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Authors: Taylor Morris
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for us all to be there at the unveiling together, to show our solidarity and instill confidence in the students that our council was reliable. I gently reminded them thatcouncil members were required to attend two-thirds of all student councilâsponsored events, which this counted as. After sending the e-mail, which I did several days before the press conference (no more last-minute stuff for me), Melanie responded, saying sheâd bring a ribbon for the machine. âWe can tie the ribbon around it and you and Mrs. Peoria can cut it.â Which I thought was a brilliant ideaâit showed creativity and initiative on Melanieâs part.
Iâd never felt so happy and confident about a student council year as I did then. Despite an initial hiccup in the plans, everything was working out perfectly.
Last year, at my request, the IT club set up an online poll on our schoolâs website to vote on how the people in charge were doing at their jobs. I thought it would be a great show of checks and balances after the administration said the cheerleaders could no longer wear their uniforms on game day, causing a momentary uproar between the jocks (including coaches) and the brains (like Ms. Jenkins). That first poll showed 99 percent support of the uniforms, and by the next game, the girls proudly wore them to school. The point of the whole system was that no one was above criticism, and everyone should have a voice.
Most important to me, of course, was the student councilâpresident rating, which stays up year-round (like the principalâs rating). Everyone loves clicking on polls no matter what theyâre about, so whether they really gave me much thought, Iâm not entirely sure. What I do know is that my approval rating averaged 87 percent last year.
On the morning we were to unveil the new vending machines, I went online to check my approval rating. Since I had been elected only about a month ago and hadnât yet implemented any changes, my rating was still at 100 percent. As I walked to the corner to wait for the bus, I noted, with a sense of foreboding, that I had nowhere to go but down.
Just as Cooper had promised, a blurb about our secret first project was on the schoolâs site. I cringed, however, when I saw a typo in the copy (â. . . see what this council has in stor m for usâ). I wondered if it was Cooperâs mistake or the Web peopleâs. Either way, I hoped no one would notice.
As I waited for Melanie on the corner of our streets, shivering beneath my too-thin jacket, I tried to keep a positive spirit, hoping that she would remember to do all the things she was in charge ofâbringing the ribbonfor the cutting ceremony and, most important, making sure Lori Anne was there to take photographs. The night before, Iâd had to use all my willpower not to call, text, or IM to remind her . . . just in case she forgot, like she did the speech. I woke up startled in the middle of the night and packed a pair of regular scissors, and because I couldnât think of anything else, I folded several rolls of wrapping paper and stuffed them into my backpack. Just in case. When I climbed back into bed, clutching Paddy, I mouthed the words to my speech until I fell asleep and dreamed about it.
Melanie came springing out her front door like alwaysâtoday wearing a beat-up straw cowboy hatâand I resisted the urge to ask her if she had contacted Lori Anne and brought the ribbon. Instead, I waited for it all to unfold naturally and according to plan, like I knew it would. As the bus bounced down Great Springs Road, I listened to Melanie talk rapid-fire about the dance show sheâd watched the night before.
âAnd that guy Koi is the best . You should see his moves, like, from graceful to bam in one beat flat. I am so totally signing up for dance,â she said, her eyes gleaming with that familiar brightness they always had when she talked about something new. As
Iâd never felt so happy and confident about a student council year as I did then. Despite an initial hiccup in the plans, everything was working out perfectly.
Last year, at my request, the IT club set up an online poll on our schoolâs website to vote on how the people in charge were doing at their jobs. I thought it would be a great show of checks and balances after the administration said the cheerleaders could no longer wear their uniforms on game day, causing a momentary uproar between the jocks (including coaches) and the brains (like Ms. Jenkins). That first poll showed 99 percent support of the uniforms, and by the next game, the girls proudly wore them to school. The point of the whole system was that no one was above criticism, and everyone should have a voice.
Most important to me, of course, was the student councilâpresident rating, which stays up year-round (like the principalâs rating). Everyone loves clicking on polls no matter what theyâre about, so whether they really gave me much thought, Iâm not entirely sure. What I do know is that my approval rating averaged 87 percent last year.
On the morning we were to unveil the new vending machines, I went online to check my approval rating. Since I had been elected only about a month ago and hadnât yet implemented any changes, my rating was still at 100 percent. As I walked to the corner to wait for the bus, I noted, with a sense of foreboding, that I had nowhere to go but down.
Just as Cooper had promised, a blurb about our secret first project was on the schoolâs site. I cringed, however, when I saw a typo in the copy (â. . . see what this council has in stor m for usâ). I wondered if it was Cooperâs mistake or the Web peopleâs. Either way, I hoped no one would notice.
As I waited for Melanie on the corner of our streets, shivering beneath my too-thin jacket, I tried to keep a positive spirit, hoping that she would remember to do all the things she was in charge ofâbringing the ribbonfor the cutting ceremony and, most important, making sure Lori Anne was there to take photographs. The night before, Iâd had to use all my willpower not to call, text, or IM to remind her . . . just in case she forgot, like she did the speech. I woke up startled in the middle of the night and packed a pair of regular scissors, and because I couldnât think of anything else, I folded several rolls of wrapping paper and stuffed them into my backpack. Just in case. When I climbed back into bed, clutching Paddy, I mouthed the words to my speech until I fell asleep and dreamed about it.
Melanie came springing out her front door like alwaysâtoday wearing a beat-up straw cowboy hatâand I resisted the urge to ask her if she had contacted Lori Anne and brought the ribbon. Instead, I waited for it all to unfold naturally and according to plan, like I knew it would. As the bus bounced down Great Springs Road, I listened to Melanie talk rapid-fire about the dance show sheâd watched the night before.
âAnd that guy Koi is the best . You should see his moves, like, from graceful to bam in one beat flat. I am so totally signing up for dance,â she said, her eyes gleaming with that familiar brightness they always had when she talked about something new. As
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