for Tammy—which tells you something about her support—and most of the remainder were split among celebrity write-ins—Bart Simpson, Shannen Doherty, Long Dong Silver—and true confessions—I'm Gay, I Had an Abortion, I Want to Die.
Judging from the ballots, a plurality of our students were scared, angry, lonely, and in desperate need of role models.
My count of the other two piles worked out exactly the same as Larry's: Tracy had won the election by a single vote, 206 to 205.1 had her last two votes in my hand and was about to announce my tally when I happened to look up and see her face in the window of my classroom door.
The sight of her at that moment irritated me in a way I can't fully explain. Part of it was that she was spying, but mainly it was her expression that made me furious. She was wide-eyed and jubilant, like she somehow already knew she'd won the election. And innocent, too. Looking at her, you'd have no idea she'd scratched and clawed her way to the top, lying and cheating when necessary. You'd think she was just a sweet teenage girl who deserved every good thing that had ever happened to her.
She realized I was staring and darted out of sight. Larry and Walt were standing at the window, facing away from me. As quietly as I could, I closed my fist around the two ballots in my hand, crumpling them into a compact wad that I deposited in the wastebasket beneath my desk.
“Larry,” I said, “I think we have a problem.”
MR. M.
I REGRETTED IT IMMEDIATELY , but even that was too late. Larry and Walt were watching; there seemed no recourse but to finish what I'd started.
“I've got Paul by one. Two-oh-five to two-oh-four.”
“That can't be.” Larry was adamant. “I double-checked. Tracy won by a vote.”
“Maybe I'm wrong,” I told him, “but that's my tally.”
Walt frowned at the clock. Fifteen minutes remained in the period. I expected him to throw a tantrum, but he just withdrew a handkerchief from his coat pocket and blew his nose.
“Tell me,” he said, pausing to switch nostrils. “Why does everything have to be such a goddam melodrama around here?”
Walt usurped my desk to count the votes, so I had little choice but to join Larry by the window. He didn't look at me or say a word, but I could sense his hostility, the angry bewilderment of a teenager who suddenly suspects that the fix is in from the adult world. Under different circumstances, I might have tried to comfort him.
At least for the moment, though, Larry's agitation had the paradoxical effect of calming my nerves. Seeing myself through his eyes brought me back to the rock-bottom reality of the situation: he was the student; I was the teacher. If it came down to my word against his—absent any physical evidence—I would win.
For several minutes, the only sounds in the room were Walt's heavy breathing and the whispery shuffle of paper. At the far end of the parking lot, students in gym clothes volleyed lazily on the tennis courts, reaching and swatting at a swooping green dot. It was ballet from this distance, pointless and beautiful.
My regrets just then ran in a couple of directions. I wished I hadn't done what I'd done, and I also wished I'd thought of a less obvious place to dispose of the ballots. Even my pants pocket would have been safer than the trash can. But the truth, of course, was that I hadn't thought at all. I just saw my opportunity and took it.
Walt cleared his throat and stood up.
“Jim's right. Paul Warren's our new President by asingle vote. I can't remember an election this close in all my years at Win wood.”
Larry turned slowly away from the window, shaking his head with a bitter certainty that froze the moment.
“No way. It doesn't make sense.”
“Sorry.” Walt dismissed him with a shrug. “My figures work out exactly the same as Jim's. Two-oh-five for Paul, two-oh-four for Tracy.”
Larry wasn't buying it.
“How many Disregards?”
Walt referred to the palm of his left
Judging from the ballots, a plurality of our students were scared, angry, lonely, and in desperate need of role models.
My count of the other two piles worked out exactly the same as Larry's: Tracy had won the election by a single vote, 206 to 205.1 had her last two votes in my hand and was about to announce my tally when I happened to look up and see her face in the window of my classroom door.
The sight of her at that moment irritated me in a way I can't fully explain. Part of it was that she was spying, but mainly it was her expression that made me furious. She was wide-eyed and jubilant, like she somehow already knew she'd won the election. And innocent, too. Looking at her, you'd have no idea she'd scratched and clawed her way to the top, lying and cheating when necessary. You'd think she was just a sweet teenage girl who deserved every good thing that had ever happened to her.
She realized I was staring and darted out of sight. Larry and Walt were standing at the window, facing away from me. As quietly as I could, I closed my fist around the two ballots in my hand, crumpling them into a compact wad that I deposited in the wastebasket beneath my desk.
“Larry,” I said, “I think we have a problem.”
MR. M.
I REGRETTED IT IMMEDIATELY , but even that was too late. Larry and Walt were watching; there seemed no recourse but to finish what I'd started.
“I've got Paul by one. Two-oh-five to two-oh-four.”
“That can't be.” Larry was adamant. “I double-checked. Tracy won by a vote.”
“Maybe I'm wrong,” I told him, “but that's my tally.”
Walt frowned at the clock. Fifteen minutes remained in the period. I expected him to throw a tantrum, but he just withdrew a handkerchief from his coat pocket and blew his nose.
“Tell me,” he said, pausing to switch nostrils. “Why does everything have to be such a goddam melodrama around here?”
Walt usurped my desk to count the votes, so I had little choice but to join Larry by the window. He didn't look at me or say a word, but I could sense his hostility, the angry bewilderment of a teenager who suddenly suspects that the fix is in from the adult world. Under different circumstances, I might have tried to comfort him.
At least for the moment, though, Larry's agitation had the paradoxical effect of calming my nerves. Seeing myself through his eyes brought me back to the rock-bottom reality of the situation: he was the student; I was the teacher. If it came down to my word against his—absent any physical evidence—I would win.
For several minutes, the only sounds in the room were Walt's heavy breathing and the whispery shuffle of paper. At the far end of the parking lot, students in gym clothes volleyed lazily on the tennis courts, reaching and swatting at a swooping green dot. It was ballet from this distance, pointless and beautiful.
My regrets just then ran in a couple of directions. I wished I hadn't done what I'd done, and I also wished I'd thought of a less obvious place to dispose of the ballots. Even my pants pocket would have been safer than the trash can. But the truth, of course, was that I hadn't thought at all. I just saw my opportunity and took it.
Walt cleared his throat and stood up.
“Jim's right. Paul Warren's our new President by asingle vote. I can't remember an election this close in all my years at Win wood.”
Larry turned slowly away from the window, shaking his head with a bitter certainty that froze the moment.
“No way. It doesn't make sense.”
“Sorry.” Walt dismissed him with a shrug. “My figures work out exactly the same as Jim's. Two-oh-five for Paul, two-oh-four for Tracy.”
Larry wasn't buying it.
“How many Disregards?”
Walt referred to the palm of his left
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