Not My Problem

We had registration in an actual classroom on Wednesday morning because the drama club were setting up the hall for the debate the next day. I’d walked in on them first thing not realizing we’d been moved and the stage had been built already. A large black grid had been lowered over it, and from what I could tell they were unscrewing some lights, moving them, and screwing in other ones. I heard a lot of talk about gels and parcans and a debate about whether a gobo would be tacky, whatever that meant. They obviously felt very important and were acting like they were professionals, wearing all black. One of them with a folder kept saying how they really needed to do a tech run with the candidates. The election had got totally out of hand as far as I was concerned. A debate, honestly. Who did we think we were?

Still, I was giddy to start the day because I had something fun planned for Dylan. He’d texted me a thumbs-up to let me know he’d planted the letter. Neither of us knew if there’d been any consequences yet. He said his aunt Donna hadn’t noticed the letter by the time his dad came to pick him up.

I didn’t have to wonder if she’d found it though. As soon as I entered the classroom Ronan and Ms. Devlin were having it out. I took a seat near the front to watch. Everyone was watching it unfold.

Ms. Devlin had her feet up on her desk and was leaning back in her chair. Her trainers were mucky and she was trying hard to look serious.

“Miss, this is totally unfair. She can’t decide to stop me playing. You’re the coach!” Ronan’s face was ruddy with rage and he was barely keeping himself from shouting.

“Ah yes, Ronan, see, the funny thing is, as your mother, she is definitely allowed to stop you playing. I have no say in it.”

“I’m sixteen,” he protested. “Surely there’s some kind of rule about me being old enough to decide for myself. Can’t you please talk to her? Tell her I’m the best player. You need me.”

A couple of the other boys from the team piped up then. “Yeah, come on, miss, we need him.” “He’s our midfielder, miss.” “Yeah, you lose midfield, you lose the match.”

Ms. Devlin shrugged, a jovial expression on her face, like she was enjoying this immensely.

“I’m afraid you overestimate my competitive spirit,” she said. “Take it up with your mother, Ronan.”

Ronan threw himself into his seat with mutinous glares at Ms. Devlin, who appeared not to notice. I heard him say to the boy next to him, “If I ever find out how the fuck I got a letter from a pharmacy I’ve never been to . . .”

“Why didn’t you tell your mam it was fake?”

“Of course I did. But she searched my room and found condoms. Didn’t matter that if I was using condoms, then I wouldn’t have the fucking clap, would I? She’s just pissed I was getting the ride at all. Now I’ve to go to fucking Mass every morning and I’m going to be off the team for the final. We definitely would have made it this year.”

A few of the boys clapped him on the shoulder in comfort.

I looked across the room to catch Jill’s eye. Her lips were so tight I knew she was holding in a huge grin. She met my eye for a brief second and I knew that article would not be printed. At least this week. Holly was sitting beside her, and I wondered what she’d think when she realized it wasn’t printed. Jill would lie and say she didn’t know what happened. Would Holly still want to print it if she won on Friday? If it couldn’t help her? If she lost she almost definitely would, out of spite. But that was something I’d have to deal with later. For now, Meabh was safe, and hopefully she was still in with a chance.

I glanced then at Meabh, who was highlighting parts of her manifesto and making notes, with her nose all scrunched up. I didn’t know if I was helping her win, but I wasn’t going to let anyone make her lose.

Seeing as the PE hall was out of use for PE, Ms. Devlin had agreed to let me use it during my free period to work on my project with Dylan. She was impressed that I was involved in “such a commendable endeavor,” or whatever she called it.

“What is all this?” Dylan tapped a box with his foot.

“These are your supplies. These are going to make people forget about stupid Ronan’s stupid prank.”

“You think?” he said, not quite sure but optimistic. “It looks like a box of crap.”

“Only if you have no imagination!” I said cheerfully. “These are what we need to set a world record.”

He looked at me. I beamed.

“I’m going to need more information.”

“Right. Okay, so, I had a look at some of the easiest to beat world records. I thought we do a whole bunch of them and make you the guy who set like ten world records.”

I watched his face for a reaction. He grinned, then it faded into a frown.

“Don’t you need a Guinness person to come and watch?”

“Yes. Technically. Don’t worry about that. It’s a two-part plan. Part one: We set the records here, in school. Everyone hears about it. You become a huge sensation.”

He raised his eyebrow at sensation.

“All right, well, it becomes a talking point. And then we rally support to make it like an event. Which leads to part two: we invite Guinness, and it becomes a whole school thing with everyone supporting you, because they’ve already seen you do it!”

Dylan chewed on the inside of his cheek. He inspected the boxes. I held my breath, afraid he’d say no. I really didn’t have a better idea and I didn’t want Ronan’s foul mood to backfire onto Dylan, even if he never realized Dylan had been the one to plant the letter.

“It does appeal to the showman in me,” he said finally with a wink. “But how are we going to make sure everyone knows about it?”

“Don’t you worry about that. It’s sorted. You worry about this.” I pointed at the box of items, most of which I’d pilfered from around the school. “I stole these eggs from the home ec room and I want to get rid of the incriminating evidence.”

I helped Dylan unpack the first task onto a table tennis table I’d pulled from the storeroom. Most eggs cracked with one hand in a minute.

Twenty minutes later we were dying with laughter. The video footage I took on my phone was so shaky from laughing, one of the tech guys who’d got interested in what we were doing agreed to hold it instead. But he started laughing so much that eventually we took a break so he could find a way to keep it steady. We ended up taping the phone to a mic stand with gaffer tape.

By the time the bell rang, Dylan had successfully:

Peeled an orange blindfolded in 15 seconds

Cracked 38 eggs with one hand in one minute

Blown a pea across 24 feet and 8.1 inches (something we all spontaneously cheered for)

Clipped 52 wooden pegs to his face.

Dylan failed to:

Type the alphabet on an iPad in fewer than 3.14 seconds

Peel more than 8 bananas in a minute

Hold more than 26 tennis balls in one hand

Assemble a Mr. Potato Head in less than 16.17 seconds.

Afterward he lay back on the floor, catching his breath. It was surprisingly sweaty work and he had pink marks all over his face from the pegs.

“Do you think this will really work?” he asked, sitting up.

“I do.” I grinned. I wasn’t even lying. “It’s so funny. Everyone is going to love it.”

“And it goes up tomorrow?” he asked, wiping his forehead.

“First thing,” I said. “You’re gonna be huge, dahling.”

“Is everything sorted?” I asked Daniel. We met behind the prefab building and I was shivering and rubbing my hands together to try and prevent frostbite setting in. It was the kind of morning where you felt the cold get into your bones.

He nodded. “You got the text, didn’t you?”

Daniel had accessed the school’s records and sent a mass text to the student body with a link to the school paper’s website and a countdown to just after nine a.m. this morning.

“Yeah. It’s definitely going to work though, isn’t it?”

“Do you mean the link or the plan?”

“Both.”

“The link is fine. It wasn’t hard. The plan . . . well, the video is funny. I promise. Do you want to see it now?”

I shook my head. I didn’t think that would help. It would just give me more specific things to worry about.

Stomach acid leapt around my stomach and I wasn’t sure if it was nerves or missed breakfast.

“And the other thing?” I asked. I couldn’t quite meet his eye and I watched a spider crawling out of a knot in the door frame behind him instead. Daniel took a folded sheet of paper out of his pocket and held it out to me. I hesitated before taking it.

“Thanks,” I said, nodding.

He patted me on the shoulder and left.

I turned the piece of paper over and over. I’d asked Daniel to find out who had posted the video of Meabh. I’d confided in him that I thought it might be someone I knew but I had to find out for certain.

“Do you really think that’s necessary?” he’d asked me.

“I need proof.”

He said he’d trace the IP address to a location and get me the answer.

I knew it was just a video of Meabh being Meabh and honestly it made me laugh. I loved that she was that passionate. But it had hurt her and it had given people an excuse to make fun of her and talk about how annoying she was. I wanted so badly for it not to be Holly. Holly would never make up a fake story or spread false rumors. But she would use the truth against you. She could make you feel like it wasn’t her fault that you were hurt because she hadn’t lied.

Finally, nausea threatening to overcome me, I unfolded the sheet so hurriedly it ripped. I could still read what it said though.

I’m not the fucking CIA. You already know who did this.

I choked out a laugh and blinked back tears at the same time. He was right. I didn’t need proof.

There was a buzz around the room. Everyone was waiting and curious. Holly and Jill were sitting at the back, heads bent together over Holly’s beloved hard copy of the paper. It had come out that morning, without the offending article.

Holly was confused, but there was something else too that I struggled to identify.

Jill spread her hands. “I have no idea what happened! It was in the final draft!”

Holly saw me looking at them and I watched her consider if this was my doing. I looked away quickly and took a seat near the front. Meabh was oblivious and examining what appeared to be notes for her speech.

Ms. Devlin marched into class about five to nine and before even calling the register she folded her arms and stared us all down.

“As you know, today is the electoral debate between your candidates for student council president. Holly and Meabh. As both girls are in our own registration class I will expect you all to vote on Friday. However, I don’t trust a single one of you, so just as the debate is now mandatory—and I will be taking attendance—in an equal show of mistrust, the voting tomorrow will happen during registration.”

Holly winked at me and I knew she must have suggested this to Ms. Devlin, like she said she would. She wanted Meabh’s defeat to be as brutal as possible. I couldn’t even muster a fake smile back. She’d been so busy the last few days I hadn’t even needed to avoid her, but things would come to a head soon. It was like a rumble of thunder in the distance.

“Miss, you can’t force people to vote. That’s, like, fascist,” Ronan said.

“Ah, much like with your mother deciding what sports you can and cannot participate in, school has its own peculiar rules.”

“Miss, you can’t—”

“Una Bannon?” Ms. Devlin started calling the register over the sound of Ronan’s complaints.

At 9:05 I heard the chiming of several alarms going off at once. Ms. Devlin looked up, frowning.

“Ronan. Put your phone away. You too, Alison.” She seemed more surprised than annoyed.

“But misssss,” Ronan whined, “the countdown.”

She opened her mouth to cut him off but whatever she expected him to say, it wasn’t that.

“What are you talking about?”

“The countdown clock.”

Someone else piped up and filled her in on the text the whole school had received this morning. Alison held out her phone and Ms. Devlin inspected it curiously. Seeing her resolve weaken, the class began a cajoling chorus of “Please, miss, can we look. Come on, miss.”

“Fine. But—” She held her hand up to silence the cheer. “I’m putting it up on the projector and we can all look together. You better hope this is PG-13 or you’re all in major shit. Phones away.”

She got one of the boys to retrieve her rarely utilized laptop and connect it to the projector on the wall. I really hoped this wouldn’t backfire. I was seized by a fear that people wouldn’t think it was funny or they’d think Dylan was stupid. My heart only settled when the page came up on the projector and all I could see was a video of Dylan, the preview shot of which was him in a silent scream with fifty-two wooden pegs stuck to his face. Immediately a roar of laughter went up and even Ms. Devlin looked amused.

Daniel had done a great job editing it. The background music was overly dramatic and orchestral and it made the whole thing even funnier. He had clipped out all the boring bits and included slow-motion replays of the best parts. By the end almost the whole class was cracking up. Ms. Devlin had honest to God tears of laughter down her face. I didn’t think I’d ever seen her laugh. I didn’t think I’d seen any PE teacher in the world laugh. No one has.

Only Ronan didn’t think it was funny. He was seething in the corner and when his friend leaned in, laughing, Ronan pushed him away so hard he fell off his chair. I snuck a peek at Holly and even she was giggling and pink in the cheeks. For a second it reminded me of her, but from a few years ago. There were times when we’d laughed so hard it had hurt our stomachs, over the kinds of things you tried to tell other people about but they never made them laugh because you had to be there. I felt a powerful ache, a longing to erase everything that had happened the last couple of years, the dirty, ugly mess our friendship had become. If I offered her a clean slate, would she take it? Or would she roll her eyes and pretend she didn’t know what I was talking about?

Meabh looked around from her seat and mouthed at me, This was you. It wasn’t a question. I winked and put a finger to my lips. She smiled and I forgot about Holly.