“Damn right it’s not, which is why she isn’t in here. So why are you?”
“Hear him out, Winston. I think he has a better plan.”
“Well?”
This is the moment of truth, and I would be lying if I said I didn’t live for this. The pressure of the situation is exhilarating, and I’m savoring every minute of it. I ran the idea by Roger first to ensure I was coloring within the lines. He was noncommittal, meaning he will agree with whatever Congressman Beaumont decides. Thus I have a Plan B, but I don’t think I will need it. This is the best option, so I am going to present it with all the confidence I can muster.
“You beat him the same way you would beat Usain Bolt in the 50-meter dash.”
“I don’t have time for your rhetorical games, Blake,” the congressman says dismissively with the famous wave of his hand. “So you’d better get to the point quick. How would I beat him?”
“You don’t let him run against you,” I say, a grin crawling across my lips, clearly implying a more literal meaning to the metaphor.
“And how do you propose we do that?”
“Public pressure,” Roger says, picking up the argument.
“What am I missing? Apparently, John Q. Public loves this guy.”
“Yes, sir, some of them do,” I offer, adding a dramatic pause for effect. “But what do you think the parents are saying? Don’t you owe it to the good people of Millfield to make sure the school board sanctions the use of these young impressionable minds in a political contest? I mean, teachers are important to the education of our country’s youth. How can he possibly be devoted to instruction if he is dedicating so much energy running against you?”
The congressman ponders my argument for a second, his eyes narrowing to mere slits. For a moment I begin to think he is going to reject the brilliant idea. The look he’s giving me is not impatience or annoyance, however. It’s more of … admiration?
“Roger? Who do we know on the Millfield School Board?” the congressman asks, a devious grin replacing the morning scowl.
“Oh, I think we can muster a couple of loyal foot soldiers to bring up the discussion and hold a vote,” Roger says with a smile. Of course we can. Influencing a small town school board is easier than stealing change from a blind cripple on the street.
“Blake, there may be a future for you on this staff after all,” the congressman promises.
Yes, yes there is.
“Go get him.”
.
-TWENTY-EIGHT-
MICHAEL
School is out for the long Labor Day weekend, and the faculty is leaving in droves as the clock strikes three. I typically use the south set of doors to the building for two reasons. The first is the geographical relevance to where I park my car. It’s the closest exit. The second, more meaningful reason, is I avoid the main office and eternal hiding place of the jackass now standing in my path.
“Did you lose your red Swingline stapler again, Milton?” I muse as I come to a stop in front of him. He either ignores the Office Space reference or never watched the movie. Some people just don’t appreciate fine cinema.
I briefly think of walking past him, but figure I’m on thin ice as it is. I should stop antagonizing my tormentor; after all, I have a target on my back, or so Chalice keeps reminding me.
“Tell me something, Michael,” he says, waving a newspaper at me, “was having your students on the cover of The New York Post part of your plan?”
I snatch the paper out of his hand and check out the front page. In a big color picture, like only The Post can do, is a group shot of them manning laptops at the Perkfect Buzz. In two short weeks, our unknown campaign now has the attention of a big New York City newspaper. I can’t help but wonder how long before we start getting national exposure.
I look back up from his copy of The Post to catch the principal’s look of disapproval. Robinson Howell has always been an attention-seeker. I am beginning to wonder if the interest the students and I are receiving for the campaign is starting to drive him a little nuts. I hope so.
“This is a pretty good picture of them,” I tell him in a smug tone.
“I’m glad you’re amused. I don’t find this funny. You are damaging their self-esteem and disrupting their lives,” Howell spats, grabbing the newspaper back from me.
“I'm sure being on the cover of a major newspaper in one of the country’s largest cities isn't costing them cool points.”
“This isn’t about them!” Howell nearly shouts at me. Okay, now I’m actually confused.
“Didn’t you just say I was damaging their self-esteem?”
“Yes, but—”
“So this is about them?” I ask, nearly causing Howell to explode.
“No.”
“Robinson, you really need to make up your mind. Just pick a side of the story and go with it so we can finish this little chat.” He smarts at me calling him by his first name again. What was I saying about not agitating my tormentor?
“You think you’re oh so smart, don’t you? Well, we’ll see who gets the last laugh. The school board is meeting Tuesday night to discuss the impact your ridiculous campaign is having on the students in the school.” He holds up the paper again. “Not a hard case for them to figure out. I already put in my two cents.”
“Two cents, eh? Did they make change?” Again, I’m pushing my luck.
“Parents in the district are upset, Michael. Their opinions will be heard and this stunt of yours will end,” Principal Howell states before walking away.
I heard rumors about some parents in town grumbling, which is not unexpected given the circumstances. Now it begins to occur to me there is a real possibility that Winston Beaumont is the stirring pot. If he holds as much sway over the elected officials in the district as Kylie says, this could be a big problem.
I pull out my cell as I reach the set of double doors that leads to the parking lot. It takes a moment to convince myself, but I decide to break a cardinal rule I’ve held sacred since my time in the military. I am about to trust a journalist. I dial the number from my received call log and get the voicemail as I walk out of the building.
“Kylie, it’s Michael,” I say, following her voicemail greeting. Not sure where you are at the moment, but if you are going to be in the area, let me know. We may have a little problem up here.”
* * *
I find coming to Briar Point therapeutic in a way. I always liked being outside since childhood, and even my years training and fighting in jungles and deserts across the globe didn’t sour that. While I wait for the other party to attend this preposterous meeting we set up, I let my thoughts wander back to Robinson and his taunts about the school board. As much as I resent the man, he may have unintentionally done me a favor.
I allowed myself to fall victim to a catastrophic intelligence failure. If not for my antagonist, the board discussing my candidacy would have remained undiscovered until I walked into their decision face first. Since governing the schools is their responsibility, the elected members could easily force me to make a choice between keeping my job and running for office. It’s not a choice I even want to be presented, much less be obliged to decide under duress. And by duress, I mean knowing how Jessica would come down on the issue. I just hope Kylie gets back to me and is willing to help.
I am thinking about what Kylie can pull from her playbook when a blue Chevy Impala pulls into the parking lot and finds a spot. The door swings open and out climbs a massive man in a wrinkled suit. Obesity is a growing problem in this country, but I generally give overweight people the benefit of the doubt. Genetics plays a huge roll in body type, so I try not to pass immediate judgment.
I will in this case. The head of the Republican Party for Litchfield County looks like the living embodiment of the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. Plus, after some of the things he has already been quoted saying in the press, I just plain don’t like him.
“Miles Everman, I presume? Can I get you anything? Oxygen? B
lood pressure pills? Bengay?”
“I didn't set this meeting up to discuss my exercise regimen, Mister Bennit,” he says, practically hyperventilating. The eighty feet from the car to the bench is probably the most rigorous activity he’s seen in years. Okay, to be fair, it is a slight uphill grade. Well, ten feet of it is.
“I didn't realize you had one that doesn't include lifting Twinkies. Take a seat before you pass out, and call me Michael.”
He plops down on the bench, his girth spreading. He shifts several times trying to get comfortable, and I swear I hear the bench groaning. Or maybe I am just imagining it is. Nope, it’s groaning.
“You wanted to meet, Miles. What can I do for you?”
“I’ll keep this short. We need you to drop out of the race,” he deadpans.
“Well, you were right about it being quick. No. Have a nice day,” I say, starting to get up while realizing that I’m not lucky enough to end this meeting so quickly.
“You claim to want Beaumont to lose his seat, but are costing the only real alternative a chance at winning in November. Can’t you see that?”
“You know what I see, Miles? I see a Republican candidate with absolutely no chance of beating Winston Beaumont. Whether or not I’m in the race is irrelevant.”
“I disagree. I've known Richard Johnson for years. He's the best man for the job,” Miles says, wiping his brow with a handkerchief. I wonder if he realizes we live in New England. You would think we were on the equator, looking at the way he’s sweating.
“Johnson is an ambulance-chasing, disgrace of a lawyer with as much chance of landing a seat in Congress as my tone-deaf ass has winning a Grammy. Most of the Republicans I know won’t even vote for him.”
“Do you want to see Beaumont elected to a ninth term? Do you want him to advance his liberal agenda—”
“If political parties would spend more time listening to the people and less time advancing agendas, Congress might actually get their approval rating into double digits.”
Being a history teacher and long-time admirer of George Washington, I’m a little jaded when it comes to political parties. Diffusing power was a big deal in post-revolutionary America, following their experiences with King George III and Parliament. He was keenly aware other governments viewed the party system as destructive because their primary concern is accumulating more power and doing whatever it takes to retain it. Washington was also afraid political parties that rise in the United States would seek revenge on opponents and destroy the nation’s fragile unity. Looking at modern politics, his thoughts appear prophetic.
“That’s how the system works, and if you think you can change that, you’re naïve.”
“I don’t know if I can change it,” I answer honestly. “But I think I'd like to try. That's why I am doing this.”
“I heard you were doing this because you lost a bet. Look, you have had a great run Michael, but now is the time for you to drop this charade and endorse Dick Johnson.”
Not sure where he got that nugget of information from, but I’ve heard enough. The arrogance of this man is appalling. No wonder Republicans never win in this district. I stand up and look down at him in disgust.
“Miles, this ‘charade’ is ahead of your candidate in the latest Marist poll by double digits. If that isn't enough reason to tell you ‘no,’ try this. My students would never let me forget that I dropped out and endorsed a man whose first and last names are synonymous with penis.”
I stay just long enough to watch the blood drain out of his face. Is he shocked because of what I said or because he realizes I’m right? Either way, it’s irrelevant and I start off toward my car.
“This conversation isn’t over Michael,” I hear him call out as he struggles off the bench.
“It is, unless by some medical miracle you beat me to my car,” I shout in response without looking back.
.
-TWENTY-NINE-
KYLIE
In some ways, Michael is an extremely competent strategist. He knew it was only a matter of time before both political parties came after him, and was patient enough to wait until their strategy became evident before making a move to counter. On the other hand, running a campaign is all about timing, and he may have waited too long.
The problem is the sheer number of fronts his opponents could attack on. Since Michael’s resources are limited and political allies non-existent, there is little margin for error to chase red herrings. Figuring out what approach another candidate will use to beat you is tricky, but I can’t help but think he should have seen this tactic coming.
Over the prior week, a series of op-ed articles were published in local newspapers by parents expressing concern over a teacher using students in a political campaign. Some were probably legitimate – if I were a parent, I’d be concerned too.
However, so many in such a short period of time reeked of sleazy politics. After a little digging, I found the root cause of our headache. My only surprise was where it’s coming from. Winston Beaumont was not launching the ‘March of the Parents’ assault on Michael Bennit, Richard Johnson was. That man is so dense light bends around him, so the thought his ploy is gaining traction is downright scary.
The Republicans are weak in this area of the country and can do little more than focus on stirring discontent in the Sixth District. While they may cause some heartburn for Michael, Beaumont wields the clout to successfully influence members of the school board. That makes him far more dangerous in the short-term. If Dick Johnson is scared and desperate enough to attack Bennit using sympathetic parents in the press, it’s a certainty Beaumont has already made his move using other means.
I went to work after Michael’s frantic voicemail and the quick conversation that followed. Investigative journalism is what I was born to do, and it didn’t take long to figure out Beaumont had three of the seven members of the Millfield School Board in his back pocket. Needing a majority to end things for Michael, they would need to convince one other member to join them. Swaying a vote was not an insurmountable challenge under the circumstances, so I changed the situation to something more in our favor.
Elected officials in small towns are not used to extensive media coverage outside of the local newspaper. School board members get even less love from the media. So when a reporter calls asking for a response to allegations made by an anonymous source, they clam up. It doesn’t matter if claiming Winston Beaumont may be promising favors in return for a favorable decision about a certain teacher running against him is true, it just has to sound legitimate enough to print. Everyone likes a good scandal.
Planting the seed of political misconduct was Act One. To hide my rather ethically questionable attempt to do my own manipulation, I added a little color in the form of an article featuring the allegations, coupled with an appeal from a student running the campaign. By the end of the brazen piece, I practically dared Millfield’s school board members to vote against Michael.
The story went out late on Saturday evening over the AP wire and was picked up by almost every major news outlet in the country. Political skullduggery means scandals, and scandals mean ratings. Cable news broadcasts seized on the opportunity to keep their weekend audiences tuned in. Sunday morning political shows on ABC and NBC devoted a segment to the brewing storm. Every major metropolitan and local paper had the write-up, including much to my surprise, the Sunday edition of The New York Times.
Beaumont and Johnson did me a big favor. Their fear of Michael Bennit gave me a fresh angle to expand the coverage of his campaign. In terms of a political interest story, the plight of the iCandidate was now a national issue, and all eyes were training on the Millfield School Board.
* * *
“How many news shows did you do today, Kylie?” Chelsea asks me from the overstuffed chair in the corner of the Perkfect Buzz.
“I saw her on six,” Laura calls out from behind the counter. She may be schlepping coffee all day, but that woman does not miss a beat. She was o
nly off by one. Now that I am recognized as the deep background reporter for the Bennit camp, every media outlet in the country wanted to talk to me about my story before the big meeting tonight.
I sit in the corner of this charmingly eclectic coffee house with Michael and his inner circle. He has been tweeting almost non-stop since we got here, and only put down his iPhone to pick up his iPad. His students are equally preoccupied on their own devices. I’m pretty certain they’re not playing Candy Crush or Angry Birds.
Everyone knows the campaign is at a crossroads. All that is left to do tonight is continue the social media assault as if nothing else is happening. The school board will have finished their deliberations and rendered their decision by now, so trying to further influence opinions is pointless. We are beholden to the waiting game.
“Hold on, this is my favorite part,” Michael says before reading my masterpiece off one of the news sites he connected to on the iPad. “‘Our campaign has faced many obstacles already,’ explained Orsini, ‘but our school board has the power to end the whole thing. It strikes me as counterintuitive how elected officials can, in good conscience, be against the practice of democracy and the social and political activism of teenagers.’”
“Counterintuitive?” Amanda mocks from opposite Vince, causing him to shrug.
“You had to have put lipstick on that pig,” Chelsea says to me with a huge smile.
“His words, swear to God,” I reply truthfully.
“Oh wait, it gets better,” Michael says as he scans down the article until finding the sentence he is looking for. “The same people this town entrusted to promote these ideals are about to take action to silence our voices and retard our learning.”
The iCandidate Page 13
