THE STUDENT COUNCIL

The view from Amy Westin’s third story window hadn’t changed on Friday morning. The world beneath her looked the same as yesterday. The lawn, the garden, the majestic oaks. It was her outlook that had changed. The distance between dreams and reality could actually be bridged – with the right design and engineering.

She fought off an urge to visit the internet, a pit stop that would deflate her tires by stealing her focus. Her calling was to create news, not graze on the views of others. A summary from Google would suffice.

The public meeting had run until ten. The problem with a large crowd, even more so with television cameras present, was that lots of people wanted to talk. Fred Waltz had fallen asleep on the gym floor beside her, snoring so loudly that she had to move. The final plan was that organizational meetings would begin today at noon and continue through the weekend. The offer of guidance from Cornell University was accepted. William, Googs, and Paul had seats at the planning table. In response to Amy’s final suggestion of the night, William insisted that Trisha Berman be included as well.

After nine hours of deep slumber, Amy felt rested and alert. Without bothering to tame wild pillow hair, she jogged to the Runsfeld house. She tapped on a basement window to announce her arrival, and slipped through the back door.

She found only Google and William at the computers. “Where’s Paul?” she asked, moving quickly to a full coffee pot. Caffeine had become a staple.

“His housekeeper’s under orders to let him sleep until ten,” Google said. “You know, fame day and all.”

William chuckled. “Paul could kick Titusville’s ass in his sleep. His father’s a damn control freak.”

“Talked to Berman?” Amy asked. The words had sprung from her mouth on their own. First love was a bitch, she decided. Or a fitch, as Google might say.

“Yep,” William answered. “She was busy taking other calls, but she’s happy. She’ll be at the district office for the meeting at noon.”

“There’s a story about Berman in the Erie Daily Times,” Google added. “Here’s a surprise. She had a teaching contract at her old hometown high school for this year. She asked out of it so she could come to Oil City. That’s a weird choice, I’d say, but lucky for us.”

Amy shrugged, but her mind took off. Trisha told her that Oil City was her only job offer. Why the fib? Was the teacher running away from something - or someone - in Erie? She’d have to find out.

“Let’s go over the day’s agenda,” she said, getting back on track. “They’ll want to address the lease for the mall first.”

“Twenty-eight thousand a month,” William replied, “with provisions for taking care of any damages.”

“Are you sure that’s enough, Amy?” Google asked. “Money doesn’t seem like a problem now.”

Amy nodded to her best friend. He had opened the right door. “Since you brought it up, thirty-nine thousand is actually more like fair value. My parents were willing to rent at a discount to help out.”

“Here’s to thirty-nine then,” William said, raising his mug. “The mall is the key to everything and we have final say. Besides, we’re getting computers and all that for nothing.”

Amy didn’t acknowledge the toast. “Just a suggestion, Mister President. Go slow and easy with the final say thing. You’ve already won the war. Let Gwen Simpson and the others feel like they’re in charge. Like my grandma always said, ‘You’ll catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.’” She looked to Google for agreement.

His head bobbed. “Stay humble, King William. Act like a tyrant and everything could blow up. We’re like the new school fight song. We’re on the very edge of glory.”

Amy snorted. “Can’t we change the fight song to something fresh and new?”

William bowed to his queen. “Just tell me your choice and the band will get to work on it.”

She shook her head. William’s ego was running wild. “Maybe take nominations for a song and have a school vote. The band instructor shouldn’t be making decisions like that.”

The president scowled disappointment. “How about I change the school nickname for you? I know you hate Samaritans.”

“No. Believe it or not, I’m actually okay with it now. It suits us. Besides, dozens of high schools around the country have Oilers for a nickname. We’re the one and only Samaritans.”

William opened a green garbage bag that he brought from home. After rummaging through it, he held up a blue Samaritan T-shirt. “Then I better keep one of these. There’s four pairs of jeans in the bag, and a dozen shirts. I’m not giving your new boyfriend any of my underwear. They’d be a little too tight,” he laughed. “Don’t you think?”

Amy pointed a finger at him. “Zip it! He’s not my boyfriend!”

Google straightened up. Amy had a boyfriend? Was it Cow Pie? Is that why they were sitting together in the gym?

William tossed the T-shirt in the air. “Okay, okay. I was just messing around.”

“There’s no time for that, ... Little Billy,” Amy winked. “I want a five-minute summary from each of you. All the highlights from the web. Then we’ll write a speech together, something short about last night. We can film William right here and put it on the website along with links to all the news reports.”

After leaving the boys, Amy headed home with Fred’s new wardrobe. From her father’s closet, she added two older dress shirts, one white and one powder blue, both frayed at the cuffs. Then a pair of new Nike tennis shoes.

With the full bag on her lap, she set off on a two-mile bike ride to Fred’s foster home. She had told him to expect her at eleven. Halfway there, she pulled up at a curb and took her disposable phone from her sweatshirt pocket.

“Yeah,” Leo’s voice answered. “I’ll be at the river park in ten minutes.”

“It’s Joan.”

“My, my. Joan the joker. Why’d you send me on a damn goose chase? I drove out to the old Waltz place for nothing. The basement was empty. There were no plants either.”

“The joker is you, Leo,” Amy said quickly. “I’m glad it went smoothly.”

Leo’s laugh was a cackle. “How’d you know I was messin’ with you? Were you watchin’ the place? I thought I felt eyes on me.”

Amy sighed relief. What would she have done if Leo stuck with his story? Recruit Paul to have a chat with him? “I had someone camped out nearby. I’d like to think of them as friendly eyes, wouldn’t you?”

Dammit, Leo thought. Was that some kind of threat again? The lady had a scary way of putting things. “I always tease my friends. Ask anybody. You and I are officially friends.”

“Partners will do, Leo. Please don’t mention it was the Waltz farm to anyone else. That’d be unprofessional.”

“Fair enough. So what now?”

“We’ll discuss that tomorrow.”

The meeting at the district office started promptly at noon. Amy paced in her bedroom, reading a stream of texts from Google. Introductions were followed by a long-winded speech by a Cornell professor. He had driven all the way from Ithaca, New York, with two graduate assistants. The school board had accepted his offer to advise, facilitate, orchestrate, whatever. The Allegheny Mall lease became the first official topic.

After fifteen minutes passed without a message, Amy’s cell sounded. “This is Google with William and Paul. We’re on speaker in an empty office. Simpson has a big problem with the thirty-nine grand. She says the square footage and current rental market are more in line with the twenty-eight. She’s like a different person all the sudden. Being pushy.”

“Should I put my foot down?” William asked. “Or have Paul do it?”

Amy stayed calm. She had considered this possibility. Mrs. Simpson had been a pushover last night, but she was on her own turf now. Real estate was her livelihood. Her estimate was right in line with what Amy calculated from her own research. The board president had to be allowed to save face without Amy giving up the windfall for Westin Construction.

“Here’s the deal,” Amy stated. “You say the council respectfully disagrees, but understands her position. The rental agreement will be for up to thirty-nine thousand a month, with a guarantee of only twenty-eight thousand, that coming from the district. The balance will be paid by the student council conditionally, based on a good faith effort to raise funds for that purpose during the two-year term of the lease. No guarantee on a dime over the twenty-eight.”

William interrupted. “Amy, that’s like throwin’ in the damn towel! You know how much the council raised all of last year? Fourteen hundred bucks. Total.”

“Don’t worry about that,” she said. “I have ideas. Just get Simpson to agree. Tell her you feel a moral obligation to consider the wear and tear that six hundred students will inflict. That level of abuse isn’t normally considered in a lease. She’ll come out of it feeling like the winner. That’s a good thing.” She paused. “Google, are you getting all this?”

“Loud and clear. I’ll be interested to hear those fideas of yours.”