Not My Problem

At the end of the day I stood at the back of the PE hall, my stomach twisting. I really wanted this to go well for Meabh.

We weren’t the only class who were being forced to attend the debate. All fourth years and up were here, and Ms. Devlin’s first-year class. They were tiny and excitable and I felt very mature next to them until a teacher tried to usher me into sitting down because she mistook me for one of them.

As people piled into the room I heard snippets of conversations. Everyone was still talking about Dylan’s video. By nine thirty in the morning there had been several GIFs and memes floating around, the most popular one including a shot of Dylan trying desperately to hold on to dozens of tennis balls in one hand, a look of extreme concentration on his face before they jumped out of his hand in every direction. It was the look on his face that made it. I’d been the one piling them on, but per my request, Daniel had cut me out of the shot. Someone had posted the whole video on social media and that had racked up over two thousand likes so far from people who weren’t even at our school. I’d overheard one of the boys off the team asking him if he’d come back now that Ronan was benched. I’d smiled as I heard him shrug it off with disinterest. I was happy for him, but as soon as I knew that plan was working, my mind turned to the debate.

The blackout blinds, the ones the drama club used when they were putting on a show, had been drawn down, so the PE hall was quite atmospheric for three in the afternoon. The stage, which I had learned yesterday was made of rostra, was lit dramatically, with both footlights and parcans, and there were two fixed profile spots. I waved to my new drama tech friend from yesterday, who was sitting up in my balcony with a lighting desk and a grin on his face. His moment to shine had come. Or rather, his moment to make others shine.

Laura sidled up to me and hip-bumped me.

“That was you this morning, wasn’t it?” she asked.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I replied loftily.

“I’m glad. Someone needed to do something. Dylan was getting terrible shit for nothing. Now he’s a hero. It’s brilliant.”

“How are things with the ex?” I asked.

She shrugged. “I’m so over it. I like someone else.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I don’t really know him that well but he seems super sweet and he is such a ride. We did shots at Angela Berry’s party. Well, I did, he just—”

“Can we please stop gabbing and take a seat, ladies?” Ms. Devlin marched past.

“Coming?” Laura asked.

I was confused for a moment. Why would I come with her? Then I realized she meant for me to sit beside her for the debate.

“Sure,” I said, trying not to sound surprised. You don’t want other people to know your first thought is, Why do you want to sit with me?

We took two seats at the back beside her choir friends, who said hello in eerie harmony. In front of me Dylan was surrounded by people jostling to sit beside him. Laura pulled out a bag of popcorn and offered me some. In spite of all the fear I had about this stupid debate and what might happen, I laughed.

When the lights went down, I wasn’t laughing anymore. The twisting in my stomach was threatening to bring up that morning’s toast. The vice principal came out onstage, squinting into the full-blast spotlight, and talked a bit about how wonderful it was to have a proper election and how that was what the democratic process was all about and some stuff about how the youth are more politically engaged than ever blah blah blah. He explained how the “event” would go and I thought the term debate had been applied rather loosely. When I thought about a debate I fully imagined Holly and Meabh at each other’s throats, both of them shouting increasingly louder and ending in a fist fight or a knife battle, perhaps. As it turned out, they would each give a speech and some students would ask questions after. That was it. There wouldn’t even be a winner.

“Bit tame for these two,” Laura whispered to me.

Holly opened the “debate” with her speech. She talked a bit about her time at the school and on the paper and why she wanted to be student council president. She didn’t go the anarchist route of promising people three-day weekends and free-pizza Mondays, which she obviously couldn’t deliver, but she made some modest suggestions about little things she’d like to change. A student lounge in the old art building for sixth years, no uniforms for Junior and Leaving Cert students during exam weeks, bringing back the ski trip for transition years, that sort of thing.

I realized, watching her, that she didn’t have to have amazing ideas that would make a significant impact. She had something better. She was funny. She made jokes that the whole room laughed at. She was charming and engaging. And she’d begun to realize she had this glow and it was something she could use.

The room cheered for Holly as she finished her speech. I wanted to close my eyes as Meabh walked up the steps and took her place. Her jaw was tight and her expression said I can’t believe you all think that was good. Idiots.

I sent silent psychic messages to her, to loosen up, relax her shoulders, her jaw. I listened to the ideas she had and I could see that she’d put so much thought into everything. For every idea she had, she gave reasons why it would work, how it would be easy for people to get on board with, how it would save the school money. But I knew that the rest of the room couldn’t see what I saw. Someone so passionate she didn’t know how to rein it in and tone it down. People around me were shifting in their seats or whispering to their friends. They were bored. Meabh didn’t even seem to notice. She plowed ahead and raced through a million different points. I knew it was because she thought they were all as important as each other and she had to let everyone know every detail even if it meant speaking at double speed.

I glanced at Laura. Her face was stuck in a kind of shell-shocked grimace. When she noticed me looking at her, she gave me a sympathetic look.

“She sounds really smart,” Laura whispered to me. “She knows what she’s talking about.”

She did not have to say, But no one cares, they’re bored stiff.

When Meabh finished, there was a beat before people began to clap. They were so tuned out I don’t think they realized it was over.

When the applause had died, Ms. Devlin stood up at her table and clapped for both Holly and Meabh and congratulated them.

“Now we’ll have questions from our audience. Anyone, any questions for the candidates? Don’t be shy.”

One of the first years put her hand up and Ms. Devlin pointed at her to speak.

“What would you most like to change about the school?”

Immediately, I could tell that this was a prepped question. It didn’t even make sense, seeing as they’d both already talked about things they’d change.

Holly beamed and Meabh rolled her eyes. I winced. I didn’t think she realized she did that as often as she did. It was like every feeling she had was written all over her. She couldn’t help it. And unfortunately most of her feelings were being infuriated with other people’s stupidity.

She must find me so annoying.

And yet, never once had Meabh made me feel like that. At least not since diorama-gate. I could probably let that go after all these years. Holly, on the other hand, a perfect performer, made me feel like that all the time.

“I mean, apart from a hot tub in the gym, which I think might be a long shot”—Holly paused for the laugh—“I would love to see our school embrace a more inclusive spirit. There are too many groups and gangs and cliques that make people feel like they don’t belong. Our school should be a family. You might not get along with every single person all the time, but when you’re family, you’re always welcome.”

Meabh rolled her eyes again and I could see her mutter to herself. So could everyone else, of course, if they were looking at her. I knew what she was thinking. What the hell did that even mean?

Meabh didn’t let people clap for that. Before they could get going she leaned into her microphone.

“As I said before, I have multiple areas I would like to address, but if we are going to talk about inclusion then I think we need to look at our admittance criteria, which unfairly disadvantages people from lower-income communities. We need to address at a systemic level what we are doing to encourage a more diverse student body, especially those who have not had the advantage of attending one of the feeder schools in higher-income neighborhoods.”

No one was sure whether to clap now or not. After a silent moment Ms. Devlin called on another first year with her hand up. I had the impression that the first years had all been tasked with thinking of a question to ask.

“What have been the good parts and the bad parts about running for president?”

“It’s been a lot of work,” Holly said with a laugh that felt like she was confiding in the whole audience. “I had to write proposals to hand in, I had to write a speech, I had to quit the paper, which was really hard.”

I was impressed that Holly didn’t show one ounce of bitterness. There was no side-eye, no hint of a snide tone.

“But it’s also been fun. I got to challenge myself to really think about what would make the school better, I got to learn a lot from the student council advisor, and, my favorite part, I got to have posters of my face everywhere. Lads, do you know how fun that is, to have everyone talking about you? I feel famous!” She finished with a chuckle that let everyone know she was only joking and that of course all the hard work was the reward and posters are silly.

Meabh looked mutinous. Her brush with fame in this election cycle had not been fun and I had to wonder if Holly had brought it up to rub it in.

“It’s been really difficult and stressful,” she said, “but it’s something I care so much about that it’s worth it.”

I thought about Meabh having to endure teasing, knowing that people were making fun of her for her admittedly sometimes excessive enthusiasm. For her “annoying” personality. For the kind of thing people had always hated about her when it was just who she was. I thought about how I wasn’t there for her when it happened and how I hadn’t faced her since. I thought about how I’d done the same thing to Kavi, telling him I had never wanted him around when all he wanted was a friend.

“One more question?” Ms. Devlin asked the room.

And then the bell rang.

The debate. The election. Our school. There were only a handful of people in the room left who cared, and everyone else was already halfway out the door.