THE STUDENT COUNCIL

A small stage had been built against a wall where the Greenstone Groceries dairy section used to be. Facing it, the students formed twenty lines that filled the vast room. Two of the cheerleaders demonstrated stretching exercises on the raised platform.

Amy felt a tap on her shoulder. Guy Simpkins, the Oil City quarterback, barked, “Everybody works, Westin! Stretch it out!” He quickly moved on to the next slacker.

Google laughed from a sitting position the floor, where he was mimicking the motions of the leaders on the stage. “Amy, I couldn’t tell you about this. You had to see for yourself.”

She sat between Google and Fred, extending her left leg, then the right. Every student participated while the football team patrolled the ranks like drill sergeants. No one would have paid attention last season – not when the team lost three of its first five games. An undefeated record bought a ton of respect.

After a silent minute, the Black-Eyed Peas took over. The song “Boom Boom” erupted from a half dozen speakers on the ceiling. Four more cheerleaders hopped up on stage. All six broke into choreographed Zumba moves. Amy was amazed. “Where did this come from?” she asked Google, laughing at his awkward handle on rhythm.

“What? My dancing ability?”

“Zumba, silly!”

“Berman,” he shouted over the noise. “She taught the cheerleaders. All the law and order ... organization ... that’s Barner. He wanted it to be disciplined like football practice.”

Paul himself joined the cheering squad. His attempt to emulate the girls looked like a seizure. His weight shook the entire plywood platform.

Google yelled over the music. “I think Barner’s that bad on purpose! He wants everyone to feel they can do better than him, or at least not be too self-conscious to try.”

Amy started feeling the tempo, flowing with it. She imagined Trisha performing for the cheerleaders and felt a twinge of jealousy. Cranking herself up to full energy, she tried to outshine the girls on stage. A minute passed before she realized Google and Fred were staring. She immediately backed off.

The fifteen minutes flew by, and the student body emptied the room two lines a time. Within a couple minutes, every student was parked at a personal work station, firing up their own computer.

Mrs. Runyon targeted Amy. “It’s your first day. I’ll get you oriented on how the system works.”

“No need,” Google interrupted. “I’ll take care of her.” The teacher shrugged and returned to her desk.

He turned to Amy. “Well, what’s your first impression of Westin High?”

She rubbed her eyes. “We just went through this. How clear can I be? If you put this school on me, I’m screwed. The whole idea of moving to the mall will be questioned. Why don’t you guys get that?”

“I guess we think the move should stand on its merit, that’s all. Ownership of the mall shouldn’t matter.”

“It matters. End of subject.”

Google nodded. “As you would say, ‘Original subject.’ What do you think? How many suggestions do you have so far?”

“Only a couple. First of all, who was missing for the Zumba workout?”

“Nobody. Every student is required to participate unless they have a doctor’s slip.”

“The teachers were missing. Every teacher should be dancing in those lines too. God knows, most of them need it.”

Google lit up. “Damn right! Team-building and all that. If it’s good for us, it’s good for them.”

“And juice and vitamins. Sell juice in the morning too. Orange and apple. Find the best multivitamin tablets on your computer and use some of the profit to buy them. Every student should take a vitamin supplement. It just makes sense.”

“It shall be done.”

“Overall, I’d give you guys a B. The security guard shouldn’t be here. He’s unneeded and out of place.”

“We’ll bring it up with Berman. He totally messes up the atmosphere.”

“Where is Berman?” Amy asked.

“Busiest lady on Earth. The business club has space back in the old grocery store storage area. She’s there from seven until nine, making sure all the day’s Samaritan orders go out. There have been hundreds every day. Then she has a private work cubicle. Half her day is spent reviewing our compositions. We write one a week on our computers. The rest of her time is one-on-one conferences with the students. We’re each supposed to meet with her for ten to fifteen minutes, once a week.”

“That’s it? We write one paper a week and we’re done?”

Google broke out laughing. “Done? Then we each have to critique ten other compositions for grammar, structure, and content, plus review lessons off Screen Saviour. Berman’s a ballbuster.”

Amy was proud to hear it. Commitment and dedication were great attributes.

“How about your physical for football?”

“At lunchtime. Now we better get you familiar with your computer.”

Glancing around the room, Amy noted that every chair was occupied, every nose pointed at a screen. If she dropped her pants and mooned the class, no one would even notice.

The Wiener Wagon was finally doing real business again. After a several-day hangover from all the Samaritan donations, customers were back to passing cash through the window. Parked near the football field on Friday night, Leo had moved close to three pounds. The Oil City faithful wanted to party after another win. Visiting fans sought relief from their sorrow. Biddy Early was an all-purpose wonder drug.

Prosperity carried into Monday. Seven ounces before two in the afternoon was extraordinary; sales normally picked up later in the day. Leo was celebrating with a beer when his wife called. “Yo, Wend. What’s up?”

“Just checkin’ in,” she gasped, holding smoke in her lungs a little longer.

The hot dog vendor shook his head. If the two weren’t married, she’d be his biggest customer instead of his biggest expense. “That’d be nice for once. You usually call for a reason.”

“Okay, if you’re gonna be that way, I’ll get right to the point. I borrowed a little over twenty-eight thousand from our money drawer. Just wanted you to know.”

Leo’s stomach rolled over and he retasted lunch, a Jerry’s meatball sub. “That’s too much for groceries. Did you buy a damn car?”

“How’d you know? Did Joan already tell you?”

“Aw shit! What did Joan put you up to now?”

“Pop a beer, Leo. Your attitude sucks. We bought a new truck for the Waltz boy. You know, the kid whose father grew all the weed for you.”

“We what?”

“Joan wanted to take an advance and pay for it herself. That seemed unfair to me. We’re sharing the weed, so we should share the cost.”

“Let me get this right. I’m spending every day over a hot grill in the back of a truck ... so we can buy a car for a kid we don’t even know?”

Wendy sighed. “Cooking hot dogs was your own idea, completely unnecessary. Besides, they’re terrible. You shouldn’t boil them first.”

“Now you tell me that? After fifteen years?”

“I assumed all your customers mentioned it.”

Leo knew he couldn’t lay claim to a quality food product. He had a few actual wiener sales each day, but only to first-time buyers. “Can I talk you out of this gift idea? Let Joan buy it herself like she offered.”

“It’s already done, Leo. The truck’s in the boy’s driveway. We gave the foster mother money for the insurance. I had Peggy take care of it.”

“I never intended to marry Missus Santa Claus. This isn’t working.”

His wife laughed. “You know what they say, Ebenezer. Opposites attract. Sneak over here before the kids get home from school. You can open your Christmas present early.”

“Sorry, I have a headache!” Leo disconnected and stared at his pan of hot water. He carried it outside and dumped it on the street. He’d just grill the damn hot dogs from now on.

“Hey there,” a man called out. “Can I borrow a cell phone?”

Leo looked at a dark-haired stranger in a tan jacket, who added, “My car broke down. I need to call a garage.”

“I’ll call someone for you,” Leo said, reaching to his shirt pocket. “Any garage in particular?”

The man broke into a grin. “Very good, Leo. I would have kept your phone if you handed it over. All kinds of interesting numbers on there, am I right?”

“What do you want?” Leo asked, instantly concerned.

The stranger pulled an ID from his wallet. “I’d like to introduce myself. Detective Louis Sorvino, Narcotics Division.”

Leo glanced at the card and then all around. Was this the end? He had a pound of weed in the truck. “The card says Pittsburgh police. I’ve been to PNC Park for a few Pirate games. That’s all I know about Pittsburgh.”

“How about those Pirates?” Sorvino asked, still smiling. “Second best record in the National League this year.”

The wiener vendor stood quietly at attention. Joan of Arc, he thought. He knew she’d bring nothing but trouble.

“So we’re clear,” the detective continued, “I’m actually retired from the Police Bureau. That doesn’t mean I can’t make a call and turn your world upside down. Your pretty wife and three kids would be scrambling to get by if you took a long vacation. All that product at the family farm would be hauled away.”

Leo’s body quaked. He knew about Wendy’s parents’ farm? Must have followed her. His wife was such an airhead! To her, selling weed was no different than peddling tomatoes or sweet corn at a roadside stand. Was this a shakedown? Another palm to grease?

“You have customers,” Sorvino said, nodding at two ladies approaching the Wiener Wagon. “Go ahead and take care of them. I’ll wait for you on that bench over there.”

After sending the ladies away with sad faces, Leo returned to the bearer of bad fucking tidings. “What do you want from me? I’m small time ... a midget basically.”

The troublemaker laughed. “If you’re a dwarf, you sure ain’t Dopey. That’s a million-dollar payload at your farm.”

“Then call me Grumpy. I just want to be left alone.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem. I don’t want money, not from a man who so generously supports his local high school.”

“So?”

“So let’s talk about the football star. Paul Barner.”