Total Knockout (13 page)

“Item one on the agenda is brainstorming ideas for the new vending machines, how we can help boost sales and really get the word out that they're great and everyone should give them a real chance. Who wants to start?”

The group was silent. Cooper kept his head down, doodling in his notebook. Melanie sat back at her desk, tapping her pirate-topped pencil on her closed biology book. Finally, Jared raised his hand.

“I have an idea. Why don't we get rid of them and bring back the old ones? I don't know anyone who likes those things.”

“Thank you, Jared.” I wanted to kill him. “But I'd like to keep the discussion positive. The machines have only been out for a few weeks, and I think we need to give everyone some time to get used to them. The food is actually quite good.”

I was totally lying, but what was I supposed to say? That I was afraid I'd made a huge mistake that not only cost the school a ton of money, but might even
possibly make Ms. Jenkins lose her job? That everyone was wrong and the student council
did
do stuff—bad, horribly wrong stuff?

I didn't think so.

Besides, we had to keep the machines. Ms. Jenkins told me that they had signed a one-year lease on them. If we sent them back, the penalty for breaking the contract would be greater than just sticking it out.

Jared said, “I've tried the food. The thing is, Lucia”—he leaned forward in his seat—“it sucks.”

“Again, Jared,” I said, “thank you, but I'd really prefer it if we tried to think of solutions instead of just giving up on the machines. What are some ideas to drive business to them? I was thinking of having a contest. Like, we could mark the back of one of the items in the machines, and whoever bought that product would win a prize. Like movie tickets or something.”

“Who would pay for the prizes?” Jared asked.

“I was thinking we could probably get one of the local theaters to donate a few tickets. The theater at the mall has done stuff like this before.” I looked at Melanie, who was looking at Cooper. “Melanie? Let's hear the ideas you came up with last night.”

She snapped her head toward me. “What? Oh.” She
dug through her folder and papers. “Um, let me see, I think I wrote something down somewhere.”

I clacked my nails on my desk as I watched her dig through her unruly papers while Cooper continued to doodle.

Even though I knew Melanie didn't have any ideas, I said, “Why don't you just tell us your ideas?”

She stopped looking through her papers. She didn't look at me when she said, “I'm sorry. I don't have any.”

I let out a deep sigh and instantly regretted it. I looked at Nicole, writing, but she didn't seem to notice.

Jared raised his hand. “Yes?” I asked.

“Why don't we torch them? Collect the insurance?” Melanie stifled a laugh, and I noticed that, even as Nicole took notes, she was also smiling.

“Can we please be serious? This is an important issue.”

“Yeah, well, this whole thing is shady if you ask me,” Jared said.

“Excuse me?” I asked, but I really didn't want to know. Anyone could tell this was not going to be good.

“The whole voting thing,” he explained. “Forcing us to vote without really getting a chance to think it through. It just seems weird, that's all.”

I couldn't believe it. Jared was about to out me and I don't think he even knew. Or maybe he did but he wanted to torture me.

Why
had I invited Nicole to this meeting?

“I'm sorry, Jared, but I don't have the authority to force any of you to do anything. And we all know you didn't approve the machines. Your voice was heard. But now we're here as a united front to try to improve the situation.”

“I'm just saying. The machines were your idea. You fix them.” He sat back, apparently having said his piece. I looked at Nicole, who had stopped writing but was taking in the scene.

I felt prickles of angry sweat building under my arms. “Jared,” I said, trying so hard to control myself, “this council doesn't honor or condemn one person with an idea. It's a team effort. We speak with one voice. Like when we debuted the machines—we were all there.” I looked right at Melanie, who seemed to refuse to return my gaze. “Most of us, anyway.”

“Dude, big deal Mel wasn't there,” Jared said, and I wondered why he came to her defense so quickly. “We all just stood there doing nothing. What was the point? It was
your
show, and those machines are still a huge failure.”

“And that's what we're here to help fix!” I snapped. Realizing I was clenching my pen, I placed it gently on my desk. “Let's e-mail ideas around to each other over the next week. That way you can go home and think about it some more.” I looked down at the agenda and decided the rest of it could wait.

I dismissed everyone—Nicole dashed out just behind Jared, and my stomach did an anxious flop when I saw her catch up to him. Was she asking him questions? Did he realize that whatever he said to her when she held that lavender notebook was on the record?

I didn't even notice Melanie leave until I realized Cooper was alone, waiting for me.

“You okay?” he cautiously asked.

I didn't know what to say. I was happy that he was waiting for me and hadn't left with Melanie, but also a little scared, like this meeting had been the beginning of something very, very bad. I thought about telling Cooper what was going on and how scared I was, but I was afraid of how he'd react. I didn't want him to think less of me. I could handle just about anything but that.

“Yes,” I said. I forced a smile. “I'm fine.”

BLUE JAYS . . .
THE VIEW FROM ABOVE

Special Investigation:
Latham Exposed
BY NICOLE JEFFRIES

Could lies and deception be behind the success of our school's only three-peat student council president, Lucia Latham? After extensive research and exclusive interviews, this reporter has learned that this may be the case.

Ms. Latham herself extended an invitation to her latest student council meeting. On the agenda: boosting sales of the new vending machines. As many Blue Jays may be unaware, these vending machines, which can often be seen covered in biohazard tape and not being used by the student body, are the brainchild of Ms. Latham, and Ms. Latham alone. But what's more shocking is that our president has used illegal voting tactics to push her agenda through the unsuspecting council.

In an exclusive interview with student council treasurer Jared Hensley, he says, “I thought it was kind of weird when Lucia asked us to vote on these machines at the very first meeting, which wasn't even supposed to be our first meeting. She called us in before the preplanned meeting that was scheduled in my student council welcome packet. Anyway, that's when she first told us about the machines.” He went on to say, “When she said we had to vote by midnight that same night, I thought that seemed kind of quick. Especially since she'd given us, like, twenty pages of info to read.”

Indeed, Mr. Hensley's instinct was correct. Article VI, Section 2, of the Angus Junior High Student Council Bylaws reads that “any council vote in which money is involved must have a one-week (seven days) research period between presentation of item and vote. Approval is at the discretion of the principal.”

Further complicating matters is the fact that Ms. Latham called the meeting at all, as it was not, as Mr. Hensley stated, a preconfirmed meeting.

Ms. Jenkins confirmed that she approved the vending machines, but seemed aware of the mandatory review time.

When Vice President Melanie O'Hare was approached about this matter, she very tellingly answered, “Yeah, we voted fast, whatever. If Lucia thought the machines were a good idea, then I'm behind her.” When asked if she thought the food was any good, Ms. O'Hare suddenly dashed off to class.

When Ms. Latham herself was asked about the matter, she became visibly frustrated and would only say, “I do not recall.” But a simple review of the first meeting's minutes shows that she did, indeed, blatantly ignore the rules. When asked about the matter, Student Council Adviser Mrs. Peoria
curtly replied, “No comment!” As this reporter knows, “no comment” speaks volumes.

The bylaws are clear on this matter. If Ms. Latham forced the rules in her favor on this project, should Blue Jays worry about what else she's done—or what else she could do?

When the school paper came out two days after the meeting, I snatched a copy, ran to a corner in a empty hallway, and read the article. I felt like the story couldn't possibly be about me. I could hardly make out the words, my eyes zipped so quickly across the page. At the time, the only thoughts I could process were,
Is this person me? Am I really this sneaky and controlling?

I shoved the paper into my backpack and rolled it down the hallway, trying to comprehend what was happening. Then I heard my name being called.

“Lucia!” called Mrs. Peoria. “My classroom, now.”

I could barely handle the weight of my backpack as I dragged my feet to her classroom.

“Shut the door,” she instructed. “Now, sit down.” I sat front and center, mentally preparing myself for whatever was about to happen.

Mrs. Peoria began by saying, “Do I look like an idiot to you?” My throat was so dry I couldn't even get a squeak out, so I just shook my head, no. “Because, young lady, I feel that you have made me look like an idiot.” She held the paper in front of me. “Is this true?” I nodded my head, yes. “I give you the freedom to hold your meetings without my supervision, and this is the thanks I get?” She tossed the paper onto her desk. I had to admit I'd never seen her this animated before. There was life inside Mrs. P after all. “I've called your parents to inform them about this, and I've scheduled a meeting with Ms. Jenkins to decide how we're going to handle this.” She paused for a moment, then said, “I have to admit, Lucia, I didn't think you had this in you. I'm very disappointed.”

When she dismissed me, I practically sprinted out of school, which had mostly cleared out by then. I missed the bus home but I didn't care. I was too ashamed to face anyone. No one had ever yelled at me before—I was a good person and always did as I was told—and having Mrs. Peoria so mad at me made me feel ashamed. I didn't want to disappoint anyone, including myself. But it seemed that's exactly what I had done.

I knew I had to call my dad to come get me, and
I wondered if Mrs. Peoria called him or Mom. If she called Dad, I might be able to convince him to stay quiet on this and avoid massive punishment from Mom.

When he pulled up, I rolled my backpack down to his Camry; I could see him smiling before I even opened the door, so I knew he hadn't gotten the call. Even though there was no way he could know what was happening, his seemingly carefree manner bugged me.

“What happened?” Dad asked as we pulled away from the school.

“I missed the bus.”

“One of your important business meetings run late?”

“Yeah.” I don't know what, other than my own misery, made me say, “Remember those?”

“Lord, Lucia.” Dad sighed, his good mood gone just like that. My shame and embarrassment had turned me mean and nasty, even though I knew Dad was just being friendly. All I could think about was what was going to happen when Mom got home.

I stared out the window, watching the houses go by, wondering what was going on inside each of them. “You just, you have no idea,” Dad muttered, shaking his head. “Listen, there's something I want to talk to you about. Something I want to say.” I kept my gaze out the window.
“I know you don't understand why I'm not working. It's adult stuff that's hard to explain. I was a boxer for ten years; then I became an accountant. Now, I'm neither. And I don't know what I'm supposed to do with myself anymore—even what I want to do.”

“How about look for a job?” I said. I figured things couldn't get any worse, so why not be a smart-mouth? But Dad just sighed.

“Don't assume you know everything.”

The thing is, I used to look up to my dad. I used to rely on him to show me how to be tough, mentally and physically. When he taught me how to take a punch in sixth grade against a kid my size at the boxing gym (Mom never heard about this—she would have killed us both), it wasn't just to show me how it hurt my body. He did it to show how it hurt my pride, and how to fight back from that. “Fighting isn't always about throwing punches,” he'd said. “Sometimes it's about avoiding them.”

I shifted in my seat to face him and said, “There's this quote from the movie
Million Dollar Baby
where the guy says, ‘Sometimes, the best way to deliver a punch is to step back. But step back too far, and you're not fighting at all.' Dad, that's what you're doing. How come?”

In the weary smile that etched its way across his lips, I could see my comment made him happy and a bit sad—maybe for his old life at the gym. “It's different now. Harder, I guess.” He paused. “Who'd want to hire an old guy like me when they can get college graduates cheaper?”