Don't Care High by Gordon Korman Page A

and his family were away for a long weekend attending a boarding pass convention at a resort hotel in the Catskills. They were not scheduled to return home until Monday evening. This forced Paul to spend a lot of time at home, where he had to listen to the infernal beeping of the telephone with forwarded calls for his two cousins. In keeping with their eternal diets, there was cottage cheese at every meal, and Paul suffered from perpetual nausea Saturday and most of Sunday. He found himself thinking nostalgically of the tomato sauce patented under the name
Rocco
. All weekend he listened with a hopeful heart to bulletins on the progress of the tomato juice baths at Auntie Nancy’s house.
    So it was an exhausted and supremely overtaxed Paul who presented himself for school on Monday morning. The last thing he needed in this world, he reflected, was more aggravation.
    Mr. Gamble and Mr. Morrison arrived at the office at the same time, each with
The Otis Report
on his mind. Mr. Gamble was in a state of outrage, roaring, “Otis doesn’t have the slightest idea what’s going on here! You can’t even be sure whether he really knows he’s president! This lunacy has got to stop!”
    Mr. Morrison was in a quandary. Yes,
The Otis Report
was full of exaggerations and outright lies, but it was also a show of initiative — the first he had witnessed since his arrival at Don Carey. But if this effort wasn’t attributable to Mike, then whose work was it? Who was showing this potential that, with proper nurturing, could turn into — dare he think it — school spirit?
    â€œSon-of-a-gun,” was Mrs. Carling’s opinion.
    â€œFurthermore, I want to make the announcement personally,” Mr. Gamble raged. “I don’t want our great leader to interpret this as some big joke. It’s a hoax and it must be exposed and ended! And this time I’m not backing down!”
    A hush fell as Mr. Gamble strode purposefully into the principal’s office. One of the younger secretaries covered her eyes.
    * * *
    The regular bassoon voice came through the P.A. system that morning.
    May I have your attention, please. Just a couple of announcements.
    We have a complaint from police that our students are straggling across the street in front of oncoming traffic, causing great inconvenience to motorists and danger to themselves. I will at this point reiterate that bit of sage advice which I am sure all of you have at one time or another had bestowed upon you. Please look both ways before you cross the street.
    Oh yes, and this, according to Mr. Gamble, is important. For a number of reasons, Mike Otis will no longer be allowed to hold the office of student body president.
    That’s all. Have a good day.
    A hum went up throughout the school. Paul felt himself suffused with rage. Instinctively, he looked around for Sheldon before remembering that his friend would not be in school until tomorrow.
    The door opened and Wayne-o breezed in, his face mirroring perplexity instead of its usual blankness. “Hey, Mr. Morrison, did I just hear that they’re not going to let Mike Otis be president anymore?”
    â€œYes,” said Mr. Morrison uncomfortably. “The staff feels that Mike… uh… doesn’t really have the support of the students.”
    Wayne-o looked confused. “
I
support him.”
    That was all Paul needed. He leaped to his feet. “Me, too! We all support Mike Otis, right?”
    There was a thoughtful hum. As Paul scanned his classmates, he saw vaguely surprised looks on their faces, as though the question had caught them off guard.
    Dan Wilburforce verbalized what they all seemed to be thinking. “Well, I’ve never really thought about it much, but now that you mention it, I guess I do support Mike Otis. After all, he did do all those things for the school.”
    â€œHe got the halls painted.”
    â€œHe got the roof