The iCandidate (7 page)

MICHAEL

The problem when you include yourself in the stakes of a bet is maintaining impartiality. While I highly doubt any student would ever question my integrity outright, I don’t even want the perception to be there. And in an instant like this, it could be because there is no way I want to run for office.

So
while it would be easy to tweak a grade to ensure that doesn’t happen, I have to remember who it hurts in the long run. My guidance to students and their parents at the beginning of the school year was that you get the grade you earn. So, despite any temptation I have to reach a desired outcome, I stick by that rule. Of course, I also took a few precautions.

I
cashed in a favor with the Teacher Clerk to run the answer sheets through a machine that corrects them automatically. I asked her to just put them in a folder and not share any details with me. The final exam contained fifty multiple choice questions, worth two points each for a total of one hundred points. I now have no idea how they did on them.

The
fifteen short answer questions are worth four points each for a total of sixty points. Basically, the only criteria are whether they answered the question correctly using the proper facts to support it. Yes to both and they get full credit. If they are wrong, they obviously get nothing. If they guess right, but fail to adequately support their answer, they get half credit.

The
essay is worth forty points, and comprises the ‘make it or break it’ part of the test. I award four points for each of ten criteria, including: style, organization, argument, factual accuracy, thesis development and a couple of other things. Once you add this result to those of the other sections, you get a raw score out of two-hundred. They all need to score a one hundred and eighty-four or better for an A. The good students historically average around a one hundred and seventy, or an eighty-five percent which is a B.

Students
are dismissed from school once the two exams are over, so I get right to work correcting their short answer sections. It’s barely lunchtime as I plod my way through the stack, and the results are all pretty much the same. A question wrong here and a half-credit answer there, but overall they did really well. I’m impressed because these questions are not something I would ever characterize as easy. I am also a little distressed, given the circumstances, for the same reason.

I
receive a text from Jess explaining she is going to do much of her grading at home instead of at school. Since that means the living room will look like it threw up Shakespeare, I decide to grade the essays at my favorite local hangout. The Perfect Buzz is a throw-back coffee house not far from the school. Much larger than you would expect, it still has a quaint, comfy feel you don’t get at a modern Starbucks. The java here is excellent and the espresso even better.

L
aura, the shop’s owner who is almost never spotted outside the store during business hours, is surprisingly not in. Her stand-in, a pleasant older woman, makes my usual quadruple latte, and I settle in to one of the plush, comfortable chairs near the window to read the essays.

I
’m a fast reader, and since I only take notes and not assign grades to the essays until I have read them all, it only takes a little over five hours to finish. It is nearly summer, but the sun has lost its struggle to stay in the sky. The long shadows of the late afternoon and early evening fade as twilight begins to settle in.

I
review my notes and assign the grades based on each student’s performance. The highest was a 40 and the lowest was a 32. Clearly they prepared very well for this exam because I have never had essay scores this high. I begin to calculate the scores for each student by adding the essay to the short answer. Each of my pupils is in line for an A, but there are some borderline ones. A bad showing on the multiple choice questions could easily send a few plunging into B or B minus range.

I
open the folder the teacher clerk gave me and begin to add the multiple choice scores to the tally. I want to not believe what I’m seeing as I type the scores into a spreadsheet. Excel will do the math, but the result is already obvious. A year of hard work paid off in this demonstration of knowledge and historical concepts. I am not so thrilled about what that means.

By
the time I calculate the scores, collect all my crap and get to the house, it’s well after nine. Normally this would draw the ire of my significant other, but Jessica is in the same boat herself. The condition of the living room serves as a testament to the plight of the modern English teacher. Piles of papers are everywhere, and although she has a finely-honed system for how she grades, it looks like complete chaos to me.

Jessica
is passed out on the couch, a purple pen she uses to correct essays only an inch away from bleeding into my microfiber cushion. I never use purple, despite it being the official color teachers at Millfield High are supposed to correct with. Our current administrators feel red is too harsh on the fragile psyche of the American teenager. I figure if you don’t like red, don’t make mistakes.

Sensing
my presence, Jessica opens her eyes groggily. “Well?”

“Can
we not talk about this now? Sleeping on the couch isn’t good for my back,” I say, answering the question without really answering it.

“
So much for not underestimating them.”

“They
must have cheated,” I retort, knowing full well they didn’t.

“
Yeah, sure. Or maybe you are just a far better teacher than you think you are. That, or they’re far more determined than you thought they’d be,” she replies as a woman does when telling a man she is always right, and he’s an idiot.

“
How mad at me are you right now?” I exhale.

Jessica gets up from the couch, tiptoeing around the piles of paper like they were landmines. “
Let's not discuss it. The couch is lumpy and you have a bad back.”

That
went about as expected, and as unpleasant as it was, I get the feeling it will pale in comparison once I email the grades to the class. I have now resigned myself to the fact that I truly have to go through with this. I have to run for Congress. But I am also determined not to feel that pain alone. After all, what is life if not a learning opportunity?

BLAKE

In Washington politics, there is no such thing as a normal day. Whether you are the President of the United States or a page in the House of Representatives, there are always political moves to be made and enemies coming after you. It’s a hard lifestyle to get used to, unless you are someone like me. I live for it.

I am already at my desk working on something for Roger
this early Tuesday morning when Madison storms into the office. For a woman who appears to be the epitome of elegance and grace, she has a vindictive streak that exudes through her designer outfit. She slams her expensive purse on the desk before meeting my gaze.

“Rough morning?”
I ask, knowing full well the problem is much deeper. While working out of the district office the last five days, I know she was planning on meeting her sister at some point.

“
Family can be infuriating, that’s all,” she says for the benefit of those around us.

Deena
peers over her dark glasses from her own desk. Since she rarely wears them, I assume they are meant to showcase some sense of style I am oblivious to rather than performing any real function. Not wanting to engage in a public confessional, Madison crosses Congressman Beaumont’s outer office to my desk.

“She knows,” Madison whispers to me, looking around to ensure we are not drawing
any more unwanted attention from the staff. I quickly glance over at Deena, who has gone back to immersing herself in whatever task she invented to feel important.

“Are you sure? I mean, there’s no way
—”

“Blake, my sister may be a lot of things, but she’s not an idiot.
We met for lunch on Saturday and she put two and two together before we even sipped our wine.”

“But she can’t prove anything, so who cares?”

“You don’t know Kylie,” Madison deadpans.

I don’t know the whole story
of the rift between Maddy and her sister, but it must be epic. Their sibling rivalry transcends simple competitiveness and resembles something closer to being blood enemies. Maybe someday I’ll hear the full version of that saga.

“You sound like you
’re scared of her,” I say, almost taunting her.

“I am not scared of my sister!” Madison barks, a little too loudly. Once again, the whole office looks over at us. “We just
need to keep an eye on her,” she says in a much softer tone.

“Why? She can’t hurt us with anything about Lexington.”

“Then she’ll find something else. Trust me, I know her. She won’t let up.”

“
If you’re that concerned, why didn’t you call me right away?” I ask, unconvinced Kylie is a threat to anything. Madison turns away from me, annoyed with the audacity of my question. A rare Alpha Female, she hates having her decisions criticized or challenged. On this staff, only Roger or the congressman himself can get away with it.

“
Madison, we don’t need to worry about your sister.” She scoffs, now even more annoyed that I don’t appear to be taking her warning seriously. Which, of course, I’m not. “Look, we’re going to win reelection in a walk, and the sky’s the limit from there. Kylie may be bent on revenge, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

And that’s the truth. I am supremely confident
I can defend against any attack Kylie Roberts launches on us. It’s like the
Untouchables
. She puts one of ours in the hospital and we put one of hers in the morgue. I already proved I was capable of that, metaphorically speaking.

“You say that now.”

Congressman Beaumont flies through the door in a rage. The man is rarely in a good mood in the morning, but when he is this pissed, it’s going to make for a long day.

“Do you believe the balls that man has!” he exclaims to no one in particular. Roger trails behind him, shaking his head. “I’ve been to Wisconsin.
Good people up there. Why they keep electing that blowhard is beyond me!”

“Don’t let him get under your skin, sir. You know he is just posturing,” Roger says, trying in vain to tame the beast.

“Well, we are going to see how effectively he postures when I cut him off at the knees,” the congressman says, disappearing into his inner office, Roger in tow. The door closes, but our boisterous boss can still be heard through the thick wood.

“Trust me, Madison.”
There are far more powerful enemies out there to be concerned about than Kylie.”

CHELSEA

Elated.
If there was ever a word to describe how I felt over the last few days, that’s it. The school year is finally over, and while I may not enjoy the beach, sports, and hanging out like most of my friends, summer is still my favorite time of year.

I like school, but this year was long and hard
, and I need a break. Dad may have been on my case about studying too much and not having any fun, but the work paid off. Straight A grades, including one from the notoriously difficult Michael Bennit, would bring a smile to any teenager’s face.

When we got the email
explaining the entire class did the impossible, I was stunned. I really didn’t think we could pull it off, because let’s be real, how many teachers would let that happen? Most would have shaved a few points off their least favorite student’s score. I should have known better though. Mister Bennit is no ordinary teacher on any level.

It is a beautiful
Saturday and the parking lot is jammed with cars at the Perfect Buzz. From the number of Millfield High window stickers on them, I can see many of my peers are already here. Mister B called this gathering, but was pretty vague about the reason. Under normal circumstances, when someone who is no longer your teacher asks a class to show up someplace outside of school, the request is wholeheartedly ignored. But apparently I am not the only one who thinks Mister Bennit is no ordinary teacher.

I park and head inside.
There are around seventeen students from my class occupying a whole corner of the café. Emilee, Brian, Peyton, Amanda, Vince, Vanessa and Xavier are all here, armed with various sizes of caffeinated concoctions. There is not enough actual seating for everyone unless we evict the other patrons, so tables, the window sill, and even the floor have all been drafted into duty as seats. A couple of us stand, not liking the other options.

I get a coffee for myself and join my peers, enjoying the revelry of the moment when I
notice Mister Bennit walk in. He appears different dressed in summer clothes than he does in school - still imposing with his military haircut and swagger, but somehow more real. It’s probably taboo to even think this, but he really is a good looking guy. Not the political type though. More like someone you’d expect to toss you out of a nightclub. Next to an army of politicians with their perfectly groomed quaffs, manicured nails, and tailored suits, he would stick out like a sore thumb. This ought to be a fun campaign to watch.

He
walks over to our giddy little crowd from the counter, coffee in hand. Brian hops off the table to make room for our fearless, and now beholden, leader.

“
Well, you know why you’re here. I hate you all,” he says with a smile. At least he is being good-natured about it.

“Told you we could do it
,” Emilee gloats.

“
And you didn't believe us!” Brian sings out, reinforcing the message.

“
Yes, thank you for reminding me, Brian,” Mister B responds sarcastically. “In all seriousness, you should be proud of yourselves for your accomplishment. And don’t fret about probably costing me my future marriage,” he adds playfully.

“
Was Miss Slater pissed?” I ask, more out of curiosity than actual concern. Miss Slater is well-liked in school, but I have never really cared for her. She always strikes me as a little too proper and snobby. My friends say she tries to mimic Mister Bennit’s teaching style, but doesn’t pull it off nearly as well.

“
Ever watch the movie
Alien
? She did a good impersonation of Riley.”

That earns a little
chuckle from Brian, whose adoration of sci-fi means he’s the only one to get the reference, much less the joke. I join the class in trading blank stares of bewilderment.

“
Okay, once again thank you for making me feel old.”

“
So, why are we all here Mister B?” Vanessa asks. “We know you didn't bring us together to let us rub our brilliance in your face.”

Mister Bennit smiles and takes a long sip on his latte
and grins. That smile. I know that smile. It is unique to one purpose and one purpose only. He flashes it right before he is about to drop a bomb on us. During school, that bomb was an exam, essay, or something equally distasteful. What could it possibly mean now?

“
You're right, I didn't. I thought today would be a good day to hold our first campaign staff meeting.”

You could hear a pin drop.
I’m stunned.

Xavier recovers first. “
Say what?”

“You heard me
, X.”

“I’m sorry, my mind wandered.
I thought you said something about a staff meeting,” Vince says in a mock bewildered tone.

“Your AD/H
D aside Vince, you heard me right for once,” Mister B deadpans.

“You like, want
us to work on your campaign?” Peyton asks, still struggling with moment.

“No, not just work on it. I want
you all to run my campaign.” He emphasized
run
. He can’t be serious.

“You can’t be serious
,” Amanda dismisses. Well said. She took the words right out of my mouth.

Mister Bennit takes another sip of his latte.
His face has a smile, but his eyes betray him. Oh my God, he is dead serious about this.

“Why?” I ask
.

“
I have my reasons.”

“Are you going to share them?”

“Not right now, no,” he proclaims, ending the line of questioning.

I’m angry, but I am not sure why.
We should have known this was coming. This is Mister Bennit after all. He can turn anything into a lesson.

Maybe I
think that if we say no, he will use it as an excuse not to run. It would explain why I’m angry. If he tries to bail, it will shatter my opinion of him.

“
What do we get out of it?” Xavier asks. At least he is considering the possibility. Looking around the café, it’s obvious several of my classmates are not at all interested. They are only still here out of respect. The rest of us are curious, although no one gives the impression of being excited at the prospect.

“
You will be managers and staffers for a candidate running for the United States House of Representatives. That is something you can staple to every college application you fill out this fall.”

“
That's not much incentive for us to give up our summer.” Brian may not have much of a social life, but he has a good point.

“Or the fall of our
senior year,” Emilee adds.

“This
wasn't part of our deal.” There was an edge to my voice I didn’t intend to be there. Sometimes I struggle controlling my emotions and right now, it’s noticeable anger. Fortunately, the nodding heads of my peers indicate they all agree.

“When you all c
hallenged me to this bet, you said you wanted to see if I could walk the walk. Well, now it's your turn.” Mister Bennit pauses to look us all in the eyes. Then he turns his attention directly on me, and I suddenly feel … I don’t know. Guilty?

“
Chelsea, all you ever talk about is how you want to grow, and learn, and change the world. Here's your chance.” I avert my eyes. He’s right.

“Vince!”
Vince's head snaps up. “You play the apathetic teenager, then whine about how nobody takes you seriously. Make a choice. Do you want to be the slacker, or find out what people really think when you are the one standing at a podium?”

Michael leans over to Peyton who is seated to his side.
“Peyton, you are going to be Homecoming Queen. You are going to be Prom Queen. But tell me, isn’t what you really want just the opportunity to prove to everyone that you are more than just a pretty face?”

“
Brian, you rail about how society doesn't understand the power of technology. Can you think of a better way to show them what you mean? Or are you just content complaining about it on Facebook?” To his credit, Brian actually maintained eye contact with Mister Bennit. It was a losing battle for most of us, me included.

“You all wanted to be challenged this past year.
That was why you ended up in my class. And during the year, we spent a lot of time talking about the men and women in history who made sacrifices to accomplish great things. Do you have what it takes to follow in their footsteps? Or is your summer and senior year too valuable?” He addresses Brian and Emily, but I know his comment was intended for the larger audience. “I guess we'll see.”

Mister Bennit
slides off the table and takes a few steps before turning back. None of us have moved. He looks directly at me. “I will uphold my end of the bargain regardless of your decisions.” Great, now embarrassment is the new emotion sweeping over me.

“
But I cannot do this by myself,” he says, now appealing to the group of us. “I can’t hire people to help. I live on a teacher’s salary, and all of my disposable income goes into buying coffee at this place.”

“
Thank you!” Laura yells from behind the counter. She hears everything, even when she doesn’t appear to be listening.

“
I am asking you all for your help. Take some time to think about it. If you're in, meet me here, same time next Saturday. If not, no hard feelings and I will catch most of you in class in September.” With that, I watch Mister Bennit put on his ultra-cool Oakley sunglasses and walk out of the shop.

Did he really just ask us to help run a campaign? I shouldn’t be surprised - this is Mister Bennit after all. While most teachers can’t wait to get away from us for a couple of months over the summer, he is asking for us to work with him.

My classmates begin quietly chatting with each other. Most are on the fence about what to do. I can’t say I blame them, but for better or for worse, I have already made my decision.