Scholastic Press / New York

Copyright © 2021 by Lana Wood Johnson

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are
either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events,
or locales is entirely coincidental.

Library of Congress Cataloging‑in‑Publication Data

Names: Johnson, Lana Wood, author.

Title: Speak for yourself / Lana Wood Johnson.

Description: First edition. | New York: Scholastic Press, an imprint of Scholastic

Inc., 2021. | Audience: Ages 12 and up. | Audience: Grades 7–9. | Summary:
Skylar Collins of Lovelace Academy intends to win at the Scholastic Exposition,
(an extremely nerdy academic competition) using her latest app, which she
considers a brilliant piece of coding; but first she has to assemble a team, and
she will do anything to accomplish that, even if it means playing Cupid for
teammates Joey and Zane—but her people skills are not as good as her coding,
and when she starts to feel attracted to Zane things get even more complicated.

Identifiers: LCCN 2020047457 | ISBN 9781338660401 (hardcover) |

ISBN 9781338660418 (ebook)

Subjects: LCSH: Academic achievement—Competitions—Juvenile fiction. |

Competition (Psychology)—Juvenile fiction. | Application software—Juvenile
fiction. | Mobile apps—Juvenile fiction. | High school students—Juvenile
fiction. | Dating (Social customs)—Juvenile fiction. | Interpersonal
relations—Juvenile fiction. | Friendship—Juvenile fiction. | CYAC: High
schools—Fiction. | Schools—Fiction. | Contests—Fiction. | Competition
(Psychology) —Fiction. | Mobile apps—Fiction. | Dating (Social customs)—
Fiction. | Interpersonal relations—Fiction. | Friendship—Fiction.

Classification: LCC PZ7.1.J6285 Sp 2021 | DDC 813.6 [Fic]—dc23

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 21 22 23 24 25

Printed in the U.S.A.    23

First edition, June 2021

Book design by Baily Crawford

 For the ’93–’94
TRHS and Lincoln
Academic Decathlon teams
 MRS. JAMES OF LOVELACE ACADEMY
HAS INVITED YOU TO
LOVELACE ACADEMY’S SCHOLASTIC EXPOSITION TEAM’S
GROUPHUB.

The theme for this year is: The Second Industrial Revolution
(­1870–​­1914).

Lovelace Academy’s captain is: Skylar Collins.

Each Scholastic Exposition is made up of two parts: the Quizposi-

tion and the Booth Expo. Together they are meant to display your
understanding of this year’s theme.

Quizposition is the exciting speed knowledge event ScholEx is

known for. Teams must have enough scholars in two challenging
rounds:
Achiever (three or four students with a GPA above 3.0)
Pathfinder (three or four students with a GPA below 3.0)

In each round, participating scholars will accumulate points for

their team. All questions are based on information provided in the
attached packet covering the areas of art, music, history, science,
and literature. Get those buzzer thumbs limber!

The Booth Expo brings Achiever and Pathfinder scholars together

to demonstrate an applied understanding of the knowledge they
gained in studying for the Quizposition. At the competitions, six

1
 to eight participants will set up and present an interactive booth
that uses multimedia to display a variety of aspects of the year’s
theme. Every member of the team should be able to share their
knowledge by presenting different elements of the booth through
conversations with the Expo judges.

We will be meeting Thursdays after school in room 204.

Our first meet will be December 12 and will include a qualifying

Quizposition. There you will have the opportunity to see prior
­State- and N
­ ational-​­level booths. This will inspire us for our own
booth, which we’ll present at Regionals in late January. Where we
go from there depends on you!

CLICK HERE TO ACCEPT THE INVITATION

2
 CHAPTER  ONE

“i need you to accept Mrs. James’s invite so I can con-

figure the GroupHub before practice tonight,” I say, loudly
dropping my tray of salad onto my usual spot at the farthest
table in the cafeteria. To make it seem like an excessively
dramatic gesture, the sugar cookie decorated like a pump-
kin jumps off and lands a foot away.
My best friend, Mads, looks up from her ­all-​­consuming
conversation with Kaden on the other side of her and hooks
her thin black bangs behind her ears. “You need what?”
Her mom finally let her dye her hair black this summer,
and even though it’s November, I’m still not used to it. Her
equally darkened brows are furrowed at me. Her clothes
match her hair, all blackness and ­lace—​­on which she spends
every penny she makes doing art commissions as the goth
queen LeBrat. One of her pieces sold for almost a hundred
dollars last month.
The Mads in my brain has ­mousy-​­brown hair, a squeaky
voice, and ink stains on her hands and usually the corner of
her lip, too.
The Mads in my brain doesn’t wear lace at school.
The Mads in my brain isn’t dating Kaden.

3
 I should be grateful they’re not making out or something.
Kaden used to be our friend. It’s been the three of us at this
same table since freshman year. But the two of them started
dating last spring ­break—​­making me a third wheel in my
own best friendship.
But while Mads has changed physically, Kaden is still
Kaden: T‑shirt, jeans, boots more suitable for a construction
site than a school cafeteria. Like Mads and me and most of
the school, Kaden is white, but unlike any of us, their hair
has been buzzed out of existence. A choice made in ninth
grade not long after they started sitting with us at the lunch
table. But they’re not just Kaden. Not anymore. Now Mads
and Kaden are a defined object.
“I convinced Mrs. James we’re going to need a private
group on HubBub, which I can’t get ready until there’s more
people in the GroupHub. So . . . I need you to confirm your
invitations,” I explain, sitting on the bench that is either too
small or too big, but definitely digs into my legs in all the
wrong ways.
“You’re still active on that cesspool?” Kaden asks, judg-
ment thick in their voice.
“Oh, come off it, you’re still there, too,” I say, settling into
an argument that predates even their dating. HubBub may
not be the only social platform out there, but it’s by far the
biggest. Nowhere else has apps, chats, and groups. It’s defi-
nitely the only one that makes it easy for individual coders
to create or publish at the level of a development company.

4
Which, I guess, is a thing I’m the only one in the whole
school cares about. But still.
“Only because this bourgeoisie manufacturing facility
known as our high school has sold out to the corporate over-
lords of the so‑called social media site that’s neither social
nor media or even merely a site at this point,” they say for
like the fiftieth time.
“Corporations pay HubBub millions for access to the
extra services our school gets for free,” I say. “It would be
ridiculous not to take advantage of all that the HubBub plat-
form has to offer.” Ever since Kaden discovered socialism
they’ve become a real snob.
“Platform, like they’re trying to lift us up. They only do it
to turn us into drones, so addicted to their ­mind-​­numbing
content that by the time we graduate we assume they’re the
answer for everything,” Kaden says, leaning past Mads to
glare at me. “Wake up, Skylar, this is the real world.”
“We’ll accept later, all right, Sky?” Mads says, laying a
­black-​­gloved hand on Kaden’s arm.
I bite back comments that, intellectually, I know would
lead to a shouting match on whether capitalism has any
merits in the first place. Because that’s how all our con-
versations go now. Instead I decide to focus on what really
matters. “Please? I need at least three members to confirm
before they’ll let me install my app.”
“Of course this is about the app,” Kaden says under their
breath.

5
 “Does this mean we’re good to go for Study Buddy?” Mads
asks, perking up a little bit.
Ever since HubBub opened up their Young Developers’
track to our school, Mads and I have been making apps. I
handle the coding, and she makes the graphics. It started
with a kitty puzzle game in seventh grade that used a basic
template. It got five hundred downloads, which is no small
feat for middle schoolers. But Study Buddy is on a whole dif-
ferent level. It turns class notes into flash cards for better
group studying. People actually need it, and I’ll be the one
who brings it to them.
“Yeah. I got the last of the bugs worked out Friday,
and your new buttons finally loaded in this weekend. The
HubBub team that approves education apps is normally
­slow—​­we’re talking weeks. But since I was just addressing
the edits they sent me, they put me into the priority testing
queue, so it’s already live.” I know I’m talking nerd at them,
but they’re the only ones in the whole school who have half
a chance of understanding what I’m saying. If I try to talk
to my dad, he starts going on about what he’s working on,
and my mom gets maybe half of it. She wants me to use
smaller words and less detail, but the details are important.
Plus, I got into the priority testing queue!
Normally if you want to get an app on their site, you have
to build tests into it and have it pass some quality checks.
The priority queue is for big software companies with whole
departments that do just testing. Before now I had to go to
the “Young Developers Queue” so HubBub’s people could do

6
quality checks for me and then give me a list of things that
didn’t work so I could fix them.
At first they just sent me instructions, but as I progressed,
they began to guide me through how they do the checks so
I can do them myself. The better I get, the more areas of
development they open to me. Study Buddy was so good I
can now develop social ­apps—​­which aren’t hard to create,
they just require a new level of customer support and give
me access to marketing training and a whole nightmare of
unreadable reports.
“So the bigger size did work for the buttons?” Mads asks,
her lips curling into the smile that only appears when she’s
been proven right, entirely missing the important part of
what I just said.
“I still prefer the original ones,” I mutter, not ready to
concede the point in what is now a ­months-​­old argument.
“I told you they were way too small, but you never listen.”
“I can’t help that I have a lot of content to fit on a single
screen.”
“You can,” Kaden weighs in while snagging one of Mads’s
Tater Tots and her attention, “since you’re the developer.” I
honestly don’t know how either of them can eat the poorly
fried nonsense that comes out of that cafeteria. The salad
bar has the only halfway edible stuff in this place. Don’t get
me wrong, I like a good Tot, but there’s nothing good about
these.
“Hey, that’s mine!” She scowls, taking one of Kaden’s
grapes in revenge.

7
 “Can you just accept the request? I want to have every-
thing installed before our meeting this afternoon so I can
show everyone how it works.”
“Uhhh, that’s not today,” Kaden says.
“It’s every Thursday so it doesn’t conflict with debate
prep,” I say.
Kaden, a member of said debate team, grins at me
sheepishly.
“No!” I shout, turning in my chair. “No!” Most of the rest
of the debate team is roosted two tables over like they nor-
mally are. And as usual they’re surrounded by more scraps of
paper, laptops, ­school-​­issued tablets, and assorted accordion
files than actual food. “You said I could have Thursdays!”
Mads says, under her breath, “Teachers can hear you.”
Kaden says, “The entire school can hear her.”
But I’m already off my seat, not willing to be ignored by
the one person who needs to hear me. “Every includes this
Thursday!”
Before I reach my target, my older brother, Logan, puts
himself between me and the rest of his team like a particu-
larly annoying wall. If everyone didn’t already know we’re
related, they could tell by looking at us. He keeps his light
brown hair short, while I keep mine in a ponytail. We also
share the physique that made our dad a great offensive line-
man in college, but only looks right on Logan despite neither
of us being remotely good at any sport that doesn’t involve
a controller. He’s one growth spurt short of six feet, while
I’m still a few inches shorter. But currently he has his giant

8
finger pressed against the middle of my forehead in a way
that both Mom and Dad would definitely have a problem
with if they ever saw him doing it.
“Back to earth, nerdling.”
“Stop it, you beast. I’m really going to kill him this time.”
“Who’s she killing now?” Zane asks from behind the wall
of jerk.
My brother grins. “You, Captain, who else?”
“What’d I do now?” The russet mop of Zane’s hair is vis-
ible just above my brother’s shoulder. The captain of the
debate team sounds perfectly innocent even though I know
he’s not.
“He doesn’t deserve to be called a captain. He’s just a jerk
who breaks promises.” I grab Logan’s finger and grin. He
knows I’m strong enough now to pull it backward in a way
that super hurts. But he also knows I won’t risk getting in
real trouble at school. So instead he kind of twists and wraps
his arm around my shoulder so we’re both facing Zane. No
doubt everyone thinks we’re just particularly close family
based on his big grin. No one suspects that charming, lovable
Logan has me trapped in some ­big-​­brother-​­side-​­hug thing.
“What promises?” Zane asks, eyes sparkling. He knows
what I’m talking about. He always knows. He never does
anything accidentally. Not breaking my beaker in our chem-
istry class freshman year and not scheduling his practice
session on top of ours. He’s on the ScholEx team; he got the
email.
“Today is ScholEx practice.”

9
 “Today,” he corrects in his superior tone, “is our last
chance to prep cards before the invitational.”
“You’re going back on your promise because you’re behind
on copying Google down in your notepad?”
“There’s more to it than that,” Zane says defensively.
“Oh, right, there’s also summarizing Wikipedia. I forgot.”
“No need to get snippy.”
“You did promise her Thursdays,” Dom says from some-
where down the table. Dom, one of the only Black kids on
the debate team, is always far more rational than his best
friend, Zane. I can only see the top of his fade through the
sea of paper, but I still flash my most winning smile in his
direction. He’s a good person despite his terrible taste in
friends.
“See!” I say, trying once more to tug away from my
brother, but he has me tight.
“You can have next Thursday,” Zane says with a sigh.
“Today is too important.”
“I need this one.”
“ScholEx doesn’t even have an event for weeks,” he says,
as if he’s entirely forgotten that Thanksgiving is in the mid-
dle of that.
“ScholEx has a grand total of one Pathfinder scholar. We
need three . . . minimum,” I say.
“Can’t you just call them C‑level students instead of
Pathfinder scholars?” Zane asks. “That’s what they are.”
“Some of the most creative ScholEx students don’t achieve
academically,” I say, as my captain’s handbook told me to.

10
“No one will want to join if you scream about their grades in
front of everyone, Zane.” I don’t mention that I have utterly
failed to find anyone who fits in Pathfinder except Mads,
and she only joined for the obvious reasons.
“If I get you a ‘Pathfinder,’ will you back off today?” Zane
asks, putting air quotes around Pathfinder with his fingers
and continuing to be a really big snot about it.
“No.”
“Okay, how about two?”
“You don’t know two Pathfinder scholars.”
“Logan,” Zane says, his voice suddenly dripping with
honey, “will you join another club for your sister?”
My brother jostles me. “Will she ask nicely?”
I squint up at him. “No, you oaf, I need people who will
actually study to prove my app works.”
“I’ll study. It’ll be fun.”
“You don’t need the extracurriculars! Why would you
join?”
“I do so.”
“You’re not even applying to any worthwhile colleges!”
While Logan’s been annoying, so far he hasn’t actually
hurt me, but the college jab hurts him. He lets go of my
shoulder and steps away. “Ouch, dude.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, and I mean it. Mom has been riding
him about applying early decision. She’s not wrong, but it’s
not his fault he’s never had the clear vision of the future that
I’ve had.
“I mean, it’s fair, but ouch, dude.”

11
 “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Then you’ll let me on your nerd team?”
“You don’t want to be in ScholEx. It’s literally all studying.”
“But that’s why you spent all summer making your super-
study instant-knowledge app, right, nerdling?”
I roll my eyes. “It’s still work.”
He winks at me. “I’m joining your team, if only to keep
you and Zane away from each other.”
“I haven’t hurt him yet.”
“Because I’m always around.”
“Okay, fair.”
We both look back at Zane, who is wearing his smuggest
smile.
“Deal?”
“No,” I say. “I also need to do an orientation for my app.”
“Monday,” Zane says.
“Mrs. James won’t be around on Monday,” I say.
“Not here, in the GroupHub we’re going to join. You’ve
heard of it, right? It’s this magical place where you can make
anything happen?”
“You’ll accept the invite?”
He picks up his phone. “Already done.” Then, as he
unlocks his screen, he says over his shoulder, “Right, Dom?”
I can feel my phone vibrating in my pocket and know he’s
actually done it. Incredible. “One more Pathfinder, you twit.”
“Oh, I can find you someone.”
“You’re not perfect, you know.”

12
 “You have a card for that?” Zane says, clearly making
some sort of hilarious debate reference because his table full
of nerds laughs right on cue.
“I hate you.”
“You wish you hated me,” Zane says.
“We good?” Logan asks me.
“Only if you make up for slowing me down by winning
your event this weekend.”
“Trust me, I will,” Zane says.
“I wasn’t talking to you.” I turn sharply on my heel and
take a really deep breath, heading back to the table with
Mads and Kaden, who are very specifically not looking at me.
“Doesn’t mean I won’t win,” Zane calls after me.

13
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