THE STUDENT COUNCIL
Chapter 34

Walks to and from school had always been Amy’s favorite part of each weekday. A fringe benefit of the mall location was a longer hike, ten blocks instead of eight. In her absence the previous week, William had been driving the boys to school. When she refused transportation, the four were all back on foot.

The downside of her inaugural walk was the subject of conversation. William wouldn’t stop talking about Sadie. “I’m driving to Cleveland for the weekend. I can hardly wait.”

Amy drifted behind until she was out of earshot. The hookup had seemed like a good idea at the moment. She assumed the affair would be over as quickly as it started, as soon as Sadie made her point. To ensure that, Amy told her sister that the boyfriend thing was all a joke, that William simply wanted to “jump her highly-frequented bones.” Evidently, Sadie actually liked him.

Halfway to school, Paul turned back to her. “It’s okay, Amy, you can come back now. We’re done talking about Shady Sadie.”

“Hey,” William objected. “You’re just jealous, Barner.”

“Yeah, that’s it,” he laughed, waiting for Amy to catch up. “Are you coming to Google’s first football practice after school?”

“No, but I need a favor. Have the quarterback stay late and toss passes to him … maybe for ten minutes every day.”

“Let me guess,” Paul chuckled. “You’ve already designed Google’s touchdown play?”

She nodded. “Looks like a sure touchdown on paper, but there’s always the human error factor.”

Google finally spoke. “I know what you mean. Simpkins isn’t the best passer.”

William slapped his little friend on the back. “That’s what we’re worried about, right guys? Simpkins’ passing!”

“That’s it,” Paul teased. “We know Googs will catch anything in his zip code!”

“Googs, you better start practicing your celebration dance,” William laughed. “It’s what you do after the catch that will be remembered.”

Amy said, “New subject. Has the council considered what to do with all the money that’s coming in?”

“Everyone has an eye on our cash all the sudden,” William muttered. “The principal wants some control. The school board’s demanding a say too. Nobody expected us to raise so much ... and so quickly.”

Totally predictable, Amy thought. And unacceptable. “Put this idea in your suggestion box. Now that you have enough for the lease, dedicate all revenue to a new Trisha Berman Fund. The money’s for online college classes for students in good standing with all their high school requirements. Let Berman set up the guidelines.”

“Why the Berman Fund?” William asked. “Why not the William Noble Foundation?”

Google was quickest to the trigger. “Ha! Did Berman fall out of your favor already? You’re forgetting that was her idea. She deserves the recognition.”

“Seconded,” Paul said. “We should put all the extra money in that fund for the time being. If the principal or the school board fight it, they’ll look bad.”

The council president nodded. “Fair enough. Having money can be a pain in the ass. Everybody wants something from you.”

“William, you’ll be an even bigger star,” Amy offered. “The education community’s going to love you for it. You can put another speech on the internet.”

He puffed out his chest. “Excellent idea. Another touchdown for the student council! We’ll film the speech as soon as you have it written.”

Google added, “Think about it. Once the world knows what we’re doing with the money, we’ll sell even more pies and sweatshirts. It’s a win-win.”

Amy took Google’s hand and gave it a squeeze; he was growing by the day. “I’ll replace time to write a resolution,” she said, grinning. “You can pass it at your Wednesday meeting.”

Even from a distance, Amy could see the mall was alive with positive energy. The parking lot was bustling with traffic. As the four drew closer, she saw news vans from WJET in Erie and KDKA in Pittsburgh at the curb in front of the former grocery store. Reporters interviewed students as they entered.

William dusted a trace of lint from the gold T-shirt beneath his navy blazer. “I’ll have to give the reporters a couple minutes. See you guys later.”

Inside the huge multi-purpose room, Paul was instantly mobbed by fans and teammates. Both students and teachers filled the room, visiting with each other. Most held dark blue travel cups with the Samaritan logo.

Google said, “Amy, come with me. I have a surprise.” He led her to the back of the room. Two long tables held a dozen coffee pots and trays of fresh cinnamon rolls. Members of the student council were pouring beverages into blue cups and collecting dollar bills.

“You inspired me with your business ideas,” Google said proudly. “The door opens at seven-thirty. Only this room. We offer six different kinds of coffee and hot chocolate, ten ounces for a buck. Tea bags are a quarter. Everybody uses the Samaritan cups that we sold them for five dollars each. The cinnamon rolls are delivered by Venango Bakery every morning.”

“Wow,” Amy exclaimed. “Totally cool.”

“The bakery gives us the rolls at about cost, fifty cents each. They’re happy to do that because their business is booming since your pies. We get a buck for those too. If any are left from the morning, we sell them at lunch ... no waste. Last week we cleared three hundred a day in profit!”

“Brilliant! And environmentally friendly. No paper or foam cups to throw away.”

“Just napkins,” he smiled. “Maybe we should sell Samaritan cloth napkins too.”

Something seemed odd to Amy. “All the teachers are in here! Why aren’t they holed up together somewhere?”

Google chuckled. “That part is all Berman. There’s no faculty hideout here. She figured the teachers and students should have a meet and greet every morning. Everybody’s on the same team; we should act like it. Teachers are required to be here.”

Amy’s eyes drifted, looking for Trisha among over six hundred people. Bringing the teachers and students closer together was a true inspiration. With most of the curriculum, classes, and testing pre-programmed, the faculty needed little time for preparation. There was room for personal interaction.

She spotted Denny Noble and Gwen Simpson talking with a small group of kids. School board members in the school? That was a first for Oil City.

A buzzer sounded and all the teachers moved toward the front doors. Google explained, “That’s first call. Teachers head to the classrooms. In a minute, a second one tells students they have five minutes until morning exercise. We have time to stow belongings at our work stations and piss away the morning coffee.”

“Has my seat been assigned?” Amy asked.

Google grinned. “Follow me!”

Outside the common room, Google turned into the first classroom. Paul and William stood at the back, next to a decorated work station. Three helium balloons towered over the space, held by ribbons taped to the computer screen. The chair was covered with Samaritan items: a jogging suit, sweatshirt, T-shirts, and two hats. Three of the blue insulated cups sat next to the keyboard.

“Welcome to your new school!” William shouted out in greeting.

“You did it!” Paul said, lifting his arms to signal a touchdown. “Created your dream!”

Amy’s stomach jumped into her throat. Why were her friends so anxious to destroy her? Mrs. Runyon, a teacher, stared from a desk a dozen feet away. She must have heard. A male teacher she didn’t recognize, probably a student teacher, looked on as well. Other students started filling the room, depositing belongings in their filing cabinets.

Amy spread her arms and whispered, “Huddle.”

When their four heads were nearly touching, Amy said, “W T F! I asked only one thing. Keep me out of this. Now sing ‘Happy Birthday’ and never say anything again!”

“But Amy,” Paul whispered, “you need to be recognized.”

“Sing,” she commanded.

All three started the song. Seven Three waved to all the others in the room to join them. Even Mrs. Runyon and her trainee sang along. Amy’s seventeenth birthday was six months away; she presumed no one knew that.

The only non-singer stood in the classroom doorway, watching. After hours of searching the internet yesterday, Amy still didn’t know enough about former detective Louis Sorvino. What she had learned, however, was troubling. For the last fifteen years he had worked in the Narcotics Division. While his name mostly appeared in stories about pill and powder busts, there were tales of more trivial successes too. Like those involving marijuana.

Why had she been so reckless in promoting the pie donations? Of course people would talk about the weed. The answer was more troubling than the question: pride and amusement. She couldn’t handle the fact that she miscalculated public willingness to donate. Worse yet, she didn’t like being teased about it. She had to win, even at a personal cost of over $20,000 in product. She had also jeopardized the reputations of her friends on the student council, the very people she was trying to build up. The amusement factor was equally troubling. Why had she thought the whole thing was so damn funny? Obviously, she had lots of growing up to do. Preferably, she wouldn’t do it in a cell or detention center.

Her one consolation was that her tracks seemed to be covered. She couldn’t be linked to Joan of Arc, could she? Her three friends knew about the giveaway – perhaps an ethical problem – but had no personal connection to the weed. Only one person had knowledge of her involvement with the Biddy Early.

As if summoned by her thoughts, Fred Waltz burst into the room, past Sorvino, and directly to Amy. “Welcome back! Isn’t this great? You sit on the end next to Google, and then it’s me!”

Google smiled sheepishly. “Amy, you can sit somewhere else if you want.”

She could think of only good reasons to be next to Google: familiarity; comfort; practicality; and his computer expertise for starters. “This will do fine.”

“We better run,” Paul said. “Zumba in two minutes!”

The classroom quickly drained out the front door. None of the students had started a computer or dawdled around. Everyone was on the same page.

The security guard let everyone pass until Amy arrived. “Glad you finally made it to school, Miss Westin. Your three friends looked happy to see you.”

Eat shit, Amy thought. She said, “Thank you,” and hurried by.