and then uses the same hand to rub Calvin’s shoulder protectively. Standing just off to the side, Principal Jenner clears his throat, gives me a kind of thumbs-up behind Sylvia’s back, and approaches the curtain.
“Now remember, gang,” he says. He calls everybody “gang,” even when it’s just one or two of us. “The moderator will ask the questions, and Tanner, you’ll have two minutes to respond. Calvin, since by law you are allowed twice as long to do pretty much everything, you’ll have four minutes. Once the moderator’s questions are done, I’ll open the podium to the audience for the last fifteen minutes of the debate. Got it?”
I nod nervously. The moderator’s questions don’t bother me so much; I’ve been preparing for this for weeks, maybe even months. It’s my fellow students that scare the hell out of me.
Calvin stands next to me. I can feel the cold creeping off his skin, just like I can feel his eyes searching for mine. Staring straight at Principal Jenner’s back, I ignore him.
The curtains open and Principal Jenner walks to the middle of the stage, just as we’d rehearsed yesterday after school. The crowd applauds politely as he introduces us.
I walk out first, striding carefully in the black heels I wore to prom last year. I have on my favorite gray slacks and the white blouse mom got me, the one with the stiff collar to show off my pearl earrings. My hair is back, making my rectangular reading glasses the centerpiece of my face. I don’t really need them, but Brody said they made me look “presidential.”
Again, there is scattered applause and a big cheer from my besties on the cheerleading squad and, of course, my bros on the football team. But they’re only so loud, and there’s only so many of them. By the time I’ve reached my own microphone to the left of Mr. Jenner, the crowd is silent.
I kind of stand there, tasting the hostility in the air, trying to ignore it.
Then Principal Jenner announces Calvin, and boom ! The rafters start shaking. Kids are standing, the zombies are pounding their feet and pumping their cold gray fists into the air. The entire upper left hand corner of the auditorium is a sea of green sleeves with yellow stripes, all waving as fast as they can go.
The lights from above are bright, but I steal a glance past Mr. Jenner to Calvin as he approaches the microphone, and he looks bashful as usual, though of course he can’t blush.
I’m lucky he still has to wear the green jacket with yellow stripes, even in a presidential debate, because if he’d been allowed to wear something natty like a black suit with a white shirt, all Men-in-Black style, I’d be dust already.
Or that tan suit with the brown shirt, like he wore to our chorus recital last year. Oomph, look out. I’d have to concede right here. Careful, Tanner, careful. He’s a zombie, remember ?
I’m asked the first question. The moderator is Mrs. Halston, the librarian, and suddenly I wish I hadn’t called her “Mrs. Halitosis” that one time she asked me for a library pass in front of my girls, because I can sense the hostility before she even opens her mouth.
Mrs. Halston is a thin woman in a pink suit, to match her pink lipstick and pink nails. She leans into the microphone in front of her and says, “Tanner, can you tell us why you decided to enter the race so late in the game?”
I blink my eyes and clear my throat. Then I blink my eyes again. I wasn’t really expecting a question like that. World peace, the power of social media, politics—those, I was prepared for.
I clear my throat again and say, “I entered the race well before the deadline, Mrs. Halston. Several days before final applications were due, in fact.”
I smile to the scattered applause from the jock-block in the middle of the stands, trying not to notice that my friends are the only ones applauding. Or, for that matter, not openly sneering at me.
Mrs. Halitosis gives her trademark pink lipstick a
“Now remember, gang,” he says. He calls everybody “gang,” even when it’s just one or two of us. “The moderator will ask the questions, and Tanner, you’ll have two minutes to respond. Calvin, since by law you are allowed twice as long to do pretty much everything, you’ll have four minutes. Once the moderator’s questions are done, I’ll open the podium to the audience for the last fifteen minutes of the debate. Got it?”
I nod nervously. The moderator’s questions don’t bother me so much; I’ve been preparing for this for weeks, maybe even months. It’s my fellow students that scare the hell out of me.
Calvin stands next to me. I can feel the cold creeping off his skin, just like I can feel his eyes searching for mine. Staring straight at Principal Jenner’s back, I ignore him.
The curtains open and Principal Jenner walks to the middle of the stage, just as we’d rehearsed yesterday after school. The crowd applauds politely as he introduces us.
I walk out first, striding carefully in the black heels I wore to prom last year. I have on my favorite gray slacks and the white blouse mom got me, the one with the stiff collar to show off my pearl earrings. My hair is back, making my rectangular reading glasses the centerpiece of my face. I don’t really need them, but Brody said they made me look “presidential.”
Again, there is scattered applause and a big cheer from my besties on the cheerleading squad and, of course, my bros on the football team. But they’re only so loud, and there’s only so many of them. By the time I’ve reached my own microphone to the left of Mr. Jenner, the crowd is silent.
I kind of stand there, tasting the hostility in the air, trying to ignore it.
Then Principal Jenner announces Calvin, and boom ! The rafters start shaking. Kids are standing, the zombies are pounding their feet and pumping their cold gray fists into the air. The entire upper left hand corner of the auditorium is a sea of green sleeves with yellow stripes, all waving as fast as they can go.
The lights from above are bright, but I steal a glance past Mr. Jenner to Calvin as he approaches the microphone, and he looks bashful as usual, though of course he can’t blush.
I’m lucky he still has to wear the green jacket with yellow stripes, even in a presidential debate, because if he’d been allowed to wear something natty like a black suit with a white shirt, all Men-in-Black style, I’d be dust already.
Or that tan suit with the brown shirt, like he wore to our chorus recital last year. Oomph, look out. I’d have to concede right here. Careful, Tanner, careful. He’s a zombie, remember ?
I’m asked the first question. The moderator is Mrs. Halston, the librarian, and suddenly I wish I hadn’t called her “Mrs. Halitosis” that one time she asked me for a library pass in front of my girls, because I can sense the hostility before she even opens her mouth.
Mrs. Halston is a thin woman in a pink suit, to match her pink lipstick and pink nails. She leans into the microphone in front of her and says, “Tanner, can you tell us why you decided to enter the race so late in the game?”
I blink my eyes and clear my throat. Then I blink my eyes again. I wasn’t really expecting a question like that. World peace, the power of social media, politics—those, I was prepared for.
I clear my throat again and say, “I entered the race well before the deadline, Mrs. Halston. Several days before final applications were due, in fact.”
I smile to the scattered applause from the jock-block in the middle of the stands, trying not to notice that my friends are the only ones applauding. Or, for that matter, not openly sneering at me.
Mrs. Halitosis gives her trademark pink lipstick a
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