Chapter 57: Lagniappe

March 23, 1981

Ms. Ames hooked a finger at me as I came in, calling me over. She waved to the chair next to her desk. Her room was a normal classroom, no dividers or anything, but somehow, when she wanted a private conversation, it just worked.

“Tom Myerson told me about some graffiti in the upstairs restroom last week, and that the cleaning crews took care of it. And that you’d want to know.” I knew that; I’d checked. I also knew that wasn’t the whole thing.

“Thanks, Meg.” I got a slightly bigger smile on that. “And thank Mr. Myerson when you see him.”

“About that day ... apparently, a student was injured. Some sort of fall. Outside, near the area sometimes called Smoker Heaven. I believe he might have been dating your sister.”

“That’s interesting. He hasn’t been around since, and Angie has decided she’s better off without him.”

Her eyes sparkled a bit. “I believe your sister was also injured Friday, just outside. I hear that someone hit her several times. Close to this wing. Where it might have delayed your arrival to class.” Of course she knew.

“Yes. I saw that she was hurt and made sure she got help. She asked me to continue to class so I wouldn’t get in trouble.”

“How is she?”

“She’s much better. Much, much better.”

“Interesting thing, coincidences. Someone hits your sister. Graffiti turns up in the bathroom. A student who’s always on time is late. Her boyfriend winds up getting hurt. They break up.” A little bigger smile. “Of course, if I heard about any violence at the school, I’d have to say something. But then, I haven’t. And I don’t expect to.”

“I don’t expect you to either, Meg.”

“Good answer. Go get to work. Last chance this weekend!”

Halfway through class, Cammie looked up to me.
“What’d Meg want?”

“Seems that Friday was busy. Angie had to go to the office with a bruised stomach, someone left graffiti in the boys’ room on third floor, and Max somehow fell and badly bruised both arms, stomach, and ... well, a place a nice girl like you wouldn’t want to know anything about.”

Her eyes twinkled. Two girls with eyes sparkling at me, and neither one would I have any chance with. Damn. “Amazing how some people can manage to fall. Graffiti?”

“Someone thought it might be a good idea to let the boys know that a particular girl was ... well, I’m sure you know what that stuff is like.”

She frowned. “I hope y ... um ... that his fall was ... painful.”

“Pretty sure it was.”

“Good. Very good!”

March 28, 1981

11pm on a Saturday night in Humble High School. For anyone not from the Houston area, that’s pronounced much more like ‘Um-bull’. Hence the local joke: ‘We’re not humble in Humble’.

Me in my sport coat, pale pink shirt (hey, I’m secure in my masculinity), yellow tie. Looking at three parents, ones I was pretty sure had judged before and knew the ropes.

“In conclusion, I’ve touched on President Reagan’s initial plans for the economy, for the military, and the ways I hope he can bring the country together after the difficulties and setbacks of the last ten years or more. By focusing on providing tax relief and prosperity for the middle class, strengthening our military to present a deterrent to the Soviet Union and their expansionist tendencies - as shown by their actions in Afghanistan - and by welcoming a strong dialogue with Democratic leaders, particularly Speaker O’Neil, as well as presenting his case directly to the American people, I believe that President Reagan can succeed at the difficult task in front of him. I believe these are the most critical priorities as he continues to advance his agenda for the first one hundred days of this administration. And, I’d like to end by thanking each of you for giving your time, late on a Saturday night, to listen to a few high school students who are striving for excellence. Thank you for your feedback and I wish you a pleasant remainder of your evening.”

I smiled, turned, and stepped out so the next competitor could begin. It wasn’t the first time I’d done ‘Reagan’s first 100 days’, not even close. Several tournaments had thrown it out there. But I was pretty sure it was my best. How good? I wasn’t sure. And did I believe it? Pretty much, but for reasons I couldn’t present.

We were having a good tournament. Janice was in the finals with me, her first time. We’d joked about her losing her finals virginity. Zoe and Adam were in the finals in CX and thus had already qualified. Callie was in the LD finals, picking up her LD qualification.

I headed back to the cafeteria and grabbed a bag of chips. Sure, not on the diet, but it was 11pm and I was hungry. Meg came over. “How’d it go?”

“Really good, I think. Of course, I thought that before the seventh.”

“Fingers crossed, Steve. I’d love for you to get to go. It’s a great experience.”

“Me, too. It’d be an unexpected bonus considering my goals in January.”

“Unexpected for me, too! Thanks for diving right in. Are you sticking with Extemp next year, do you think?” We’d discussed my plans to come back; I’m sure she was just making sure.

“I won’t drop it, but I’ve always planned on CX as well. It would’ve been just too hard to build skills and an evidence file in three months and six tournaments.”

“You’ll have to hit the libraries in the summer.”

“I know. Mom’s on board with driving me to UH a few times. I’m not sure how many ‘a few’ is. Houston Public Downtown is an easy bus ride; Ang will probably go along. She’s lived here since March and hasn’t been downtown yet, can you believe it?”

“I like what I hear of her. Twist her arm to join the team.”

I laughed. “Nobody makes Angie do anything she doesn’t want to. I’ll do my best to convince her to want to. It’d be cool. We’d make an awesome team, too, if things work out that way.”

“Another brother-sister team! I keep expecting one or another of them to fight like cats and dogs. Anyway, Callie’s back. I’ll go see how her round went. Another qual anyway! Fingers crossed, Steve!”

“Fingers crossed!”

I munched my chips, waiting, talking with my friends. After half an hour, the expected crowd murmur hit, and we all looked to the lectern at one end of the cafeteria. The tournament director — aka Humble’s debate coach — stepped up.

“Thanks to you all for attending our 1981 tournament. Congratulations to everyone who qualified and condolences to the rest. I hope to see you non-seniors back here next year, because we’ll be in February and won’t be a last chance tournament. I’m sure you’d all prefer to avoid those.” That got a solid laugh.