Total Knockout

by Taylor Morris

  Most important to me, of course, was the student council–president rating, which stays up year-round (like the principal’s rating). Everyone loves clicking on polls no matter what they’re about, so whether they really gave me much thought, I’m not entirely sure. What I do know is that my approval rating averaged 87 percent last year.

  On the morning we were to unveil the new vending machines, I went online to check my approval rating. Since I had been elected only about a month ago and hadn’t yet implemented any changes, my rating was still at 100 percent. As I walked to the corner to wait for the bus, I noted, with a sense of foreboding, that I had nowhere to go but down.

  Just as Cooper had promised, a blurb about our secret first project was on the school’s site. I cringed, however, when I saw a typo in the copy (“. . . see what this council has in storm for us”). I wondered if it was Cooper’s mistake or the Web people’s. Either way, I hoped no one would notice.

  As I waited for Melanie on the corner of our streets, shivering beneath my too-thin jacket, I tried to keep a positive spirit, hoping that she would remember to do all the things she was in charge of—bringing the ribbon for the cutting ceremony and, most important, making sure Lori Anne was there to take photographs. The night before, I’d had to use all my willpower not to call, text, or IM to remind her . . . just in case she forgot, like she did the speech. I woke up startled in the middle of the night and packed a pair of regular scissors, and because I couldn’t think of anything else, I folded several rolls of wrapping paper and stuffed them into my backpack. Just in case. When I climbed back into bed, clutching Paddy, I mouthed the words to my speech until I fell asleep and dreamed about it.

  Melanie came springing out her front door like always—today wearing a beat-up straw cowboy hat—and I resisted the urge to ask her if she had contacted Lori Anne and brought the ribbon. Instead, I waited for it all to unfold naturally and according to plan, like I knew it would. As the bus bounced down Great Springs Road, I listened to Melanie talk rapid-fire about the dance show she’d watched the night before.

  “And that guy Koi is the best. You should see his moves, like, from graceful to bam in one beat flat. I am so totally signing up for dance,” she said, her eyes gleaming with that familiar brightness they always had when she talked about something new. As she contemplated aloud the benefits of jazz, tap, ballet, and funk, I wondered if she’d try to stick it out with dance. She’d probably be pretty good at it. Really, though, I was mostly worried about the press conference and whether or not Melanie came through for me. I clutched the handle of my backpack, not even wanting to admit to myself that I had done the right thing by bringing backup paper and scissors.

  “Oh, hey, is this okay?” Melanie asked, breaking into my thoughts. From her bag she pulled a folded purple sheet. She unfolded it so I could see the pattern. “I couldn’t find any ribbon, but I thought this would be just as good. You can drape it over the whole machine and then yank it off like a magician when you’re ready to show it to everyone. What do you think?”

  My heart didn’t know whether to sink or leap. Pulling a sheet off the vending machine was a great idea—it could give some flair and excitement to the event. But not this sheet.

  “That’s great,” I said, taking it from her. “But Hannah Montana?”

  She looked deflated. “I know. It’s Beverly’s. She thought it’d be funny to have them on her bed, like, to be all ironic. But then her new boyfriend came over and made fun of her for it, so it’s been crumpled in her closet ever since.”

  I refolded the sheet, trying not to think of how the students would laugh when they saw this thing. When I tucked the sheet into my backpack, I told myself I was being a jerk. It was a good idea.

  “Maybe I could even take hip-hop lessons,” Melanie continued, tossing a few curls over her shoulder. “Or do you think that’d make me too much of a poseur? I’m not saying I want to learn to spin on my head or anything. Hey, did I ever tell you my mom used to dance?”

  Startled at the mention of her mom, whom she rarely spoke about, I managed to say, “No, you didn’t.”

  “Like, contemporary dance. In college. She always wanted to go to New York.” Melanie looked straight ahead, at the road, through the driver’s front window.

  “That’s cool,” I said as we got off the bus at school. “You should really do dance. Any kind. I bet you’d be good at it.”

  I realized that the Hannah Montana sheet wasn’t that big of a deal. Plus, I knew what Henry would say about being all obsessed with myself while Melanie talked about her mom—probably something about being reincarnated as an earthworm.

  After we got our books out of our lockers, I said, “So, I’ll see you in front of the caf before lunch?”

  “See ya,” she said.

  My moments of happiness were temporarily dampened after homeroom when I bumped into Nicole.

  “Hey, Nicole,” I said. She stood at her locker, scratching her calf with the toe of her Teva. “You’ll be there before lunch, right?”

  She stopped scratching and looked at me all squinty eyed. “Do we have an interview?”

  “No, the press conference. About the new vending machines I got installed?” She responded with a blank stare. “Didn’t Jared talk to you about this?”

  “Obviously not,” she said, pulling out her lavender notebook.

  I didn’t want Nicole to know that any member of my staff was incompetent, so I said, “Oh, I asked him last minute. He probably just hasn’t had a chance to reach out to you yet.” I told her what was happening, and she agreed to come. “See you there?”

  “Yeah.” She yawned.

  I went to U.S. history feeling pretty good about the day and the year ahead. Already I had proved that if you just work hard, good things will come your way. And even if the student body thought the vending machines were a little lame at first, they’d warm up to them, and by the end of football season, they’d forget they ever had access to greasy chips and sugary sodas. I bet our sports teams would even perform better without being loaded down with all that salt, fat, and sugar. Maybe they’d even make state this year. I jotted this thought down, thinking I could add it to my speech.

  Mr. Harrison let me out of third-period U.S. history a little early so I could get to the caf and make sure everything was ready to go. I hadn’t seen the machines yet—I knew them only from the pictures in the brochures. As I approached the area just outside the cafeteria, where the brand-new green-and-white machines stood, one of the janitors pulled his hand out of his pocket and was about to deposit a gleaming quarter into my machine.

  “Stop!” I hollered as I ran toward him. “You can’t use that!”

  When he turned to look at me, I saw that it was Mickey, our head janitor.

  “What’s gotten into you?” he asked.

  “Sorry,” I said as he put the quarter back into his pocket. “I want to be the first to use it at the opening ceremony.”

  “Shouldn’t you do a trial run first, make sure it works?”

  “No. It has to be ceremonious.”

  Mickey shook his head. After two years together, he was used to me. I liked him because he never gave me any trouble, not even when I asked him to help me install energy-saving fluorescent bulbs in the administrative offices.

  I took the Hannah Montana sheet out of my bag and shook it out. Mickey let out a low whistle. “What?” I said, even though I knew.

  He kept an eye on the purple sheet as he said, “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

  We hung Hannah over the new vending machine, covering as much of the front as possible. I took a step back, smoothing down the front of my jeans. The black shirt and shoes I wore matched my hair perfectly, but the red jeans gave me a sense of fun and flair—not to mention red for the strength I knew the nutritious food would give everyone.

  Cooper was the first to arrive, just moments after the third-period dismissal bell rang. He was out of breath and a little pink in the cheeks, and I was so happy
to see him.

  “That ‘storm’ thing on the website wasn’t my fault,” he said defensively.

  “Coop, it’s fine.”

  “I thought you’d be freaking out about it.”

  “I’m not freaking out about anything,” I lied.

  He seemed to relax a bit. “I ran into Nicole,” he said, tugging his backpack up on his shoulder. “She’s on her way.”

  “Was she with Lori Anne?”

  “No.”

  “Great,” I muttered, even as I tried to stay positive. The sheet was nice in theory, but what we really needed was a photographer.

  There was no time to stress, because the lunch bell rang and people were starting to arrive. I put on my best face. “Hey, y’all!” I greeted as they came through the doors. “Stick around for a few minutes. We have a big ceremony starting soon!”

  Finally, a crowd formed around us once Nicole and Mrs. Peoria arrived. I scanned the crowd for Lori Anne and Melanie but didn’t see them anywhere. I spotted Jared standing in the back pretending to grab Ella Castleman’s butt—she was a cute cheerleader who didn’t know what the EU was. I caught his eye, then motioned for him to come up and stand with me. Max Rowe, who I hadn’t noticed before, apparently thought I was waving to him, because he gave me an enthusiastic wave back and a thumbs-up. I forced a smile before pointing to Jared. Max nudged him—a bit hard—and I again motioned for Jared to come up. With a roll of his eyes, he made his way up front.

  When Mrs. Peoria arrived, she looked at her watch and said, “Okay, Lucia. Let’s get this going.”

  I anxiously searched again for Lori Anne—I’d all but given up on Melanie. I knew I should have just asked Lori Anne to come myself. You have to be willing to make adjustments in the blink of a jab, but I still didn’t like the unexpected.

  Just as I told Mrs. Peoria I was ready, Lori Anne came pushing through the crowd.

  “A little notice would have been nice,” she muttered, pulling her camera out of its case. Looking at Cooper, she said, “Next time, I may not come.”

  Cooper snapped his cell phone shut and jammed it into the pocket of his baggy jeans. He must have just texted her—I wanted to hug him for it as much as I wanted to yell at Melanie.

  “We’re so glad you could make it,” I said as she readied her camera. “We really appreciate it.”

  “Oh, brother,” Jared muttered beside me.

  “Hello, everyone! Hello!” I said in a loud but pleasant voice to get everyone to quiet down. “Thank you for joining us today on this momentous occasion. Today we are bringing something fresh and exciting to our school.” I noticed Nicole scribbling in her book, and Lori Anne snapped a couple of pictures. “Everyone gets tired and sluggish throughout the day. I know I do! So my team and I thought long and hard about what we could do to help every student and teacher—every member of the Angus Junior High team, in fact”—I smiled at Mickey, who didn’t notice because he was diligently picking lint off his shirt—“live up to his or her full potential, both in terms of academics and sports. Today is the first day that all Angus Blue Jays can start performing like the champions I know we all are. So!” I took hold of the edge of the purple sheet. “Without further ado, I give you, Naturally Natural Foods!” I ripped Hannah Montana from the machine with a flourish, as Lori Anne continued to snap pictures. With my arms outstretched in a ta-da! pose, I waited for the applause that I thought would logically follow such a speech. Finally, Cooper started clapping, and others (begrudgingly) followed suit.

  I dropped the sheet to the side, and Cooper quickly scooped it up and rolled it into a bundle in his arms. “And now, if I may, Mrs. Peoria”—I looked to our student council adviser, who was staring glassy-eyed out the side window—“I’d like to be the first to try one of these delicious snacks.”

  I pulled the change I had precounted from the front pocket of my red jeans and dropped it into the slot. I made a big show about deciding which snack to choose—carrot and celery chips? organic chocolate-coconut spelt bar? flax-seed crackers with amino acids and omega-3?—then finally settled on the one I wanted all along, the organic wheat- and dairy-free fig bar. There was a moment of panic as I waited for the granola bar to thump down into the slot; when it did, I let out a little breath of relief and saw that Cooper did too. Our eyes caught, and we smiled at each other.

  I held up the granola bar so Lori Anne could get a shot of me, then I unwrapped it. “Let’s see how it tastes!” I bit into the bar and slowly chewed. “Mmm . . . delicious and nutritious!” I kept chewing, and Lori Anne kept snapping shots. “Well,” I said through slow bites, “thanks for coming, and enjoy your lunch. And snacks!”

  The crowd dispersed and headed into the cafeteria. A couple of curious people went to examine the machine, but no one purchased anything. It was, after all, right before lunch.

  “Great job,” Cooper said. “I think Lori Anne got a lot of good shots.” He looked at me funny and said, “You okay?”

  I finally couldn’t take it anymore. With no napkin and no trash can around, I ducked to the side of Naturally Natural Foods and spit what was left of the dry granola bar into the wrapper in my hand, stifling down coughs and gags. Bits of oat were embedded in my molars, and I dug my fingernail into them, the dry texture combined with the mushy fig threatening to make me puke. “Oh my God,” I said to Cooper, but making sure no one else was around. “That is the worst thing I have ever tasted in my life.”

  Cooper looked at me with wide eyes. “Seriously?” I nodded. “You think that means we’re in for it?”

  I forced what was left in my mouth down my throat. My eyes were watery from coughing and trying to swallow what basically amounted to shredded cardboard.

  Cooper looked at me with a mix of concern and fear in his eyes.

  “No,” I answered defiantly. “Never.”

  BLUE JAYS . . .

  THE VIEW FROM ABOVE

  Rage Against the Vending Machine

  REPORTED BY NICOLE JEFFRIES

  Student council president Lucia Latham carried out her first order of business as president by presenting a new—and supposedly improved—vending machine to the halls of Angus.

  The first of three machines was revealed on Tuesday to much fanfare and hype. The machine stayed covered in a purple Hannah Montana cloth sheet, obviously meant to symbolize the pure yet supposedly fun and popular food she was about to reveal. Ms. Latham extolled its virtues—among them, the promise for more energy and success in both academics and athletics.

  “These products behind me,” she boasted, “will help every student at Angus live up to his or her potential.” When it was finally time for the reveal, many expected something more exciting than health food.

  “I thought it was going to be the new Total Destruction energy drinks and carb bars,” said seventh grader Andre Franco, who runs track and cross-country. “At least maybe some of those gel packs.”

  “I was disappointed,” admitted eighth grader Samantha Thibodeaux. “With the way her speech was going, I thought she was going to reveal some super-powered computer or something. Health food was the last thing I expected. Or wanted,” she added gravely.

  By press time, only a handful of students had sampled the health-food fare. Sixth grader Gina Cameron, who sampled the carob-iced spelt doughnut, called it “barely edible,” while eighth grader Robbie Cordova was more blunt: “It made me want to hurl,” he said of the whole wheat carob cake. “I wouldn’t feed it to my obese cat, and she has a compulsive eating disorder.”

  At press time, Ms. Latham had not responded to phone calls and e-mails questioning the quality of the foods. Now, only time will tell if the machines are a costly mistake—a costly one for Ms. Latham, and the pockets of our school.

  “Um, pardon me, but hasn’t she ever heard of unbiased reporting? This is the second article Nicole has put out that’s totally roasted me.”

  Melanie and I were sitting on the trampoline at Cooper’s house, a copy of the View from Above between us.


  “It’s not as bad as you think,” said Melanie as she folded up the school paper and looked at a story on the back page about cell phones in class.

  “I just can’t believe she didn’t even give me a chance to respond. Forgive me for going to the store with my mom!” I said. “I asked Mrs. Troxel if I could respond in my own words on the school’s website, but she went into some bull about how I couldn’t suddenly become a journalist and write about myself. Like she’s never heard of Op-Ed?”

  I took back the paper and looked at the story again. The above-the-fold picture showed Cooper, Jared, and me standing smiling beside the big green machine. The caption had our names from left to right, and then read, Not pictured, Vice President Melanie O’Hare. It was a slap in the face, both from Melanie and Nicole. Like she really had to write that.

  “Hey,” I said, nudging Melanie’s foot. “What happened that day, anyway?” She pulled a stray hair off her shoulder, held it between her fingers, then released it into the wind. “Why weren’t you there with us?”

  “Oh my gosh, I never told you!” she burst. “I almost lost my vision that day.”

  “What?”

  “I swore that, like, a piece of glass was in my eye, scratching it to death. I had to go to the nurse and everything.” She leaned back on her hands and looked off toward the street. Story finished.

  “Well, what was it? Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, the nurse gave me some saline to wash my eye out with, and then it was fine. But by then this whole thing was over.” She gestured to the paper.

  “Oh. Well, I’m glad you’re okay.” That’s what I said, but inside I was fuming. What a lame excuse. She really had no idea how important the vending machines were to me, or what it took to get them installed. Or that everyone else took the time to be there as a united council, even if some people (Jared!) did it grudgingly.

  “Well, the good news,” Melanie said, “is now that this thing is over, you can start concentrating on the big fund-raiser bake sale deal. You know what you’re raising money for yet?”