Confessions from the principal's kid

Review by Booklist Review

Allie's favorite part of school happens before it starts and after it ends: sharing secret snacks, games, and projects with three other kids of faculty members. Otherwise, well . . . it's not easy being the principal's daughter. Confide in your mother one single time and, evidently, you're forever known as a snitch. Now that she's in fifth grade, Allie longs to make up with Chloe, her former best friend who's no longer speaking to her, but mending a broken relationship is not so easy. Meanwhile, her other best friend, Graham, repeatedly targeted by a bully, can't help wishing that someone would let the principal know what's happening. Written by a former principal's daughter, this very readable chapter book records some of the perks and problems that go with the role. Sincere, unpretentious, and sometimes witty, Allie's first-person narrative will have broad appeal for the many kids who feel like outsiders at school, as well as those who are navigating the sometimes choppy waters of friendship.--Phelan, Carolyn Copyright 2017 Booklist

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.

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Review by School Library Journal Review

Gr 4-6-Allie West's mom is the school principal. In fifth grade, that's more of a curse than a blessing. Allie's an outsider, and after she accidentally tattles on her best friend Chloe, the whole school thinks she's a snitch and won't talk to her or invite her anywhere. Her only friends are the Afters, kids whose parents work for the school and must stay late each day. Even though the Afters plan fun activities to do after school, they don't talk to one anther during the day. So during school hours, Allie still feels like she has no one. While trying to repair her friendship with Chloe and get some real friends, Allie doesn't realize she's abandoning the ones who have always been there for her. The pace is leisurely, with a plot twist near the end. This is a sweet story line, where characters behave a little on the juvenile side for their age but sometimes speak as if they are a generation or two older ("It's actually a riveting conversation."). Despite some of the stilted dialogue, the friendship problems and solutions are authentic, and the theme about standing up to bullies is not overdone. -VERDICT Give to elementary-age readers looking for gentle realism.-Rachel Reinwald, Lake Villa District Library, IL © Copyright 2017. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

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Review by Horn Book Review

Fifth grader Allie West is the principal's daughter, and, in her words, "it is the worst." Navigating school social situations is hard, but she has her band of "Afters" (other staff children) to help her. Allie's struggle to learn the difference between tattling to her mother and speaking up when it really matters feels authentic in this heartfelt, often funny school story. (c) Copyright 2019. The Horn Book, Inc., a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

(c) Copyright The Horn Book, Inc., a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

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Review by Kirkus Book Review

As the principal's kid, Allie West is both insider and outsider.She loves her secret, insider life: she gets to see what teachers are like when they're not being teachers, and her good pal Frances the custodian lets Allie use the floor buffer. Then there is the Afters, a club with three other students whose parents work at the school and who entertain themselves every afternoon with Eavesdropping Bingo and Random Acts of Awesomesauce. Despite these perks, Allie just wants to be a regular kidbeing the principal's kid "is the worst." Her classmates avoid her since that one time she accidentally ratted on a classmate, her now-former best friend, Chloe. Allie believes two things will make her life normal and restore her to the good graces of the students of Mountain Crest Elementary: make amends with Chloe and earn acceptance to the Pentagon, the school's champion math club. Allie makes mistakes but takes things in stride; her cleareyed, first-person narration makes the story, and she's very easy to sympathize with. She'll have to learn that everyone has their own version of normaland that maybe her life is her kind of normal. Aside from some non-Anglo surnames such as Cruz, Santos, and Alvarez, this school story inspired by the author's own experiences as a principal's kid appears to be populated by white people. Readers will feel they'd be lucky to have Allie as their best friend. (Fiction. 8-12) Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

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This Starts with a Spitball I wish I could say it starts with a bouquet of daisies. Or a beautiful sunset. Or even a really nice letter.      It doesn't.      It starts with a Jupiter-size spitball stuck to the cafeteria floor, the one that was flung at the back of Graham Parker's head. He never saw it coming. But I did.      The school day is over. Almost all the students are gone. So it's the perfect time to hide the evidence.      On my toes, I peek through the tall glass windows that line the cafeteria.      All clear.      I pull the lever on the Mastercraft 300, and it glides across the floor like an Olympic ice skater.      "It's got a one-point-two-horsepower motor," Frances explains. She chews on sunflower seeds, carefully spitting the shells into a cup as she leans against the stage.      Custodian. Janitor. Whatever you want to call her, Frances is a floor-buffing wizard, close to retirement, and possibly my favorite human. She also has a deep fondness for sunflower seeds, which makes getting her a birthday gift each year pretty simple. And out of all of us kids who have to wait after school, I am the only one she lets behind the handlebars of this buffer.      To be honest, there is only one reason why Frances gives me the honor of waxing the floor with this fine machine.      My mother.      The principal.      I will not sugarcoat this. I will not pretend that it is fine. That never getting the chance to ride home on a bouncy school bus is fine. That staying after school until it gets dark is fine. That having virtually every kid at school scared of your mom is fine.      Because it isn't.      It is the worst.      Mom's fun side disappeared when she stopped teaching and was named principal, and now her serious side is her all-the-time side. But at least I get to use this floor buffer.      It's good to have connections. Sometimes.      "Cross back and forth horizontally, like you're mowing a lawn," Frances calls out.      I nod like I know what she means.      I don't.      "Overlap your lines!" she hollers. "And hover over the tougher spots!"      I overlap. I hover. I do whatever Frances asks me to do. Floor buffing day is my favorite. And now I have a purpose.      This cafeteria floor will be spitball free, and it will no longer be a reminder--​to Graham and to everyone--​that he is a kid who doesn't belong.      Except, even with the spitballs, the mean words, the laughter--​Graham never flinches. It's as if he's covered with invisible armor and nothing can penetrate.       Confession: Even though he's the number one nobody at school, Graham Parker is one fascinating boy. Here Comes Graham When Frances heads out to replenish her sunflower seeds, I run to my backpack and whip out a bookmark. A stiff bookmark is perfect for holding the spot in your book and scraping spitballs off the floor. Not many people know that.      Back behind the floor buffer, I channel my inner Frances. I overlap, I hover, I pretend to mow a lawn. "Take that, Joel Webber," I whisper.      Joel Webber.      He's the reason why I have to clean up this mess. What does he have against Graham anyway?      That guy should be knocked down a few pegs. He is friendly with all the girls, has a high-five relationship with the guys, makes everybody laugh, and is a favorite of some of the teachers. But not all. Joel has a mean streak mixed with a nice streak. The second is aimed at whoever his favorite person happens to be that day. The first, well, isn't.      Sound complicated? It is.      I know this because two years ago, almost to the day, his nice streak was aimed directly at me. (Or maybe it was his mean streak. It can be hard to tell them apart.) A few of us were sitting on the grass next to the slide picking dandelions. Joel was plucking blades of grass and twisting them together into a loop, like a ring.      And then before I knew what was happening, Joel was kneeling by me, showing off his bright, perfect teeth. "Allie, you should marry me!"      Before I could answer, all the kids around us were pointing, giggling. My face turned hot. Joel Webber was making fun of me. I knew it. So I turned and ran away from him, and the laughter got even louder.      Joel Webber's mean streak may have been aimed at me that day. But now that we're in fifth grade, it's usually aimed at Graham Parker.      Time for this mean streak to end.      As I turn the floor buffer around to make one final pass at the spitball, I glance out the cafeteria window.      Oh, no.      Here comes Graham, sauntering down the hallway, headed toward the cafeteria--​acting as if he doesn't have a care in the world. Acting as if the Joel Webber Spitball Ambush of 3.5 Hours Ago never happened.      He is not alone. At his side, reading from a list attached to her clipboard while waving her hands around, is Lexa Cruz. Fourth-grader. Daughter of the school counselor. Extremely organized. Super chatty.      Lexa is also known as the cruise director. She actually gave herself that nickname, since her last name is Cruz, and she's great at making lists and schedules and having fun--​something she reminds us of on a daily basis.      I let go of the lever and stop the machine.       Don't let them see you, Allie.      "Thanks, Frances. Gotta run!"      Frances has come back with a fresh supply of sunflower seeds. She winks at me. "No more help?" She gently pokes me on the shoulder. "You're getting pretty good at it, Allie Kid."      That's what she calls me: Allie Kid.      I love it.      But here's a confession: I don't want Lexa and Graham to see me hanging out with Frances so much. True, they have to wait after school every day just like me. They have for years. But I'm the only one on a nickname basis with the janitor.      And here's another confession: I'm also friends with the cafeteria manager. And the librarian. And all the teachers (minus the computer teacher who is ultra grumpy and constantly complains about wrist pain).      Add all that up, and I'm sure it does not equal "the coolest kid at school." I'd settle for "the girl who is treated like everyone else because her mom is not the principal." That's too long a title, I know.      Maybe that's why becoming that normal kid feels so impossible. Excerpted from Confessions from the Principal's Kid by Robin Mellom All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

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