Two colours of paper

The ballot box stood on a table under the shelter. It was a strong cardboard box. Kees had reinforced the slot with tape, so it wouldn’t tear when somebody pushed a ballot through.

A second box stood beside it. The first said CHILDREN’S MAYOR. The second said MASCOT. Below each word hung a sheet the same colour as the ballot papers that belonged inside.

Safia sat at the table. A father from the parents’ committee kept a list. He handed white papers to children aged four to twelve. Anybody who’d already had one couldn’t have another. He had a separate list for the yellow papers. Every visitor could go on that one.

There were three names on the white paper. Vera could see her own from the side. It was strange seeing it next to Eef’s and Joep’s in exactly the same letters.

The mayor received only a yellow paper.

‘I’m a little too old for the other one,’ she said.

‘How old?’ Puk asked.

‘Too old will do for today.’

Puk didn’t think that was a good answer. She asked again. Her mother took her behind a cardboard screen. Safia showed her where to put a cross, then stepped aside.

‘Do I do it twice?’ asked Puk.

‘One choice on each paper,’ her mother said. ‘You choose.’

Puk bent over the papers. Her mother looked at the wall. Vera couldn’t see who Puk chose. That was the point, though she suddenly found it difficult not to stretch up.

She walked away from the table. Beside the potato, Sam checked his notes. The cardboard hat was still in the right place. Puk had made a little box with four small squares round it. Windows, she said afterwards. The potato had to be able to see.

‘Do you think Miep will win?’ Vera asked.

‘No idea.’ Sam turned a page. ‘The baker just said Boris would get loads of votes. Puk says everyone eats potatoes. Both sound true. They don’t tell us much.’

Vera looked at the garden fence. Miep was now on the far side of the grass with the other goose. They were barely visible behind a bush. Bennie hadn’t moved the visitors’ ribbon. If you couldn’t see her, that was just bad luck today.

Vera wanted to stand by her own table. Joep was already walking past it.

‘I’m getting a waffle,’ he said.

‘You’ve just had one.’

‘Then I’m going to watch them make one.’

He went to the stall and stood in front of the batter. Vera understood. She didn’t know what to do with her hands either. She’d cast her vote. She’d explained about the roof. There was nothing more she could do without saying the same thing over and over.

Eef sat by the sandpit. A little child showed her how full his bucket was. She looked very carefully, as though she might need to know exactly which grains were in it later.

At half past twelve, voting closed. Kees taped the slots shut. The father from the parents’ committee brought the lists to the table. Safia asked two children who weren’t candidates to watch the counting. The candidates could sit on chairs a little further away.

Vera chose the middle chair. Joep sat on her right. Eef on her left. There was no table between them now.

Safia gently tipped the white ballots out of the box and unfolded them. The father checked every choice. If they weren’t sure, they put the paper aside and looked at it together. Three piles formed on the table.

Joep moved his foot up and down. His shoelaces tapped the chair leg.

‘Could you stop that?’ Eef asked.

He stopped. A moment later, his other foot began.

Vera tried to compare the piles. One looked higher. Or were the papers folded more loosely? She leaned forward. Safia set a glass of water right in front of the pile Vera was trying to see.

‘I need a drink too,’ Safia said.

Vera leaned back. Joep looked at her. They both smiled briefly. Then all she could hear was paper.

When they’d finished counting, the adults checked the numbers again. One of the children wrote them on the board. Eef’s name first. Beside it: 16.

Eef gripped the edge of her chair.

Beside Joep: 24.

Vera heard him breathe out. Only one name remained on the board. The boy held the pen in front of it for a moment, as if he needed to shift his hand.

Vera: 28.

Four votes more than Joep. Vera looked at the number. There it was. She wouldn’t have to guess whether the two piles were the same height.

Safia read out the result. Sixty-eight children had cast a valid vote. Vera had the most. Somebody at the waffle stall clapped, and then everyone else did too.

Joep stayed seated. His mouth was a little open. Then he closed it and held out his hand.

‘Congratulations,’ he said.

Vera shook it. His hand was warmer than hers.

Eef shook her hand too. ‘I’d hoped for more,’ she said.

‘There are sixteen children who want your plan.’

‘Yes.’ Eef looked at the board. ‘I can see that.’

Vera didn’t say sixteen was a lot. She didn’t know if she’d have thought so herself, seeing it beside her own name.

The mayor came over with three little wooden badges on cords. Vera’s said CHILDREN’S MAYOR. The other two said CANDIDATE. Joep turned his over. The date was on the back.

‘Can I keep this?’ he asked.

‘That’s the idea.’

Vera put the cord round her neck. The badge tapped against her zip. The mayor explained that the school and the woodworking club would help carry out the plan. Vera didn’t get a bag of money to take home. She got an appointment with Kees on Monday.

‘To get the bench organised,’ Kees said. ‘Bring your notes. Preferably without a snail.’

Then they opened the yellow ballots. There were far more of them. Miep received 112 votes. Boris got 52. The potato in the hat got 17.

Puk counted on her fingers. She didn’t have enough.

‘Seventeen,’ her mother said. ‘There are seventeen.’

Puk turned the little box so the potato could look at the board.

‘He heard,’ she said.

The baker stroked Boris. Boris had slept through most of the election. Now he raised his head, looked at his water bowl, and lay down again.

Sam had made a sign for Miep: HONORARY MAYOR. NO OFFICE HOURS. Bennie hung it on the fence. Miep didn’t come back from the garden for it. The other goose reached the water bowl first. Miep followed.

‘They’re on their way to the meeting,’ said Joep.

Vera looked at her badge. She was happy. Very happy. She wanted to tell Joep, but not in the voice she’d use to tell her mum.

‘Will you come on Monday?’ she asked. ‘To see Kees. You don’t have to help just because I ask. But I’d like you to come.’

Joep turned his wooden badge over again.

‘If it isn’t during PE.’

‘After school.’

He nodded. Eef said she’d come too. Then she went to fetch her drawing of the spades. She rolled it carefully and held it under her arm. She didn’t throw it away.