“Don’t let me stop you,” said Ms. Bray. “Tell the class what is more interesting than the formation of every continent on this globe!” she shouted, which was a first.
Jake cleared his throat. “I am currently reading Flowers in the Attic, by V. C. Andrews, and it is a novel. This book is about a normal family, except they are all blondes. The father is killed in a car accident, and the mother takes all four of her children to live with their grandmother in a grand old mansion. The grandmother is evil, because she is not blonde, and she forces the children to live in the attic, which is okay, because it’s a mansion, and it’s a really big attic. But then the kids get really bored, and the oldest brother and sister start fucking each other.”
The class erupted, and Ms. Bray was on her feet. Jake paused to take a deep, dramatic bow. He was not afraid anymore, and he soaked in the cheers of his classmates. Ms. Bray slapped the book from his hand, and shoved him toward the door.
“This is not funny!” she screamed at the class, who continued to howl, as she pushed him into the hallway.
“Go to the principal’s office right now,” she said, and shut the door behind her.
Jake could no longer hear the students laughing, as he walked down the long hall toward the administrative offices. He looked over his shoulder, and turned left instead of right, and marched out the front doors of the school. He didn’t care about the black bears. He walked to the Sinclair, where Martha Man Hands mostly ignored him, caught up in all of the bear sightings squawking on the police scanner. He ate a corn dog, and returned in time for second period.
* * *
As promised, Shyanne waited at her locker. She still had a walking cast on her foot, but the orthopedist said she was healing well and should recover to full capacity. She told him this as they walked the empty hallways; school had ended ten minutes earlier, and the students were eager to get back out into the unseasonable air and the chaos of the black bear invasion. Shyanne was wearing her usual athletic shorts—for a while, she had worn sweatpants, depressed because she thought she had blown her chances at a scholarship over a stupid women’s softball game. But here were the shorts, and those legs that still came up to his neck, and he followed her into the auditorium, where her entrance caused every boy to punch each other and stare at her legs.
At exactly four o’clock, the student council president called the meeting to order. Twenty students were present, all elected representatives from their respective classes, plus Jake. Nobody seemed to notice or care that he was there, even though he was sitting next to Shyanne, and they made an odd couple.
This was a new year, and a new student council. There were no minutes to read from the previous meeting, as they had disappeared with last year’s secretary. Nobody cared about what had been discussed three months ago anyway. The student council president was the type of girl who did every extracurricular activity, in an attempt to make up for her atrocious personality. She began the meeting by introducing herself and her long list of accomplishments, and then introduced the vice president, the secretary, and the treasurer. They also were known for their atrocious personalities. Normally, Jake believed that women should have a more active voice in politics, but not in this case.
There were four representatives from every class, and Shyanne volunteered for the seniors, but the other fifteen representatives were burnouts or total nerds. Shyanne broke it down for him—the freshman class would meet and elect the most awful candidates they could pull together, in an attempt to sabotage the system. The sophomore class would nominate the mentally handicapped and the obstructionists, because they figured out how the game was played. The juniors were always hungover, or high, and they elected their two foreign exchange students and two kids who were devoutly religious. The seniors were a little more unpredictable—some volunteered, like Shyanne, because it looked good on a college transcript. Others volunteered just because they hated the new student council president.
Sarah was imperious. She sat on the stage with the vice president, the treasurer, and the secretary, who had yet to take a note on her yellow legal pad. They did all of the talking, while the representatives took a nap or did homework or threw spitballs at one another. This went on for twenty minutes—the student council president discussed the black bear crisis, the new uniforms for the girls’ basketball team, the new faculty members, and the renovations to the chemistry lab.
Finally, it was time to talk about the main event. Homecoming. Sarah discussed the wood gathering for the bonfire, the pep rally, and the fund-raiser, which this year was something called Donkey Basketball. Finally, she began to discuss the dance.
The treasurer raised her hand, and Sarah called on her.