Chapter 19- Sara

Sara had decided to attend the student council meeting Tuesday at lunch after all. When she arrived with Mr Bark’s papers on the financial status of the council tucked under her arm, the other officers were already gathered around the large table in Room H-16. She recognised only three: Clair Hilrey, Bill Skater, and the football player everybody called The Rock. She knew of the latter because of the stories that had been circulating about his fight with the tall black guy. The Rock sat slightly hunched over in his chair. He had not played in Friday’s game. Sara had heard the black guy had almost killed him.

Two adults were also present: Mr Bark and Tabb’s principal, Mr Smith, both sitting unobtrusively in one corner. They were there to oversee, she had heard, not to interfere. The promise of the principal’s presence was one of the reasons she had decided to come. She had been hoping to speak to him about allowing Russ Desmond back on the cross-country team. That lying Polly had been feeding her a line- there was no doubt about that- but she did feel somewhat guilty about having stepped in his way. She certainly didn’t want him hating her.

Another factor had brought her to the meeting. The biggest problem she had with school, and life in general, was that it bored her. After thinking about it for a while, she had come to the conclusion that being president couldn’t make the situation any worse. Of course, if the job ever got to be more of a hassle than it was worth, she could always walk away from it- and to hell with any responsibility she owed to her peers.

“Have you been waiting for me?” Sara asked, sitting at the head of the table, all eyes on her.

“Yes,” Mr Bark said.

“That’s a shame.” She cleared her throat, glancing around. “What are we supposed to do first?”

“I’m the sergeant at arms,” The Rock said. “I have to call the meeting to order.”

“Do it,” Sara said.

The Rock stood and smashed his gravel on a wooden block and mumbled a few lines about the date and the time. Sara thought it a pathetic comment on student councils across the land that the sergeant at arms was an elected position. The Rock sat back down.

“Can I begin?” Sara asked. No one moved to stop her. “All right, I want this meeting to be short. I haven’t eaten yet. I want all our meetings to be short, no longer then ten minutes.”

“Sara,” Mr Bark said, interrupting. “That is ridiculous. A lot has to be accomplished during these meetings. Ten minutes is not enough time. But we don’t want to keep you from eating. We offer a class here at Tabb called leadership. All the students in this room, except you, are in that class. Of course, we understand you did not expect to be nominated. For that reason, the faculty wild be happy to rearrange your schedule so that you may join the class. That way we can take care of business during leaderships and you can have the majority of your lunches free.”

“Does leadership replace political science as a requirement?” Sara asked.

“No it doesn’t,” Mr Bark said.

“Then I don’t want my schedule rearranged.”

“Be serious-“ Mr Bark began.

“Rocky,” Sara interrupted.

“I’m called The Rock.”

“Whatever. Don’t I have to recognise someone before they can speak?”

The Rock nodded. “It’s in the bylaws.”

“Mr Bark,” Sara said. “I don’t recognise you. I’ll tell you when I do.” She glanced at her notes on the financial papers Mr Bark had given her to review. “Let’s get going. First, we’re broke. We have a sum total of nineteen hundred and sixty-two dollars and thirteen cents in our activities account. With this we’re supposed to put on both the Sadie Hawkins and the homecoming dances in the fall quarter. Now the senior class controls homecoming- and I’ll get to that in a second- but the juniors are supposed to take care of Sadie Hawkins. Who’s junior class president?”

A thin Japanese girl on her near right raised her hand. “I am.”

“If I give you half of what we’ve got,” Sara said, “can you book a band, print up tickets, buy a truck-load full of hay and do whatever else you need to get this thing going?”

The girl hesitated. “I don’t know everything involved.”

“It’s a question of cash flow. Figure out approximately how many people will attend, how much you’ll have to spend to keep them happy. Then decide on a ticket price. The grand or so I will give you will get you started until you start collecting money. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Can you do it? I don’t want to have to think about it.”

The girl nodded. “The junior officers will take care of it.”

“Good. We’re making progress. Let’s discuss homecoming. I think we should cancel it this year.”

Now they were really staring at her. Clair- sitting to her left and looking sickeningly gorgeous- protested. “Are you out of your mind? It’s the biggest event of the year.”

“I have to recognise you,” The Rock said. “Can I?”

“Yeah, she’s recognised,” Sara said, leaning towards Clair. “What do you mean it’s the biggest event of the year? For you maybe, and four other princesses in the school. But for the rest of us slobs it’s just another occasion to have dirt rubbed in our faces. So we’re not as pretty as you? Look at history. It’s full of ugly kings and queens. Look at all the suffering that’s going on- Wait a second. Never mind. If the kings and queens had all been good-looking it probably would have been worse. Let’s get back to the issue. How many dances do we really need? Last year at Mesa, I never went to a single one. We already have Sadie Hawkins. I say that’s enough. The alumni won’t be coming back, anyway. I went to the game last Friday. I felt like leaving after the first quarter. What a bunch of clods.”

Bill Skater raised his hand. “Can I speak?”

Sara sat back. “Rocky, recognise our quarterback.”

The Rock did so. Bill stood, and Sara had to admit he had an imposing physique. She could see Jessica’s reasons for wanting to get him alone in a dark and secluded spot. She wondered if perhaps she should have skipped the clods part.

“I don’t think you have any right to knock our football team,” he said. “One game doesn’t mean anything. Last year, the Super bowl champs lost their first four games. And they ended up winning the golden ring.”

“Yeah,” The Rock said.

“But that’s not what I want to talk about,” Bill went on. “I’m the treasurer. I’ve looked at our books, too, and I think we can afford homecoming. How much money do we need anyway? It doesn’t have to be that fancy. Homecoming is a tradition. Traditions are important. They’re what makes this country great.” He sat down.

“Yeah,” Clair said.  “Just because no one’s going to vote you on the homecoming court doesn’t mean you’ve got to spoil it for the rest of us.”

“What officer are you?” Sara asked.

“I’m vice-president,” Clair said proudly.

“You were running for president. How did you get nominated for vice-president?”

Clair frowned. “I don’t know.”

Sara sighed. “I should have you all shot.” The whole gang went to protest. Sara raised her hand. “All right, we’ll keep homecoming. But we can’t have it in the next few weeks, and I don’t care what our treasurer says. We simply don’t have the money. We’re going to have to raise it somehow, and to do that, we need time. Let’s have it during basketball season.”

“That’s absurd,” Clair exploded. “Homecoming is always during football season. You can’t change that.”

“Why not?”

“Because you can’t that’s why.”

Sara strummed her fingers on top of the table. “I will give you another reason why it must be postponed. If the elections are held in the next couple of weeks, the girls from Mesa won’t stand a chance of being nominated to the court. Transfers from Mesa like myself make up only a quarter of the student body. Hardly anyone who was originally from Tabb knows us. It wouldn’t be fair.”

Clair grinned. “Does Mesa have anyone we would vote for if we knew them ten years?”

The group giggled. Sara leaned towards Clair again. “Jessica Hart- remember that name. When the final count comes in, you won’t be smiling.”

Uncertain, Clair turned to Bill. “Who?” she whispered.

Bill nodded. “I’ve met her. She’s pretty.”

“How pretty?”

Bill shrugged.

“Rocky?” Sara said.

He pounded his gavel. “Order in the council.”

Mr Smith, the principal, raised his hand. “May I speak?”

“I recognise you myself,” Sara said.

He stood. An older man close to retirement, he always wore- no matter what the weather- tailored three piece suits. He had a faint English accent and was known for his exquisite manners.

“What you people decide is, of course, strictly up to you,” he began. “But I would like to say that, in my opinion, Sara has made a persuasive argument for a postponement. This is, however, not the reason for my interruption. I was curious, Sara, how you plan on raising funds for homecoming outside of ticket sales and the like?”

“I don’t know, maybe we can have a raffle.”

Clair scowled. “This isn’t a church. What are we going to raffle? A new TV set?”

She smiled faintly. “Maybe your body.”

There followed cries of outrage and protest, plus plenty of good laughter. In the midst of it all- especially when Clair called for a presidential impeachment- Sara realised she was having fun. The remainder of the meeting- she let it run twenty minutes- passed quickly. It was decided homecoming could wait until water. Naturally, she didn’t recognise the vote of anyone who thought different.

Sara caught up with the principal in the hallway afterwards. “Excuse me, Mr Smith?”

He turned. “Ah, Sara, you’re a strong willed young lady. You’ve put a spark back in the council that’s been missing for a number of years. But a word of advice from an old gentleman. In the future, please watch the personality attacks. I realise you say all those things in the spirit of jest, but as you know, not everyone shares your sense of humour.”

“I’ll remember that sir. Could I ask a favour of you?”

“Certainly.”

She told him about Russ Desmond’s expulsion from the cross-country team and the reason behind it. When she had finished, he said, “Russ is one of our finest athletes. It sounds like a misunderstanding that can easily be patched up. I’ll have a word with Coach Campbell.”

“Thanks a lot. I appreciate it.”

“I do have a piece of bad news for you. It doesn’t have to be taken care of immediately by the student council, but we have a soft drinks machine that needs to be replaced. The accountants at the school district refuse to cover the cost. Apparently, one or more students had the bad sense to tip the machine over. It can’t even be repaired.”

Sara shook her head. “The barbarians.”