by H. N. Kowitt
Yeeesh.
“And did I mention?” Wagman said sweetly. “The speech counts for half your grade.”
Luke buried his head in his hands.
“That reeks,” he muttered.
For once, I agreed with him.
Two days later, Luke opened the door of his house and glared. “Don’t expect Oreos and Comedy Central,” he said. “This is just business.”
Nice to see you too, Luke. I stepped into his house and followed him to a family room with a long couch. Above the fireplace was a wall of trophies.
I picked one up, feeling the weight of it. What would it be like to have a whole shelf of these? Or even one?
“Some of those are my brothers’,” he admitted. “Tripp plays varsity football. Gavin’s state-ranked in tennis.”
“Huh.” A family of sports stars.
Luke’s sister walked into the room with a bowl of popcorn. “Want some?” she offered. “I just microwaved it.”
“No,” Luke answered for both of us. “We’re going to my room.”
I followed him down the hall to a bedroom crammed with Chicago sports souvenirs — pennants, posters, framed baseball cards. I saw a life-size poster of T-Rex (Tyrell Rex Harris), the Cubs’ new star hitter.
“You a fan?” I pointed to T-Rex.
“Yeah.” Luke’s face lit up. “He’s awesome. And a great guy too — he coaches a group of —” He stopped abruptly. As if he suddenly remembered who I was, his jaw tightened.
I coughed politely. “Might as well get started.” I sank into a beanbag chair and took out my speech. We were each supposed to have a topic sentence and first paragraph written.
“I can’t work on an empty stomach,” Luke announced, escaping down the hall. He returned with a bag of chips, which he didn’t offer to share.
His phone pinged. “Angie again,” he said, rolling his eyes. I nodded, as if getting too many texts from girls was a problem I could relate to.
“Got your speech?” I asked.
“My speech. Right.” Luke reached for his backpack and stuck his arm in. He pulled out bandage tape, gym shorts, and a towel. Putting his arm in again, he pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from the bottom.
Why did I get the feeling this assignment was not Luke’s top priority?
“Okay,” I said. “Let ’er rip.”
“I just have to look something up.” Luke typed into his computer. I figured he was checking a fact for his speech. “Nooo!” he wailed. “Tomorrow’s salmon loaf.”
“Luke …?” I was irritated.
“Do yours first.” He flopped on the bed, punching pillows.
I tried to sit up straight. It was hard to command authority from a beanbag chair.
“‘Why the School Needs Better Pencil Sharpeners.’” Not wanting to attract attention, I picked the most boring topic I could think of. After weeks of being the Jinx, I wanted people to forget me.
Silence.
I cleared my throat. “So many good pencils have been chewed up …”
Luke just stared out the window while I read my speech.
Finally, it was his turn. First, he had to watch game highlights on the Internet, change sweatshirts, and retape a hockey stick. When he couldn’t put it off any longer, he slumped in his desk chair and stared at his speech, as if wondering how it got there.
“‘Why Gerald Ford Needs After-School Sports,’” said Luke.
“Good title.” Leaning back, I felt relieved. Now I’d find out if Luke was as good a speaker as his friends said.
I nodded for him to go ahead.
“‘Why Gerald Ford Needs After-School Sports,’” he said in a hollow, zombie voice, staring straight ahead. “Sports and Gerald Ford …” he began, and then stopped.
“Luke …?” I asked.
He started the speech again. “S-sports and Gerald Ford,” he stammered, “go together like a hot dog and mustard. Gerald Ford needs sports teams so we can kick Highland’s butt.”
I motioned for him to keep going.
“Sports is also, like, good exercise,” he said. “And fans like games because they’re free. They can see their friends win and enemies get creamed. Plus we already have team sweatshirts and hats and everything. So the easiest thing is just to keep playing. THE END.”
I was quiet for a moment.
“Interesting.” I figured it’s always good to be positive. “Can I, uh, ask you something? What was the big speech you made in the dugout?”
“About victory among friends?” His face reddened. “I stole it from a gladiator movie on Showtime. Those weren’t my words.”
“Oh.” This was bad news.
“Anyway, that was the dugout,” said Luke. “If I had to do it at assembly? I’d puke.”
“Don’t worry,” I chuckled. No way would he get picked to do his speech at assembly! We just had to get him through the in-class ordeal. “So, besides exercise, what do you get out of baseball?”
“I dunno,” Luke snorted. “What do you get out of French Club?”
I gritted my teeth. “I’m not in French Club. I’m just trying to help you out.”
Luke frowned. “All right, let me think. Um …”
Finally, I thought, He’s settling down to work …
Just then we heard a rumbling noise coming from the sidewalk outside. Luke peered out the window.
“WOO-HOO!!!!!!!” he shouted, and ran out of the room.
When we got outside, my stomach sank. Skateboarders were circling on the street: Tank, Abs, and Kyle.
Tank came straight at me. He was about to run me over, then stopped with an inch to spare. He flipped the board up with his foot. “Don’t tell me we’re busting up a study session!”
Luke ducked his head, embarrassed. “We were pretty much done.”
Done? We’d barely started!
“Luke doesn’t need to practice,” Tank said.
“He’s a pro,” said Abs. “You’ve should’ve heard his speech —”
“In the dugout, I know — Hey, wait a sec.” It suddenly dawned on me. “You’re not on the team. How did you hear it?”
“I didn’t hear it,” said Tank. “I heard about it.”
“Me too,” said Kyle.
Uh-oh. Kids who weren’t even there were spreading the word. They’d built him up to be Abe Lincoln, Winston Churchill, and Nelson Mandela rolled into one.
And if he didn’t deliver, guess who they’d blame?
* CHECK ONE
His teacher
His baseball coach
Me
“Who wants to go first?” asked Mrs. Wagman.
Silence.
Today was the day we were supposed to give our speeches so the class could vote for the five best ones. Luke was seated in the back, tossing a mini basketball. It had been a week since we’d coached each other. I looked down at my speech nervously.
“Five of you will get picked to speak at assembly,” Wagman said. “Pay attention, so you can vote. Now who wants to go first?”
Amazingly, Axl stood up.
“I’m ready,” he said.
Wagman looked at him suspiciously. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Um, okay, great,” she said uncertainly. “Come up front.”
Spike and Boris followed Axl, flanking him like Secret Service agents.
“Sit down,” Wagman commanded, but they didn’t budge.
Finally, Axl nodded, and they went back to their seats.
“‘If I Was Principal,’” said Axl, adjusting his do-rag.
Everyone giggled.
“There are a lot of wacked-out rules at school,” said Axl. “Like how you’re not supposed to keep roadkill in your locker.”
“You can’t ‘borrow’ someone’s bike, even for a quick ride,” he continued. “Or watch TV in class.”
Boris nodded.
“I’d change that,” said Axl. “Other things too. In gym, we’d learn kung fu, not kickball. Art teachers would teach tattoo-drawing. And the de
tention room would have a foosball table.”
* AXL’S DREAM DETENTION ROOM
Axl went on to suggest better field trips (“A casino would be cool.”) and that math should be optional. A few people cheered.
“You should run for student council,” said Wagman.
“Can’t.” Axl shook his head. “Skulls meet after school,” he explained, like it was Debate Club. As he walked back to his seat, someone high-fived him. It was Chantal!
Hearing surprised murmurs, Chantal turned around. “That’s right. He did good! Thanks to my coaching.”
Wagman smiled. “Coaches can have a big effect on speeches.”
Uh-oh, I thought.
Wagman smiled again. “Who’s next? Hands?”
Kendra Maxtone-Cousins’s arm shot up, and she marched to the front of the class. She was the kind of student who organizes the Teacher-Appreciation Breakfast.
Kendra smiled and began, “My speech is called ‘Why the School Day Should be Extended Fifteen Minutes.’”
People started to throw things.
“HEY!” Wagman’s voice was sharp. “You know the rules: no booing, throwing, or vomit noises.”
Kendra finished her speech over a low hum of groans and sighs from the class. I was definitely NOT voting for Kendra.
Finally, it was my turn. I cleared my throat and began. “‘Why the School Needs Better Pencil Sharpeners.’”
Q: How boring was my speech?
A: It was so boring, the school statue got up and left.
I felt stupid rambling on (“You can barely get a usable pencil point …”). My topic was a cop-out, but I wanted to be forgettable. If I put people to sleep, at least they wouldn’t yell out, “Hey, Jinx!”
* FIVE SPEECHES THE PRINCIPAL DOESN’T WANT TO HEAR
Spelling: Will We Ever Use It in Real Life?
The Art of the Swirly
Cherry Bombs v. M-80s
Never Copy from Someone Dumber than You
Angie Bilandic: Hot or Not?
Finally, everyone had given their speech except one person.
“Luke?” called Mrs. Wagman. “You’re up!”
Luke dragged himself to the front like he was going to prison. When he reached into his back pocket, I recognized the same crumpled-up piece of notebook paper I’d seen before.
“Luke! Luke! Luke!” the class chanted.
“Um, hey.” Luke held out the crumpled paper. As he tossed his hair back, you could hear sighs from every girl in the room.
“My speech is …” Luke coughed and swallowed a few times. “‘Why Gerald Ford Needs After-School Sports.’”
“Woo! Woo!!” The cheers were already beginning, and Luke hadn’t even started the actual speech. His jock buddies were whistling and clapping. Mrs. Wagman’s glasses slipped down her nose as she watched the class go wild.
“Shhhhhhh!” said Mrs. Wagman. “Let’s hear the speech.”
Luke cleared his throat again. “S-sports and Gerald Ford,” he stammered, “go together like a hot dog and mustard. Gerald Ford —”
“Yesssssssssssssssssss! Luuuuuuuuuuuuuuke!” the class yelled.
“People …!” Wagman protested.
Droplets of sweat glistened on Luke’s forehead. “Let’s hear it for the Woodchucks,” he said. Immediately, Tank started singing the school fight song:
Ge-rald Fo-ord, we will fight for you
For the right to do
Everything for you …
Luke joined in, in a hoarse voice, and then everyone was singing and shouting the words:
We’ll go in to play and win the game
We will bring you fame! Rah! Rah! Rah!
Luke’s speech had turned into a pep rally. His speech dropped to the floor, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“GO, WOODCHUCKS!” Chantal ran up to the front of the class and started cheerleading. “Save after-school sports!”
The class roared, giving Luke a standing ovation even though he’d barely said a word. Jasper and I reluctantly got to our feet too.
“Now, Luke,” said Wagman sternly. “That’s fine, but that’s not the assignment. You’ll have to give a real speech. Start over, from the top.”
But before Luke could start again, the bell rang.
The next day in class, Jasper handed Mrs. Wagman an envelope. He was the official vote counter.
“Here it is!” Wagman said, tearing it open. “These are the winners you picked to speak at assembly!” Wagman excitedly pulled out the card inside and stared at it.
Everyone waited.
“This can’t be right,” she said finally.
“Who? Tell us!” The class shouted out.
“It says —” Wagman shook her head. “Pinky Shroeder, Jenna Kerkorian, B. D. Sanchez, Maya Nevins, and, um — Luke Strohmer.”
“Luke! Yay!” people cheered.
Wagman’s brow furrowed. “Luke didn’t give a speech,” Wagman protested. “He doesn’t qualify.”
But the class started chanting:
Wagman sighed and went over to Jasper, who had tallied up the votes. After they’d talked for a few minutes, she came back.
“Okay.” Wagman sounded resigned. “You voted for him. But, Luke, you’re going to have to get serious. And Danny, as his coach, you have a LOT of work to do.”
Great, I thought. Like I can get Luke to do anything.
Luke put on his lazy grin, but his face had turned a shade whiter.
When class was over, I whispered to Jasper as we walked out, “I still can’t believe Luke won.”
“Hey, Jinx.” Tank had overheard me, and he pulled me aside. “I want to tell you something.”
Jasper backed away, leaving us alone. Tank grabbed my shirt and pushed me against a locker.
“Luke’s speech needs to be awesome — BETTER than awesome.” Tank’s voice was low. “Anything less, and I’m holding you responsible.”
“Tank.” I gulped. “He’s not a very good speaker. He’s —”
“Great.” Tank’s teeth were gritted. “Luke is great. He’s going to change the principal’s mind.”
“But —”
“If you jinx this one, you’re dead,” he said. “Plain and simple.”
“Tank —” I said, my voice pleading.
“You think you had it rough before?” Tank laughed. “You ain’t seen nothing yet.”
Luke sailed out of class with a bunch of friends slapping his back. I felt sick to my stomach.
If you jinx this one, you’re dead.
Tank’s words kept running through my mind as I fidgeted in math class. I had to get Luke to work his butt off and ace the speech. In other words, pull off a freakin’ miracle. When the bell rang, I bolted out of class and raced to Jasper’s locker. Maybe he’d have some ideas.
But Jasper wasn’t there. Impatiently, I looked around, asking if anyone had seen him. A girl overheard me and said, “He’s at a Fashion Club meeting.”
“FASHION CLUB?” I almost fell over.
Holy crud.
I ran to the Multi-Purpose Room. Jasper was sitting at a table, working at his laptop. On the other end sat a bunch of overdressed girls. They stared at me as I came in.
“Jasper!” I whispered. “What are you doing here?”
He looked up, startled. “Velvet’s about to give a presentation,” he said.
“On what?”
Jasper’s face reddened. “The Perfect Prom Hairstyle.”
Geez.
“I’m just helping,” Jasper said quickly. “She’s been teaching me about fashion. It’s more scientific than you’d think — how colors and fabrics go together.”
“Huh.” I didn’t know what to say.
“It’s a thought system I was unfamiliar with.” Jasper stroked his chin like a professor.
That’s when I noticed something alarming. For the first time since I’d known him, his sneakers weren’t mismatched. In fact, they were brand-new basketball shoes, the latest model, the kind jocks wore.
Jasper! In trendy sneakers!
I felt pain in my chest. Where was the old Jasper, who wore mismatched shoes and thought Fashion Club was a joke?
“Why are you here?” Jasper pulled a seat up for me. “The next topic is ‘Swimsuits for a Problem Body.’”
I tore my eyes away from Jasper’s feet. “Look, I need to make Luke’s speech really pop,” I said. “Any suggestions?”
“Ummm …” Jasper’s eyes strayed toward the computer screen. “Not really.”
My chest sank. “Nothing?”
“Well, I —” Jasper typed something. “Sorry, my mind is on this PowerPoint thing.”
“PowerPoint?”
“Yeah, I made all these cool charts and graphs. See?” He brought up images on the screen. “Visual stuff really helps. Like, here’s a graph about matching your shape to different swimsuit styles.”
That was it! The idea I was waiting for!
“PowerPoint would be great for Luke,” I said. “He could show statistics about school sports.”
A moment later, I was engulfed in a cloud of fruity perfume. “Did you just mention Luke?” asked Kiki DeFranco.
The rest of the girls stopped talking.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m helping him with his speech.”
“Luke needs help?” Ginnifer Baxter stood up. “I’d be happy to —”
“Me too!” another girl interrupted.
Now they were all gathered around. I’d always wondered how to get girls’ attention. All I had to do was mention Luke, I realized.
“If he wants graphics for his presentation,” Angie Bilandic blurted, “I’ve got great sports photos. I could, uh, drop them off at his place.”
“What’s wrong with e-mail?” Jade Traxler sounded annoyed.
“Anything to save school sports,” said Katelyn Ogleby, a cheerleader. “Luke could put photos to music. I’ve got a kickin’ reggae version of the school fight song.”
