Your Own Worst Enemy

by Gordon Jack

  “Martin Luther King Jr. once said, ‘Life’s most persistent and urgent question is, What are you doing for others?’ I’ve asked myself that question many times in the lead-up to this election. What am I doing for others? What makes me worth voting for? I’m happy to say, I’ve come up with a lot of great answers to that question.

  “In my three years in the ASB, I’ve doubled the number of clubs on campus, giving people as diverse as the Gay-Straight Alliance to the Pottery Club a means to organize, fund-raise, and have their voices heard. I’ve increased attendance at JV and varsity home games through spirit competitions and other promotional activities. Most importantly, I’ve made us a cleaner, more eco-friendly campus through my school-wide initiatives to recycle and compost.”

  Brian made a big production of yawning.

  “Fuck you. I want people to know what I’ve accomplished. None of the other candidates can say shit on this subject.”

  “Okay, okay,” Brian said. At least Stacey had cut this part of her speech down from the ten-minute intro she started with.

  Stacey took a deep breath and continued. “People say to me all the time, ‘Stacey, you’ve done so much for our school. Don’t you want to slack off? It’s what seniors do, right?’”

  Brian pantomimed a big smile like a pageant coach. Stacey forced her mouth to stretch wide and curl up. Close enough, Brian figured.

  “What I tell those people is, ‘I’m just getting started!’”

  Stacey leaned down and picked up the shovel lying at her feet. Brian didn’t know how he felt about this prop. It kind made Stacey look like the stern prairie farmer in that American Gothic painting.

  “There’s a lot of waste I still want to get rid of,” Stacey continued. “And not just the kind that fills our trash cans every lunch. The biggest waste I see is paper. Every day, we print out countless worksheets, papers, and tests. All this paper gets graded and then what? If you’re like me, it’s promptly recycled. We can do better. If elected, I promise to advocate for an all-digital campus, where tablets and cell phones are used as learning devices to take notes, do research, and complete assignments. The fact that I can’t use this revolutionary device”—Stacey put down the shovel and raised her cell phone—“is a crime. Other schools let students use cell phones in class. It’s time ours did too.”

  “Wait for applause here,” Brian coached.

  “In closing, I’d like to quote another line by the great Martin Luther King Jr. He said, ‘We may have all come on different ships, but we’re in the same boat now.’ The candidates standing before you are different and unique, just like the students at Lincoln. But we are all Lions, and we need to come together to make this the best school it can possibly be. I promise as your leader, I will not waste any time to make next year the best yet.”

  “Excellent!” Brian said, tapping the stopwatch on his phone. “Fifteen seconds under the time limit.”

  As Brian was staring at his screen, a text from Julia came in. I’m freaking out, she wrote. Brian clicked his phone off and stood up to face Stacey. “You feel good?”

  “I feel good,” Stacey said. “I wish we could debate like in a real election. Three minutes doesn’t give me much time to distinguish myself from the others.”

  “You won’t need to,” Brian said. “Everyone already knows how awesome you are.”

  “What if I lose, Brian?” Stacey asked.

  “You won’t lose.”

  “But what if I do? I’ll spend my senior year as a lobbyist, visiting the ASB as some club president asking for permission to hold a bake sale.”

  “Would that be so bad?” Brian asked. “It would allow you to really focus on what you’re passionate about, rather than plan all those stupid rallies and class competitions.”

  “I just feel, if I don’t win, it will be like a step down. Like I climbed Everest only to turn back before reaching the summit.”

  “That’s your problem. You’re judging your success on the distance to go rather than the distance traveled. That final step means nothing compared to journey it took to get there.”

  “Nobody remembers the explorers who almost got there,” Stacey said. “They only remember the ones who reached their destination.”

  Brian saw fear creep into Stacey’s eyes. For the first time in their relationship, he felt sorry for her. She looked worn out and defeated, like a boxer about to throw a title fight.

  He stood up and pulled her into a hug. Stacey’s embrace was stronger than usual, accompanied by some awkward hand-patting on his back. “How’d I get so lucky to have a friend like you?” she whispered. She must be really nervous about tomorrow. Was she nuzzling his neck with her nose?

  “Ouch, you’re hurting me,” he gasped when her embrace had reached rib-cracking levels.

  “Sorry,” Stacey said. “It’s just . . . I’m grateful is all.”

  “That’s what friends are for,” Brian said, and punched Stacey in the shoulder.

  As soon as he left Stacey’s house, Brian called Julia to see how she was doing.

  “I’m freaking out,” she said. “What do you think of starting with a quote from Martin Luther King Jr.?”

  “I’d begin with a joke,” Brian said, not wanting to get dragged into another coaching session. He didn’t want to inadvertently reveal some campaign secret like he did last time.

  “I’m not very funny,” Julia said.

  “Sure you are,” Brian said. “Remember that joke you told me about Justin Trudeau. It was hilarious.”

  “Only because you knew who Canada’s prime minister was.”

  “Listen, I can’t really help you with this. I’m sorry.”

  “I understand,” Julia said.

  “And I can’t, like, enthusiastically applaud tomorrow either.”

  “It’s not like I’ll see you,” Julia said. “The gymnasium holds a thousand people.”

  “I’ll do my best to grab a seat on the bottom bleacher,” Brian said. “If you get nervous, look at me. Just don’t, you know, blow a kiss my way or anything.”

  “I’ve got a line here thanking you for being my inspiration. Should I take that out?”

  “See? You are funny.”

  32

  ONE DAY TILL ELECTION DAY

  ON MONDAY, BRIAN did his best to stay away from both Stacey and Julia at school, which meant he spent more time on his phone providing both with emotional support. Everyone loves you, he wrote Stacey, followed by You’ve got this, to Julia. His texts were both virtuous and sleazy at the same time. He honestly wanted to help both girls, but his supportive comments made him feel a little like a football coach betting against his own team at the Super Bowl.

  The question Brian kept asking was: Who did he really want to win? Both girls were smart and hardworking. They would both make excellent ASB presidents. Stacey had earned the position through her years of service, but Julia probably needed the job more. When she told him this was her chance to reinvent herself (and stay in the country), Brian understood and sympathized with her completely. This job would be better for Julia, even though Stacey might be better for the job.

  The bell rang, announcing the start of the assembly. Brian followed his second-period class to the cavernous space of the gym, hoping to find a seat in the front. When he saw all the candidates stationed in a neat row at the far end of the basketball court, he hesitated. The students were arranged by rank of office, with those running for ASB secretary on the left to the three candidates for president on the right. If he sat on the bottom bleacher as he had planned, both Stacey and Julia would see him and acknowledge him with a wave or smile. He couldn’t risk Stacey thinking he was anything more than Julia’s lab partner, so he hid with the rest of his class in the middle row and hoped to stay invisible.

  The contrasts between the three candidates were visible even from afar. Stacey wore the navy blue jacket and skirt she used for Speech and Debate tournaments. She looked like an intern at some conservative think tank. Kids would ei
ther welcome her maturity or see her as a co-conspirator with the adults trying to curtail their freedom.

  To her right, Julia sat looking beautiful, as always. Her long, curly, honeyed hair cascaded down her shoulders and stood in sharp contrast to Stacey’s pulled-back blond ponytail. She was wearing the floral dress she bought at Nordstrom, and Brian felt a pang of guilt as his boner stood up to salute the choice.

  Tony Guo had bedhead and wore a T-shirt with what looked like a drunken cow in a space suit.

  Continuing his visual scan of the gym, Brian saw his brother sitting on the bottom row of the bleachers opposite, a short distance away from where Tony was sitting. Brian had to hand it to Kyle. He was down there in the trenches with his candidate. If Brian didn’t have such a huge conflict of interest, he would be down there with him.

  Principal Buckley removed the mic from the podium and walked to center court to quiet the audience of nearly a thousand students. Brian winced when he saw she was wearing a jacket and skirt that nearly matched Stacey’s. That optic would not be lost on his peers.

  “Your fellow students are about to do something very few of us have the guts to do: speak to about a thousand teenagers in a crowded gymnasium,” Buckley said. “Can you imagine how frightening that must be? I mean, seriously. One mistake, and everyone sees it. I for one wouldn’t want to be in their shoes.”

  Brian assumed the principal’s speech was meant to inspire sympathy in the crowds of teens, but all it really did was freak out the candidates. One girl running for treasurer started visibly shaking.

  “We want to be the best audience for these boys and girls who have worked so hard to get where they are today,” she continued. “Anyone shouting inappropriate things, or distracting the candidates in any way, will be promptly removed from the gymnasium and suspended. Am I clear? Silence means yes.”

  Buckley waited until everyone in the stands stopped talking.

  “Terrific!” she said. “Let’s get this party started, shall we? The first group of candidates you’ll hear from are running for ASB secretary.”

  Even at three minutes each, the speeches felt long and boring, with each candidate reciting résumé items interspersed with inspirational quotes. By the time James grabbed the mic to make his vice president speech, four people had quoted Martin Luther King Jr.

  “As the only black candidate up here, I should be the one turning to Dr. King for inspiration,” James began. “But instead I chose a quote from Shakespeare to share with you. ‘Woe to that land that’s governed by a child.’” James paused here and made a big production of looking at Tony, who was slouched in his chair, staring at his sneakers. “That quote appears in Richard III, a play about a ruthless despot who sacrifices his humanity to be king. I thought this quote especially pertinent given the current leadership in the White House.”

  “Go Trump!” someone yelled from the audience.

  “Without a proper adult role model, it’s up to us to maintain the dignity of political office by treating one another with kindness and respect. We don’t have to agree with one another. In fact, more often than not, it’s better that we don’t. Conflict can be healthy if it’s used to argue and advance the best ideas for our country. As the great James Baldwin famously said, ‘Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced.’ Rather than retreating into their own ideologies, political leaders should emulate how to have these hard conversations so that we can learn from their example. As your vice president, I promise to maintain the dignity of the office and foster a culture of collaboration and compromise. We can be the model for future generations of leaders and make this school a shining city upon a hill for all to see. Thank you.”

  James walked back amid some light applause and sat next to Stacey, who was rigidly upright in her chair. Did she think he was criticizing her in his speech? She hadn’t behaved the most nobly of late, accusing Julia of vandalizing her own poster and leaking the party photo of Tony to the school. If she was concerned, she didn’t show it. She leaned over and whispered something in James’s ear, which caused him to smile.

  Tony was the first presidential candidate called to the podium to address the crowd. He hopped up from his chair, pulled up his sagging jeans with his right hand, and swaggered to the open mic.

  “Yo, Lincoln, wassup?” he said.

  Holy shit, Brian thought. He’s going to freestyle this.

  “Man, these speeches are boring, right?”

  The crowd erupted into thunderous applause.

  “I know, man. I feel you. So I’ll keep this short. I don’t got no experience to brag about. Most of y’all know me. I’m that tall Asian guy defying the stereotype. I’m only up here because the administration took away my chocolate milk.”

  An audible wave of boos erupted from the audience.

  “I know, man? That shit ain’t right. Sorry, Mrs. Buckley. My bad.”

  The gym howled with laughter. Tony was killing it. Brian glanced over at Stacey and Julia, who looked like wedding guests listening to the best man confess his love for the bride during his toast.

  “I mean, first they come for the chocolate milk. Then they come for the Pop-Tarts. Who knows what’s next? Those crispy tater tots that show up every other Friday? I love those things. You can bet if something’s delicious, it’s gone. If you want someone to stand up against these nutritionists, then I’m your man. I’ll fight until all the best munchies are returned to our cafeteria. Peace! I’m out.”

  Tony dropped the mic onto the floor, where it hit with a boom. The space exploded with cheers and applause and the stomping of feet. It felt like a riot. Mrs. Buckley must have thought so too because she hustled over to the mic on the floor, picked it up, and stomped back to center court.

  “Quiet!” she said. “Teachers, please control your students.”

  She waited until the room settled down. Then she spoke in calm, even tones into the mic. “We all appreciate Mr. Guo’s passion, but the state sets strict nutritional guidelines for what schools can and cannot serve in their cafeterias. Those decisions are largely out of our control.”

  A lone student booed this response. Buckley somehow managed to identify the heckler in the sea of students packed in the bleachers. “Sammy, remove Mr. Turpin from the gymnasium and take him to my office,” she said. A guy with a mop of black hair descended from the top tier of the bleachers and was escorted out of the building. The place got real quiet after that.

  “Now, we have two more candidates we need to hear from,” Buckley went on. “Please give them your utmost attention.”

  Brian’s heart swelled. Whoever was called on next could never match the enthusiasm that came from Tony’s speech. Here’s where you learn who you really love, he heard some inner voice say. Who do you choose to go next? Julia or Stacey? Brian closed his eyes, trying to drown out the murmur of voices on all sides and came up with a name: Stacey. He wanted Stacey to go next.

  “Julia Romero,” Buckley said, and walked back to replace the mic on the podium.

  Julia stood up slowly, holding her note cards in both hands. Why hadn’t he sat in a more visible place? Brian should be there for her, not hiding in the crowds like a coward to protect his secret. The gymnasium was so quiet, everyone could hear the wobbly click of Julia’s heels as she walked toward the podium. She was terrified, and Brian’s heart went out to her.

  “Viva Julia!” Brian shouted in the silence.

  Buckley bolted from her seat and scanned the area where Brian was sitting. Before she could lock her laser eyes on him, another person on the other side of the gym repeated his cheer, then another, and another. Soon, the whole audience was chanting, “Viva Julia!” until Buckley walked back to center stage and threatened the crowd.

  “One more interruption like this, and we’ll stay in here during brunch. You want that?”

  The students quieted immediately. Buckley stomped back to her seat, still scanning Brian’s section of bleacher seats for the heckler.
If she suspected Brian, she didn’t show it. She knew he worked closely with Stacey and probably crossed him off her list of suspects.

  Stacey, on the other hand, was staring right at him.

  Brian leaned left and hid behind a volleyball player seated in front of him. Peeking around the girl’s broad shoulders, he watched Julia smile from behind the podium.

  “Thank you,” Julia said. “It’s not easy following a speech like Tony’s.” Julia nodded in Tony’s direction. Tony took this opportunity to stand up and take another bow. Brian watched as Julia looked at the note cards in her hands, and he worried she had mixed up the order. She flipped through her prepared speech and then tossed the cards into the air. “He’s right. Enough of these boring speeches. I want to speak to you from the heart.”

  “You go, girl!” someone shouted from the audience. Brian looked around and couldn’t locate the fan. Everyone near him was leaning forward, anticipating what Julia would say next.

  “You got this, Julia,” Brian whispered.

  “As much as I love chocolate milk, I don’t think its absence is the biggest problem at our school,” she said. “It’s homework. There’s too much, and we should get rid of it.”

  There was a moment of absolute silence as people contemplated the bomb that Julia had just dropped, and then the room erupted into deafening applause. The clapping went on for at least a minute, then it became feet stamping, and then it became a chorus of chanting, “Ju-li-a, Ju-li-a” over and over.

  Buckley bolted upright from her seat, inspiring Julia to encourage the students to quiet down. “Please,” she said. “I don’t want to lose brunch any more than you do.”

  The room fell silent. Julia turned to Buckley, who nodded in approval at her like Mussolini in a wig.

  “I take a few APs, but most of my classes are regular college prep,” Julia continued. “I have on average four hours a night of homework. And I’m lucky. I don’t play sports, or have a job, or have to look after siblings. My schedule is pretty free after school, and even then, I don’t finish work until close to midnight every night. I don’t think this is because I’m dumb. I think this is because our system is broken. The kids who want to succeed have to kill themselves to complete all their assignments. Either that, or they have to cheat, which they do. A lot. The kids who have other responsibilities besides school get farther behind because they can’t keep up, which just reinforces the achievement gap between the Haves and the Have-Nots. I think we can change this. I’ve seen other schools do it. It starts with a commission made up of students, teachers, counselors, administrators, and parents working together to decide a reasonable amount of homework. The committee sets clear expectations, like no more than twenty minutes a night per class, and then holds everyone responsible for meeting those expectations. None of this will happen unless we demand it. As your student body president, I will demand it.”