THE STUDENT COUNCIL
Chapter 48

A foot of fresh snow blanketed Oil City in mid-December. Like every year, the old Westin house was lavishly decorated for Christmas. Strings of blue lights spiraled all the two-story columns. Flickering groups of candles lit every street-facing window. Two dozen tall candy canes lined the sides of the front walk. A spotlight showcased the wreath on the front door. Only the inside of the house had a new look. No Westins.

Late on what was a school night for her three guests, Amy Freed cut into a second cinnamon apple pie. Having earned her GED credential in November, she had put high school behind her. Only one test continued to frustrate her. She couldn’t match the perfection of her mother’s pies.

“The bottom crust is soft,” Paul critiqued. “Are you baking on the right rack? At the right temperature?”

“Tasted fine to me,” Google argued. “Just like always.”

William asked, “Can Sadie cook like you, Amy? She always wants to eat out when I visit.”

Amy shook her head. “I don’t think she’s ever tried. New subject: You haven’t mentioned last weekend’s visit to Cornell, William. Are you going Big Red?”

“King William’s getting recruited like Barner was before he committed,” Google laughed. “Every school wants some Filliam on their campus.”

Paul rushed to swallow a mouthful. “I’m betting he stays loyal to Cornell, just like he has to Sadie. They were both first offers.”

William dropped his hands to his belly and imitated Santa. “Ho, ho, ho. Barner’s so very funny. I’m happy to get a full scholarship anywhere. My Christmas present to my parents will be adding my college fund to their retirement account.”

“You should be paying Amy a commission,” Google suggested. “She sold your dumb ass to the public!”

“And got beachfront mansion value for a shack in a swamp,” Paul added.

“That’s okay,” Amy chuckled. “Money’s no big deal to me.”

And it never would be. Although Bonzi Kraft begrudged her acceptance of Pittsburgh’s initial offer, seven and a half million seemed adequate. The Steel City’s mayor made the money appear out of nowhere and a confidential agreement had been signed two weeks after the assault. With Amy’s six million share invested in municipal bonds, she could live on tax-free interest of $10,000 a month – at least for the time-being. Yes, there were higher-yielding places to put her money, but helping cities finance capital improvements seemed like a Samaritan thing to do.

Oil City’s district attorney closed the file on Louis Sorvino within three days of his death. Headlines boiled with the story for a week, but news evaporated quickly. Amy’s name was front and center, but largely as a heroine who saved not only herself, but three other girls who had been targeted. Adding the photo of Chief Hillman’s daughter to the other incriminating evidence had the desired effect; the chief himself filled her hospital room with flowers and the police barely investigated. The killing was viewed as nothing more than the extermination of a rabid rat. Former school board member Gary Cole, who had lobbied the district to hire the security guard, fled the city a day after the news broke.

For most Oil City residents, the Sorvino story had been overshadowed by the high school football team’s success. After an undefeated regular season, the Samaritans reached the third round of the state playoffs, their best finish ever.

Amy never spoke of the attack at all, not publicly or personally. Her wish for privacy was honored and respected, even by the media. On the 60 Minutes broadcast, the Sorvino incident got mention only as a footnote at the end of the segment. Even then it was qualified with the comment: “The school was closed at the time.”

Google helped himself to another scoop of ice cream. “Amy, I miss seeing your mom and dad. Are you all gonna make up soon?”

“They made up with each other,” she answered. “That’s all that really matters.” Her parents had rented a furnished house through the end of May. They would have their own home back in June, when Amy planned to move. In the meantime, Emily had been stopping by for lunch almost every day.

William patted his belly and stood. “The meeting on the Barner Regional Collegiate Academy is tomorrow at four o’clock. I’ll skype it for you, Amy. It looks promising.”

Amy had been in seclusion for two months, but not in hibernation. The final dominos in the chain still needed a nudge. She had talked Paul into convincing his father to buy the mall and donate it to Oil City as his high school graduation gift. The Keystone Energy Coalition conditionally agreed to pay for construction of a dormitory, as long as the state approved operational funding for the new academy. That was Amy’s current challenge: convincing the still-friendly governor to champion a budget addition.

Removing the mall from Westin Construction’s ledger, while at the same time reversing the town’s economic trend with a second local high school, stood as the final chapter of her Oil City storyline. Animosity toward her father couldn’t get in the way of a proper ending. The company needed to be successful. Amy’s sweet-hearted mother deserved to drink only the best wine and live in comfort. Forever and always.

Paul pushed himself up to leave with William. “Time to go. Basketball practice has me worn out.”

Amy scowled. “I know you enjoy playing, but why risk an injury? This year’s team isn’t going anywhere, with or without you.”

After the final whistle of the football season, Amy realized that life without watching Seven Three kick ass would be unacceptable. She was already shopping for a house near the Penn State campus, hopefully a very old one, so she could be in the stands throughout his collegiate career.

“I have to play basketball,” Paul declared. “It’s part of the high school experience. We’re only young once.”

Google was last to leave. “Sure miss having you at school, Miss Freed. It’s not the same.”

She walked him to the back door. “I’m just a homebody at heart. I cook. I clean. I’m happy.”

He wagged his head and smiled. “Right, Amy. You cook, you clean, and you forget who you’re falking to. You’re like the strongest person ever. You could’ve hated the three of us for not getting rid of that security guard sooner. No one would have blamed you. Are you doing okay?”

Google had been Amy’s biggest concern in the aftermath of Sorvino’s death. When news of the spycam and her photo in the security guard’s apartment leaked out, Google had rushed to her for an explanation. She told him they had disappeared from her drawer at school, obviously taken by Sorvino. She forgot to lock her file cabinet. The explanation sealed Google’s lips forever.

Amy kissed his cheek. “I’m fine. It helps to have Trisha living here.”

“Where was she tonight?”

“Early to bed, early to rise. She’s asleep before nine most school nights. Goodnight, Googs.”

Trisha had proven worthy of forgiveness. Since walking into the bloody locker room that fateful Saturday, she had provided steadfast support. Upon Amy’s release from the hospital, the council advisor offered to stay with her until she fully recovered. Seeing Trisha as the ultimate scarecrow for warding off Grant Westin, Amy gave her a choice of any bed in the huge house.

She had never left. Neighbors and acquaintances, aware of Amy’s emancipation, thought it only natural that the young adult would take on a boarder.

Over the last month, Amy had made two major expenditures. First she paid off Trisha’s student loan debt of $80,000. Then she bought the $45,000 yellow 4Runner in the driveway, Trisha’s early Christmas gift. To avoid attention, Amy gave her friend $20,000 for a down payment and let her finance the car in her own name. Despite the spending spree, she still had over $196,000 in her laundry basket.

Turning off lights along the way, Miss Freed made the long climb up two tall flights of stairs. The future looked bright. Trisha had agreed to accompany her to State College in June. Over the next three years, Amy expected her to earn a Master’s Degree and then a Doctorate in Education. Given Trisha’s fame and status, Penn State would gladly provide a full scholarship. For her own part, Amy was finished with formal education. She’d manage her own independent study and assign her own projects, focus on making her world better one day at a time.

Under a warm shower, Amy thought about the Penn State football program. If Paul was going to compete for a national championship, she needed to upgrade the cast around him. The State of Pennsylvania was rich with talent, but most of the top high school players were jumping ship, heading for greener turf elsewhere. That had to stop. Enticing the best to become Nittany Lions would be a worthwhile hobby.

Then there was Berman’s Diner in Erie to consider. Amy had visited the decades-old family business with Trisha over Thanksgiving. Friendly but sleepy. Barely half the hundred seats full at dinnertime. Spaghetti Wednesdays, Meatloaf Thursdays, and Tilapia Fridays. Hardly a menu to cut the new-age mustard.

Sitting in a window booth, evaluating the surroundings, Amy had seen nothing but wasted potential. A well-equipped kitchen and all those tables to fill and refill shouted enormous opportunity. The location was excellent. The property had room for an addition to double capacity. Why did the Bermans settle for merely getting by? Why wouldn’t any owners see their restaurant as a breeding ground for the next great American chain?

After a week of research, Amy had a concept in mind. Helping Trisha nurture under-achieving parents would be the type of challenge she relished. With a push in the right direction, anyone could improve their lot in life.

Amy stepped out of the clawfoot tub, dried herself, and stepped on the scale. One hundred and seventeen pounds. Her daily runs, now seven miles, were doing wonders. After appraising her naked body in the mirror, she nodded goodnight and switched off the bathroom light.

Tiptoeing to her bed, she crawled beneath heavy winter covers. After kissing the honey-colored waves on the pillow next to hers, she snuggled close, closed her eyes, and opened her mind to more inspiration.

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Free Fish Friday, an acclaimed mystery featuring eccentric fisherman Slacker Mills, who replaces ultimate joy and sorrow in Key West, Florida.

Barracuda, the intriguing Slacker Mills sequel.

Once Upon a Tee Time, the fanciful story of Ray “Jingles” Plumlee. When new-age optical technology takes the 72-year-old’s golf game on a glorious ride, he’s forced to choose between fame and fading friendships. Must reading for everyone who ever put a ball on a tee.