those disgusting ones you like so much, with the layer of sugar on top.”
“I really can’t. But hey, I promise I’ll come over tomorrow, as soon as I can.”
“Good Lord, I don’t actually
care
whether you come or not! Jesus! I just don’t understand why you would choose a food you dislike over a food you like.”
“It’s Sunday and my dad always makes waffles, and we serve them to my mom in bed. It’s kind of like a tradition, because—”
“Great, whatever! I don’t care!”
“Okay, well I’ll see you tomorrow, Elliot. Elliot? You still there?”
• • •
I was rushing out of French class—it was Taco Day in the cafeteria—when Mr. Hendricks tapped me on the shoulder.
“Seymour,” he said, “is it all right if I talk to you for a moment?”
He must have sensed my nervousness, because he quickly added, “Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble.”
I sighed with relief and followed him back into his empty classroom.
“How’s the club going?” he asked.
“The what?”
“The…Anti-Asbestos League?”
“Oh!” I said. “It’s going great.”
He nodded enthusiastically.
“That’s great,” he said. “And how’s the campaign going? I notice you haven’t put up any posters.”
I nodded.
“Elliot’s the campaign manager,” I said. “So that stuff’s pretty much his call.”
Mr. Hendricks nodded.
“Ashley’s sure put up a lot of posters, huh?” he said.
“Yeah,” I said. “They’re really neat.”
“She’s
super
excited about the campaign. I don’t know if you know this, but I’m going to be the council’s faculty advisor next year.”
“Congratulations.”
“I know!” he said. “It’s exciting, right? Anyway, Ashley has already sent me
five
proposals! For bake sales and dances and charity walks. Isn’t that amazing?”
I nodded slowly, unsure of what he was getting at.
“Anyway,” he said, “the reason I wanted to talk to you is that I actually had a little brainstorm recently, and I wanted to run it by you. This morning, I was walking through the park, and I thought to myself: Hey, wait a minute—we have two exceptional candidates who are passionate about public service…why not have them work together? We wouldn’t have to bother with anyspeeches or posters. We could just call this election business off and have co-presidents! What do you think?”
“That sounds pretty good,” I said. “I’ll talk to Elliot and see what he thinks.”
Mr. Hendricks craned his neck to see if anyone was standing in the doorway. Then he leaned in close and continued in a low voice.
“Listen, Seymour,” he said. “I’m only telling you this because I think you’re mature enough to keep it between us. But Ashley’s been having a pretty rough year.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know how you and Elliot have the Anti-Asbestos League? And Lance has the basketball team? She doesn’t really have anything like that. If she doesn’t get to do this, I think she’ll be pretty upset. I haven’t run this co-presidents idea by her yet, but I think if
you
suggested it to her, she’d be very excited. I think
everybody
would.”
I nodded. My parents would still be proud of me if I was co-president and I’d still get to be in the yearbook. Besides, I didn’t really know how to be president anyway. It would be way easier to do it with Ashley than by myself—and probably more fun. We could organize another gingerbread house contest; if we named ourselves judges, we’d have free rein over the supplies.
“So you’ll think about it?”
“Sure,” I said.
“Oh, that’s great news!”
“Although…I really need to talk to Elliot first.”
Mr. Hendricks sighed.
“Of course.”
• • •
Elliot finished his martini and wheeled his glass down the dumbwaiter for a refill.
“Do you know what ‘co-president’ is in a two-way race?” he asked me.
“What?”
“Dead last.”
He fired a breaking shot and paced around the billiards table a
“I really can’t. But hey, I promise I’ll come over tomorrow, as soon as I can.”
“Good Lord, I don’t actually
care
whether you come or not! Jesus! I just don’t understand why you would choose a food you dislike over a food you like.”
“It’s Sunday and my dad always makes waffles, and we serve them to my mom in bed. It’s kind of like a tradition, because—”
“Great, whatever! I don’t care!”
“Okay, well I’ll see you tomorrow, Elliot. Elliot? You still there?”
• • •
I was rushing out of French class—it was Taco Day in the cafeteria—when Mr. Hendricks tapped me on the shoulder.
“Seymour,” he said, “is it all right if I talk to you for a moment?”
He must have sensed my nervousness, because he quickly added, “Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble.”
I sighed with relief and followed him back into his empty classroom.
“How’s the club going?” he asked.
“The what?”
“The…Anti-Asbestos League?”
“Oh!” I said. “It’s going great.”
He nodded enthusiastically.
“That’s great,” he said. “And how’s the campaign going? I notice you haven’t put up any posters.”
I nodded.
“Elliot’s the campaign manager,” I said. “So that stuff’s pretty much his call.”
Mr. Hendricks nodded.
“Ashley’s sure put up a lot of posters, huh?” he said.
“Yeah,” I said. “They’re really neat.”
“She’s
super
excited about the campaign. I don’t know if you know this, but I’m going to be the council’s faculty advisor next year.”
“Congratulations.”
“I know!” he said. “It’s exciting, right? Anyway, Ashley has already sent me
five
proposals! For bake sales and dances and charity walks. Isn’t that amazing?”
I nodded slowly, unsure of what he was getting at.
“Anyway,” he said, “the reason I wanted to talk to you is that I actually had a little brainstorm recently, and I wanted to run it by you. This morning, I was walking through the park, and I thought to myself: Hey, wait a minute—we have two exceptional candidates who are passionate about public service…why not have them work together? We wouldn’t have to bother with anyspeeches or posters. We could just call this election business off and have co-presidents! What do you think?”
“That sounds pretty good,” I said. “I’ll talk to Elliot and see what he thinks.”
Mr. Hendricks craned his neck to see if anyone was standing in the doorway. Then he leaned in close and continued in a low voice.
“Listen, Seymour,” he said. “I’m only telling you this because I think you’re mature enough to keep it between us. But Ashley’s been having a pretty rough year.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know how you and Elliot have the Anti-Asbestos League? And Lance has the basketball team? She doesn’t really have anything like that. If she doesn’t get to do this, I think she’ll be pretty upset. I haven’t run this co-presidents idea by her yet, but I think if
you
suggested it to her, she’d be very excited. I think
everybody
would.”
I nodded. My parents would still be proud of me if I was co-president and I’d still get to be in the yearbook. Besides, I didn’t really know how to be president anyway. It would be way easier to do it with Ashley than by myself—and probably more fun. We could organize another gingerbread house contest; if we named ourselves judges, we’d have free rein over the supplies.
“So you’ll think about it?”
“Sure,” I said.
“Oh, that’s great news!”
“Although…I really need to talk to Elliot first.”
Mr. Hendricks sighed.
“Of course.”
• • •
Elliot finished his martini and wheeled his glass down the dumbwaiter for a refill.
“Do you know what ‘co-president’ is in a two-way race?” he asked me.
“What?”
“Dead last.”
He fired a breaking shot and paced around the billiards table a
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