Chapter 74: Dropping Shoes

Monday, March 29, 1982

Two more days until the big speeches, three days to go until the election. Was I nervous? Not really. What would happen would happen, although I was pretty optimistic about the outcome.

Our posters had survived the weekend with no damage, something that we’d considered to be a real possibility. The number of random encounters had died down somewhat, but there were still some. The average junior was still more likely to look annoyed with me than not, but that seemed more than offset by the positive reactions of the freshmen and sophomores in general.

I still considered this to be more something for Mel than anything else. Sure, I wanted to win, but Mel would be the big loser if I didn’t. That was actually much more motivating than simply trying to win for myself.

After school I headed to Smoker Heaven where, rumor had it, I had a good chance of finding Danny Hill. Rumor was right; he was there, along with a few other juniors. He pretty clearly recognized me when I came over.

“Hey! My most esteemed opponent! ‘Cuz, like, I don’t have so much esteem for the lamentable Mr. Palmer. Dude, are we supposed to see each other before the big square-off?”

I laughed. “It’s not a wedding. We can talk.”

“Cool! Whatcha want?”

“I wanted to talk about the race...” I waved him off as he started to talk. “Let’s step over to the side, okay?”

He smiled a rather skeptical-looking smile. “Can do!” We headed just far away to be out of earshot. I didn’t expect the others in Smoker Heaven to really care, but this would be better kept quiet.

“I didn’t come here to ask you to drop out. I wouldn’t do that. Promise. I wouldn’t even try to get there in a roundabout way. I’d rather you didn’t, with two days to go.”

“Well, then, cool. So, what do you want, then?” He’d dropped some of the slacker attitude; no surprise that he could turn it on and off. He wasn’t stupid, nor exactly a slacker, just ... laid back.

“I wanted to talk about what you’d want out of the office if you won. If we’re on two different pages, that’s one thing, but if you and I are generally thinking the same way, and the lamentable Mr. Palmer isn’t, that makes how we approach each other different, doesn’t it?”

“You’re worried you and James will split the serious kids and everyone else will throw up their hands and vote for me.”

“It’s a real possibility, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, and, hell, that’s not what I want, exactly. Look, Council’s a fucking joke. Everyone runs and claims they’re going to change things and they don’t. That’s what I want, for people to not act like it’s not a joke. Best way I could see to do that was to make a big joke out of the campaign.”

“So here I go, saying I’m going to change things,” I said. He smirked at that. I went on, “Seriously, though, I didn’t run because I wanted to. I ran because other people asked me to, people who’ve already made little changes and want to make more, but can’t because most of the people who get elected would rather do as little as possible and settle for it being on their transcript. I couldn’t care less about it that way.”

“I can respect that. So, what do you think you can really do?”

“Loosen up the rules a bit, everywhere. Dress code, dance rules, stuff like that. We’ve got legal precedent for some of it, and Principal Riggs doesn’t like bucking court cases when someone brings them to his attention. We will. Also, better financial support for deserving teachers, better fundraisers, stuff like that. My sister’s taking that on. A good friend’s on the social committee and wants to do things like liberalizing the clothing rules a bit — just a bit, it’s still Memorial...” He grinned at that. “ ... but some. Not put genders on ticket sales or restrict dates quite the way they do. Support kids who want to dance together and date even if they’re not the mainstream pairings. Stuff like that.”

“Hell, I’m good with all of that, man. Seriously. I didn’t know the lot of you were running when I put my name in, though I still would have. You seemed, you know, all preppy and like that. Okay, so, you’re friends with Lizzie, that’s gotta be some points, but still. That whole turning Jessica Lively down thing ... Dude, was that a put-on? That was the single best P.R. move I have ever seen at Memorial, hands down.”

“Nah. My date, Megan Early, had already asked me, but ... well, there were good reasons to delay deciding for a bit. But that didn’t mean Megan wasn’t first to ask. I just didn’t want her asking, or me to be accepting, based on the wrong things.”

“That right there took serious balls, Dude. Half the guys would give up one of their nuts to get a date with Jessica, and you stuck by some girl no one even knows. Well, before. Impressive stuff, and it obviously didn’t piss off Jessica at all, which is damn cool. You both seem like you might be good people, which I was totally not expecting. Okay, so ... truce, man. I’m still in, you’re obviously still in, but I won’t bash you or your side.”

“And I won’t bash you, either. If I paint you as saying Council can’t do anything, that fair?”

“Council’s a joke, man. That’s my slogan. What you said is perfectly fair. I’d love to see someone prove me wrong. Maybe you guys can, but if you can’t, then I want to get in just to laugh at everyone.”

“Fair enough.” We shook hands. “Oh, Danny?”

“Dude?”

“I’m not going to be two-faced about this. None of us are. You see something you think Council should be able to tackle, within the obvious limits Principal Riggs and the School Board and parents and such will put on things, you come tell us about it. Me, any of the others, doesn’t matter.”

“Thanks. Might well take you up on that, Dude.” He stretched. “It’s been a pleasure. Thanks for seeking me out. I appreciate it.”

“Thanks for talking with me. I appreciate it, too!”

Had there been a candidate like Danny Hill my first go-round? Of course, there had. Not Danny himself and not this year, but, yeah. A clown, a slacker, who ran for President. And won. And was drummed out by the administration as soon as they could figure out how. And most of that was because the two ‘serious’ candidates split their share of the vote and he got all the ‘Council is a joke!’ votes. Not only could working with Danny prevent that, but we were running for VP, which might protect everyone else down the ballot.

And I’d much rather Danny got in instead of James. Much, much rather.

Tuesday, March 30, 1982

A shoe no one even knew was going to drop got dropped, and, because of the Council race, something that would have been a ‘huh, well, no big surprise there’ for me became a big deal in my life. And, amusingly, I knew it’d happened before, just not now. Most likely because it hadn’t happened now, before. Perhaps it was because we hadn’t had a Council race anything like this one, either.

Walking in from the parking lot, some girl I vaguely recognized as a junior came up to me. “Steve? Steve Marshall? Right?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you hear the news?”

“Um ... no? News?”

“Jessica’s the new cheer captain! They just announced it!”

“I ... no, I hadn’t heard. Wow, that is big news!”

“The biggest. Like, huge!”

She bounced off, looking for someone else to gossip to. I’m sure I was a target because I was associated with Jessica. For dubious reasons, logically, but, gossip-wise? We fell in the same bucket.

I heard about this six more times before first period. Apparently, the cheerleaders met last night in what was typically a routine meeting. It’s not unusual for the captain to hand off to the new captain. That’s how it’s done, pretty much. But it’s a May thing, with the end of the semester, almost every year.

Not this year, though. Last night Melissa Baker, the current captain, had surprised everyone by announcing that she’d made her choice for next year’s captain.

Mind you, it’s not just her decision. It requires a vote. The cheer captain needs the support of the entire squad. But the outgoing captain, unless they really screwed up, usually has the support of the squad, so their recommendation counts for a lot.

First shocker for most of the school: Melissa picked Jessica, not a junior, as would be the case almost every year. Second shocker: Cheryl Hall, the former favorite for cheer captain, stood to endorse Jessica the instant Melissa had sat down, according to the story I got. And the consensus was that it was a real, heartfelt endorsement, not something that involved blackmail or arm twisting or grudging acceptance. Cheryl was happy to remain the top lieutenant for the next year and hand the reins to Jessica.

Even in a normal year, a major surprise in the cheerleading leadership would have been the social-kids’ focus for the next week. No question there. But that Jessica was also a candidate? It was a big, big shoe to drop the day before the election. Suddenly, well, either Jessica was an awful upstart who was denying a junior their rightful place in a leadership position, or Jessica was a wunderkind who rightfully should hold said leadership position.

Cheryl’s heartfelt and full-throated praise of Jessica swayed most people firmly to the second opinion. It also blew up the junior class’s opposition to ‘upstart sophomores’ in general. We were back to that strange association between Jessica and me. If it was okay for Jessica to be an upstart, well, why not Steve? And if Steve, why not Amit?

I heard a dozen variations of this story all day long, some four or five times each. I saw James, once. He looked distinctly unhappy. So did Ray, the one time I saw him.

If there’s a first shoe to drop, there must be another shoe, right? In this case, the other shoe happened at lunch. I wasn’t anywhere near it, though, in retrospect, I’d heard a minor commotion from far across the cafeteria.

Our slate was openly, obviously, unmistakably running together. That was the whole plan. The others weren’t. Except, of course, many people viewed the ‘insider’ candidates, the incumbents shuffling offices, as if they were a slate. And they hadn’t distanced from each other. Ray praised James, James praised Randy, Randy praised Ray, all of them praised Valerie and Marcus, who in turn praised Ray, James, and Randy. They looked like a team, even if they weren’t.