THE STUDENT COUNCIL
Chapter 4

Trisha Berman was a different young woman on the second day of school. Dressed in jeans, sandals, and a sweater, she looked like one of the students. That didn’t deter the boys from staring. They had X-rated vision and could look right through any female’s clothing. The sniping girls, however, had been robbed of some ammunition.

As Miss Berman took seventh period attendance, Noah Ragsdale sat cussing at the world in general. As Amy and everyone else had heard by now, the boy was having a very bad day. Faced with expulsion for sporting the Mohawk haircut, he had been forced to shave his entire head. By his account, banishment would have been fine, welcome even, if not for his doctor dad. If Noah didn’t remain in school and get his diploma on schedule, his father threatened to take away his car.

He turned on Amy. “What the hell are you staring at?”

She had been enjoying the view, but consoled her classmate. “I loved your hair yesterday. You were like the last of the Mohicans.”

Noah’s gaze instantly shifted down to her chest and lingered. “This place sucks so bad. Whose business is it how I wear my hair?”

Amy tried to conceal her disgust with his leer. “At least they left your pants alone,” she smiled. “Love the swag sag. You aren’t afraid of anything.”

“Damn right I’m not. Somebody’s gonna pay for this! Nobody screws with me and gets away with it.”

“All the other students are behind you,” she whispered back. “What’s wrong is wrong. Are you going to blow up more toilets? That was awesome.”

Noah puffed out his chest. “Maybe I’ll blow up the whole school this time!”

“Somebody should,” Amy said from behind her left hand. “This place sucks.”

When class ended, Noah invited her to go get stoned and naked at the creek. He knew of a private swimming hole.

Miss Berman saved her the trouble of making an excuse. “Amy Westin, will you please stay for a minute? I’d like to talk.”

Amy remained at her desk as the others quickly evacuated. The teacher sat in Noah’s seat. She held Amy’s paper from yesterday’s class, wrinkled but legible. “I know this is yours, Amy. I saw you looking around the room yesterday, doing lots of writing.”

Amy wondered what happened to invisible. She had underestimated the new teacher. “Yes, that’s my paper. I decided not to turn it in. That’s my choice to make, right? Take a zero if I want to?”

Trisha smiled. “I’m not here to encourage zeros. I see that as a zero for me.”

Amy shrugged. Berman could see it however she wished.

“Just so you know,” the young teacher continued, “if this had been a graded assignment, you’d rate an excellent for showing the initiative to describe your entire class. You’d also rate a poor for oversimplifying your adjectives and neglecting to explain your own.”

Amy sat up straighter. “May I disagree? Could you explain why you chose the adjective ‘poor’ to describe all of mine? Two sentences should do it.” She lifted a playful eyebrow.

Miss Berman laughed and Amy immediately liked her for it. “Amy, you used words like athletic, stoned and pregnant. Those don’t get to the heart of a person. They’re superficial.”

Amy shook her head. “No, I disagree. Superficial was you describing yourself as ‘excited.’ You, Miss Berman, are dedicated. Why else would you dig a crumpled wad of paper from a waste basket?”

The teacher stared at her student. Was she talking to a teenager or one of her college professors?

Amy continued. “Athletic is Paul Barner. That’s not a poor choice for him; it’s the only one. For Paul, that single element controls everything right now. Sure, he’s kind, respectful, and good-hearted. All nice and all important. Right now, though, the athletic part supersedes everything. You’ll understand that after a few weeks here.

“I won’t say which girl is pregnant, but again, that’s a world-changer. Everything she was the day before that egg was fertilized became secondary to being a mother. That’s reality.

“And stoned? I wasn’t talking about people who light up on Friday nights with their friends. I was referring to stoned as a regular daily condition. When that’s the case, all a person’s positive attributes are rendered pretty much useless. ”

Miss Berman was nodding, grinning. “Very good. I understand your reasoning now and I agree. That was the purpose of the two sentences: to explain yourself. This is English Comp, remember? We don’t just put a title at the top of the page and leave it to the reader to decide what it means.”

Amy nodded back. “We each learned something about the other. Thank you.” She stood to leave.

Her teacher said, “We didn’t talk about your own adjective yet. Invisible. At least I assume that’s yours. It’s written last.”

Amy put on another smile. “I have a couple friends waiting for me. Why don’t you come over for dinner tonight? I’m grilling burgers on the patio at six. I’m sure my folks would love to welcome you to Oil City.” After sitting at the table with sullen parents again last night, Amy craved lively company.

Miss Berman’s expression said the answer was about to be no. Amy quickly added, “Sixty-Four Front Street. The white house with all the pillars. My mother is always dressed up, so feel free.”

“Isn’t that the area they call Millionaire Row?” her teacher asked.

“Historically speaking. Six is good?”

“Give me a second. I have to make a call.” Miss Berman went to her desk, took a phone from her purse, and tapped in a number. After animated whispers, she nodded to Amy. “I’ll be there at six.”

Billy and Google had waited for Amy outside the classroom. Paul was on his way to practice. The Corry Beavers would be visiting on Friday night.

Billy asked, “Amy, why the one-on-one with Berman? You been giving her fashion advice?”

“Ha, ha,” Googs chuckled. “Berman looked just fine to me. So does Amy.”

The three headed down the ancient hallway, lined with lockers on both sides. Fluorescent tubes hummed and flickered overhead.

“We were making dinner plans,” Amy answered. “She’s coming over at six. Would you two like to come?” The boys were speechless, so she teased, “Maybe that wouldn’t be such a good idea. I’d expect you to act like gentlemen.”

Billy found his voice first. “I can be one of those. I’d do anything for a shot at Berman.”

“Oh, Billy, so predictable. Consider burgers and salad at my house as foreplay. A warming-up-to-each-other kind of thing.”

Google grinned. “Just what you need after seventeen and a half years, Billy. More foreplay!” Despite his small stature and potato chip complexion, Google had been scoring regularly since his sophomore year. He attributed his frolicking success to mankind’s greatest invention: beer. It could magically transform him into an irresistibly cute, cuddly puppy on any given night - without him ever drinking a drop. As he often said, Oil City girls love their cold ones, and Bud never makes them wiser.

Amy stopped at her locker and dialed the combination. “Look at this as a student council planning session, Billy. It’s your chance to recruit Berman as teacher advisor. Convince her she can be part of something special.” Sᴇaʀch Thᴇ (ꜰind)ɴʘvel.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“What’s special?” Billy asked. “We don’t do shit.”

Amy removed her canvas tote bag and slid the straps over a shoulder. She closed the door more loudly than usual. “Is that Little Billy talking? That won’t cut it with Berman. She wants to make a splash. Get on your computers for a couple hours. Take note of the fact that we have one of the worst-performing high schools in the state. Bottom five percent in test scores and graduation rate. Poor attendance. Yesterday all the kids showed up out of curiosity, to see how everybody aged over the summer. Today nine percent were absent. You can’t teach empty desks.”

Google was surprised by Amy’s outburst, but taken by it. “I wouldn’t mind shaking up things. We’re two days in and I’m already bored. My parents would love to see me get more involved with the council.”

Amy nodded. “Check and see what the best schools do. Do they have study groups? Tutoring? What about an hour of student-led group study right after school? Do they have incentives? Come up with your own ideas too.”

Both of Billy’s hands flew up. “Stop right there. People are tired of politicians breaking promises all the time. I promised not to do anything. Have you forgotten?”

Amy looked to Google for help. He nudged the council president. “As I remember, you were one of six candidates and won with twenty-seven percent of the vote. That’s hardly a mandate, Noble. Three quarters of the kids didn’t vote for you at all. I think you could act constructively and still have a clear conscience.”

Billy came to a halt. “Ouch! Have you both lost your sense of humor?”

“We’re a tough crowd,” Amy answered. “We think maybe it’s time for you to let Big Billy come out and play. If you want to crack jokes all night, forget about the dinner invitation. If you want to get to know Berman, put on some real pants, a dress shirt, and a sport jacket. Be at the house at quarter to six.”

Once home, Amy climbed on her bike for a ride to the market. She had managed to save seventeen dollars from her August allowance, enough for fresh ground sirloin and a dozen gourmet buns.

Despite the family’s financial collapse, Grant Westin faithfully placed an envelope on his daughter’s nightstand on the first of every month. The handwritten note was always the same: Ames, for all the good you do. It was accompanied by a Ulysses S. Grant. Until six months ago, the allowance had been movie and snack money. Now it was a supplemental grocery fund. Emily Westin shopped only on Saturdays and rarely bought everything on her daughter’s list. As a result, Amy pedaled to the grocery store at least once a week.

Despite her effort to keep her father well-nourished, he was a shadow of the man in family photographs. The hardest-working man in Oil City was wide-eyed and vibrant back then, always moving more quickly than anyone else. Always with a purpose. His cheeks were hollow now. Once clear blue eyes were drooping and glazed. The sideburns of his red-brown hair had turned white overnight, as if the first winter snow had fallen.

As Amy rode along Front Street, her bag of groceries in the basket in front of her, she studied the wide Allegheny River to her left. It pushed relentlessly forward, oblivious to life around it. Oblivious to her father’s troubles. A great man deserved better. For over three years, he’d been bidding jobs at a loss so his employees could continue to work. He always re-examined his paving jobs, even years after completion, checking for cracking or crumbling that he viewed as premature. He repaired such eyesores on his own volition, at his own expense. He addressed settling scars in the drywall of his buildings the same way. Yes, he deserved so much better.

Amy squeezed the grips on the handlebars and squinted into the breeze. Even a river like the Allegheny could be harnessed with a dam, couldn’t it? Its course could be altered with some effort and ingenuity, right? She thought of her father’s monthly message again: for all the good you do.

Back in her bathroom, Amy decided to dress for the occasion. She had found a black sleeveless dress in a spider-webbed corner of her mother’s closet, one of her old mid-term maternity pieces. At five-four, Amy was a couple inches shorter than her mother, but the added length was fine.

Looking in the mirror, she noted her blue-eyed resemblance to her father. Her dark hair had the Westin hint of red and her chin was grooved in the center. Her full cheeks were home to so many freckles that no single one stood out. She used to envy her sister Sadie’s fair-haired similarity to her mother, but those days were over. Her mother’s infidelity was becoming more troubling by the minute. She was officially Daddy’s Little Girl.

Where was her mother at this very moment? Humping like a teenager in the back of a Land Cruiser along some deserted road? Showing that Australian a g’day? Amy was tempted to call Emily’s cell just to interrupt. Tempted.

Later, with the salad ready and the grill lit, Amy made a large pitcher of iced tea. Accompanied with a big slice of lemon, the drink was attractive to serve and cost almost nothing to make. The remaining apple pie would complete the backyard banquet.

Waiting for her guests, Amy noticed dandelions sprouting in the neighbor’s yard. After picking a dozen, she fashioned them into a garland the way Grandma Westin once taught her. She placed it on her head as the first guests arrived.

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