Don't Care High

by Gordon Korman

  Sheldon ignored him. “The E apartments are on this corner. We’re in perfect position.”

  They climbed down to the seventh floor and looked into the first window. The room was a frilly pink affair with a canopy bed and posters of bubble-gum pop stars on the walls. On the back of the door hung a cheerleader’s outfit and two purple and white pompoms.

  “Strange,” Sheldon mused.

  They checked the next window. This was definitely a boy’s room, but the decor of the place clearly indicated that it could not possibly have anything to do with Mike. The walls were plastered with posters of sports heroes and pennants from various universities. Countless model airplanes hung from the ceiling, with another under construction on the floor.

  “Well, obviously there’s been some mistake,” Sheldon murmured.

  The third window looked into the kitchen, where the mother of the family was cooking dinner while chatting with her son and daughter, ages about eleven and fourteen. The window was open, and Sheldon and Paul could hear that the conversation centred on school cheerleading practice and the latest Ranger game.

  “I don’t know where we blew it,” whispered Sheldon, “but this is definitely the wrong apartment.”

  Paul was looking in the last window. “No, it’s not. Shel, get over here.”

  The two crouched by the sill and peered inside. This room was smaller than the others and completely bare except for a small bed, bureau and desk. The white walls were totally unadorned and, except for the bed linens, there was really only one indication that the place was inhabited — on the desk chair was draped a large beige raincoat.

  Sheldon’s face radiated deep adoration. “It’s Mike,” he said ecstatically. “And he’s taken off his raincoat. He really lets his hair down at home.”

  Back at the kitchen, Mike had joined his mother, brother and sister. There he sat, sipping at a tall glass of water while the conversation continued, enveloping but not including him.

  Paul was almost relieved to see that Mike was pretty much the same at home as he was at school, answering only direct questions.

  “How about that Ranger game, Mike?”

  “I didn’t see it.”

  “Can you make it to my cheerleading practice tonight, Mike?”

  “No.”

  This was the night the Otis family ate early, as Dad had bowling, Mom had bridge club, Susie had cheerleading practice and Chuck had a Boy Scout meeting. Mike did not seem to have any plans.

  Sheldon and Paul crouched at the kitchen window, peeking in and listening to the conversation. Sheldon seemed delighted with each boring detail, but Paul just grew more confused and frustrated. How could this scene out of Leave It to Beaver be Mike’s family? How could these ordinary, wholesome people not notice that Mike looked nothing like them, acted nothing like them, dressed nothing like them, thought nothing like them, and spoke not at all at their dinner table? And strangest of all, what was Paul Abrams doing perching on a fire escape, spying on a family eating dinner, seven storeys and two thousand miles away from Saskatoon?

  “Pssst! Shell! Let’s get out of here!”

  Sheldon did not seem to hear him. They held their position as the conversation went from dull to uninteresting to mundane and back again. Finally, Mr. Otis decided it was time for some family business.

  “Michael, I phoned your school today to talk to your teachers and check on your progress. According to your physics teacher, you’re getting a failing grade in her class.”

  Mike did not respond. His expression was essentially the same one he had held all year and, presumably, since the day of his birth.

  Mr. Otis was undaunted. “Mrs. Nelson says the only way you can pass is by doing a major display project.”

  Another silence.

  “Are you going to do the project?”

  “I haven’t thought about it,” said Mike.

  Mr. Otis then launched into an elaborate lecture about “taking your education seriously,” which was worthy of Paul’s mother. Mike just sat at the table and let it all bounce off him. Paul was so wrapped up in the drama unfolding in the Otis residence that he didn’t notice the look of determination coming over Sheldon’s face.

  “We’ve seen enough, Ambition. Let’s split.”

  As they left the building, this time through the lobby, Paul’s head was spinning. “Things made more sense when he lived on the eleventh floor of a ten-storey building. At least then there was a possible explanation — he’s the leader of an international spy ring, he’s from another planet, that sort of thing. I could have bought that. But him coming from this… this lovely family…”

  Sheldon’s mind was elsewhere. “Mike’s failing physics. Do you know what that means? It means the staff will have a good reason to keep him out of office. We can’t allow him to fail.”

  “Hold it, Shel. It’s not exactly up to us. If Mike does his extra project, he’ll pass. If he doesn’t —” Paul caught the look on his friend’s face. “You’re not suggesting that we do the project for him!”

  “Not exactly,” said Sheldon. “But think of all the kids at school. They’re frustrated. They’re complaining that they should be doing something to help Mike. Here’s something they can do to help Mike. I’ll bet if we put out a call for volunteers, they’d come flocking by the hundreds.”

  “To do Mike’s work for him?”

  “To help Mike catch up on work he missed because he was so busy with his presidential duties. When you think of all his accomplishments, it’s no wonder he fell behind in one of his classes. And the last couple of weeks must have been really trying for him.”

  “Remember who you’re talking about,” Paul reminded him. “You’re not going to have an easy time explaining all this to Mike.”

  “Mike’ll be grateful to have help with his project,” Sheldon insisted. “And we’ll even con him into coming forward to bless it or something, so the volunteers will know we’re on the level.”

  “What if Mrs. Nelson finds out Mike didn’t do the project?” challenged Paul.

  “Impossible,” Sheldon replied airily. “And after all Mike’s done for the students of this school, I’m surprised that you even have to think about this. You should be jumping at the chance to give the guy a hand.”

  As they walked down the subway steps, Paul played his last trump card. “If you’re going to have a project, you’re going to need a topic.”

  Sheldon smiled engagingly. “There is only one topic for the true leader of Don’t Care High — the sewer.”

  * * *

  Mike’s educational problems met with great sympathy from the Don’t Care student body. Samuel Wiscombe summarized everyone’s attitude: “I’m not much for science projects, but if this is what Mike needs me to do, then I’m all for it.”

  Sheldon put out the call for volunteers during the three lunch periods from his usual post atop the dining hall end table.

  “Mike put so much of his heart and soul into representing you that he even let his education slip! Now that he’s out of office, our true leader has more on his mind than ever before. That’s why he needs your help. I want volunteers every day at three-thirty in the physics lab to give Mike a hand with his project. Remember, every minute you give to him is one more that he can devote to getting back into office for the good of us all!”

  And it worked. Paul could hardly believe his eyes when, at three-thirty, several hundred selfless volunteers packed the lab area, the work area, and even the adjacent office, champing at the bit for the chance to help with Mike’s project. No one seemed to notice that the project he was “helping” with presently stood at point zero and consisted only of a small sign reading THE SEWER SYSTEM, BY MIKE OTIS. Nor did anyone mind that Mike himself was not present, since Sheldon explained that the true leader was off contemplating the dilemma of his return to power. In lieu of Mike, Sheldon had hung an eight-by-ten glossy of the chief executive over the work area for inspiration.

  As Paul watched in a state of comb
ined admiration and horror, Sheldon shamelessly deployed his troops. The more mechanically inclined were sent to build the various miniature models of pipes, pumps and reservoirs. Others were sent with them to explain these models, and still others were loosed upon the city’s many libraries to research the topic from both a scientific and an historical standpoint. A group of ten were sent to research the specific contributions of Don Carey himself, but that still left about twenty people whose talents were as yet unemployed.

  So Sheldon explained to the leftovers that they were an elite group, handpicked for their creative thinking ability. “You guys are going to do a section about what’s in the future for the sewer system. Mike calls it ‘Whither Sewage.’” He addressed the whole group again. “Okay. Now, we’ll meet here every day at three-thirty for progress reports. Remember — you’re working for Mike now, and that’s a very important privilege. Okay, let’s go!”

  When everyone had gone off, Paul turned on his friend. “Well, I suppose you’re proud of yourself!”

  “Why?”

  “You know perfectly well why! You just lined everybody up for tons of work when you yourself are doing absolutely nothing!”

  “That’s not true,” said Sheldon righteously. “You and I are operating in a supervisory capacity. We’re coordinating all the individual efforts.”

  “Yeah, but the fact remains that everyone else is off doing research and stuff, and we’re lying around.”

  “Didn’t I mention it? We have the hardest job of all. It’s our responsibility to start right now convincing Mike that this really is his project, and that he has to act like he did it. So, as you can see, Ambition, we’re not shirking in any way.”

  “Okay,” said Paul, “but how about that snow job you just gave everybody, about how they’re helping Mike instead of catering to your whims? How about those creative souls handpicked to explore the sewers of tomorrow? ‘Whither Sewage’! How’s poor Mike going to explain that to Mrs. Nelson?”

  Sheldon shrugged. “We’ll get Mike to downplay it a little. You worry too much, Ambition. It’s going to be great.”

  Explaining it to Mike was tough. Immediately after the recruitment meeting, Sheldon and Paul found the ex-president and related the whole idea of “The Sewer System.” Paul was afraid that Mike would ask how they knew he needed a project to up his physics grade. In fact, he needn’t have worried, as Mike’s confusion was far more general.

  “This is my project.” It was not a question, but not quite a statement of fact either. Mike’s monotone was suffused with perplexity.

  “Right,” said Sheldon.

  “But I’m not doing a project.”

  “Exactly. You don’t have to, because we’re helping you out with this one.”

  “I get a project and I don’t have to do anything?”

  “Right.”

  “How?”

  Sheldon wasn’t sure exactly what that question was asking, so he gave Mike his prepared answer for “Why?” He explained how Mike had done so much as student body president, and how everyone was anxious to pay him back through “The Sewer System.”

  Mike paused for a long time. Finally, he said, “This seems strange.” After tending to his left safety pin, which was slipping, he shut his locker, gave Sheldon and Paul a haunted bye and headed for the stairwell.

  “Now what are we going to do?” moaned Paul. “You’ve got hundreds of people slaving their butts off, and Mike won’t even go along with it. How are we going to call them all back?”

  “Call them back?” Sheldon was unperturbed. “Mike just needs a little time to mull things over and get used to the idea. In the end, he’ll be grateful. Even he can’t turn down a free project.”

  Then a crisis arose. Feldstein imposed a school-wide, comprehensive locker ban on the project. Sheldon and Paul first got wind of it when Phil Gonzalez reported that the locker baron had turned down his request for locker space in which to store his model materials.

  “It’s the old locker grudge,” said Sheldon. “Feldstein’s still sore over his 200C series. This could be a drag.”

  Some students tried to avoid the ban by denying any connection to “The Sewer System.” This was successful at first, but Feldstein quickly caught on and became vigilant, exacting harsh penalties on violators. Dan Wilburforce was caught using a Feldstein locker to store library books on the life of Don Carey. He lost the locker, and it cost him a turkey cutlet to keep his second one in the English wing. He didn’t dare store his Don Carey books there, though, as he was on permanent locker probation. Cindy Schwartz, a repeat violator, had all four of her lockers taken away. Feldstein was even severe with the minor violators, handing out fines of twenty- and even twenty-four-inch pizzas for using Feldstein lockers on the project.

  Sheldon was nervous. “There’s more to it than just the 200C grudge,” he told Paul. “I’ve been checking around, and ever since Mike’s rise to power, the locker business has been going down the drain.”

  Paul was mystified. “What’s Mike got to do with the locker business?”

  “You take twenty-six hundred kids who can’t get up any interest in school or extracurricular stuff, and put them in this building six and a half hours a day. What do you think about? Having well-located lockers, having a lot of lockers, having lockers placed all over the school so they never have to walk very far with books to get to their classes. Lockers are the economy of this place.”

  “But what’s so different about now?” Paul asked.

  “Now they’re all dedicating their lives to Mike. They’ve got an interest, so the locker business dies. During the whole poster campaign, Feldstein didn’t make a single deal. No wonder he’s angry.”

  “Shel, you’re forgetting how weird all this is. I come from Saskatoon, where if you tell somebody that there’s a locker ban, he doesn’t know what you’re talking about. Think about this for a minute. We’re commandeering hundreds of lives, getting them to work on a project all about sewers on behalf of a guy who nobody understands, and who doesn’t even want our help, and we’re doing all this in a police state while trying to steer clear of the one-man locker Gestapo. Now does that make sense?”

  Sheldon was abstracted. “We have got to see Feldstein.”

  * * *

  Feldstein’s resolve was unshakable. “I want you to know that I’ve got nothing against you, man. But this is business, and business is something different. If my business is on the ropes, I do what I have to do to fix it. If someone wants to take that personally — well, that’s too bad. But that’s me, man.”

  Despite himself, Paul felt a faint twinge of admiration for the locker baron. He could see that Sheldon, too, was affected by Feldstein’s speech. They left the stairwell with no hard feelings, each shaking the locker baron’s hand and wishing him all the best.

  Once out in the hall, Paul turned to his friend. “Well, now what?”

  “We’ve got a real problem,” Sheldon agreed. “Except for Mike, Feldstein’s the most influential guy in school. Already the progress reports on ‘The Sewer System’ are slowing down. This locker ban is making people stop and think, and our workers are losing their sense of direction.”

  “What can we do?”

  “There’s only one thing we can do,” said Sheldon, the characteristic grin returning to his face. “Congregate and inspire.”

  * * *

  The next day, Sheldon called together all the workers in the physics lab. “Mike knows about our problems, and he’s sorry he can’t be here today. But he sent me to read a message from him to you.”

  Paul watched in shock as Sheldon unfolded a sheet of blank paper and, pretending to read from it, launched into an inspirational speech worthy of Moses. The workers, crammed belly to belly in the lab and surrounding areas, gave Sheldon their absolute and undivided attention as he spoke the words of the student body ex-president. Paul knew a brief moment of fear as he saw Mike himself pass the lab door, hear his name mentioned, and glance inside. He left quic
kly, though, having no trouble recognizing the goings-on as an offshoot of one of the things at this school that he didn’t understand.

  Sheldon finished with, “‘I realize how hard it is to work on a major science project without locker space, and that’s why I don’t blame any of you if you want to give this up. I just want you all to know that, one way or the other, it was an honour serving as your student body president, an office which I hope to hold again in the near future.”

  The lab rang with applause.

  * * *

  Not one of the workers gave up on “The Sewer System.” Even the lockerless Cindy Schwartz, now forced to wander the halls with all her worldly possessions in a Bloomingdales bag, was not discouraged. Rallying to the call of Mike’s impassioned message, the students dug in and fairly exploded with effort.

  Daily at three-thirty, Sheldon, Paul, and the eight-by-ten glossy were presented with glowing progress reports by all groups as the project began to take shape. Networks of miniature sewer pipes sprouted from nowhere as the model committees worked around the clock. Graphs, maps and diagrams were appearing en masse. Each day, the research teams submitted piles of material to be collated and reorganized by other researchers, who were in turn submitting material to the first teams. All work eventually found its way to the typing desks of the LaPaz triplets, who claimed to do the job three times as efficiently as anyone else. No one questioned this.

  The operations were widespread. It was impossible to walk any distance in Don Carey High School without running into several facets of the project, as the work had long since moved out of the confines of the physics lab. Since lockers were forbidden, materials were stored almost anywhere. Based on what was called “The Wayne-o Loophole,” after its originator, supplies would be taken from school storerooms and placed in individual lockers so that project materials could be stored in their place without violating Feldstein’s ban.

  Though only a small percentage of the student body was actively working on the project, many others volunteered to run errands and be generally helpful, and virtually all of the school was interested in supporting Mike’s big effort.