silence. He grabbed the microphone as if strangling a goose.
“All right settle down. Before we get righteously crraa -zyyy we have some business to attend to.” That was met with some boos and hisses. This was probably because students don’t like hearing about business when they GET! FIRED! UP! In my opinion, he deserved boos for his dangling participle.
“There’s an opening for vice president of SGA, and in accordance with the bylaws of Firebird High we must fill that vacancy, provided there is a student who is willing to run. There is one. Tyler… Super…an…askadid…ia. Tyler . Come on up and say a few words. Tyler ?”
As if magnetized, my legs carried me to the middle of the stage. There was lethargic applause, and a few hoots. Some girl shrieked like her hair was being pulled. Principal Nicks leaned in and grunted. “Three minutes and out.”
The microphone was heavier than I thought, and when I grabbed it from the bottom, it flopped over and hit my chest with an amplified thump. My nervous cough started, and this led to screeching feedback from the mic and angry groans from the crowd.
I looked at Principal Nicks. He gave me what appeared to be a go on you idiot head nod. I knew a three-minute coughing fit was no substitute for a real campaign speech. But coughing would have been better, as it turned out, than what came out of my mouth.
“Firebird High has a host of issues to be addressed. For example…” I hacked, then I took a deep breath and continued. “How many of you are content with no doors in the rest room stalls?”
There were boos, laughs, and an impromptu cheer of, “Tyler, Tyler, he’s our man.” Principal Nicks made a karate chop motion at the crowd. The noise stopped. I resumed my stump speech.
“We shouldn’t suffer from a lack of privacy, just because of drug incidents in which we played no part. I don’t think anyone wants to relieve themselves with onlookers. If I am elected…”
My mouth was moving, but it was becoming harder to hear what I was saying, due to the roar of blood through my ears. I could not continue speaking about stall doors. There wasn’t enough to say about wanting to defecate in private, and that really wasn’t much of a campaign platform.
I had just spent days practicing my debate audition, so I used a bit of that. But my facts got mixed up. My speech became a rambling mess as I tried to tie statistics gleaned from my research to my ability to affect change through student government. In my defense, it was not easy to transform a debate audition into a campaign speech on the fly. I am sure I said nothing specific about my own experiences with drugs, sex, and disease, because there was nothing to tell. I did use a few Latin phrases.
I clearly recall the last thing I said. “With me, student government will be a font of information. Latex and facts, not fear and platitudes.”
The crowd roared.
The microphone was jerked out of my hand. Principal Nicks snarled something at me. I couldn’t hear him clearly. He made a spastic, up-and-down arm wave, which probably meant for everyone to shut up. The drum major took that as a sign to start up the marching band.
The fight song played. The crowd parted. I walked off the stage to a cheering throng. I attempted to return a hi-five, but I hit some guy in the head.
Not knowing where to go, I continued walking out of the auditorium and into the corridor.
A flash. Temporary blindness.
I refocused and saw the photographer, a thin girl with alabaster skin hidden by a halo of dark, flyaway hair. She lowered her camera and looked at me as if she were an anthropologist and I, a rare fossil. She said something but I couldn’t hear her. I rapidly shook my head.
She shouted slowly. “I’m. Rachel. From. The. Clarion . Are you prepared for the consequences of what you’ve unleashed?”
I nodded. I continued walking past her into the great empty hallway with no destination in sight, having no clue about what I had
“All right settle down. Before we get righteously crraa -zyyy we have some business to attend to.” That was met with some boos and hisses. This was probably because students don’t like hearing about business when they GET! FIRED! UP! In my opinion, he deserved boos for his dangling participle.
“There’s an opening for vice president of SGA, and in accordance with the bylaws of Firebird High we must fill that vacancy, provided there is a student who is willing to run. There is one. Tyler… Super…an…askadid…ia. Tyler . Come on up and say a few words. Tyler ?”
As if magnetized, my legs carried me to the middle of the stage. There was lethargic applause, and a few hoots. Some girl shrieked like her hair was being pulled. Principal Nicks leaned in and grunted. “Three minutes and out.”
The microphone was heavier than I thought, and when I grabbed it from the bottom, it flopped over and hit my chest with an amplified thump. My nervous cough started, and this led to screeching feedback from the mic and angry groans from the crowd.
I looked at Principal Nicks. He gave me what appeared to be a go on you idiot head nod. I knew a three-minute coughing fit was no substitute for a real campaign speech. But coughing would have been better, as it turned out, than what came out of my mouth.
“Firebird High has a host of issues to be addressed. For example…” I hacked, then I took a deep breath and continued. “How many of you are content with no doors in the rest room stalls?”
There were boos, laughs, and an impromptu cheer of, “Tyler, Tyler, he’s our man.” Principal Nicks made a karate chop motion at the crowd. The noise stopped. I resumed my stump speech.
“We shouldn’t suffer from a lack of privacy, just because of drug incidents in which we played no part. I don’t think anyone wants to relieve themselves with onlookers. If I am elected…”
My mouth was moving, but it was becoming harder to hear what I was saying, due to the roar of blood through my ears. I could not continue speaking about stall doors. There wasn’t enough to say about wanting to defecate in private, and that really wasn’t much of a campaign platform.
I had just spent days practicing my debate audition, so I used a bit of that. But my facts got mixed up. My speech became a rambling mess as I tried to tie statistics gleaned from my research to my ability to affect change through student government. In my defense, it was not easy to transform a debate audition into a campaign speech on the fly. I am sure I said nothing specific about my own experiences with drugs, sex, and disease, because there was nothing to tell. I did use a few Latin phrases.
I clearly recall the last thing I said. “With me, student government will be a font of information. Latex and facts, not fear and platitudes.”
The crowd roared.
The microphone was jerked out of my hand. Principal Nicks snarled something at me. I couldn’t hear him clearly. He made a spastic, up-and-down arm wave, which probably meant for everyone to shut up. The drum major took that as a sign to start up the marching band.
The fight song played. The crowd parted. I walked off the stage to a cheering throng. I attempted to return a hi-five, but I hit some guy in the head.
Not knowing where to go, I continued walking out of the auditorium and into the corridor.
A flash. Temporary blindness.
I refocused and saw the photographer, a thin girl with alabaster skin hidden by a halo of dark, flyaway hair. She lowered her camera and looked at me as if she were an anthropologist and I, a rare fossil. She said something but I couldn’t hear her. I rapidly shook my head.
She shouted slowly. “I’m. Rachel. From. The. Clarion . Are you prepared for the consequences of what you’ve unleashed?”
I nodded. I continued walking past her into the great empty hallway with no destination in sight, having no clue about what I had
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