by Gordon Jack
Unfortunately, dear reader, this will be my last blog entry for a while. After committing myself so fully to exposing the crimes perpetrated throughout the campaign, I must now focus on my schoolwork so I can be eligible to graduate in June. (My parents have already confiscated my laptop and cell phone, and I write this on the library computer).
Even though I will not be posting on a regular basis, you can be assured that I will fight injustice wherever I see it, whether it’s in the classroom, on the quad, or at home in the family living room with my dad reading over my shoulder.
Fight the power!
Voting
43
JULIA RECEIVED HER DNA test results from her mother while sitting in the principal’s office, waiting for Stacey to arrive.
“I’m not sending you this information to help you win an election,” her mother wrote in her email. “I’ve always believed race is a social construction, but that doesn’t make it any less real. You’ve helped me see that. I’m not sure what these percentages will mean for you, but I hope they help answer some of the questions you have about yourself and lead you on a journey of self-discovery.”
Julia paused before clicking open the file. Was her mom right? Did she need these numbers to tell her who she was? Wasn’t there some freedom in choosing the group you identified with, rather than letting a bunch of percentages do it for you? She made a silent promise that no matter what her DNA results were, she would never leave the girls in LSU. They were her sisters, and no genetic code could take that away from her.
She clicked open the file and read the breakdown: 52 percent European, 26 percent Sub-Saharan African, 10 percent Middle Eastern and North African, 9 percent East Asian and Native American, and 3 percent unidentified. What did this mean? She was hoping to see a specific country identified, ideally one that fell under the racial category of Hispanic or Latino. But there was no such category on the page. Below the numbers, there was a world map, color-coded to match the breakdown of Julia’s chromosomes. The map of South America was the same color as the Native American percentage, which Julia took to mean that 9 percent of her DNA could be traced back to that continent. It wasn’t specific or conclusive, but Julia grabbed it as the answer she needed.
I’m nine percent Latina!!! she texted Jenny. Mom just sent me my test results.
Congratulations! Welcome to the club! Jenny texted back a few minutes later. Now get off your phone before Buckley sees you and you get into even more trouble.
A few minutes later, Stacey arrived, followed shortly by Buckley. Stacey insisted on taking the blame for the fight, despite Buckley’s obvious desire to suspend Tony.
“It sounds to me that Tony was the one who created the disturbance,” Buckley said after Stacey provided a recap of the incident.
“No, it was me,” Stacey said. “I struck the first blow.”
“But you were protecting the girls from Tony’s aggressive behavior.”
“No, I just wanted to hurt him.”
“Because you saw him as a threat,” Buckley said.
“No, because he’s obnoxious.”
“Hey,” Tony said. “We don’t know each other well enough for you to say that.”
“You’re right,” Stacey said. “I was wrong to judge you. That’s why I deserve the blame for what happened.”
Buckley’s eyes bulged out of their sockets in exasperation. Clearly, she wanted to save Stacey but Stacey wasn’t grabbing hold of the rescue buoy Buckley kept tossing her way. Eventually, she had to watch Stacey sink underwater and acknowledge the survivors. Buckley dismissed Julia and Tony with the directive to change out of their costumes before returning to class.
“That was weird,” Tony said once they left the admin building.
“Yeah,” Julia said.
“Why do you think she took the hit like that?”
Julia shrugged, although she had her theory. In the brief moment she and Stacey exchanged eye contact during the march, something passed between them—a shared understanding of something bigger than the election. She imagined it was the same acknowledgment of respect athletes share after they’ve fought ferociously to win a game, a recognition that they were more alike than different.
The rest of the day passed in a kind of blur. The students voted for their class representatives at the end of third period. Stacey’s name didn’t appear anywhere on the Google form. The race was just between Julia and Tony now. Julia felt bad for Brian’s friend, and a little guilty that she hadn’t fought harder to take the blame. Truth was, Julia wanted to be president now more than ever. The brunch protest had only convinced her that she could do some real good if she were elected. So, she didn’t fight Stacey as hard not to be president as she fought her to be president. Besides, if she got suspended, who knew how Aunt Gloria would react. Not only would she lose the election, she could lose Brian as well.
The results were announced at the end of sixth period. Brian and Julia were sitting in biology when the principal got on the intercom and started reading the names of the winners beginning from secretary and moving to president. Brian grabbed Julia’s hand and squeezed it tightly. Her palm still felt rough from where she had scraped it against the pavement in the brunch melee.
“The ASB secretary is Ally Wu,” Buckley said.
Julia couldn’t stand the suspense. She turned to Brian and told him the other important news of the day. “I got my DNA analyzed,” she said. “I’m nine percent Latina.”
“Good for you,” Brian said. “Now, shush, I want to hear the results.”
Julia wanted to hear the result too, and she didn’t want to hear them. She had a sudden premonition that her name would not be called. She didn’t know how she knew this, but the knowledge settled on her bones like winter frost on tree limbs.
“The ASB treasurer is Mackenzie Zheutlin,” Buckley said, botching the name a bit.
“I’m going back to Canada,” Julia blurted out. Her admission surprised her as much as it surprised Brian.
“What?” Brian said. “No! You can’t.”
“Just for the summer,” Julia said. “I need to see Alice. The girl I hurt.” It was time for her to atone for her mistakes, like Stacey had done today in Buckley’s office. Julia admired the way Stacey faced her faults instead of pretending they didn’t exist. She needed to do that too.
“You’re coming back though, right?” Brian said.
“If Mom will let me,” Julia said.
“The ASB vice president is James Carter,” Buckley said.
Brian squeezed Julia’s hand a little tighter. “Can I come with you?” he asked.
“And for ASB president,” Buckley said, pausing for dramatic effect.
“We’ll see,” Julia said.
“Tony Guo.” Buckley was unsuccessful in silencing her heavy sigh after the announcement.
“No!” Brian said loudly. He pulled Julia’s hand up and held it to his lips.
“It’s okay,” Julia whispered, feeling her whole body collapse like an inflatable tube man at the end of a sales event. “It’s fine.”
Gina Yuan got up out of her seat and came over to give Julia a hug. “Stupid freshmen,” she said. “I’m going to kill my little brother.”
The bell rang, and students packed up their things and left the classroom. Julia tried to distract herself by organizing her backpack. When Mr. Cohen came by and said “Lo siento,” Julia smiled, but then lost it as her teacher disappeared through the back door.
Brian bent down next to her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “We’re going to fight this,” he said. “Maybe there were some voting irregularities. Maybe the Russians are involved.”
“I had a chance to do something good,” Julia said, crying into Brian’s T-shirt. “I thought I could really stand with Jenny and the LSU and fight for their cause.”
“You can still fight for their cause,” Brian said. “You’ll be a great advocate.”
“With Tony as president?” Julia said, shaking he
r head. “You think he cares about anything except himself?”
“He’s not the only one in charge,” Brian said. “James is vice president. He’s going to be the one really running the show next year.”
“You know him?” Julia said.
“Yeah, he’s great,” Brian said. “Trust me, he’s on our side.”
It made Julia feel a little better to hear him talk about the future as something shared, rather than something she’d have to face alone. She wiped away the tears with the back of her hand and stood up to go. When Brian reached for her bag, she stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm. “I got it,” she said, hoisting her bag up and draping the strap over her shoulder. “Let’s go.”
The two left the classroom and walked into the blazing light of the afternoon.
“At least we won’t have to sneak around anymore,” Brian said, grabbing Julia’s hand.
Julia smiled and squeezed his hand in response.
“Promise me you’ll come back,” Brian said. “After your apology tour.”
“I promise,” Julia said. “You understand why I have to do this, right? You’re the one who convinced me it was the right thing to do.”
“I didn’t mean now,” Brian said. “I meant sometime in the future. Like ten years from now.”
“I need to see her,” Julia said. “I need to know she’s okay.”
The two strolled through campus like a real couple. A few people stared at them as they passed, but most were too busy heading to their seventh-period classes or gazing at their phones to notice. The guys who always congregated in the quad, waiting for their after-school lives to start, all applauded and shouted “Viva Julia!” when Julia and Brian approached. Julia waved like a queen, and the boys bowed in a deferential manner.
“Looks like you’ve earned their respect,” Brian said.
“Yeah,” Julia said. “Maybe I have.”
Off in the distance, someone called out Julia’s name. Brian and Julia turned and saw Stacey and Jenny racing down the hallway, trying to catch up with them.
Brian instinctively loosened his grip on Julia’s hand but didn’t let go.
Jenny ran up and nearly knocked Julia over with a bear hug around her neck. “Girl, I’m so sorry,” she said. Her mascara had run, making her eyes look like flowers with black stems.
“It’s fine,” Julia said, trying to maintain her brave face. “How are you doing, Stacey?”
“I’m suspended for two days,” Stacey said.
“I’m sorry,” Julia said.
Stacey shrugged. “It will kill my mom, so it’s not all bad.”
“You didn’t have to take the blame for us,” Julia said.
“For you,” Stacey said. “I didn’t do anything for Tony.”
“I bet you won the popular vote,” Julia said. “If Buckley didn’t suspend you, you’d be president now. The meme of you drop-kicking Tony is everywhere.”
“Girl, you slaughtered that cow,” Jenny said, wrapping an arm around Stacey. “Who knew a model student could be such a badass.”
“I’ve got an idea for a new class next year that I wanted to talk to you all about,” Stacey said. “What are you doing now?”
“Nothing,” Brian said.
“Sorry, Brian,” Stacey said, reaching out and putting a hand on his shoulder. “This one’s just for the ladies.”
“Oh, sure,” Brian said. “I’ve got a little brother to kill anyway.”
44
WHEN BRIAN GOT home, Kyle was waiting for him in the living room. He must have known Brian was angry because he was huddled next to their mom, feeding her nachos on the couch.
“Hi, honey,” Mom said. “You hungry?”
“No,” Brian said. “Did Kyle tell you what happened today?”
“He told me Stacey lost,” Mom said frowning. “How’s she doing?”
“She’s fine,” Brian said. He waited for his mom to elaborate, to say something about the fight and the suspension and the fact that a brain-fried boy was now the president, but she didn’t say anything. Kyle must have kept those details to himself.
“How do you feel about the election, Kyle?” Brian asked.
“I feel empowered, thanks for asking, Brian,” Kyle said.
“How so?” Mom asked.
“No one listens to the freshmen,” Kyle said. “We’ve got no representation on the ASB because we come to school after everyone’s been elected. This year, my class said ‘enough’ and made our voices heard.”
“That’s great, dear,” Mom said. “Maybe you’ll run for office next year.”
“No way,” Kyle said. “I’m more effective behind the scenes. Wouldn’t you agree, Brian?”
“Definitely,” Brian said. “Kyle really understands how to work the system.”
Brian left his brother and mom on the couch and closed himself off in his room. He was never going to get back at his brother through the traditional means of fistfights and noogies. He had to think strategically, just as Kyle had done, and destroy him without leaving a mark. But to do this he needed an ally. He looked at the photo of him and Stacey pinned to his corkboard. Since Stacey was busy with Julia, he’d have to find another crime fighter, preferably someone with skin in the game. He pulled down the photo of him at the Scouts jamboree and dialed James’s number.
“You want to help me take down Tony Guo?” he asked.
45
TONY COULDN’T BELIEVE it. He was president of the school. How did this happen? He thought for sure his Space Cow performance would have gotten him disqualified. But then that other candidate, the blond girl who brought him down like a Black Widow, demanded to be punished. There was something happening here that Tony didn’t understand. Why would someone argue so forcefully to be suspended unless there was some benefit? It couldn’t be that she just wanted to miss a few days of school. Girls like that don’t like missing school and they certainly don’t like having a stain like this on their permanent record. Maybe she knew something Tony didn’t about the hassles of being ASB President and skillfully engineered her own disqualification. Maybe this white girl with the powerful roundhouse kick had played them all.
Tony spent the rest of the day avoiding the Latinos, who were out for blood after what he did to their protest. He took some comfort in the fact that they would rise up against him and ensure his defeat at the polls. When Buckley announced his name as president, Tony, along with practically everyone else in his US history class, scratched their heads and said “Wha?!” His teacher immediately began an impromptu lecture on the failings of the democratic process.
As soon as the sixth-period bell rang, Tony sprinted to his car to avoid anyone looking for vengeance. Half the people he passed shouted congratulations; the other half, obscenities. When he finally reached his Mercedes, he saw someone had written “Pendejo” in the dust that covered his back window. Did the office of president come with round-the-clock security detail? Tony hoped so.
Now he was huddled in his room trying to think of what to do next. Why had he ever listened to Mohawk? It had all been a goof, hadn’t it? A joke he and the little munchkins were playing on the school. A way to get back at the administration for their shitty cafeteria menu. Now half the school hated him, and he was stuck with all this responsibility he didn’t want.
He pulled out his honey bear bong, loaded it with some Bruce Banner #4, and took a long hit. That should help. It might not solve his problems, but at least it kept him from stressing out about them too much.
The phone rang in the middle of his second hit. The only people who ever called on the landline were his parents, so he picked up the phone, trying to mentally calculate the time in Macao. If there was a fifteen-hour difference and it was six p.m. in California, then it must be either super early or super late.
“Hello?” Tony said, breathing out the smoke and trying not to cough.
“Why didn’t you tell us you were running for president?” his dad asked in his typical abrupt style. Tony hear
d his mom arguing with the Chinese newscast in the background.
Was his dad calling to congratulate him? Maybe the election hadn’t been a total loss if it got his parents off his back for a while. Maybe this would finally give them something to brag about to their friends at the country club and the strangers they met on vacation cruises.
“It was kind of a last-minute decision,” Tony said. “Did you hear I won?”
“The Wus called to congratulate us. They said you want to sell marijuana in the school cafeteria.”
“What? No!” Tony said. “I want to bring chocolate milk back to the cafeteria.”
“They say there are photos of you smoking marijuana all over the internet.”
“That’s weird,” Tony said. “It’s probably someone who just looks like me.”
“I’m looking at one now. It says ‘Tony Guo for President’ underneath a photo of you blowing smoke like a Chinese steel factory.”
“Uh, that’s a joke, Dad,” Tony fumbled. “You know, to appeal to immature voters.”
“This is very concerning to your mother, Tony.”
“What? Why?”
“She’s worried you’ll bring more shame to our family.”
Tony didn’t think that was possible, but he had to concede the point. Before he was a public figure, all his misdeeds were mostly private family matters. Now he would be embarrassing them in front of their friends, whose children were actually on their way to becoming doctors.
“You need to drop out,” his father said.
“Dad, I won. It’s too late to drop out.”
“Then we’ll transfer schools,” he said. “Send you to Saint Francis.”
Catholic school? No freaking way. Those guys were stricter than Lincoln. Tony knew a guy who went there who told him the administration had replaced the pizza truck with a salad bar.
“Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll find a way out of this.”
“We’re coming home on the next flight,” his dad said, and hung up.
