THE STUDENT COUNCIL

Because it was Monday, Big Seven Three joined Amy and William for the walk home from school. Little Eight Nine was off at practice, chasing a dream. While the boys discussed the upcoming visit from 60 Minutes, Amy plodded in silence. Paul’s jovial smile and innocent laughter strengthened her resolve to deal with the new problem. Upon reaching her house, she invited both boys inside to share the ritual pie.

Before her guests picked up their forks, Paul took a small white box from his pocket. “Amy, before you accept this token of our esteem, you should know that William thought of it, Google designed it, and I had it made.”

William grinned. “Translated, that means Barner paid for it.”

She lifted the lid, pulled away a sheet of cotton, and looked at a shining gold pendant. It appeared to be three scripted letters, P, I, and G. “Pig? You want me to have a pig pendant?”

William slapped the table. “I told you, Barner! Googs tried to be too fancy. It reads like ‘pig’ to me too.”

“That’s a W in the middle, Amy,” Paul explained. “The way the sides of the letter sweep into the P and G makes it look kind of like an I. The letters stand for Paul, William, and Google, your three best friends.”

“I suggested it,” the W added, “because the other two keep kidding me that all my success is your invention. Hell, I know that better than anybody. What I love about you, Amy, is that you’re the one person who would never say that. You allow me to feel smarter than I really am.”

Amy dried her eyes on a cloth napkin. “That’s only because you’re smarter than you think. You’re capable of great things when you take yourself seriously.”

She continued to admire the unique gift. “Why did you give it to me without Googs being here? He’ll be disappointed.”

“Good point,” William answered, glancing at Paul. “We lack sensitivity.”

Paul cleared his throat. “Amy, you may not have noticed, but Google’s developed a romantic thing for you. I’d even call it a fixation. We ... the two of us ... feel like that’s kind of out of bounds. The four of us have always been friends.”

“We know you aren’t interested in Google that way, or either of us for that matter,” William added. “Hell, none of us are worthy.”

Paul nodded. “So we’re volunteering to talk to him, let him down gently, with your permission.”

Amy was aware of Google’s silliness and dismissed it as a temporary ailment, something like the flu. It would pass without treatment. “Not necessary. I’ll take care of it.”

“Good,” William said. “I wasn’t looking forward to it. Now business. The Berman Foundation. How much is enough for that? The way things are going, it’ll be half a million in no time. I’m still getting pressured with money requests from everybody. Today the band director asked me to buy them new uniforms!”

“Not you, dipshit,” Paul corrected, “the student council. You get confused.”

Amy closed her eyes and pictured the band marching on the field. “Give them all those Samaritan jogging suits that we’re selling. It’s a modern look. Very sharp. Now, about the Berman Foundation. It’s supposed to be a permanent thing. You only spend the interest. If you want to expand its use to college scholarships even, you’re going to need millions. Why not dedicate three quarters of all future revenue to the foundation and have fun with the rest?”

Paul knocked on the table. “Seconded. Let’s do that. The money will slow down when the novelty wears off. Let’s eat the damn pie.”

“One more idea,” Amy said, cutting through the crumble crust. “What would you think about installing an additional bathroom in each class space?”

“Major!” William exclaimed. “The girls need their own! I went to take a piss and there was a tampon floating in the toilet!”

“Too gross,” Paul mumbled. “I’m about to eat pie! I’ve been using the toilets at the exercise room.”

Amy dropped a slice on William’s plate. “My father said it would cost a little over a hundred thousand.”

“Consider it done,” William said, digging in. “I can’t think of anything more beneficial to the student body.”

Little Eight Nine dripped sweat after another back yard passing session. “Amy, your passes are softer than Simpkins’, and always right in my hands. I’d hate to drop the ball in front of everybody Friday night.”

She shook a fist. “Not another word about failure. End of subject. I need more research on the security guard.”

“Why? He’ll be leaving soon.”

“He’s a problem, that’s all. The only thing I found is that he and two others resigned from the Narcotics Division at the same time. They were in their forties or younger, all too young to retire. Fishy, right? It happened soon after the city hired a new police chief.”

“I’ve searched for every mention of him,” Google said, wiping his forehead with a sleeve. “Nothing sticks out. No wife or ex. No kids either.”

“It’s somewhere. He has to be crooked.”

Google chuckled. “Based on what? That’s a crazy assumption.”

“I just feel it. Check for retired peace officer associations, that kind of thing. Get in a few chat rooms. The old cops might still be in the loop. Find out why those three quit together.”

Google nodded. “I’ll turn over every leaf.”

“One more thing ... no ... two more things. Thanks for the PWG pendant. Paul said you designed it.”

“I can’t believe they gave it to you without me!”

“That’s fine. I love it. They said you designed it yourself.”

“William said the letters looked like P, I and G”

“Not at all. It was perfect. Would you mind going with me to the school after closing tonight? I want to work out and don’t want to be there alone. You can do some research while you wait.”

Google grinned. “It’s a date!”

At the mall, Amy carried her bag into the fitness room, saying she’d be half an hour. Afterward, the two could spend time on their computers.

Amy strutted her Zumba to music in her earphones. She never heard the door open and jumped when a figure appeared. “Google! Scared the crap out of me!” She tugged the plugs from her ears.

“Sorry! I was just checking on you. You’re very good. Fawesome, actually.”

“I’ll be fifteen minutes, maybe twenty after I shower. You see the security guard?”

“No one but a few kids. They were banging on the door, wanting to come inside. I’m going to use a toilet back there, okay?”

“Why you asking?” she chuckled.

Google hurried to the dressing rooms and returned a minute later. He stopped to talk again, forcing Amy to take another break. “It’s so clean back there, like spotless. I never thought your idea about the students doing the maintenance would work.”

Seemed like common sense to her. Why shouldn’t the kids clean up after themselves? Going to school was a privilege. Instead of two full-time janitors and a supervisor, the high school had a single maintenance manager to organize and oversee a fifteen-student workforce. The fifteen changed weekly when names were drawn from a box at the Friday lunch break. Those with commitments to after-school activities or jobs were temporarily excused, but their names went back into the box. The student council mandated that every student “volunteer” for at least one week during the school year. With the strength of numbers, the chores rarely took more than an hour after school each day.

“Where’s the faith?” she smiled. “Kids are capable of more than old people think.”

Google left her to finish her workout. Finally exhausted, she headed to the locker room. A single door led to two more inside it. The interior door on the right was for Gentlemen. The left was for Ladies. Both facilities were identical in size, an example of poor planning in Amy’s mind. Ninety percent of Forever Fit clients had been female.

The dressing room was mostly open. Four sinks lined one wall, opposite three toilet stalls on the other. Beyond that were a dozen lockers and benches for dressing. The showers were enclosed at the far end.

After stripping off her sweat-soaked Spandex, Amy rinsed off in the shower, leaving her hair dry. She would bathe more thoroughly at home.

Exiting the locker room, she suddenly froze. Something seemed off, out of order. She backed into the dressing area and looked at the wall facing the open interior. It was bare except for a two-plug electrical outlet a foot above the floor. Nothing unusual about that – except for one thing. The outlet hadn’t been there yesterday.

She dropped to her knees to inspect it. Seeing there was no screw in the center, Amy slid her fingernails beneath the top edge and yanked it off the wall. Secured only by adhesive tape, it was a damn hidden camera! She glanced toward the shower entry and benches, where she had just put herself on naked display.

Leaping to her feet, she slapped the wall with her right hand. Again and again. Knowing that someone planted a camera was maddening. Knowing exactly who did it was heartbreaking.