THE STUDENT COUNCIL

On Saturday, the Westins hosted their first yard party in three years. Even in late September, the evening temperature was a friendly sixty-seven degrees. Fifty guests wandered around the back lawn or lounged on outdoor furniture, reveling in all of Oil City’s good news. The high school had a promising opening week with landmark attendance. Scores of reporters from all over the country were making the town famous with feature stories, propping up the chins of all the residents. Most important of all, the football team had won still again. The 5-0 start was the best in fourteen years.

The picnic had been planned and orchestrated by Amy alone. Home from school all week, she had prepared an endless array of hors d’oeuvres. Meatballs and clam balls. Chicken wings and drumsticks. Tiny sausages blanketed in dough and water chestnuts wrapped with turkey bacon. Marinated ribs. Six different cheeses with eight kinds of crackers. Celery, carrots, broccoli, tomatoes, and corn on the cob. All topped off with five cinnamon apple pies.

William and Paul proved to be reluctant helpers, but Google was a champ. His job was never-ending: blending and serving frozen margaritas. Although the boys’ families were invited, only the Nobles and Runsfelds showed up. Big Ed Barner had another engagement.

Close friends of Amy’s parents were delighted to see the couple emerge from a long hibernation - smiling, circulating, holding hands. The neighbors welcomed the return of the old Westin hospitality.

Amy no longer felt obliged to hide her face. The stitches inside her mouth had been removed. The swelling was gone. Her mother’s cosmetics concealed the remaining discoloration.

She also glowed inside. In the three days since Samaritan apparel went online, orders totaled $184,000. The bake sale was also a success. After nearly two hundred pies sold in Oil City, twice that number had been ordered by donors around the country. In total, the council already earned enough to fund its share of the two-year mall lease. Continuing revenue could now be directed toward more benevolent projects and programs.

Unfortunately, two young women were putting a damper on Amy’s evening; one by her absence and the other by her presence. Trisha Berman was off in Chicago, a special guest of the National Association of School Boards. A teacher for barely a month, she’d been invited to speak on the development of student leadership skills. Being advisor to the most famous student council ever had its perks. Soon another would be coming from the Pennsylvania State Legislature. Amy drafted a letter, signed by the council, urging the state body to pass a citation in recognition of the teacher’s contribution to the school. The highlight of the week had come on Thursday, when Trisha returned Amy’s call before leaving on her trip. Her final words had been: “Deny it forever, but I know this honor is somehow due to you. I’m only beginning to understand what a special girl you are. I love you so much.” From that moment on, Amy had been walking on air.

The clear and present danger to the atmosphere was her sister Sadie. A senior at John Carroll University in Cleveland, she had made the two and a half hour-drive home to visit. Sadie sightings had been rare since she started college. Christmas had been the sole annual reunion. Her only other curtsies to the family unit were answering weekly phone calls from her mother and listening to her father’s football broadcasts. Amy assumed the sound of the games reminded her sister of past glory as a cheerleader.

Sadie’s disdain for her younger sister had always been the Westin family mystery. The older girl seemed to have it all. Looks. Popularity. Even the adoration of that little sister, at least for a long time. Why her preoccupation with minimizing Amy?

In consoling her younger daughter over the years, Emily had attributed the tension to “sibling rivalry.” Sadie was jealous of the extra attention a younger child naturally received. In time it would pass. Try to be understanding.

Empathy had been a tall order for an eight-year-old, and not that easy at twelve either, but Amy did her best. Still, her sister’s departure for college had been the best day of Amy’s life.

While heating up another batch of wings on the grill, Amy watched Sadie hold court with three of her old girlfriends. All four wore popular Samaritan T-shirts – ironic with a capital I. Sadie had engineered the change of Oil City High’s nickname as a joke. Amy had despised her for it. Now, as a result of Amy’s effort, Sadie was basking in name fame! Capital I.

Despite everything, Amy was feeling no ill will. Sadie had added ten pounds since last Christmas, and they stuck out like a fat ass. Her own behind had been melting like butter under a broiler, especially since her injury. And then there was the knowledge that Sadie would be gone again tomorrow. Aaah!

With the world so right, with her parents finally loving each other again, Amy suddenly craved new challenges. She summoned Google, Paul and William for a conference. “I was just wondering,” she began. “If I was your fairy godmother and could grant each of you a wish, what would it be?”

The boys glanced at each other and shrugged. She focused on Google. “What would it be for you?”

He looked up at Big Seven Three. “I’d like to score a touchdown for Oil City.”

“Perfectly reasonable,” William laughed. “You aren’t even on the team!”

Google preferred to laugh at William, not the other way around. “She didn’t say it had to be reasonable. Wishes are supposed to be out of reach.”

Paul was chuckling too. “If you crawled up on my back, I could carry you into the end zone!”

Amy didn’t even crack a smile. “Paul, how does Google get on the team?”

William broke in. “He offers to be team manager, that’s how.”

Amy ignored him. “Seriously, Paul, what are we talking? A physical exam and a week of practice? Then Google’s eligible?”

“It’s open enrollment. No tryouts or anything. Even at a hundred and twenty pounds, he could be on the team. He’d get broken, though. Real fast.”

“Original question,” Amy returned. “A doctor’s slip and a week of practice?”

“Sounds right.”

Amy nodded. “Bradford’s our homecoming game. That’s two weeks away. Google, get your physical on Monday and show up for practice.”

William lost it, laughing out of control. “A hundred bucks if you do it! Five hundred! Oh, my shit! That’s too much!”

Google shot the council president a sour look. “I’m gonna do it.”

Paul tapped the palm of his left hand with the fingertips of the right, a football official’s signal. “Let’s take a timeout. The helmets weigh five pounds. Shoulder pads are heavier than that. No offense, but Googs would have trouble even moving around in gear. Maybe he should gain some weight and play next year.”

Amy shook him off. “He won’t have your back to ride on next year.”

The Barn Door gave in. “I’ll help any way I can. But be aware, Googs, your life expectancy could be shortened by seventy years.”

Google beat on his chest. “I haven’t made any future plans. No problem.”

Amy eyed William. “What’s your wish, Sir President?”

He looked over her shoulder into the yard. “I have more basic needs. I’d like to jump Sadie’s bones.”

Amy took no offense. William knew about the animosity between the sisters.

“Big W, what about Berman?” Paul asked. “You throwin’ in the towel?”

Google looked surprised too. “You have a fing for all older women now?”

Amy turned and appraised her sister, who’d been eyeballing Paul all evening. Sadie was probably determined to add an All-American notch to her garter belt. Such a skank! She actually owned a garter belt. Amy once saw it while exploring her sister’s room.

Looking back to William, she asked, “Do you have condoms?”

His eyes ballooned. “What are you saying?”

“Here!” Google and Paul said as one. Both reached for their wallets.

“Just hold on,” Amy said to the three. “And don’t stare at her. Don’t even look over there.”

Amy picked up a full margarita pitcher and strolled to the table of four girls. She filled their glasses. Sadie said, “Try not to spill,” as her thank you. The other girls giggled.

Amy put on a smile. “So Sadie, you’ll have to meet my new boyfriend, William Noble. He was on Good Morning America.”

“Your boyfriend?” Sadie chuckled.

“He’s kind of cute,” one of the girls suggested.

“People are saying he’s a genius,” another added.

Sadie raised her eyebrows. “I’m in total shock. I didn’t think my sister was even interested in boys ... if you know what I mean.”

The pitcher almost dropped out of Amy’s hand. Where did that come from? She had nothing against boys at all! She just happened to be especially fond of Trisha. And only she knew that. Amy spun and walked away.

Back on the patio with the guys, she took William’s elbow. “You stay with me. Paul, you and Google go mingle.”

“What did she say?” William asked.

“Don’t worry,” Amy whispered. “She’s a sure thing. Put your arm around me and laugh at everything I say.”

“My pleasure. You’re looking pretty hot yourself.”

Amy rolled her eyes. Hot she was not. Her party outfit was a sweatshirt and jeans.

The older sister attacked quickly, striding right up to the council president. “You must be the famous William Noble,” she purred. “I’m Sadie, the original Oil City High School Samaritan.” She ran her fingers slowly across the gold letters over her breasts, hypnotizing the boy in three seconds. “I’d love to hear about your trip to New York.”

“Sure,” William croaked.

“Let’s go inside then, away from all the noise.” She took his hand and led him to the door. William never looked back.

“Sinister Sister Sadie,” Amy muttered to herself. “She’d be scary if she wasn’t so predictable.”

Google and Paul rejoined her. “Where’d they go?” Google asked.

Amy shrugged. “To put one of those smiley faces on William.”

“You fidding me? Just like that?”

“It was easy,” she said, looking up at Paul. “No challenge at all. Like hitting one of those soft pitches you used to toss me in Little League.”

Google was about to go into convulsions. “How did you do that?”

“I told her William was my boyfriend. It’s called sibling rivalry.”

“That’s bull,” Paul exclaimed. “Just plain sick.”

Amy nodded. “Correct.”

Google couldn’t let go. “They’re gonna do it right in the house while a party’s goin’ on?”

“Probably on my bed,” Amy admitted. “That leaves you, Barner. Make a wish.”

“Mine’s already been answered, Amy,” Paul said, smiling. “I always wanted to be known for more than just football. This adventure with the school has accomplished that. The last few weeks have been the best of my life.” His eyes shifted to the three young ladies Sadie left behind. “Gotta go.” Paul joined them at their table.

Amy asked Google, “Is getting laid all you boys think about?”

He nodded toward Paul and his new harem. “Look at those girls, all figgles and winks. Girls think about it too.”

Amy shook her head. “I suppose that’s the reason you want to score a touchdown, right? To impress the girls?”

“That wouldn’t hurt. Mostly though, I want to feel like Paul Barner, even for a minute.”

She patted his back. “Some people are meant to be pro athletes, others to sit in the bleachers. Only a few are destined to own a team. That’s you, Googs. You’re going to do great things. You already helped create a whole new school.”

Google watched Paul and the three former cheerleaders stand and stroll off down the driveway. “Amy, it’s just you and me and forty old people now.”

She started straightening up the food table. “Time for you to make more margaritas.”

“Almost forgot,” he said. “I talked with William’s father for a minute. He said the Detective Sorvino guy was Gary Cole’s idea. Cole’s the one you booted off the school board.”

All thoughts of the party vanished from Amy’s mind. “Why would anyone listen to Gary Cole?”

“He’s still tight with the superintendent. That’s what Mister Noble said.”

Amy cursed herself for dropping the ball on the security guard for the last few days. She hadn’t been near the school. Out of sight, out of mind. She couldn’t blame Google for not following up either; she’d flooded him with other assignments. “New priority,” she stated. “Let’s find out everything we can about this Sorvino.”

“Why? He does nothing but stand around all day.”

“All day? I thought he was like a night watchman or something.”

“He seems to be there all the time.”

“Doesn’t that seem odd to you? Why do we need a security guard at all?”

“Maybe because of the news reporters. There were lots around all week. Maybe he was keeping them out of the school. Or maybe he’s keeping the kids in the school, stopping them from sneaking out to their cars for a joint.”

“Maybe,” she said without conviction. Gary Cole and Louis Sorvino were officially a problem.