THE STUDENT COUNCIL

Noah Ragsdale was late to school on Friday. He’d been immersed in Call of Duty until two in the morning. After checking in at the attendance office – forgot to set his alarm, he said – Noah went to his locker for his books. He never forgot those because they never left the building.

When he entered his combination and opened the slotted metal door, a folded sheet of paper fluttered to his feet. He picked it up as a bell signaled the end of first period. Unfolding it, he saw an altered photo of Oil City High. The yellow brick building was over half a block long, a full block with the gym and parking lot included. The school was engulfed in flames, all but the gym on the north end. Fucking awesome! First-rate photoshop!

With the hallway filling with students, Noah hurried to a restroom and locked himself in a toilet stall. He stared at the picture, wondering how it wound up in his locker. Realizing there was a second sheet beneath it, he studied that. A diagram of the building had two photo inserts. The first photo was labeled “utility room.” An arrow pointed to its location in the basement. Two items in the room were circled: the electric panel and a round valve. Accompanying instructions said: Step One: Turn off water. Step Two: Turn off main power switch. Step Three: Break as many windows as possible. Step Four: Ignite basement areas one through six. The second photo needed no explanation. Six gasoline cans.

“Step five,” Noah said to himself. “Don’t get caught with these papers.”

He stared at the diagram for another minute, then ripped the two sheets into a hundred pieces. He flushed the toilet three times before they all disappeared. Staring into the bowl, he decided his new ally had to be one of the boys from the Call of Duty Corps. The self-named group of eight sat together at lunch every day, talking game strategy and excitement. Noah’s feelings about the loss of his warrior haircut were no secret to them. Obviously, he had been challenged to exact real-life revenge.

Seventh period brought closure to the first week of school and entry to the extended Labor Day weekend. Miss Berman opened her class with an announcement. “Most of you have already heard that I’ve been appointed as the advisor to the student council. Our first meeting will be held after school today in the band and choir room. The first change from past years is that the entire student body is welcome to attend meetings.” She paused and looked directly at Amy.

Nice try, Amy thought. You’ll be lucky to get a majority of the twenty council members.

The teacher continued. “Through an arrangement with Pizzarama, there will be free pizza at today’s meeting.”

Well done, Amy decided. At least there will be an appearance of interest.

While Miss Berman allowed the class to buzz about the food bribe, the boy known as Cow Pie turned around in the seat in front of Amy. Looking up and down between the floor and her shoulders, he mumbled, “I’m Fred Waltz. You’ve probably heard the teacher say my name. Anyway, there’s a bonfire at the creek after the football game. I was wondering if, well, you know, maybe you’d like to go.”

Amy’s knees collided in response. She knew almost nothing about the stranger. Almost nothing. She did know about the bonfire parties at Oil Creek. At least she’d heard about them. Lots of drinking. Lots of lost clothing. Lots of fooling around in and out of the water. The resident fish population got no sleep on bonfire nights.

Two skinny-dipping invitations in the same week? First Noah Ragsdale and now this Fred? Someone had to be messing with her.

She glanced at Google in the front seat of her row. He was talking to the girl next to him, paying no attention.

Billy “William” Noble was her next suspect. When she peeked toward him, he immediately looked away. Guilty! She should have thought of him first.

Fred’s eyes were trained on the floor. His hair reminded Amy of a stack of sun-bleached hay. His mouth hung an inch open, leaving oversized teeth on permanent display. His Carhartt bib overalls were a fashion violation, even in Oil City. There was nothing wrong with hand-me-downs, but from a great grandfather? Still, there was something endearing about him, a sort of innocence.

A hand gripped her right forearm. “Is Cow Shit bothering you, Amy?” Noah asked. He shot Fred a glare that made the new boy spin to face the front of the room.

Amy stared at the hand on her wrist. She had always wondered how a trapped animal found the will to chew off its own limb to escape. Until now. Nonetheless, she opted for a smile instead of self-amputation. “He was just introducing himself,” she said.

Noah released her arm. “I’ll introduce my boot to his ass. Just give me the word.”

Amy looked directly into Noah’s rattlesnake eyes, all the more sinister-looking beneath the bald dome. “I’d rather get my own ass out of this school. I hate this place.”

Noah glanced around and lowered his voice. “I heard there’s going to be no school next week.”

Amy was suddenly dizzy. Crazily, scarily, joyously dizzy. She calmed herself with a deep breath. “That’s right. We get Monday off.”

“Ha! I knew you’d say that. I meant no school as in no more Oil City High School.”

“What are you saying?”

Miss Berman called the class back to order. Noah leaned toward Amy, pretending to pick up something from the floor. “Like Cow Shit said, there’s gonna be a bonfire.”

Amy watched her right hand reach out and rub the boy’s shiny head. “You’d be more famous than Paul Barner.”

The band room was spacious. The entire student council filled only the tiered seats of the brass and percussion sections. With a hundred pizza hounds packing the rest of the room, still a hundred more loitered in the hall outside.

Miss Berman looked apologetically to the boy now known as William. “I ordered ten large. That’s all the principal would approve from the activities budget.” Even those hadn’t gone far. Some of the early-arriving students had double-fisted.

Because it was a game day, Big Seven Three was in high spirits. He had Pizzarama on speed dial. “This is Paul Barner. I need thirty extra large at the high school SAP. Make them all Barner Specials. Don’t wait on all thirty. Bring ten at a time. And don’t be going light on the pepperoni or sausage.”

Miss Berman shook her head and chuckled. “That ought to do it.”

Google elbowed his giant friend. “Now the beer distributor! Ten cases should be about right.”

“Don’t be childish,” William reprimanded, showing his disgust to Miss Berman. “We have business to attend.” He looked up at Paul. “Introduction, please.”

“Attention,” Seven Three called out. He had it at once, even in the hallway. “More pizza’s on the way. Make sure everybody gets a slice before you start doubling up.”

After celebratory applause, he said, “I’d like you to welcome and listen to our council president, William Noble.”

Amy leaned against the wall in a corner of the room, trying to stay calm in the aftermath of Noah Ragsdale’s far bigger announcement. Would Noah really do it? Would the devil answer her prayers? She sensed there was a fair chance. To create even that flicker of hope, her effort had been worthwhile. The stakes were huge. If the building was still standing on Monday, the high-risk job would fall on her shoulders alone.

She studied William, who was standing tall. His transformation was going well. She had never seen his forehead before Tuesday night; his long hair had always touched his eyebrows. His Samaritan T-shirt was gone too. He now wore a sport jacket, creased pants, and polished deck shoes without socks as his regular school attire. Totally preppy. A young man to whom people would pay attention.

“Welcome to our first council meeting of the year,” William said. “We’ll forego parliamentary procedure today because this is just an introductory get-together.

“To most of you, well, all of you, council has always been known for organizing homecoming and the prom and that’s about it. Those days are over. While promoting the involvement of students in planning and operating school activities will still be part of our agenda, we plan to do much more. We’re going to make this a better place to learn.”

“Yeah, right,” a boy called out. “We’re here to learn!” Half the kids laughed at the wisecrack.

Paul glared down at the smirking classmate. “Do you want to talk to me in private?” The laughter stopped and the boy’s head waved like a puppy’s tail.

The giant scanned the room. “Anybody who came here to screw off should leave now.”

With the room silent, the council president continued. “In 2001, Congress passed the No Child Left Behind Act. It was supposed to dramatically improve public education. We’re going to pass our own legislation here at Oil City High School: The Get Your Ass to School Act. How can any student not be left behind if they don’t show up? According to the attendance office, eighty-one of our official enrollment of five hundred and ninety-three didn’t come to school today. That’s fourteen percent. Another forty-eight students were tardy ...”

A girl spoke up. “What are you going to do? Send Paul to talk to them all in private?” Paul led the chuckling himself.

William held up his hands. “We’re going to do whatever it takes! We have to look out for each other.

“The council will also research and identify ways to improve learning and test scores. We’ll take those ideas to the administration and hold it accountable. We’re going to be innovators and leaders. We’re going to build a better school. In the meantime, be sure to like our new Oil City Area High School Student Council Facebook page. Our own webpage will also be up in the next day or two. I’d like to thank Google Runsfeld for all the work he’s done on those.”

William was interrupted by loud applause in the hall. The first batch of fresh pizzas had arrived.

When none of the slices made it to the band room, students got antsy. “The next ten pizzas come in here,” William announced.

“Now that’s leadership!” another boy yelled.

After more clapping, William moved forward. “Council will be meeting on the first and third Wednesdays of every month, beginning next week. However, the council will appoint a special executive committee to work with me on a constant basis. One representative will be chosen from each the senior, junior, sophomore and freshman classes. Questions?”

“How long until more pizza gets here?” a girl asked.

“Will there be any with plain cheese?” another said.

“I’ll take the pepperoni off yours,” a boy offered.

“Is there anything to drink?” a few yelled out.

William looked to Miss Berman, who’d been standing quietly at his side, and shook his head. “Such children,” he whispered.

The president clapped his hands to restore order. “Now I’d like to introduce our new teacher advisor, Miss Trisha Berman.” All the boys in the room applauded. Most of the girls shook their heads. William reached out to touch his teacher’s left shoulder.

As if anticipating the move, Trisha stepped quickly to her right, out of reach. “First I’d like to say that I’m proud to be here in Oil City and part of your school. I look forward to helping guide and assist the council. Everything Billy ... I mean William ... said is true. You can take on any responsibility. You can forge your own goals.”

Amy noticed that a couple girls were making faces, crossing their eyes and pursing their lips. But only two. One boy had nudged another, grabbed his crotch, and thrust his hips back and forth. Only the one. Miss Berman had come a long way in her first week.

“There will be a suggestion box in my classroom. As the school year goes on, you can jot down your ideas about problems the council might address and drop them in. You can also submit them by messaging the Facebook page. The executive committee will select a best suggestion each week. Winners will get their choice of a fifteen-dollar gift certificate from Pizzarama or a thirty-dollar voucher for Amazon books.”