THE STUDENT COUNCIL
Chapter 11

The first police siren sounded before Amy reached her driveway. She returned her bike to the garage and left the packed trailer intact. It could wait until morning. Her father rarely went to the garage. Her mother never did.

After hurrying silently, breathlessly, to her room, she skidded to a stop at the view window. She had hoped to see a half dozen plumes of smoke rising in the distance. Instead, bright flames already danced above the entire building, growing taller by the second. How had Noah made the fire grow so quickly? She stared in wonder, heart pounding, until she heard more sirens. Fire trucks.

She undressed and slipped into her nightgown, a black Steeler football jersey. After making her bed look slept in, she rushed to wake her parents. She wanted to savor every bit of her father’s reaction, his awakening to what the fire would mean for Westin Construction and his family.

Amy led them up the stairs to her room. “I can’t believe you two didn’t hear the sirens! They were so loud.”

When they reached the window, Emily wrapped an arm around her daughter. “Oh, honey! Your school! I’m so sorry!” It had been Emily’s school too. She and Grant had graduated together twenty-six years ago. Three of Amy’s grandparents had gone there as well.

“It has to be arson,” Grant said grimly. “There’s no other way the whole building could go up like that. Some sick son of a ... some sicko ... did this.”

Amy studied her father’s face as he watched, observed every expression line. His brain was flipping from one station to the next, assessing all the ramifications. When his eyebrows lifted, she knew he had arrived at the financial news channel. His economic forecast had taken a turn for the better. “Em,” he gasped. “You know what this means, don’t you? They’ll want to start construction on the new school right away. That’s our job!”

Emily’s expression didn’t change. She addressed Amy instead. “I have so many memories of high school. I didn’t realize it then, but those were some of my best times. I’m so sad for the whole city.”

Grant started for the door. “I’m going over to see if I can help. Are you two coming along?”

Amy shook her head. “No, I’ll stay here with mom. I want to hear about some of those high school memories.”

The Oil City Fire Department was capable of handling most house fires. Forty houses at once was a different story, and that’s what the burning high school represented. When the raincoats and helmets witnessed the extent of the flames, felt the heat generated by countless layers of incinerating roof tar, they directed their attention to the one place two hoses could make a difference. The fire hadn’t reached the gymnasium yet.

They called it structural triage; save what could be saved. An eighty-foot hallway separated the gym from the main school building. If the fire was allowed to follow it, the gym would be gone too.

The fire chief punched a number into his phone. Grant Westin, who was approaching in his truck, answered. “Grant, Smalley here. How fast can you get a dozer to the high school? We need a quick demolition.”

“Ten or fifteen minutes. It’s already on a flatbed. There’s lots of traffic on Crest already. Have the police clear it, so I can get by.”

The hoses held the fire at bay until Grant returned with his D10. His mission was clear: Knock out the hallway and remove the fire’s bridge. Operating his Cat in a raincoat, fire helmet, and oxygen mask, he immediately went to work.

Most of Oil City was awake by two a.m. Thousands of residents soon surrounded the school, taking in the spectacle. They oohed and aahed as sections of the roof gave way, crashing into burning classrooms below. Volunteer firefighters from neighboring towns kept arriving, but were relegated to watching as well.

William Noble stood with his parents. “Dad, what’s going to happen now? Where do we go to school in the morning?”

Denny Noble was a member of the District School Board. “Damned if I know.”

His wife shot him an elbow to the arm. “Well, replace out! Call Gwen! I’m sure she’s here.” Gwen Simpson was the Board President.

Denny pulled out his “pocket horn,” so named because the programmed ring was the sound of a car horn blasting. It always made him jump, especially when he was driving, but everyone else got a kick out of it. Gwen’s phone was understandably busy. He was sent straight to her message box.

“Call the medical center and see if that boy’s going to make it,” his wife ordered. “A school can be rebuilt.” Mrs. Noble was a dedicated volunteer at the animal shelter. Everything and everyone had her undying sympathy. Even Miller Ragsdale.

Her husband’s phone honked twice. “Yeah, Gwen. Thanks for calling back. Are we having an emergency meeting or something? What’s going to happen?”

William watched his father, waiting for his response. The answer had more significance than anything else in his life at the moment. Except maybe Miss Berman.

“I’ll see you tonight then,” Denny finally said. “Seven o’clock.”

“Well?” his wife asked.

“Apparently there’s a plan in place for this kind of emergency. The district will double shift at the middle school. The high school kids will attend from three in the afternoon until nine in the evening. We’re having a meeting with the superintendent tonight. It will all be explained, I guess.”

“That’s so cool,” William cheered. “We can sleep in every morning! Every night will be a Friday night!”

“You can sleep the whole next week,” his father said. “They’ll need at least that much time to get organized. It’s a big undertaking.”

Amy was still up at ten in the morning, still admiring the smoldering brick shell that had been her high school. For several hours, she’d been tracking news about the fire on her laptop. The story had national coverage. Word had spread about a student who resented being told how to wear his hair. That triggered discussion about dress codes in general. What a silly waste of time, she thought. So not the point.

Miller Ragsdale had been medevac’d to Pittsburgh. He was in intensive care, but would survive to raise hell another day. Serious burns were confined to his right arm and leg. Denim fabric was very flammable apparently. She never knew that.

Noah had been taken into custody. She didn’t expect to see him any time soon.

Although she’d been texting with all three of her friends throughout the early hours, she needed to meet with William first. The doorbell finally rang and she hurried down two flights to greet him.

When she opened the door, he grinned. “Strange times, huh? We’re headed to the night shift. Party time for my whole senior year!”

“You want coffee? I’ll make fresh.” News of a double shift at the middle school hadn’t been a surprise. No one had even considered alternatives. No one but her.

Seated at the kitchen table, she asked, “So, I take it you’re supportive of this night school idea?”

He stirred sugar into his cup and laughed. “It’s like a gift!”

“You want to be a middle schooler again?”

“Hey, the chairs are normal size, not like elementary school. Everything will be the same as now. Same classes. Same teachers. We’ll just have better hours.”

Amy frowned. “Last Friday you talked about creating a better school. The student council was going to make positive changes.”

“We still can. It’s not the building that matters. It’s what goes on inside it.”

She maintained a somber look until William rolled his eyes. “Okay, I’ll bite. What are you driving at?”

Amy stared into her coffee. “It’s where you’re driving us, William. The whole country has its eyes on Oil City today. It’s a phenomenon. If you choose to be a follower instead of a leader, and take your student body to the middle school, this story will be over tomorrow. Your moment will have passed.”

“My student body? I have no say. There’s no choice.”

“I see. I didn’t realize you already considered every option. My bad.”

“Why the sarcasm?” William asked. “There are no options. Where else would you put six hundred students? The middle school has about the same enrollment. It’s a perfect fit.”

Amy poured herself more coffee. It had been a long night and was becoming a long morning. “What’s the main job of a high school? Is the whole purpose to teach kids to read and write, add up some numbers?”

“Of course not. It’s to prepare students to take their place in the world. Join the workforce. Be productive.”

She nodded. “Exactly. The most important thing is teaching responsibility. Getting up in the morning and going to work on time is the biggest key to holding a job. I read that. If kids don’t go to school until three and stay up all night, how are they being prepared for the real world?”

Her friend chuckled. “Hey, somebody has to handle the night shift. You’ve got your bartenders and strippers ... convenience store clerks.”

She wiped away his grin with a glare. “Stop it!”

“Then what are you saying?” he asked. “You think the high school should take the damn morning shift?”

“Not at all. That wouldn’t be fair to the younger kids.”

William pinched his eyes. “I should go home and get some sleep. I’m too tired to follow this conversation. It’s like you’re talking in riddles.”

Amy quickly refilled his cup and added the sugar for him. “What if the high school kids went to a different place altogether? Their own school.”

“There’s no place to do that.”

“How about the Allegheny Mall? My father might loan it to the district until the new school is built.”

William spilled his coffee. “There’s nothing there,” he laughed. “You need desks and classrooms to make a school work. You need all kinds of things. The middle school has those already.”

“You’re right. The mall is only a shell, sort of a blank canvas. Don’t you see? It can become what a modern school should be! Imagine six hundred computer work stations. Every student could have a desk with secure drawers to use as a locker ... their own office. They could have the newest software for learning the sciences, history, math, English and any foreign language they want, not just Spanish like we have now. Everyone could advance at their own rate. Teachers would no longer stand in front of classes. They would monitor progress for their group of students, help where needed. They wouldn’t even need to plan a lesson.”

William stared at the ceiling. “That all sounds vaguely familiar. Do you have anything to eat? Maybe we could make some toast.”

“It should sound familiar! It was your very own idea.” She went to the refrigerator and grabbed a package of cinnamon rolls. “You were telling us about it on the way to school last week.”

As William recalled, the discussion had been between Amy and Google. He had merely agreed. “Six hundred computers, desks, and chairs would cost a fortune. End of discussion.”

Amy put two rolls on a plate and slid it into the microwave. “How would money be a problem? There’s insurance from the fire. If that’s not enough, the new school funding will have furnishings and equipment in the budget. Why not buy some of that now? And on top of all that, the school district has three point two million in a reserve account. Your father’s on the school board. You probably knew about that money, right?”

She handed him the warm plate. He broke off one roll, then licked white icing from his fingers. “The school year already started. There’s no time for any of that now. The world can’t change overnight.”

Amy narrowed her eyes. “That’s Little Billy talking again. William Noble needs to see this as a chance of a lifetime. Our world has changed overnight! If you get the student council to reject the move to the middle school and introduce your own plan, you’ll instantly become the most famous high school student in America. The subject of progressive education will be discussed everywhere. Some of the best minds in the country will support you. The thing is, you have to act immediately. As in today!”

“What you’re talking about takes time and planning.”

“What I’m talking about takes a couple weeks at most. The minute those computers are plugged in, the second that software is downloaded, our students are learning like never before. They’re enjoying school too.”

Amy saw a flash of something in her friend’s eyes. Was it a hint of interest? She needed to push the right button. Holding a fist in front of her mouth, she said, “This is Amy Westin, reporting for NBC, ABC, CBS News. I’m in Oil City, Pennsylvania, where displaced high school students are saying no to night school and yes to a new way of learning in their own school. I’m here with senior William Noble, the president of the student council and leader of the revolutionary movement.” She extended the imaginary microphone across the table.

Amy knew William’s mind, always her easiest read. When he walked through her door a few minutes ago, he envisioned only calm seas and easy sailing ahead. Now he saw a wave. She just had to put him at its crest, riding a surfboard in the national spotlight. It was his destiny.

He stared back at her. “Keep talking.”

Amy drew a deep breath. As suddenly as the lights at the high school had gone out, William’s had switched on. “I have a master key for the mall. See if Google and Paul will go over there with us in an hour or two.”

Soon after William dashed off, the Westin doorbell sounded again. Trisha Berman stood outside, glistening in sweaty blue and white Under Armour. She held a bouquet of flowers with lavender and white blossoms. At first glance, Amy saw a cheerleader holding pompoms.

“Good morning, Amy. Teachers got the day off too. I went for a run and decided to stop by.”

Amy surveyed the teacher from toe to head. Above her Nikes and ankle socks, Miss Berman’s tanned legs were bare to just above the knees. Narrow ankles and muscled calves. Feminine but strong. The legs of a runner. Above the colorful blossoms, her nipples jutted out beneath the skin-tight material, almost as if she were topless. When she jogged along the road, her breasts had to be a distraction for passing drivers, a traffic hazard even – especially in a little town like Oil City. Amy tried not to stare.

“This is so surreal,” her teacher continued. “I can’t believe Noah Ragsdale was one of my own students.”

Amy looked up to her eyes. “Noah had a history. Haven’t you heard?”

“Yes, everyone’s talking about it. It’s all so tragic. Anyway, I was running by and thought of you. The flowers are a thank you for dinner last week.”

A shiver shot up Amy’s spine. Her first gift of flowers! “Very beautiful.”

“They’re bergamot. One of your neighbors let me pick them. On a teacher’s salary, handpicked is the way to go.” She laughed at herself.

Amy leaned forward, close to her teacher’s chest, and sniffed. “They smell like mint.”

“They do. You can make tea from the leaves. Want me to show you?”

“I’d like that. I’m into herbal teas,” Amy fibbed. She wasn’t opposed to them really, just never tried one.

“Wait,” Miss Berman said. “Maybe I shouldn’t come in the house after sweating like this.”

“Come to the kitchen. I’ll get you a towel.”

While her teacher separated leaves at the sink, Amy put water on the stove to boil, then excused herself. She hurried up two flights of stairs to her private bathroom. After brushing her teeth and gargling, she washed her face and brushed her hair. From the top shelf of her closet, she grabbed her thickest, most luxurious towel – the one on which her name was embroidered. It had never been used. She’d been saving it.

While the tea steeped and her teacher dried herself, Amy asked, “Where do you live? Did you replace a nice place?” Amy knew she rented an efficiency at 271 Coleman. Apartment 2. She had driven by a few times with William and Google, just nosing around.

“It’s a tiny place on Coleman Street. Somewhere to sleep.”

Amy served the bergamot tea in porcelain cups from the dining room cabinet – a late great grandmother’s finest. After sipping the minty brew and nodding exaggerated approval, she said, “I’m hearing the school district wants to send us to the middle school.”

“That’s right. The school day will start at the three in the afternoon. We’ll be getting set up over there the rest of the week. It’s going to be strange to say the least.”

Amy wondered what a reasonably bright person like Trisha might think of her own plans for the school. Having her on board would be helpful, even valuable. But it was too soon to divulge information. And it could never come from her. “What do the teachers think of all this? Do they mind working at night?”

Trisha pulled back her hair and adjusted the rubber band securing her ponytail. “It’s going to be awful for the ones with families. Totally disruptive. For someone like me, it doesn’t really matter.”

Amy gazed out the back window. “What does the teachers’ union think?”

Trisha raised her manicured brows, seemingly surprised by the question. “According to our union rep, there’s nothing that can be done. The school district has no choice. There may be a few resignations.”

Amy nodded. “Probably some of the older teachers ... the ones who can’t deal with change.”

“Or don’t need to worry about paying next month’s rent,” Trisha added. “So how well do you know the Ragsdale boy?”

Amy kept looking out at the yard, pondering whether the question was harmless. “I never spoke to him until you sat him next to me in your class.” She turned to face her teacher. “Thanks for that!”

Miss Berman lifted her eyebrows again. “Hate the alphabet, not me.” She then looked directly into Amy’s eyes. “I saw the two of you talking a few times. Did he say anything unusual? Did he give any clue he might do something like that?”

Amy bristled behind a straight face. Was interrogation the real reason for the visit? How much had Miss Berman seen? “He kept asking me out, that’s all. Very persistent. I’m surprised you noticed.”

Her teacher opened her mouth to respond, but seemed to check herself. She kept looking intently at Amy instead. “I guess I do pay special attention. You’re different than all the rest. It’s like you’re not part of my class at all. When I was student teaching, my supervisory teacher or someone from my college would sit at the back of the classroom to observe now and then. They called it assessment. I feel like that’s what you do every day ... evaluate me.”

Amy grinned and nodded. “You’re doing a great job so far. I’ll let you know if you slip up.”

Miss Berman giggled as if she were still a teenager herself. “May I ask a personal question?”

“Sure.”

“I never see you talking with any of the other girls. You seem to ignore them.”

“That wasn’t a question,” Amy pointed out. “It was a statement.”

“So why?”

“We have nothing in common really. I don’t talk to most of the boys either. I have three close friends and my parents to keep my mind occupied.”

Trisha stood and took her empty cup to the sink. “Well, if there’s ever an opening for another friend in your life, I’d like to apply for the position.”

Amy lifted her special towel from the teacher’s chair. Miss Berman had been thoughtful to cover it. “Maybe I’ll have to create a new position.”

With her guest gone, Amy bounced up the stairs again, not even feeling the steps beneath her feet. Last week Miss Berman told her she was unpretentiously beautiful, that her dandelion garland was a halo. The teacher seemed to track her every movement in the classroom. Now flowers! What did it all mean? What was happening? One thing was certain: no one had ever looked at her like ... Trisha. Lifting the towel to her face, Amy sniffed tentatively, then inhaled deeply.

In her bedroom, she folded the pink towel carefully, edges perfectly aligned, and tucked it beneath one of her pillows. She then put on previously unworn running shoes, a gift from last Christmas. After fixing her hair in a short ponytail, she departed for a half-hour jog along the river. Outside of gym class, it was her first exercise run ever. She wanted legs like Trisha’s.