THE STUDENT COUNCIL

By late Saturday afternoon, the flow chart in the district conference room resembled one of the massive oaks outside, branches spreading everywhere. All the electrical work would be completed by Tuesday night. File cabinets and chairs would be delivered Wednesday. Countertops and computers were due Thursday. Desk sets for the teachers and staff would arrive Friday. Food and supply deliveries would begin Monday and continue throughout the week. The kitchen, basically an assembly line for sandwiches, was already diagrammed.

Per Amy’s request, William directed the entire student council to spend the coming week at the mall, ready to help with any task. The football team would handle heavy-lifting when deliveries arrived, and dispose of a mountain of cardboard afterward. The software provider, Screen Saviour, was sending a team of three to provide orientation for the faculty. The goal was to open for business in just nine more days – from no school to a new one in a mere two weeks.

William eyed Trisha Berman, seated to his right. The lady never stopped taking notes. With four yellow pencils lined up beside her tablet, she filled page after page. Pencils? Really? So old-fashioned. He had grander things to think about than trivial details.

Tomorrow was the day. They were driving to the Pittsburgh airport in Mrs. Simpson’s car. Could both Trisha and he ride in back? He’d suggest it. So they could talk. Then again, offering his teacher a choice of seats would be more gallant. Would she choose to ride shotgun? What seating arrangement would she favor?

The plane ride was a simpler matter. Seats were already assigned. The board president had the window, he had the aisle, and Trisha was between them. He would offer the aisle to his date, like a gentleman. So clever. He would have her to himself that way.

And then a night in the Big Apple. Dinner was spoken for – they were all being entertained and educated by someone from the TV show. But afterward? Gwen Simpson was a fossil, close to fifty. She’d probably go to bed early. The night would belong to Trisha and him.

He viewed the trip as make or break for their potential relationship. At the moment, he had everything going for him. The whole Big Apple adventure was his doing, an outcome of his hard work and inspiration. Trisha had said so herself: “It’s the most exciting thing ever, unimaginable. William, you’re truly amazing.”

Yes, he thought, now or never. There’d be no spending his whole life waiting for his teacher to come around - he sure as hell wasn’t getting any younger. Every girl in Oil City seemed to have an eye on him now. Lots of girls around the rest of the country too. His inbox was overflowing with invitations.

He leaned close to Trisha’s ear. “We need to talk about our trip. Let’s have dinner after this breaks up.”

She scribbled on her tablet and turned it to him. Quiet!

When the meeting adjourned for the day, Trisha looked to William. “We have a conference with the superintendent, principal, and the Cornell people now. Did you forget?”

William nodded. “Oh, yeah. About reassigning teachers.”

“You say that like it’s no big deal,” she exclaimed. “It’s one of your best ideas yet. Nobody else even thought of that. The right teachers can make all the difference.”

“Maybe we can get something to eat together after ...”

Google and Paul joined them. “What’s the agenda now?” Google asked.

William answered. “Trisha and I have another meeting now. Why don’t you guys hook up with Amy? Fill her in and get your grade for the day.”

Miss Berman’s ears perked up. “Your grade? What do you mean by that?”

Google knew that William screwed up. Amy’s only demand was to go unmentioned. Given all she had accomplished, it was a small thing to ask. “Amy’s a best friend to us, Miss Berman. She enjoys hearing about what we’re up to. Like all the students, she’s interested in the new school. She plays at assigning letter grades for each of our ideas.”

Seven Three recognized the slip as well. “Amy’s a kick. She gives me grades after every football game. My subjects are stuff like blocking, tackling, and pass rushing.”

Trisha laughed. “I hope she gives you straight A’s, Paul. You’re an outstanding player. To be honest, I feel like she grades me too! She’s an unusual girl.”

“I only sat in your class five days,” Paul said, “but I’ll bet she gives you an A too. You’re a great teacher.”

Trisha turned to Google. “Remember, we have a seven o’clock get-together at Mr. Ramsey’s house with Crystal. Setting up Samaritan merchandise sales is a big undertaking.”

Sunday mornings used to be special at the Westin house. Family time. Always a couple hours of leisurely chat over breakfast at the kitchen table. For years it had been the four of them, then three when Sadie went off to college and distant summer jobs. This morning it was just a mother and a daughter.

With her husband on the job Saturday night, Amy’s mother had dropped by the house for a shower and change of clothes at five, then ducked out for four hours. Dinner with a girlfriend, she said. Translation: Emily made still another visit to the Land Down Under, another trip to Raja Coopa’s Fantasyland. If anything, the relationship seemed to be intensifying. Meeting in the evening seemed downright brazen to Amy.

“So, who did you have dinner with last night?” Amy asked across the table.

Emily poked one of her daughter’s perfect poached eggs with a fork, and watched the yoke erupt like lava. “It was work-related,” she mumbled. “One of our suppliers.”

Amy frowned. Her mother couldn’t keep a story straight from one day to the next. Had she been careless or uncaring? The second prospect was worse than the first. Goodbye, Roger, Amy said to herself. Your days in Oil City have come to an end.

Amy’s phone lit up on the table in front of her. The calling number was unfamiliar. “This is Amy.”

“What are you doing on this beautiful morning?” The voice was music. Trisha Berman’s. “Do you want to go for a run with me?”

“I can’t keep up,” Amy laughed.

“That won’t be a problem now. I’ve already run five miles. I’ll be in front of your house in ten minutes.”

“I’ll be ready and waiting.”

Amy stood and looked at her mother. “I’m going out for some exercise.”

“With who?” Emily asked. “Who was on the phone?”

Maybe a friend or maybe a supplier, Amy was tempted to say. “Just a jogging partner.”

She dashed upstairs to change, making a stop at her mother’s second floor dressing room. Selecting blue eye shadow, she applied a hint of color to her lids. Barely noticeable.

Out on Front Street, Amy saw Trisha approaching and rushed to meet her. As the distance closed, she spread her arms, then embraced her teacher with a hug.

Trisha, stiff with surprise, patted Amy tentatively and stepped back. “That was quite the greeting.”

Amy stared down at the bike path, suddenly embarrassed. What had come over her? Why had she lost control? “I heard about your trip to New York! Good Morning America. I’m so happy for you.”

“That’s what I want to talk about, Amy. Let’s walk.” Trisha took Amy’s hand, pulling her into motion. “Since yesterday, I can’t get you out of my mind. This whole incredible story that’s been unfolding ... all this stuff with the school ... I’m not buying that it’s coming from William. He’s talking for someone else. Amy, be honest with me. Is this all originating from you?”

Amy stared at Trisha, taking measure. The girl was smart. That was the first thing Amy had loved about her. “I’ll tell you the truth, as long as you keep it to yourself.”

“Of course,” her teacher nodded. “You can trust me with any secret.”

“Well, it’s all been Google. That Samuel Runsfeld is a genius. He’s also too shy to take the lead on anything. William’s more a people person. Know what I mean?”

The teacher’s eyes narrowed. “Google spends half his time texting. I’ve concluded that it’s been with you. Even last night at Ramsey’s house, he was always texting.”

“Not with me,” Amy said, holding eye contact. “His council website is so busy. He was probably answering messages. There are thousands on there.”

Trisha smiled, possibly convinced. “Okay, Innocent Amy, but those boys seem to worship you.”

“They’re like brothers, that’s all. We’ve been friends a long time.”

“They said you grade their work. That’s what got me thinking that maybe you were assigning it. What’s your grade for the school district so far? How are we doing?”

“I haven’t wrapped my head around this new school idea yet, but it doesn’t really matter. I’m going to graduate early anyway, at the end of this school year. I’ll have the credits.” Amy saw her teacher’s face light up. She was excited too!

“That’s major news, Amy! Good for you.”

“Don’t mention it to anyone, okay? I’m going to make it a surprise.”

Trisha ran a finger across her lips, the old zipper move. “Not a word.”

“That was a nice article about you in the Erie paper. It said you were offered a teaching job at your old school, the collegiate academy. You told me that Oil City was your only offer.”

Amy’s observation drew a double-blink from her teacher. “You misunderstood. My old high school was a back-up plan. My goal was to get away on my own, have a fresh experience. I’m certainly having that!”

“About Friday night at the game,” Amy ventured. “Why did you run off when you saw me?” She interpreted Trisha’s expression as confused or troubled.

“I’m sorry you thought that. I never saw you there. William did, though. He couldn’t stop talking about how great you looked.”

Amy smiled inside. If that’s how Trisha wanted to play it, good enough.

Miss Berman took Amy by the hand again, tugging her into a gallop. “Graduating a year early! Let’s run!”

Back in her efficiency apartment, Trisha packed for her trip to New York. Of all the surprises that greeted her lately, Amy’s revelation was the biggest. Grant promised they would be together as soon as his daughter graduated. That wouldn’t be such a long wait after all.

Picking through her wardrobe, she searched for the right look for morning television. Understated, yet impactful. Attractive, but not distracting. She settled on the same dark dress she wore for the first day of school. Yesterday’s mistake was tomorrow’s solution! Her audience would be different this time. And so much larger.

Under the warm spray of her shower, Amy shivered with excitement. A moment had been ingrained in her memory forever. Before leaving her after the run, Trisha had placed a warm hand on each side of Amy’s face, leaned forward, and kissed her forehead. It wasn’t a courtesy peck at all, not the kind some adults tossed around as a hello or goodbye. It wasn’t a parent’s goodnight kiss to a child either. It was a mwah! A loud, enthusiastic MWAH!

In hindsight, Amy felt foolish for having stood there like a scarecrow, all lifeless and brainless. She should have lifted her head, risen to her toes, and offered up her lips. Why did the right response always come to mind too late? She’d be ready next time.