THE STUDENT COUNCIL

The Wanango Country Club was Big Ed Barner’s fair-weather second home. Most of his life’s labor had been directed to his golf swing, with decent results. After breaking eighty for the second time in a week, he celebrated with three cocktails in the clubhouse instead of the customary two. He didn’t even have to pay for them.

Ed had always been known for being rich. Popularity was a more recent accomplishment, due entirely to his son’s superiority on the gridiron. Paul’s newfound fame as a student leader had launched his father to even loftier status. Every mover and shaker in Oil City was anxious to rub elbows and pick up his bar tab.

Privately, Ed was baffled by all the student council business. It was football season. Paul didn’t need the distraction.

Upon returning to his red brick mansion, Ed immediately inquired about his son. The housekeeper handed him a vodka and tonic with a wedge of lime. “He’s downstairs, Mr. Barner.”

The weight room in the basement was befitting of a king, and Big Ed’s son certainly was that. Recruiters from all over the country had been kneeling at his feet for years. The father found his son doing curls, cranking his biceps, grunting loudly through final reps.

Ed walked over to his personal work station, a leather Lazy Boy recliner, and took a seat. He loved watching the boy attack the weights, and loved being comfortable while doing so. After raising the footrest, he plucked a cigar from his pocket and stuck it between his teeth. “Meadville tomorrow,” he exclaimed.

Paul nodded. “One more set. Hang on.”

“They’ve got that left-handed quarterback,” Ed continued. “He can only throw when he’s rolling left. He’s no threat to run really. Awful slow.”

After a final grunt, Paul dropped the heavy dumbbell to the rubber floor. “Before we talk about the game, there’s something else. You need to call Amy Westin’s father and help him out. Something about a bond to build the new high school.”

Big Ed’s teeth bit into his Cuban stogie. The branch manager of Citizens Bank was a golf partner. According to him, Westin Construction was in deep financial trouble. “I’ve told you before, Paul. You don’t mix money and friendship. We’ll stay out of it.”

“It’s not about money. Amy said it’s more about being a sponsor. You know, putting in a word with the right people.”

Ed spit flakes of tobacco on the floor. “The little girl doesn’t know shit. Westin probably wants my backing so he can get his bond. That’s like cosigning a damn loan. Very risky. Again, we’ll stay clear.”

“Explain the risk to me,” Paul said, toweling his face. “I don’t see it. Westin Construction has already built two of our schools. If they don’t get the contract, it will go to some outside company. That means fewer jobs for Oil City people.”

Ed tried to stay patient. Maybe he could turn this into a learning experience for his son. “Paul, these situations are going to come up all your life. Having money is both a blessing and a curse. You have to learn to say no. Grant Westin has made foolish business decisions. You don’t back a fool with smart money. It’s no reflection on your friend Amy. Her father never should have sent her begging. That’s just more evidence of his poor judgment.”

“I told her we’d help.”

“And that was a mistake. I don’t blame you for that, but you’ll have to get tougher. If she’s really a friend, she’ll understand.” Big Ed sipped on his drink, then smacked his lips. “Let’s talk about the Meadville game.”

Amy sat alone beside the river, skipping stones and awaiting a call from Paul. The high school contract was essential. Without it, everything else seemed practically meaningless.

She mused about Wendy Sykes. Why hadn’t she called Leo’s wife in the first place? All the marijuana business would have been so much simpler. Back in Little League, it had been Wendy who sat in the bleachers every game, cheering for everybody, even the umpires. After every final out, win or lose, the team gathered around the Wiener Wagon for hot dogs and sodas. The detail Amy had forgotten, until today, was that Wendy gave all the orders. Leo had hopped to her every command.

During a half-hour conversation, Wendy divulged all kinds of details as if Joan were her best friend. Her parents had a farm near the Waltz place, where she had helped gather up all the marijuana. She would save seeds from the plants she harvested, and try growing them herself.

Wendy had embraced the donation idea. A hundred and fifty ounces would trigger the biggest party ever - put a cloud over all of Oil City. And yes, once the pies started flying out of Venango Bakery, even non-smokers would feel obliged to donate. Follow the leader! Jump on board! Support your student council! Where Leo was reserved, Wendy was a social butterfly. She gave assurance that the right people would know about the pot giveaway in a flash.

For Amy, news of Wendy’s social network sealed the fate of Roger Cooper. The town would soon know. Where would Roger take his act next? It didn’t matter.

Sitting on the same grassy spot where Trisha Berman braided her hair, Amy thought of calling her. Trisha had been sad that day, disheartened by the loss of her faculty advisor position. What a difference a week could make.

Before Amy could press her number, she received a call. “Amy, I have bad news.” Paul’s voice was a whisper. “My father won’t help.”

She took a deep breath, released it slowly. “Tell me what he said. Every word.”

“I ... can’t,” Paul stuttered. “It wasn’t nice.”

Amy wanted to throw her iPhone at the river, skip it all the way across. “You have to tell me. Word for word.”

“I’m not going to repeat anything bad about your father. I mentioned the other schools, local employment, all that. Dad said helping would be too risky.”

Amy snorted disapproval. “Do you think it’s risky, Paul? Do you think I would have asked for help if there was any risk to your family?”

“Amy, I trust everything you say. You’re incredible. Look at all you’ve done. I’d do anything for you. I mean that.”

“Good. Meet me at my house in ten minutes.”

Amy jogged home, formulating a plan as she loped along. Both of the family cars were gone from the driveway. Her parents had finally dragged themselves off to work. She sat down on the front steps to wait.

Paul arrived with his head hanging. She opened the door and asked him to follow. When they reached her bedroom, she produced a box from under her bed.

“Put it on,” she said.

He spread the brown cardboard flaps and removed a 73 jersey. Scarlet and grey. Ohio State Buckeyes. “Where did you get this?”

“I ordered it a month ago. Thought it’d be a fun Halloween costume for you. Hilarious, huh?”

“Why are you showing me now?”

“You told me you’d do anything to help. I want you to wear that home. Tell your father you’ve decided to attend Ohio State.”

Paul dropped the jersey as if it were on fire. “He’d never believe it. He knows I’d never do that to him.”

“To him? Ohio State’s going to be preseason number one next year. They’ll return most of this season’s starters. On top of that, they already signed the top high school quarterback in the country. You’d be stepping straight into the national championship picture. Penn State’s going to suck again. Why isn’t your father putting your interest first?”

“You don’t understand. He lives and breathes Penn State. He gave five ...”

Amy finished his sentence. “Five million dollars to the school for a library! I know! He does more for a school he attended for four years than he does for his own hometown. It’s pathetic. If my father gets that contract, he’ll pay a lot more than five million in wages to Oil City residents. A lot more.”

Paul looked flustered. “So what are you saying? I’m threatening to go to Ohio State if he doesn’t help your father?”

“You said you wanted to help. That’s what I’m asking.”

“He won’t believe me. It won’t work. It’ll just piss him off.”

“What’s he gonna do? Take away your Hummer? Hold back on your Saturday night prostitutes?”

Paul shook his head. “You know about that?”

“Everyone knows, Paul. Nobody says anything to you. Not even William.”

The legendary lineman sat on the bed, looking like a sad little kid. “My father just doesn’t want me to get into a relationship. He thinks it could be a distraction.”

“He’s wrong, Paul. He can’t manage you like that.”

His massive shoulders drooped. “I wanna help you. I just don’t think that’s the way.”

Amy reached out and slapped his knee. “How can you stand up to everyone else and become a baby in front of your snobby father? You march right in and tell him you’re driving to Columbus for the game on Saturday. The Buckeyes are hosting Louisville. You’re going to meet the coaching staff.”

“And tell him I want to play for a national championship?”

“That’s right. Don’t even mention the Westin Construction contract, even if he asks about it.”

“I don’t get it. How can I help you then?”

“You tell him I’m going with you on Saturday. Just the two of us. You’re taking me because you trust my advice ... like when I moved you to nose tackle from left end.”

“What if he says I can’t go?”

“Really? Did you really say that? He’s going to tell a three hundred pound All American what he can and can’t do? Paul, it’s time for you to grow a pair. It’s the only favor I’ll ever ask.”