The iCandidate

by Mikael Carlson

  Stephanie makes a face like she just got handed something off the rack at Target, or some other store she considers beneath her. “Why would we? And like, waste our summer like you did? No thanks.”

  “How is that campaign going anyway?” Cassandra says in disgust. She already knows the answer - nowhere. I want to try to defend my decision and justify why I ditched my friends the summer before our last year of high school.

  “Well, I, uh, it uh ...” I am getting too emotional to speak. Maybe I made a huge mistake. Why did I do it? I can’t remember anymore.

  “Don't sweat it,” Cassie says, not even giving me the courtesy to try to explain. “A bunch of us are going to the movies this weekend. We won’t bother asking if you’re interested, because we know you’re not.” Ouch. She storms off.

  “Sorry, Chels. Maybe when you’re like, ready to be a real friend again, you give us a call,” Steph says before giving me a little shrug and joining Cassie in another line to pay for their food. The tears welling up in my eyes begin to slip down my cheeks when I feel another set of eyes on me. Miss Slater is watching intently as I lose my emotional battle. I am only a few people from the register now, but I have lost my appetite.

  I put the salad back and exit out of the lunchroom the way I came in. Today just plain sucks and the worst is yet to come.

  * * *

  Two hours later, the moment of truth arrives. Apparently, I am not the only one anxious about being in this class. Everyone is here, but nobody wants to be, with the possible exception of Vince. He appears completely unfazed by what happened a week ago. We exchange some muted hellos and take our seats in the all-too-familiar horseshoe. We were all extremely close for two months, but now it’s like we’re strangers, or maybe even ex-lovers. It’s that kind of awkwardness.

  The bell rings and Mister Bennit strides in with a newspaper tucked under his arm. “Welcome to Contemporary Issues,” he says in the flamboyant manner we are all so used to. “This class is an examination of the events, people and subjects that affect today’s society, and what better place to begin than with the morning paper.” Apparently he is skipping attendance and the usual class orientation you get on the first day of school.

  Holding up a page from The Hartford Courant, he continues. “Let’s start with this one, as it has a bearing on some of your lives. ‘Meet the iCandidate. Students Run Social Media Congressional Campaign for Teacher’,” he reads.

  “Wait, what?” I gasp. The others in the class look equally stunned, except for Vince. I think he’s been holding out on us, which certainly explains his jovial attitude before class. We start clamoring for details in a cacophony of voices before Mister B calms us down.

  “Somebody had a pleasant chat with a reporter a few days ago,” he says with a smile. The students on the staff all look at each other and settle on Vince. Even the students not involved in any part of our summer campaign undertakings seem to get into the moment.

  “She ambushed me when I was hiding at the library. I didn't know what to do so I answered her questions. Then she video chatted with Mister B.”

  “Please tell me you didn't say something stupid, Vince,” Brian warns.

  “And that it didn't end up in the paper,” Xavier adds.

  “Oh, nothing stupid, but what made the paper will probably get picked up in other media. Another teacher showed me the article this morning. I’m surprised you haven’t heard about it yet. You guys living under a rock these days, or what?” Mister Bennit asks rhetorically.

  He snaps the newspaper several times for effect before he reads. “Page Six, this morning’s Hartford Courant: ‘This will be a different campaign, with a different message and a new way to reach voters,’ said Vincent Orsini, the campaign’s teenage public relations director. ‘We will use every form of social media and electronic medium available to engage the public instead of preaching to them through their televisions.’”

  I’m stunned. I mean completely stunned. That sounded almost professional. Mister B smiles at all of us and continues. “It’s a new century and the growth of the information age demands we adapt to the changing ways the world communicates. The politics of old no longer serves the American public. With fresh ideas and a distinctive method of reaching voters, we are going to build a better candidate. We want to introduce the voters of the 6th District to the iCandidate.”

  We all break out into enthusiastic applause. The dim view I had of this day was erased with the simple reading of a few lines in a newspaper. If the last week can be described as an emotional roller coaster, I just climbed from its deepest valley to its highest peak.

  “The article goes on. I even get a quote or two, which I hate to admit, aren’t as good as Vince’s.” Suddenly his face takes on a more serious look. “Of course, you quit, Vince, so I’m not sure what to do about this.”

  “Actually, Mister B, news of my campaign death may have been greatly exaggerated.”

  Mister Bennit smiles, but it is somewhat reserved. “We’ll see. As of now, there is no campaign. For you guys on the staff, if you want to change that, meet me after school today right here.” He tosses the paper on my desk and winks. “Read this and think about it before you make up your minds. You have five minutes while I take attendance and then class begins.

  With most of the class straining to read the paper spread out on my desk, I decide to read the whole article aloud. This Kylie Roberts woman did an incredible job. I’m amazed at every word she wrote. Brian checks his phone to find the story is posted on the social media sites Digg, Reddit, and StumbleUpon. The whole state of Connecticut is reading this story. The buzz it generates could even get us exposure in the New York papers. This one reporter did what we failed to do last week with a single article. I don’t know where we go from here. I am in, but despite the enthusiasm everyone shows, I’m just not sure who is in with me.

  .

  -TWENTY-FOUR-

  MICHAEL

  “Okay, let's cut to the chase. I need to know whether you guys are in or out, and I need to know today.” I sit on a desk, copying the students in the room. I’m not sure why teenagers prefer sitting atop their desks rather than at them, but I remember doing the same thing so many years ago.

  The whole gang showed up: Xavier, Brian, Amanda, Chelsea, Peyton, Emilee, Vince, and Vanessa. They are all pretty surprised by the force of the request, especially considering the high they got reading about us in the newspaper. But this is important, and no time to mince words.

  “You have all already given up a lot for this. You gave up a whole summer getting signatures and preparing for an unconventional political campaign you had no idea how to run. You did far more than I should have expected from you.”

  “Mister B—” Chelsea starts to talk, but I hold up my hand to stop her. It’s not a power thing so much as a need to finish this thought.

  “Please let me finish, Chelsea. You think you screwed up somehow during the announcement. So what? We all screw up in life, but you learn from it and drive on. God knows, I’ve had to. Here’s the problem, though,” I tell them before pausing.

  “You guys quit. Things didn’t go your way and you decided pushing forward was too hard, so you gave up.” Most of them break eye contact with me and stare at the ground. I know they agree because none in this usually argumentative group protest. I let that sink in for a moment since they are feeling pangs of guilty over the decision, before taking a deep breath and continuing.

  “This campaign is going to get harder. We’re on the grid, to use Brian’s parlance. Beaumont will fight like a badger to keep his seat, and now he knows who we are. The element of surprise is lost. So the next question is a simple one. Can you handle adversity, or are you all going to quit again when things get tough?”

  I get up from the desk I’m sitting on. I hate to lecture them like this, but it needs to be done. If I decide to go any further down this path, I can’t afford to have them bail on me again. No point in storming Fort Beaumont alone.


  “I’m not going to make your decisions for you regarding the campaign, and I better not hear you put any pressure on each other. This is an individual choice, and you won’t hurt my feelings if you decide it’s not for you. This is your senior year of high school, so I understand if you don’t want to make the commitment this is certain to be. If you’re in, I need you in until the end.” I do need them, because there is no way I can do this without their help.

  “Talk as a group or reflect on it yourselves. However you make your decision, I need you to tell Chelsea tonight since she’s the campaign manager. Chels, send me a text with the results and we’ll take it from there.”

  I grab the assault pack from the floor beside my desk. As it’s only the first day of the school year, there isn’t too much in it. That will change fast once the assignments I issue start getting returned and need grading.

  “Good luck guys, and either way, I’ll catch you tomorrow.” I leave the room and walk down the hall, hearing nothing coming from the classroom. No conversation, arguing, or speechmaking as they think about what the right decision is for themselves. And that is exactly what I need them to do.

  * * *

  With the school day over and afternoon workout completed, I showered, relaxed and got ready for the last of my first day of school rituals. After finally meeting the requirements of becoming a teacher in the State of Connecticut, and subsequently landing a teaching position at Millfield, I went out to celebrate surviving the first day of my new job. I continued the custom the following two years, this time with a beautiful blonde English teacher who also worked in the building. Now as my future wife, this quiet outing to our favorite restaurant is a favorite tradition.

  Jessica and I clicked from the moment we met. Like all couples, we’ve had disagreements that ranged from minor spats to the Rumble in the Jungle, but always managed to rectify things quickly. Things are different now, maybe because this is the first real rough patch we have faced during our romance. Lately, there has been an icy chill to the air when we are together, and it has nothing to do with the approaching New England autumn.

  Half way through dinner, I hear the distinctive chime of a text notification from the inside pocket of my jacket. I reach in for it, pausing.

  “You wanna put some money on this?” I say, straining to be playful.

  “Nope. Just read the message,” Jessica responds from across the small table, her voice a mix of curiosity and annoyance.

  I glance down and read the note aloud, barely containing my smile. "We’re in. Energy and persistence conquer all things - Ben Franklin."

  I put the phone away and am rewarded by Jessica’s face contorted in disapproval. “How is it your kids remember lines you quoted five months ago and mine can't remember what I said five minutes ago?” she asks rhetorically before turning her attention back to her linguini.

  The campaign is back on, and while I feel like celebrating, it’s abundantly clear my fiancée had hoped for a different outcome. After a moment of awkward silence stretched into an eternity, I decide to broach the subject. Like a thunderstorm on the Great Plains, you can see this fight coming from miles away. Joy.

  “You're awful quiet,” I say, stating the obvious.

  “I saw Chelsea in the cafeteria with her friends. They came down on her pretty hard for ditching them this summer. She was pretty upset.”

  I place my fork in the bowl of pasta and fold my hands. No point in stopping her until she makes her point.

  “Now I’m sure Vanessa will stop playing field hockey this fall and Emilee will quit the yearbook. Xavier is not practicing as much as he needs to for basketball. Brian’s more socially disconnected now than ever.” She pauses to read my reaction, which is basically nothing. “The list goes on if you're interested.”

  “I’m sure this has been hard on their social lives.”

  “It's more than that and you know it!” she shouts, exasperated. “You're doing it again, Michael!”

  “Doing what? Trying to make a difference?

  “No, you've been doing that all your life. It’s why you went into Special Forces and why you chose teaching when you got discharged. This is more than that, so just admit it.”

  “Admit what, Jess? I have no idea where you’re going with this, so just get to the point,” I say, becoming more agitated.

  “It's not about making a difference with you anymore. You have an ax to grind because of your last deployment.”

  “Leave Afghanistan out of this,” I say before stabbing at a piece of my penne.

  “Why should I? It has everything to do with this! You have this obsession to fix the world because of what happened there, and that’s fine. But now you’ve dragged a bunch of eighteen year-old kids into your crusade, and I’m willing to bet they have no idea why,” she says, leaning forward. I say nothing, which is all the response she needs. “You have no idea what you are doing, or how it's affecting them,” she concludes.

  I have had enough. She may be right and may be wrong, but I am not thinking about this logically anymore. She made this debate personal by bringing up Afghanistan. Howell may push my buttons, but Jessica pressed the big red one I keep locked in a glass box.

  “That's your default mindset, Jess. Let's protect them from everything so nobody gets hurt. And you wonder why this generation struggles adapting to the real world.”

  “Don't start! Michael, you are the most brilliant, dedicated teacher I have ever seen. The interest you take in your students is inspiring. You run your classroom like military school—”

  Our waiter approaches with dessert menus, clearly having no idea what he is walking into. Without missing a beat, Jessica eyes his approach. “Not now, please come back in a few minutes.” He stops mid-stride, spins on his heels, and heads to another table. Smart man, because I wish I could do the same right about now.

  “Somehow you get away with it. In fact, the kids love you for it. But now you are taking things too far by including them in this ridiculous campaign. They are giving up too much—”

  “Isn't that the point?” I interrupt.

  “Look, you have the best of intentions, but have you considered how far is too far?”

  “I'll know when I get there.”

  “Will you? Because if you’re wrong, someone could end up permanently hurt by the time you pull back on the reins. Campaigns are dirty, nasty things today. Are you ready for the consequences?”

  I reach my hands across the table and take Jessica's. Out of all our fights as a couple, this may be the most contentious. Usually, we talk things over and find common ground, but there is none here. She wants me to abandon this campaign and I’m too stubborn to do it. Holding her hands, I realize there is no warmth in her touch. There’s a rift between us, and I can’t help but think it’s growing.

  “I won't let that happen,” I say, somewhat unconvincingly.

  “Scary thing is, when the time comes, you may not have a say.”

  * * *

  That was the last thing she had to say on the matter. It was late for a school night, so we paid the bill and headed home in silence. No doubt that we both had a lot on our minds.

  I’m not marrying Jessica because we are a perfect fit and never disagree. She is entitled to her opinions, and while I value them, part of me also feels she should be supporting me more than she is. Her feelings are clear on this, which causes me to wonder something I have never had cause to think about. When the going gets tough, will she be there for me, or is this just a fair weather relationship?

  I lay in bed with the television on, flipping through a few channels before settling on the local news. I refer to these broadcasts as the ‘murder and arson report’ since that seems to be all they show us these days. Tonight, however, the third story was something I never expected.

  “There are hundreds of campaigns this mid-term election year, but one in particular is getting national attention. Bill Kalagher is live from Millfield with more,” the anchor says as the scene shifts
over to his field reporter.

  Jessica, hearing the name of our town, emerges from the bathroom with a toothbrush hanging from her mouth. I sit up against the headboard when I realize the report is coming live from the parking lot of the Perkfect Buzz. The shop is closed, so I wonder just how long the reporter has been in town.

  “As first reported in this morning’s Hartford Courant, what is unique about this is not independent candidate Michael Bennit running for this district's congressional seat. It is his staff, made up entirely of high school students, bringing his message to the voters exclusively over social media. We caught up with campaign manager Chelsea Stanton earlier today.”

  This may be the first time I have ever felt elation and impending doom simultaneously. I could not be more proud of Chelsea and how she handled herself. The television media picked up the Courant article and ran with it, and just as I thought, the press is taking more interest in the students running the campaign than me as the candidate. I also know this is only the beginning, because as the interest in the students grows, so will the amount of media covering it.

  “I guess we’re going to find out if you know how far is too far after all,” she says sarcastically as she returns to the bathroom. Yeah, I guess we will.

  .

  -TWENTY-FIVE-

  KYLIE

  “He calls himself the iCandidate is using the Internet, Twitter and Facebook to take the political world by storm,” I hear the first report say as I walk behind the cameraman. As the numerous media trucks set up shop outside the Perkfect Buzz to be ready in time for the evening local broadcasts, I made sure I introduced myself to each reporter. In most cases, I even shared some information with them.

  “It’s a new-age campaign relying on social media to spread its message and reach the voters. There are no annoying political commercials or robocalls. Not even any fundraisers or rallies,” an enthusiastic female reporter named Susan tells the camera. She is getting swept up in this, and not because she is reporting on it. I found out she started following Michael Bennit on Twitter because she likes him.