As he took the podium, he cleared his throat and began. I didn’t hear a word. The pimply-faced kid was nice enough, but I was like a little boy listening to a lecture, my mind on Singletary and Carter and Elvis. Woodside had taken the situation and sharpened it to a razor’s edge, and it sliced my insides apart like a whirlwind ninja on a rampage. Elvis was the only one with no blood on his hands, but he was the one who could pay the biggest price.
A tense anticipation hung over the audience as each candidate stepped up to the podium. The reaction to each video presentation, no matter how well done, was subdued and expectant. Almost like a calm before the storm.
Sitting on the stage with everybody, a movement at the edge of the curtain caught my eye. A freshman silently handed a folded piece of paper to Vivica Peterson, who sat closest to the curtain and was running against Elvis for treasurer. The frosh whispered in her ear; she nodded, then passed the paper to the next person. It made its way down to me. My name was written on it.
As the candidate preceding us droned on about budgets and cost-effective measures that would save the school money while “enhancing the viable academic programs that are a treasure to Lambert,” I opened up the paper. It read:
Brooke looks very nice today.
Remember the deal.
I took a deep breath, studying the words, then folded it up. A chill ran through me. I raised my eyes to the crowd, scanning the rows. At the very back, standing and leaning against the right-side entrance, was Carter, his pose laconic, but his eyes burning into me through the dimness. Even at this distance, his intensity scared the living crap out of me.
I tore my stare from him and saw Kennedy sitting next to Steven Lotus in the third row. He smiled, blew me a kiss, then nodded to Brooke as he fluttered his tongue in a grotesque message that was as clear as the note.
I wanted to run. To hide. And I had minutes to decide who I would betray. Minutes to find a way out of this trap. I slid my hand to Brooke, sitting next to me, taking her hand in mine and squeezing. She squeezed back, keeping her eyes forward. “Nervous?” she whispered.
I squeezed her hand again as the video presentation ended and Mr. Belmont rose to introduce me as a candidate for president. As he finished and gestured my way, I took a breath and rose, walking to the podium. Woodsie shook my hand as I passed, whispering in my ear, “Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall …”
I took the podium, my back sweaty from the seat and my legs weak. I grasped the sides of the wood-veneered lectern with trembling fingers, my mind racing, my ribs clutching my heart like a vise. I stood in a sound vacuum; not a peep could be heard as the student body stared at me, waiting. Then I saw him.
My dad stood at one of the doors.
I couldn’t talk. I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t do that, either. I was frozen. The moment of truth had come and there was no truth. There was no right or wrong, only consequences, and it was up to me to decide them. I realized in that moment that my father was correct about one thing. Most people would rather have others make the important decisions. Decisions where choice equaled pain for one and victory for another.
I cleared my throat. “My name is Jason Weatherby, and I’m running for student council president,” I said, desperately trying to quell the shake in my voice. Expectant looks from the auditorium. God, I lived in a fishbowl, and the world was gawking at me. I lowered my head, taking a moment, then raised my chin. “The United States of America was founded on the principles of freedom, liberty, and choice. Our forefathers declared that our government be run by the people and for the people, and since then, those principles have carried us through over two hundred years of struggle. It has also shown our people that the fundamental ideals of being a republic rely upon the strength, courage, and integrity of the leaders we elect. But our leaders are put to a task where the decisions they make, while helping some, will hurt others, and the gauge of how well they’ve made those decisions rests within the people who elect them. The voters.” I stopped, scanning the crowd before going on.
“I was recently told that there are lines of power in this country. From the highest level to the lowest, there is an order that determines why we live the way we do, why we are the way we are, and how we do the things we do. It’s an incredibly powerful and unseen force, but it’s there, and I’m standing here today telling you that it should be there. Those lines are needed, because otherwise we’d have chaos. But the lines of power should begin with the people, end with the people, and be bound by the truth. And at this school, those lines of power aren’t. They begin in a room called the Chamber, and those decisions are made by one person.” I stopped, taking a breath before going on.
“And that one person, the so-called president of the Chamber of Five, is not elected. He’s chosen. He’s chosen based on lines of power that are corrupt and do nothing but weaken who we are. That is not a republic, nor does it fit within the guidelines of democracy. It is a dictatorship. And if elected, I am going to do everything I can to abolish the Chamber with a majority vote, as the Lambert School for the Gifted student charter dictates any student organization can be. Further, Youth Leadership Group membership will be dictated by the student council, and the decisions for membership will be based solely on what this school was founded for: academic excellence.”
The auditorium erupted in thunderous applause, and I saw my father step back, out of the room. I sighed, looking across the auditorium toward Carter, who stood as before, his pose indifferent and relaxed, but his face hard. He nodded slowly. Now was the time for decisions.
I waited for the applause to die down, and as I did, I glanced at Brooke. She beamed as she clapped, her eyes meeting mine, and I felt like a psychic looking into the face of a person doomed. I swiveled my head back to the crowd.
“For the students at Lambert who want those lines of power put back where they should be, I need help, and for that, I’d like to introduce my running mates, the candidates who will allow us to achieve our goal.” I then went on to introduce Brooke, who joined me at the podium and gave a short speech about what she would do as vice president, including streamlining the process of getting budgetary approval for academic clubs and extracurricular programs that benefit the community.
Next came Elvis. He loped up to the podium, and I stepped aside, allowing him the microphone. He bobbed his head. “Hi. Uh, I’m Elvis.” A long moment passed, the audience expectant, silent, waiting. He stared out over them as if expecting something to happen. I cleared my throat, then nudged him. Startled, he lowered his head to the microphone, banging his nose against it. “Um, this school sort of sucks the way it is now. Let’s, uh, make it different. Thank you.”
I smiled as the audience burst into applause. Hoots and hollers followed, with a chant of “ELVIS!!!” subsiding when I took the microphone. “The last candidate on our ticket,” I said, my eyes finding Carter, “is Thomas Singletary.”
Silence.
I took a breath. “As a freshman, Thomas has come to understand that we share a common goal, and that goal is to change this school. To make it fair, equal, and representative of all of us. So without any further ado, I’d like to introduce him to you.” I found him in the crowd and motioned for him to join us. He hesitated, then stood and made his way down the aisle and up onto the stage. I stepped aside, allowing him to take the podium.
Shorter than Elvis, he bent the microphone down. He took a second, glanced at me with those dead eyes, and began. “You’re all clowns.”
I shuddered.
He went on, shaking his head. Then he pointed, one by one, to Kennedy, Carter, Woodsie, and Lotus. “My dad used to say every victim deserves being a victim because he doesn’t have the nuts to figure out how to stop being a victim. Every single one of you is a victim to these scumbags, and honestly, I don’t care if you change it. I don’t give a crap if you vote for me or Jason or his little girlfriend or the geek of the week, because you get what you deserve. So if you want to change it, go ahead. If not, don’t compl
ain. That’s all.” He then stepped away, standing straight, his eyes burrowing into Carter at the back of the auditorium.
I melted inside, wondering if he’d just pissed off the people who could make this happen. I stepped past him toward the microphone. “You definitely have a way with words,” I whispered.
“Play the video,” he said.
I raised the microphone. “Thomas has a way of cutting to the chase, eh?” I said, hoping for a reaction and getting random applause. “Now, without interruption, I’d like to show you our video montage,” I continued, then signaled up to the control room before we took our seats, turning to watch. The lights dimmed as the screen above us lit up.
Before the first images appeared, a voice came over the speakers. Soft, sardonic, full of arrogance, and recognizable, it began. “I’ll show them who rules this school.”
Brooke and Elvis both turned to me, questions in their eyes. I took a breath. Carter. The voice was that of Carter. On our video. Panic swept through me as I searched the auditorium for him. Singletary was orchestrating the ultimate payback, and I could do nothing about it.
I found Carter, but in the dim light I couldn’t see his expression. I turned back to the front, where the screen faded into a scene. The crowd went silent as an incredibly clear picture of the Chamber came into focus, the camera peering down on the table. Carter and Kennedy lounged in the chairs. “You know why I am what I am?” Carter said. “Because people are sheep, and sheep need to be herded.”
The scene switched then. Carter speaking again, this time to Steven Lotus. “You know why we don’t have that many welfare scum here, Lotus? Genetics. Stupid breeds stupid.”
Mr. Belmont sprinted for the control room.
The scene flicked again, this time Kennedy speaking. “Yeah, I took care of it, Carter.” Kennedy guffawed. “You should have seen the bitch when I told her she would be running on our platform. She said no at first, but when I brought up the fact that I’d really enjoy myself with her if she didn’t, there wasn’t a problem.”
I looked down the row of candidates, my stomach churning as I watched Vivica, running against Elvis, cringing and shrinking in her seat.
The sound bites went on, changing every few seconds as Mr. Belmont could be heard banging on the control-room door. Carter scathed the chancellor, teachers, the administration, everything and anything, as the audience gaped silently at the cruelty. They heard Carter order the breaking of Singletary’s arm. They heard bits of wicked and cruel conversations about various girls in the school who Carter thought “attractive.” All of them only seconds long, carefully edited bytes of destruction, and enough to make me sick. All caught on the surveillance camera.
I looked back to Carter, but he was gone. The chancellor ghost stood completely still, his hands clasped before him, staring at me. He knew there was no stopping what was happening, but from the expression on his face, I was sure there would be hell to pay. I looked at Thomas, and he sat, stone-faced. After the most damaging three minutes of video I’d ever seen, and with the DVD still rolling scenes of Brooke about to be forced to take her shirt off in the Chamber, the lights went up and the stage curtain was swept in front of the screen as Carter spoke to Lotus about being a whore.
I leaned toward Thomas. “You just got me killed.”
He stared ahead. “You wanted to be elected. You got it.”
“We had this in the bag. You were going to get your wish. Carter was already on the way out.”
He stood as the audience, stunned, began filing from the auditorium to the booming voice of Mr. Belmont ordering everybody back to class. “Your wishes aren’t mine, Jason. I told you that.” Then Thomas turned, and was met by Brooke’s open hand slapping his face. Hard. Harder than she’d slapped me.
She fumed. “You dirty little bastard!”
He touched his lip, then straightened. “I didn’t whore myself out. You did.” Then he walked away.
I stood as Brooke turned and glared at me. “I swear to God if you had anything to do with this, I will kill you!” She stomped forward, jabbing a finger in my face.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
A HALF HOUR LATER, Elvis, Brooke, Thomas, and I sat in the chancellor’s office as the voting went on. Patterson didn’t speak as his eyes roamed from face to face. His nose hairs were so long they blended with his mustache. Deep-set sockets locked on mine. “I am demanding that if you win this race, you resign immediately, Mr. Weatherby. You’ve created quite a spectacle.”
I shifted in my seat.
“He made the spectacle?” Thomas said, surprising us all.
The chancellor paused. “Excuse me?”
“You said he caused a spectacle.”
He nodded. “He has. The school is in an uproar, and this behavior is unacceptable by any student at Lambert.” He looked at me. “I thought you to be different than this, Mr. Weatherby.”
Thomas cut in. “He didn’t do anything.”
“Who did, then? You?” the chancellor questioned.
Thomas shook his head. “Well, by the looks of the video, Carter did.”
The chancellor frowned. “I’m dealing with you right now, Mr. Singletary. You and your friends.”
Thomas sat forward. “You saw the video,” he said, staring at the chancellor. “You saw it, and we’re sitting here?”
“As I said, I am dealing with you.”
Thomas’s face flushed in anger. “Are you retarded?”
He cleared his throat. “That, Mr. Singletary, just landed you in detention for one week,” he said, scribbling on a pad of paper.
Brooke cut in. “Thomas is right. What about Carter? Isn’t what he’s done more important than everybody seeing what he’s done?”
“I will be speaking with Carter Logan separately, and I can assure you that his behavior will be fully investigated.”
Thomas laughed, shaking his head.
The chancellor picked his pen up again. “You find something humorous?”
“You’re a joke.”
His voice lowered. “This is not a laughing matter. Lambert does not and will not tolerate this disruption, and I will not tolerate your attitude.”
Thomas sat back, leveling a stare at him. “You’re a fucking joke, and this school is a joke.”
He scribbled. “Another week.”
Thomas turned to me. “See, Jason? I told you. Mr. Jerkoff here can stand there and watch what Carter does to people, and what happens? Nothing. That ass and his drunk father get a free pass while we sit in here and listen to this puppet tell us what’s right and what’s wrong.”
“You just earned yourself a week suspension, Thomas,” Chancellor Patterson said. “And you are hovering toward—”
“You can take your suspension and shove it up your ass.”
“You are hovering near an expulsion, Thomas,” he went on. “I would suggest you calm down immediately. Now, Jason”—he looked at me—“why did you make that video? You should know better than anyone in this room that there are proper channels to go through to bring a greivance or complaint against another student.”
I took a breath, and my stomach shriveled. Thomas was right. He’d been right all along. Nothing would ever change. “You saw the video, sir, but we’re here. Not Carter. It doesn’t make sense.”
“Answer me.”
Thomas snorted. “Come on, Jason, answer him. Why did you make the video?”
I swallowed, taking a breath. “I didn’t.”
He looked at me, narrowing his eyes. “Who did?”
Silence. Then Thomas spoke. “I did.”
The chancellor sat back, clasping his hands across his belly. “You recorded private conversations in the Chamber, made the video, and replaced it with the original that was to be played this afternoon?”
Thomas smiled, and it was a smile that said something had popped in him. A line had been crossed, and Chancellor Patterson had no idea what he was dealing with. This was the Thomas Singletary I knew. “Yep. I also bro
ke his arm. You should have heard it snap.”
Patterson nodded. “I will be petitioning the board for your removal from this school. Your mother will be hearing from me, and the authorities will be contacted concerning your admission of breaking Carter Logan’s arm. I’m sure charges will be pressed.”
Thomas grimaced with contempt. “You’re a tool.”
He looked away. “Dismissed.”
Thomas flipped him the finger. “You don’t tell me what to do. Nobody does.”
The chancellor picked up the phone. “I’m taking that as a threat.”
Thomas stood. “Think I care what you think?” He pointed to the phone. “Go ahead. Call the police.”
A moment passed, then the chancellor set the phone down. His eyes met Thomas’s. “I’d like to solve this in a civilized manner. Please sit down, Mr. Singletary.”
Thomas stared. “I’d like to know if you’ve called the police on Carter. He broke several laws. You saw him ordering Kennedy to break my arm. You also heard Kennedy reporting to Carter about threatening a student with rape unless she did what they wanted.”
He hesitated. “That is my concern, not yours. I’ve explained that I will be looking into the video.”
Thomas smirked. “I’ll tell you what will happen. You’ll get a call from his drunk-ass father, then his grandfather, and this will all go away.” He shook his head, looking at me. “You almost changed my mind, Jason. You were wrong, man. There’s no justice, just like I said. Only payback.” He nodded to the chancellor. “Guys like this need to meet the heavy end of a baseball bat. It’s the only way,” he said, standing.
The Chamber of Five Page 12
