lit, Mrs. Yglesias asked the class the meaning of canard . Her question was met with open-mouth stares. She informed them canard was a lie told often and universally believed to be true. “Tyler used it well in his campaign speech. Abstinence-only sex education is a canard. Thank you, Tyler, for saying what needed to be said.”
Student reactions to my presence included whispers, furtive glances, exaggerated pretend-laughs, and “hey, condom guy.” One creepy guy in physics stopped me after class and asked whether he could get HIV from oral sex. Reflexively, I asked whether he meant giving or receiving, because there was a difference in risk factors depending on how it was performed. He became angry and told me to forget it. That was fine. I didn’t want to be talking about that subject with anyone, especially him. As he rushed away, I told him to talk with the school nurse.
The most annoying reactions were guys who squatted down and comically pretended to have a painful bowel movement.
This was not popularity. Notoriety was more like it. My reputation was, at that moment, somewhere between football captain/prom king and black trench coat/army boot types. This was far more attention than I had received after my science fair achievements. But it was not something Caltech would care about. Their admissions committee wanted an elected class leader, not some guy who gave a scheizen mixed-up speech about sex and drugs and toilet stalls.
But the promised election wasn’t happening. There had been no announcement of it, and none of my teachers had heard anything.
During biology II, a goth-looking guy came to Mr. Proudfoot’s class with a pink slip. Mr. Proudfoot waved the slip and said, “for our speechmaker.” The class laughed. I felt a familiar tickle in my throat.
By the time I reached Principal Nicks’ office the tickle had turned into a cough. I was experiencing the beginning of acid reflux as well. To calm my nerves I began making a grocery list in my head.
Principal Nicks tossed me a heavy document, Guidelines for Student Government . He explained that the role of SGA leaders was to improve the lives of the constituents, AKA students. The point he made, over and over, was that SGA was a governing body for those who are serious about government, and, therefore, it was not the SGA candidate’s role to advocate for sex lit or condoms.
He leaned forward. “ Capiche ?” I could smell menthol lozenges and aftershave.
I nodded. I couldn’t say anything because I was trying to suppress my coughing.
“And in the unlikely event you ever speak in front of the student body again, you’ll run it by me.”
I nodded vigorously. A bark-like cough slipped out.
He wasn’t done. “Did you know I was a member of a task force on drugs in schools, in the Bush administration? The first Bush, the better one.” He segued into a monologue about keeping kids off drugs. “So many lives lost. For what? Freedom? Fun? While pushers profit and kids suffer.”
His extended rant reminded me of a poem written and performed by Thor, a strange guy with a nose ring, in the Creative Soul class. “I am your cowboy, your muscle man, your lover, your fighter, your savior. Do you like my stirrups? My smoking gun?” When it was all over Thor did an elaborate curtsy. Ms. Gurzy cooed and students murmured enthusiastically. Zoe snickered silently, her shoulders bouncing. I enjoyed watching Zoe bounce.
“I said am I making myself clear?” Principal Nicks was glaring at me. Or maybe he wasn’t. It was hard to tell with his tumbleweed eyebrows. “The stall doors will stay off, and you will stay off the ballot.”
“Who’s on the ballot?”
“Nobody. There’s no special election.”
I still had the guidelines for student government in my lap. Why had he shown me this book when I would not be in the SGA? What I really wanted to say was there had been no time to run the farking speech by him, and the whole thing had been his farking last minute
Student reactions to my presence included whispers, furtive glances, exaggerated pretend-laughs, and “hey, condom guy.” One creepy guy in physics stopped me after class and asked whether he could get HIV from oral sex. Reflexively, I asked whether he meant giving or receiving, because there was a difference in risk factors depending on how it was performed. He became angry and told me to forget it. That was fine. I didn’t want to be talking about that subject with anyone, especially him. As he rushed away, I told him to talk with the school nurse.
The most annoying reactions were guys who squatted down and comically pretended to have a painful bowel movement.
This was not popularity. Notoriety was more like it. My reputation was, at that moment, somewhere between football captain/prom king and black trench coat/army boot types. This was far more attention than I had received after my science fair achievements. But it was not something Caltech would care about. Their admissions committee wanted an elected class leader, not some guy who gave a scheizen mixed-up speech about sex and drugs and toilet stalls.
But the promised election wasn’t happening. There had been no announcement of it, and none of my teachers had heard anything.
During biology II, a goth-looking guy came to Mr. Proudfoot’s class with a pink slip. Mr. Proudfoot waved the slip and said, “for our speechmaker.” The class laughed. I felt a familiar tickle in my throat.
By the time I reached Principal Nicks’ office the tickle had turned into a cough. I was experiencing the beginning of acid reflux as well. To calm my nerves I began making a grocery list in my head.
Principal Nicks tossed me a heavy document, Guidelines for Student Government . He explained that the role of SGA leaders was to improve the lives of the constituents, AKA students. The point he made, over and over, was that SGA was a governing body for those who are serious about government, and, therefore, it was not the SGA candidate’s role to advocate for sex lit or condoms.
He leaned forward. “ Capiche ?” I could smell menthol lozenges and aftershave.
I nodded. I couldn’t say anything because I was trying to suppress my coughing.
“And in the unlikely event you ever speak in front of the student body again, you’ll run it by me.”
I nodded vigorously. A bark-like cough slipped out.
He wasn’t done. “Did you know I was a member of a task force on drugs in schools, in the Bush administration? The first Bush, the better one.” He segued into a monologue about keeping kids off drugs. “So many lives lost. For what? Freedom? Fun? While pushers profit and kids suffer.”
His extended rant reminded me of a poem written and performed by Thor, a strange guy with a nose ring, in the Creative Soul class. “I am your cowboy, your muscle man, your lover, your fighter, your savior. Do you like my stirrups? My smoking gun?” When it was all over Thor did an elaborate curtsy. Ms. Gurzy cooed and students murmured enthusiastically. Zoe snickered silently, her shoulders bouncing. I enjoyed watching Zoe bounce.
“I said am I making myself clear?” Principal Nicks was glaring at me. Or maybe he wasn’t. It was hard to tell with his tumbleweed eyebrows. “The stall doors will stay off, and you will stay off the ballot.”
“Who’s on the ballot?”
“Nobody. There’s no special election.”
I still had the guidelines for student government in my lap. Why had he shown me this book when I would not be in the SGA? What I really wanted to say was there had been no time to run the farking speech by him, and the whole thing had been his farking last minute
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