrunched her face. Snow on a dead person? Ew.

  “Hey, you need some help?” He raised an eyebrow at her blank paper. “I’m good at this stuff.”

  “No thanks.”

  She tapped her pencil eraser on the desk. Mr. Boring had called her enterprising more than once. She started to write: I’m as enterprising as …

  Nope. Too hard. Language arts were not lovely. Not lovely at all.

  Cole nudged her arm.

  She was about to get as mad as a stepped-on snake.

  “My sister landed a job because of you.”

  Huh? What was Cole Lewis talking about now?

  She peered over her shoulder. Mr. Boring was on the other side of the room, helping Max-as-funny-as-a-whoopee-cushion-Peacock.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The ad producers loved her missing teeth.”

  “Teeth? I only knocked out one,” Cleo whispered. The knocked-out tooth had been unintentional. The punch, not so much. Lexie Lewis had made fun of her for being adopted. Worse than that. She’d said it was Cleo’s freakishness that had caused her birth mom not to want her—that it was Cleo’s fault she’d been given away. And Cleo just couldn’t let the girl get away with saying that—about her or her birth mom.

  “She lost another one before the audition. They said the spaces made her look”—Cole’s eyelids fluttered — “adorable.”

  Cleo clapped her hand over her mouth, but some giggles escaped anyway.

  French fries and Frito-Lay. Mr. Boring was headed their way. And she hadn’t written a single word.

  Persistent. Dad had called her Miss Persistent the night before, when they’d been talking about where they might advertise their Passion Clips if Principal Yu said no to doing it at school.

  Persistent. That pretty much summed her up.

  She crossed the last t just as Mr. Boring’s hand landed on her shoulder.

  “How’s it going over here?”

  Cleo looked up. “I think I might need to sit at the Thinking Desk to finish.” The Thinking Desk was the place Mr. Boring put kids who were having a hard time getting their work done. Cleo figured it would be better to volunteer than to get sent there.

  “Good choice, Cleo.” Mr. Boring patted her back. “That’s a sign of real maturity.”

  She took her notebook and went, being sure not to look at anyone along the way. She sat at the desk, determined to be persistent and finish her assignment.

  But all she could think about at the Thinking Desk was her and Caylee’s new business. How would they get the word out about Passion Clips at New Heights Elementary?

  She snuck a piece of white paper from the shelving unit near the Think
ing Desk and wrote Passion Clips™ across the top in big curlicue letters. Tell the world who you are!!! she added below that. She was into it now. “What’s your hobby? What’s your passion? Tell us what you like to do and we’ll design hair clips just for you! One-of-a-kind barrettes for one-of-a-kind you. Handmade by Caylee Ortega and Cleo Oliver. $4 each or $7 a pair.”

  She added some drawings of possible barrettes: a microphone (she was thinking of Amelie, who loved to sing), a brush and comb (Mia Jeffers was a pro with hairstyling), a pencil (for anyone who liked to write—that wouldn’t be Cleo), and a chef’s hat and large stirring spoon, because they were things she could draw.

  For the sporty girls, she drew a basketball (her personal favorite), soccer ball, and balance beam (for Steffy Lee, her friend the gymnast). She would have drawn a horse for Tessa Hutchfield, but she wasn’t that good at drawing.

  What would Lexie Lewis put in her hair to tell the world who she was? A mirror would be good for her—since she loved herself so much. Or a Trudy Ferretti purse, the kind she carried around school and made sure everyone knew was not a knockoff. Maybe a television. Whatever else Lexie Lewis was, she was determined to become a star.

  She decided on the purse and was just putting on the finishing touches when Mr. Boring walked up. “You’ve moved on to something else, I see. All done with your similes, then?”

  Cleo got as hot as something in an oven. “Not exactly, Mr. B …”

  Mr. Boring squatted so his eyes were level with hers. “Cleo,” he said seriously. “It seems like you’re having an especially hard time staying focused today. What do you think we could do to keep you on track better?”

  Cleo dropped her chin. “I’m sorry, Mr. Boring. It’s just that I get kind of … kind of, well, bored when I have to do assignments that I don’t really see the point of.”

  He pointed to the words on her ad. “What do you call this?”

  “Ad copy.”

  He underlined Tell the world who you are!!! with his finger. “No, this.”

  “Oh, that’s our business slogan.”

  “And a metaphor.”

  Her eyebrows pulled together. “It is?”

  “Will your clips literally tell the whole world who the wearers are?”

  “No, I guess not.”

  “So it’s a metaphor. Will it help you sell your product?”

  “I hope so!”

  “Fantastic. So can we agree metaphors can be useful?”

  She nodded.

  “Good. You’ll have to finish your simile assignment at home. Bring it back tomorrow.”

  “Okay.”

  He spoke to the class. “Who wants to share a simile?”

  Micah was the first one to raise his hand. “I’m as hungry as someone who would eat the north end of a southbound duck.”

  At first, everyone was quiet. Then Rowdy Jimmy Ryerson blurted, “That’s the duck’s butt!” and the class erupted with “Ewwww!” and “Duck butt! Ha-ha-ha!” until Mr. Boring had to use his duck call to restore order. But, of course, the duck quacker just made everyone crack up more, given what they were laughing about.

  Even Mr. Boring was laughing. “Well, Micah, you certainly have created a memorable image.”

  Micah may have been a bit different, but different could be good when it came to the world of business. Micah Mitchell was outside the box. Cleo just might have to recruit him to come and work for her.

  During first recess, Cleo took her ad to the office hoping to get it copied. She asked for Principal Yu, but he was not as helpful as she had hoped. He said something about not being able to fund students’ personal activities with taxpayer money and sent her outside.

  She didn’t have an ad, but she had something better: her mouth. And Caylee’s awesome samples. Outside, they focused on the sixth-graders and got four orders: two artist palette–paint brush sets, a pair of basketballs, and Yodas for LaLa Lopez, who everyone knew was a Star Wars fanatic.

  At their class’s lunch table, they got four more orders: horses and Tootsie Rolls for Tessa, microphones for Amelie, and pink balance beams for Steffy. Caylee wrote down exactly what each person wanted—including colors, whether they wanted their names on the clips, and any other important details.

  On the playground after lunch, Cleo spotted a group of girls from Ms. Sanchez’s fifth-grade class sitting and standing around the picnic table in the courtyard area.

  Perfect. She hadn’t had a chance to tell any of them about their new business and here a bunch of them were in one group.

  She nudged Caylee and headed for the table, until one of the girls moved and she saw who was at the center. Lexie Lewis, of course.

  Cleo drew a big breath and charged ahead. She couldn’t avoid Lexie forever. She and Caylee stepped up to the circle just as Lexie exclaimed, “Can you believe I’m going to be the new face of Sunshine Sparkle flute-fravored beverage? They said I was adorable!”

  Cleo laughed at Lexie’s accidental switch of letter sounds.

  “And why is that so funny?” Lexie scowled.

  Cleo startled. “Oh. You said flute-fravored.” She looked around the circle. A couple of girls giggled, but no one backed her up, and Lexie didn’t admit to her mistake.

  “Well, I wouldn’t laugh if I were you. You could have cost me this job, going all kung fu on my face.”

  Cleo wanted so badly to say that it was Lexie’s missing teeth—including one that Cleo had helped remove—that they’d really thought was adorable. But if the queen bee got angry, the other bees might scatter, or rally around in her defense, and Cleo couldn’t waste this perfect promotional opportunity.

  “That’s really great about the ad, Lexie,” she said.

  Mia spoke, her face aglow. “It’s going to air across the whole country.”

  Somehow, in less than a year at New Heights Elementary, Lexie Lewis had attained near-celebrity status in their grade. The girl was all whipped cream and no pudding, as far as Cleo was concerned.

  “I’m sure you’ll be fantastic.” Cleo flourished her flyer while she had the floor. “Speaking of ads, Caylee and I are advertising our new business: Passion Clips! Show them, Caylee.”

  Caylee flipped up the lid of the sample case and everyone—except Lexie—moved in for a closer look.

  “We can make anything—practically. We can put your name on them too. See? Caylee made this one for me.” She pointed to the lightbulb in her hair and everyone said how cute and creative it was, except Lexie. She stood just outside the circle, her arms crossed tightly and a pout on her face.

  Cleo poured it on. “So, what are you good at? What do you love? Buy Passion Clips for all your hobbies and passions and ‘tell the world who you are!’ ”

  Taylor picked out some ballet slippers with pink ribbons. “I’ve been in ballet since I was five.” No surprise there. Taylor was tall and slender and often wore her straight blond hair in a ballerina bun.

  “Only four dollars each or seven dollars for two. And we’ll put your name on them.”

  “I don’t have any money at school.”

  “You can bring it Monday.”

  “Okay. I’ll ask my mom. She’ll buy me anything ballet.”

  Lexie hovered, still looking displeased over the loss of the spotlight.

  “I was thinking you might like a brush and comb, Mia,” Cleo said, pointing to the pictures she’d drawn on the ad. “Since you’re so good with hair. You could make those, right, Caylee?”

  “Sure.”

  “I kind of like the chef hat and spoon.” She pointed to those drawings. “I’ve been getting into baking lately.”

  “Great!” Cleo’s ad was working! “What about you, Lexie?” she asked.

  “No thanks. Too babyish for—”

  “Sunglasses? Purses? I know! Glittering stars for the TV star?” Cleo waggled her eyebrows.

  “Stars! Just like the Avenue of the Stars on Hollywood Boulevard!” exclaimed Taylo
r.

  “Exactly!” Cleo wished she’d thought of that, but whatever. Taylor was helping her make the sale. “And with your name on them, they’ll look just like those sidewalk stars. Don’t you think, Caylee?”

  Caylee looked unsure.

  “Right, Caylee?” Cleo urged Caylee with her eyes. This was not a good time for one of Caylee’s confidence crises.

  “Uhh … right. Sure.”

  Lexie rolled her eyes. “Oh, okay. I’ll take one.”

  Yes!

  “But make sure you spell my name right. Lexie with an ie.”

  Caylee drew a big star with Lexie’s name inside it on her order pad.

  “You have to center it.” Lexie poked the paper. “And use the same font as the actual stars. Oh, and there should be a circled television under my name.”

  “Oh yeah,” Taylor said. “They put a record for musicians and a movie camera for movie stars.”

  Cleo grinned. “It will look just like the real deal. Don’t worry!”

  Caylee looked worried. “I’m not sure if I can fit—”

  “Anyone else?” Cleo asked before Caylee could say anything to kill the deal. “Look at this one.” She held up the furry clip Caylee had made in honor of Tye-Dye, her new pet hamster. The eye was a tiny black bead. Everyone oohed and aahed over how adorable it was. Four more girls wanted clips after that, two of them asking for barrettes to match their pets, including one set of guinea pigs.

  The whistle blew and the group dispersed. As Cleo and Caylee headed toward Mr. Boring’s line, Cleo added up the orders Caylee had written down. Sixteen pairs and one single for a grand total of $116! And this was only the first day!!

  *

  “Quack-quack-quack!”

  Everyone scrambled for their seats and quieted down, except Cleo, who was excitedly telling her tablemates about her victorious morning of sales.

  “Cleopatra Edison Oliver, CEO,” Mr. Boring interrupted. “Would you still like to share with the class this latest business you’re launching?”

  “It’s me and Caylee, and I think everyone heard about it over lunch.”