Total Knockout (8 page)

The classroom door slammed, and we all turned to watch Jared saunter in. He flipped his hair out of his eyes as he sat down. “What'd I miss?”

“We've just been waiting on you,” I said. I kept a pleasant but firm tone. I didn't want to put him off at our first meeting, but I also wanted to let him know that I was the boss, and he had inconvenienced us all. But if he felt bad about being ten minutes late, he didn't show it.

“Well, I do have a life,” he said, dropping his books on the floor and slumping in his seat.

Almost as a prompt to everyone, I said, “Well, Article Two, Section One says all members must be on time, and those who are tardy more than twice may be up for disciplinary action.”

“Are you serious, Latham? How about next time you give us more than two seconds notice before you decide to have a meeting?”

I waited for him to say more. When he didn't, I said, “Let's just get started.”

Melanie, who was wrapping the earbud cords around her music player, said, “What's this big surprise you mentioned in your e-mail?”

I took a breath. I knew they wouldn't be as excited about it as I was, but as long as they voted for it, I didn't care—they'd eventually see how great the machines were. We were poised to make our mark on the entire school district, sealing our place in Angus history. Hopefully they'd think
that
was pretty cool.

“Okay, well I worked really hard on this, and it's a big deal that I know is going to be great in the long run.” I paused for dramatic effect. “We're going to change out the old vending machines for new, better ones.”

No one said anything. Blank. Silence. Finally, Cooper hesitantly said, “Wow. Good job, Loosh.”

“So, what?” Jared said. “Does that mean you're getting us something better? Like those ice-cream vending machines?”

“Yummy!” piped in Melanie. “The ones with the ice-cream-in-the-cone thingies? What are they called?”

“Drumsticks!” cheered Jared.

“Yes! And Push-Up pops!” said Melanie.

“The
best
,” agreed Jared.

“No,” I said. “It's sort of an . . . alternative vending machine,” I said. “With foods that are natural. Wholesome.” They looked like I had just told them we were adding an extra period to the school day. “Delicious. You'll see. And we'll be the first school in the entire district to do it. We'll be pioneers!”

Jared and Melanie looked disappointed, and I felt anxious.

“What kinds of alternative foods?” Cooper asked suspiciously.

“Like, soy cheese sticks, protein cookies, and veggie chips. But they're good! I promise, you'll like them.”

Jared raised his hand. It was a sarcastic move, I knew, because he wouldn't speak until I actually said his name.

“Yes, Jared?”

“Aren't we supposed to vote on this kind of stuff? I mean, this is a democracy and all, isn't it?”

“Yes, of course,” I replied. “That's why I called the meeting. To present the idea and vote.” I pulled three folders out of my bag, identical to the one I had given Ms. Jenkins the morning before.

“What are we supposed to do with all this?” Jared asked as I handed out the packets.

“Read it,” I said. “I want everyone to be fully informed of the machines before you vote. Go through the information, and please vote via e-mail by tonight at midnight. Make sure you include everyone in the e-mail,” I added, since the votes are not private.

“You expect us to read all this by tonight?” Jared moaned. “Come on, Latham. You must know we have lives.” He smirked. “Some of us, anyway.”

Before I could tell Jared that being condescending didn't constitute having a life, Cooper said, “I think it sounds great. Those salty corn chips and candy bars I usually eat with lunch make me feel like puking.”

“Whatever,” Jared said. He rolled his eyes back to me. “I just think you should give us a little more time, that's all.”

Boxing teaches you that you always have to be prepared—the moment you're caught off guard, down you go. I made sure to always be prepared for anything, even for someone to call my bluff and tell me we couldn't get this done in this time frame. No one did. I said, “I understand, and I apologize for the quick turnaround time. I know everyone is busy, but once our vote goes through, Ms. Jenkins would like to put it on the school-board vote. That's why we have to do it quickly.”

“We can do it,” Cooper assured me, and I was so glad he spoke up. Jared still looked put out, and Melanie looked a little bored, but I was hopeful that they'd pull through as well.

I asked Cooper to please type up the meeting minutes and e-mail them out to everyone. “Tonight?” he asked.

“Well, just so everyone can be totally informed.” I really didn't want to overlook anything else, since I was already on shaky ground.

After the meeting, Jared bolted out of the classroom as Mrs. Peoria wandered back in, and Melanie's sister picked her up for another trip to the mall.

“I think it's a good idea,” Cooper said as we walked outside.

I looked at this guy who I'd known as long as I had memory. “Thanks for always supporting me, Coop,” I said. “You always make things easier for me.” I immediately felt embarrassed—we never spoke to each other about our friendship.

But it didn't seem to faze him. “You're my best friend,” he said simply. “That's what best friends do, I guess.”

The vote went through, just like I anticipated. Three for the new machines, one for keeping the old ones. I won't even insult your intelligence by saying who
didn't
vote for the new ones.

As soon as the final vote came in—Jared's, of course, at 11:59 p.m.—I sent an e-mail to Ms. Jenkins and told her to go ahead with putting the proposal on the school-board agenda. She wrote back that she was impressed that I got the vote done so quickly. I noted that we were both up late, working.

About a week later, Ms. Jenkins came back to me with the great news that the board had voted to try out the new machines. “We'll be the pilot school for them, and if they go over well here, they'll consider expanding them to other schools.” I couldn't believe that my idea—especially one this far-reaching and big—was really
going to be implemented. This was the biggest thing I'd done yet, in all my years as president. I breathed a little easier with the realization that the vote wasn't that big of a deal after all, and everything was turning out fine.

Instead, I focused on revealing the machines to the school. Ms. Jenkins took care of all the logistics of ordering them, and I was in charge of presenting them to the school. Although all the machines would be delivered at once, Ms. Jenkins agreed to only stock the one by the cafeteria until after I revealed it to the school. The others would be stocked later that day. I knew I needed to get my council involved to help them feel the enormity of this great project. So, I planned a press conference and gave everyone a job. I asked Jared to contact Nicole Jeffries to cover the unveiling for the school paper. I asked Melanie to talk to Lori Anne about taking photos. Finally, I asked Cooper to get in touch with the IT club to have them put up an announcement on the school's website. I even told him I'd write it up if he could just get it to the proper person, but he said he'd take care of it.

In my e-mail, I told everyone how important it was for us all to be there at the unveiling together, to show our solidarity and instill confidence in the students that our council was reliable. I gently reminded them that
council members were required to attend two-thirds of all student council–sponsored events, which this counted as. After sending the e-mail, which I did several days before the press conference (no more last-minute stuff for me), Melanie responded, saying she'd bring a ribbon for the machine. “We can tie the ribbon around it and you and Mrs. Peoria can cut it.” Which I thought was a brilliant idea—it showed creativity and initiative on Melanie's part.

I'd never felt so happy and confident about a student council year as I did then. Despite an initial hiccup in the plans, everything was working out perfectly.

Last year, at my request, the IT club set up an online poll on our school's website to vote on how the people in charge were doing at their jobs. I thought it would be a great show of checks and balances after the administration said the cheerleaders could no longer wear their uniforms on game day, causing a momentary uproar between the jocks (including coaches) and the brains (like Ms. Jenkins). That first poll showed 99 percent support of the uniforms, and by the next game, the girls proudly wore them to school. The point of the whole system was that no one was above criticism, and everyone should have a voice.

Most important to me, of course, was the student council–president rating, which stays up year-round (like the principal's rating). Everyone loves clicking on polls no matter what they're about, so whether they really gave
me
much thought, I'm not entirely sure. What I do know is that my approval rating averaged 87 percent last year.

On the morning we were to unveil the new vending machines, I went online to check my approval rating. Since I had been elected only about a month ago and hadn't yet implemented any changes, my rating was still at 100 percent. As I walked to the corner to wait for the bus, I noted, with a sense of foreboding, that I had nowhere to go but down.

Just as Cooper had promised, a blurb about our secret first project was on the school's site. I cringed, however, when I saw a typo in the copy (“. . . see what this council has in stor
m
for us”). I wondered if it was Cooper's mistake or the Web people's. Either way, I hoped no one would notice.

As I waited for Melanie on the corner of our streets, shivering beneath my too-thin jacket, I tried to keep a positive spirit, hoping that she would remember to do all the things she was in charge of—bringing the ribbon
for the cutting ceremony and, most important, making sure Lori Anne was there to take photographs. The night before, I'd had to use all my willpower not to call, text, or IM to remind her . . . just in case she forgot, like she did the speech. I woke up startled in the middle of the night and packed a pair of regular scissors, and because I couldn't think of anything else, I folded several rolls of wrapping paper and stuffed them into my backpack. Just in case. When I climbed back into bed, clutching Paddy, I mouthed the words to my speech until I fell asleep and dreamed about it.

Melanie came springing out her front door like always—today wearing a beat-up straw cowboy hat—and I resisted the urge to ask her if she had contacted Lori Anne and brought the ribbon. Instead, I waited for it all to unfold naturally and according to plan, like I knew it would. As the bus bounced down Great Springs Road, I listened to Melanie talk rapid-fire about the dance show she'd watched the night before.

“And that guy Koi is the
best
. You should see his moves, like, from graceful to
bam
in one beat flat. I am so totally signing up for dance,” she said, her eyes gleaming with that familiar brightness they always had when she talked about something new. As she contemplated
aloud the benefits of jazz, tap, ballet, and funk, I wondered if she'd try to stick it out with dance. She'd probably be pretty good at it. Really, though, I was mostly worried about the press conference and whether or not Melanie came through for me. I clutched the handle of my backpack, not even wanting to admit to myself that I had done the right thing by bringing backup paper and scissors.

“Oh, hey, is this okay?” Melanie asked, breaking into my thoughts. From her bag she pulled a folded purple sheet. She unfolded it so I could see the pattern. “I couldn't find any ribbon, but I thought this would be just as good. You can drape it over the whole machine and then yank it off like a magician when you're ready to show it to everyone. What do you think?”

My heart didn't know whether to sink or leap. Pulling a sheet off the vending machine was a great idea—it could give some flair and excitement to the event. But not
this
sheet.

“That's great,” I said, taking it from her. “But Hannah Montana?”

She looked deflated. “I know. It's Beverly's. She thought it'd be funny to have them on her bed, like, to be all ironic. But then her new boyfriend came over and
made fun of her for it, so it's been crumpled in her closet ever since.”

I refolded the sheet, trying not to think of how the students would laugh when they saw this thing. When I tucked the sheet into my backpack, I told myself I was being a jerk. It
was
a good idea.

“Maybe I could even take hip-hop lessons,” Melanie continued, tossing a few curls over her shoulder. “Or do you think that'd make me too much of a poseur? I'm not saying I want to learn to spin on my head or anything. Hey, did I ever tell you my mom used to dance?”