When we got the email explaining the entire class did the impossible, I was stunned. I really didn’t think we could pull it off, because let’s be real, how many teachers would let that happen? Most would have shaved a few points off their least favorite student’s score. I should have known better though. Mister Bennit is no ordinary teacher on any level.
It is a beautiful Saturday and the parking lot is jammed with cars at the Perfect Buzz. From the number of Millfield High window stickers on them, I can see many of my peers are already here. Mister B called this gathering, but was pretty vague about the reason. Under normal circumstances, when someone who is no longer your teacher asks a class to show up someplace outside of school, the request is wholeheartedly ignored. But apparently I am not the only one who thinks Mister Bennit is no ordinary teacher.
I park and head inside. There are around seventeen students from my class occupying a whole corner of the café. Emilee, Brian, Peyton, Amanda, Vince, Vanessa and Xavier are all here, armed with various sizes of caffeinated concoctions. There is not enough actual seating for everyone unless we evict the other patrons, so tables, the window sill, and even the floor have all been drafted into duty as seats. A couple of us stand, not liking the other options.
I get a coffee for myself and join my peers, enjoying the revelry of the moment when I notice Mister Bennit walk in. He appears different dressed in summer clothes than he does in school - still imposing with his military haircut and swagger, but somehow more real. It’s probably taboo to even think this, but he really is a good looking guy. Not the political type though. More like someone you’d expect to toss you out of a nightclub. Next to an army of politicians with their perfectly groomed quaffs, manicured nails, and tailored suits, he would stick out like a sore thumb. This ought to be a fun campaign to watch.
He walks over to our giddy little crowd from the counter, coffee in hand. Brian hops off the table to make room for our fearless, and now beholden, leader.
“Well, you know why you’re here. I hate you all,” he says with a smile. At least he is being good-natured about it.
“Told you we could do it,” Emilee gloats.
“And you didn't believe us!” Brian sings out, reinforcing the message.
“Yes, thank you for reminding me, Brian,” Mister B responds sarcastically. “In all seriousness, you should be proud of yourselves for your accomplishment. And don’t fret about probably costing me my future marriage,” he adds playfully.
“Was Miss Slater pissed?” I ask, more out of curiosity than actual concern. Miss Slater is well-liked in school, but I have never really cared for her. She always strikes me as a little too proper and snobby. My friends say she tries to mimic Mister Bennit’s teaching style, but doesn’t pull it off nearly as well.
“Ever watch the movie Alien? She did a good impersonation of Riley.”
That earns a little chuckle from Brian, whose adoration of sci-fi means he’s the only one to get the reference, much less the joke. I join the class in trading blank stares of bewilderment.
“Okay, once again thank you for making me feel old.”
“So, why are we all here Mister B?” Vanessa asks. “We know you didn't bring us together to let us rub our brilliance in your face.”
Mister Bennit smiles and takes a long sip on his latte and grins. That smile. I know that smile. It is unique to one purpose and one purpose only. He flashes it right before he is about to drop a bomb on us. During school, that bomb was an exam, essay, or something equally distasteful. What could it possibly mean now?
“You're right, I didn't. I thought today would be a good day to hold our first campaign staff meeting.”
You could hear a pin drop. I’m stunned.
Xavier recovers first. “Say what?”
“You heard me, X.”
“I’m sorry, my mind wandered. I thought you said something about a staff meeting,” Vince says in a mock bewildered tone.
“Your AD/HD aside Vince, you heard me right for once,” Mister B deadpans.
“You like, want us to work on your campaign?” Peyton asks, still struggling with moment.
“No, not just work on it. I want you all to run my campaign.” He emphasized run. He can’t be serious.
“You can’t be serious,” Amanda dismisses. Well said. She took the words right out of my mouth.
Mister Bennit takes another sip of his latte. His face has a smile, but his eyes betray him. Oh my God, he is dead serious about this.
“Why?” I ask.
“I have my reasons.”
“Are you going to share them?”
“Not right now, no,” he proclaims, ending the line of questioning.
I’m angry, but I am not sure why. We should have known this was coming. This is Mister Bennit after all. He can turn anything into a lesson.
Maybe I think that if we say no, he will use it as an excuse not to run. It would explain why I’m angry. If he tries to bail, it will shatter my opinion of him.
“What do we get out of it?” Xavier asks. At least he is considering the possibility. Looking around the café, it’s obvious several of my classmates are not at all interested. They are only still here out of respect. The rest of us are curious, although no one gives the impression of being excited at the prospect.
“You will be managers and staffers for a candidate running for the United States House of Representatives. That is something you can staple to every college application you fill out this fall.”
“That's not much incentive for us to give up our summer.” Brian may not have much of a social life, but he has a good point.
“Or the fall of our senior year,” Emilee adds.
“This wasn't part of our deal.” There was an edge to my voice I didn’t intend to be there. Sometimes I struggle controlling my emotions and right now, it’s noticeable anger. Fortunately, the nodding heads of my peers indicate they all agree.
“When you all challenged me to this bet, you said you wanted to see if I could walk the walk. Well, now it's your turn.” Mister Bennit pauses to look us all in the eyes. Then he turns his attention directly on me, and I suddenly feel … I don’t know. Guilty?
“Chelsea, all you ever talk about is how you want to grow, and learn, and change the world. Here's your chance.” I avert my eyes. He’s right.
“Vince!” Vince's head snaps up. “You play the apathetic teenager, then whine about how nobody takes you seriously. Make a choice. Do you want to be the slacker, or find out what people really think when you are the one standing at a podium?”
Michael leans over to Peyton who is seated to his side. “Peyton, you are going to be Homecoming Queen. You are going to be Prom Queen. But tell me, isn’t what you really want just the opportunity to prove to everyone that you are more than just a pretty face?”
“Brian, you rail about how society doesn't understand the power of technology. Can you think of a better way to show them what you mean? Or are you just content complaining about it on Facebook?” To his credit, Brian actually maintained eye contact with Mister Bennit. It was a losing battle for most of us, me included.
“You all wanted to be challenged this past year. That was why you ended up in my class. And during the year, we spent a lot of time talking about the men and women in history who made sacrifices to accomplish great things. Do you have what it takes to follow in their footsteps? Or is your summer and senior year too valuable?” He addresses Brian and Emily, but I know his comment was intended for the larger audience. “I guess we'll see.”
Mister Bennit slides off the table and takes a few steps before turning back. None of us have moved. He looks directly at me. “I will uphold my end of the bargain regardless of your decisions.” Great, now embarrassment is the new emotion sweeping over me.
“But I cannot do this by myself,” he says, now appealing to the group of us. “I can’t hire people to help. I live on a teacher’s salary, and all of my disposable income goes into buying coffee at this place.”
“I am asking you all for your help. Take some time to think about it. If you're in, meet me here, same time next Saturday. If not, no hard feelings and I will catch most of you in class in September.” With that, I watch Mister Bennit put on his ultra-cool Oakley sunglasses and walk out of the shop.
Did he really just ask us to help run a campaign? I shouldn’t be surprised - this is Mister Bennit after all. While most teachers can’t wait to get away from us for a couple of months over the summer, he is asking for us to work with him.
My classmates begin quietly chatting with each other. Most are on the fence about what to do. I can’t say I blame them, but for better or for worse, I have already made my decision.
.
-FIFTEEN-
BLAKE
I can get used to the life of the well-established Washington elite. I put my fork down after my last bite of the most perfectly aged and cooked piece of cow I have ever sunk my teeth into. It’s a magical Tuesday evening of steak, fine wine, and a seat at the table with a political wizard and one of the most powerful men in Washington. What could be better than that?
“Did you hear what happened during Johnson's campaign announcement?” Roger asks.
”No, what?” the congressman responds in a half-chuckle. The combination of a fine meal, and the brilliant political planning that accompanied it, has put him in a considerably good mood.
“The audio cut out on his microphone. He was a third of the way through before he noticed,” Roger exclaims after losing his battle to suppress a devious smile.
The congressman laughs heartily. “Did we plan that or was it just dumb luck?”
“I wouldn't bother wasting my time sabotaging a campaign that isn't going anywhere, Winston.”
“I didn't think the Republicans would cede victory quite so easily.” Congressman Beaumont is clearly pleased with the prospect of an easy election in the fall. He has a huge monetary war chest saved up for a demanding campaign, but every election he manages to save it makes the next one more secure. Money is the lifeblood of elections, because if you can outspend the other guy, your chance of winning increases exponentially. That’s the nature of contemporary American politics.
A waiter stops at the table to refill our wine glasses and departs. Roger looks at me, and then waits until the server is out of earshot before speaking in a hushed tone.
“Honestly, Winston, I am surprised they are too, given the allegations the conservative media leveled against you.”
Winston points a finger at his longtime ally. “They have nothing on me. It’s all your typical unsubstantiated right-wing bloviating. No respectable organization picked it up.”
“Sir, that’s only because of Blake’s tip and getting that Times reporter canned before anything got printed.”
“Blake, I thought you said she didn’t have much?” the congressman asks, his eyes boring into me.
“She didn’t sir, but she was on the right track. Somehow she knew you took money from the Lexington Group, but didn’t have enough to prove it.”
Beaumont pulls the napkin off his lap and dabs the corners of his mouth. “There is nothing that exists that links me to the Lexington Group.” I fight hard to not smile. That isn’t entirely true.
Most people will say you can’t put a price on loyalty. Hell yeah you can, it’s called security, and I own the ultimate insurance policy. As long as Roger and the congressman are loyal to me, those documents will stay secure and never see the light of day.
“There is always a paper trail, Winston. Always. Even when you don’t think there is.” The hard look Roger gives the congressman makes him a little uncomfortable. Believe me, this is a rare moment, to say the least.
“I pay you, and him for that matter,” the congressman says pointing at me, “to ensure that is not the case. If there is, in fact, some mysterious paper trail left behind, then find it and destroy it. I am counting on you, and even Blake here, to ensure nothing gets out that can harm us.”
“Of course, Winston,” Roger concedes.
“Yes, sir,” I say at the same time.
“Good. Let Fox News and the idiot bloggers say what they want. My approval rating is higher than ever and even if it drops a few points, we should have no problem coasting into a ninth term. Just keep a lid on the important press. You have already done a good job with that, Blake.” Winston tips his glass toward me in a rare compliment.
Any lingering doubt I had about destroying Madison’s sister’s career vanished in this instant. This is a Machiavellian world where the ends justify the means, and now I have a seat at the table. I may still hold the position of a very junior level staffer, but now I have the ear of the congressman himself. And as Roger’s go-to guy, it won’t be long before I am out of my corner desk and sitting at Deena’s. At least, what would be Deena’s old desk. I smile at the thought.
“We will, congressman,” Roger says, holding his wine glass up in a toast. ”To a ninth term, and even better things to follow.”
Congressman Beaumont tips his own glass and smiles broadly at Roger. “Nothing will stop us from winning in a walk.”
I follow suit. Nothing will stop me either.
.
-SIXTEEN-
MICHAEL
I sit staring out the window in the same corner of the coffee shop I did a week ago. That day was bright and shining, but today is a better reflection of my mood – dark and dreary. And now it has even started to rain.
I arrived for the appointment with my old American History class forty-five minutes early, figuring I could pass the time behind this laptop and scribbling notes on a yellow legal pad. I have been teaching history for three years, and been interested in it for three decades. And the one thing I learned is, despite my knowledge of politics and the people elected, I don’t know anything about how to campaign or run for office. And I mean nothing.
I scan the room again before looking at my watch for the hundredth time. They should have been here fifteen minutes ago. Maybe I am kidding myself. Jessica thought I was a fool to even think they would be on board with this, but like the Pied Piper of Hamelin, I played my tune and hoped they would follow. Well, not to their deaths, so maybe this metaphor doesn’t really work. Regardless, it looks like I was wrong again and will face the blunt end of Jess’ ‘I told you so’ speech.
I frown and return to my notes. Fundraising, petitions, advertising, and a message are all things you need to reach voters. I guess that’s why everyone who runs for national office has personal wealth, connections, comes from a prominent family, or all of those traits combined.
As a high school history teacher, I certainly am not wealthy. Any teacher will tell you they didn’t choose their occupation for the money. I also have absolutely no connections that are of any use in an election. Fundraising is also pointless since nobody in their right mind would give money to a guy with no track record in politics.
The only thing I can do is craft a message nobody will hear. I need media support, but only mainstream candidates from the two political parties ever get coverage. They set up the rules, and the career politicians honed this game down to a science. If I try to play it, I’m going to get killed.
I tear off the page of the pad, crumple it and toss it on the ground at my feet. This is stupid. I close my laptop in frustration and look up just in time to see a welcome sight. Chelsea, Peyton, Xavier, Brian, Vince, Emilee, Vanessa, and Amanda all walk over and stand in front of me like a phalanx.
“Did you guys carpool or something?”
“Something like that,” Vanessa says.
“We actually met before we came here. We had some stuff to talk about,” Vince offers in the most serious mafia-like tone I have ever heard him use. Maybe that is stereotyping a touch, but that’s what it sounded like.
“Like what?” I ask innocently.
“Like
whether we are crazy for thinking about helping with this,” Amanda defiantly states.
“Well? Are you crazy enough?” I lean back in the chair, bracing for what I expect to be bad news. Amanda’s tone didn’t inspire a whole lot of confidence that they were buying tickets for this particular trip.
“It depends on how far you plan on taking it,” Emilee says. I give a slight nod, but keep listening. I am not sure how to respond because, at this point, I’m not sure myself.
“We spent a year listening to you talk about never half-assing anything. So we don't want to do all this work just for you not to give it your all and live with getting killed in November.”
“I understand.” Nothing more I can say to that. Giving it my all or not, getting killed in November is a near certainty.
“Mister B, how can eight of us possibly do this? Don’t people running for Congress have huge staffs? Vanessa asks.
I mean like, none of us know anything about campaigning.” Peyton is dead on. What she doesn’t know is I have no idea either. Best not to admit that yet.
“She's right,” Amanda says, looking at Peyton. “We don't know anything. I, like, don't really know what you expect us to do.”
“I'm all about helping Mister B, but I just don't want to waste my summer.” Xavier is an athlete and is always training or practicing. I am not surprised, nor do I blame him for worrying about this being a futile exercise. Their insecurities are to be expected because I am having the same ones. But it is time to stop stalling.
“I understand your concerns. The truth is, I have no idea either.”
“Well, that's encouraging.”
“I know it isn’t, Brian,” I say, his sarcasm obvious. “You may all be teenagers, but I’m only a history teacher. We are all working on the same learning curve and we’ll figure it out together. As for wasting your summers, whether this proves to be worth it will be up to each of you.”
The iCandidate Page 7
