Angeline leaned forward. “If students have a voice, what do they need us for?”
That was when freshman nobody Jay Choi piped up. “I’m thinking free shit. Like that one did but better.” He pointed to Angeline, and the snort that came out of Leo jarred her. “Skins for Minecraft, bagels in homeroom . . . oh, and highlighters. Like, in every classroom. Always losing my highlighters.”
Cat turned to Jay. “But student council doesn’t have that kind of money or authority.”
Jay snorted. “Off the record? Sheep don’t know that.” He tore open a bag of fried onion skins from the vending machine whose greasy scent made Angeline queasy. “All’s they know is what I’m promising. So make sure you print all those as my campaign pledges. Frosh rule!”
Angeline and Leo burst out laughing. Looked at each other. And stopped. Him first.
Emmie recrossed her ankles, but otherwise remained stoic.
“Anyone else?” Cat asked.
Leo fanned himself with a back issue of The Red and Blue. “Straws. That’s my thing.”
“Excuse me?” Cat said. “Did you say ‘straws’? Like drinking straws?”
“One and the same. The school yanked them last year. Have you tried to share a chocolate milk since?”
Leo’s fingers cradling Angeline’s, hers curled around a plastic straw. She sipped. He sipped. Under the lunch table, thighs touching, legs snaked together, unable to tell whose feet were whose.
Yesterday the tray Lush Curls carried had held a chocolate milk—the closest Leo got to eating sweets.
“Impossible,” Leo said as an ache spread across Angeline’s chest. “School needs to stop telling us what to do.”
Emmie turned to face Leo. “So you hate fish? And birds? And coral reefs? Five hundred million straws are thrown away every day. We’re not five-year-olds. To think I’d looked forward to seeing what the son of Eliza Torres would do.” Emmie reset her heart-shaped jaw. “Well then, while you push straws, and he pushes highlighters, and she . . .” Emmie cocked her head at Angeline. “Skin care, is that about the sum of it?”
Angeline fumed, but Emmie continued, “I’m going to ensure that students have an avenue to share their daily concerns. And that those concerns make it to the appropriate channels. Because you are correct, Ms. Quinn, that the escalating antics at this school have not engendered sufficient outrage. I believe this is because students, especially female students, feel there is no point. While the ‘cupcake no more’ hashtag that began after that unfortunate stunt last year indicates a rise in students wanting change, I believe that will only happen if they feel they are being listened to.”
She clasped her hands in her lap, and her eyes drifted across each of them. “What’s interesting here is that there’s often a misunderstanding about where real power lies. It’s simply a numbers game. The jocks, the cheerleaders, the beautiful people . . .” She said it as if Leo and Angeline weren’t all of those things and weren’t sitting beside her. “They’re the elite in this school for one reason: because their ranks are small. An asset if one is looking to be exclusive, but if one is looking to garner votes . . .” Emmie spread her hands wide. “The masses are who you seek.”
Silence. And then . . .
“Damn,” Grady said, echoing the only thought in Angeline’s head.
Emmie might dress like someone three times her age, but she was wicked smart. She knew her stuff—this stuff. Stuff Angeline knew nothing about. She was outside of her comfort zone. If this wasn’t just going to be a vote for the most popular, if Emmie made it something more, could Angeline actually lose?
What if she did?
Was running enough?
Would her mom really listen to Cat? Would Angeline have time to find another “respectable” extracurricular?
The boot camp suddenly felt like it was slipping from Angeline’s grasp.
She hadn’t paid the deposit yet. She should do it now. Her mom would have to let her go then regardless, wouldn’t she?
Cat eyed Angeline warily, and Angeline plastered on a smile. She wouldn’t let her see that Emmie had gotten under her skin.
Leo raised a finger in the air. “Cat, can I add something?”
“Of course,” Cat said.
Leo shifted to address Emmie. “One hundred and seventy-five million straws. The five hundred million came from a nine-year-old who called three straw companies and made a guess that went viral. Fact-checking needs to make a comeback.”
Emmie bristled. “Even if that’s true, it’s still a huge number.”
“Admittedly. But the issue is much more nuanced. Do you know Chelsea Anders?”
“Not personally but—”
“She told me that straws provide a simpler, more accessible way for her to drink,” Leo said, hints of his mom infusing his words. “But the school didn’t think about that. Banned them outright without a replacement. Replacements, which have their own baggage, like the increased cost and pollution of manufacturing paper straws, temperature-regulation issues with stainless, allergic reactions with wheat-based. Not to mention compostable only work if there are facilities that accept them.”
Emmie cocked her head. “Is this really your main platform? I wasn’t aware you were an environmentalist?”
It wasn’t that Leo didn’t care, but his mom really did. He was only biking home from Maxine’s party because his mom was on a preelection green energy kick.
“My platform,” Leo said, “is choice. Ours, not the administration’s.”
“There’s a system,” Emmie said. “Understanding it and working within it is the only realistic way to effect change.”
Leo shrugged. “Maybe what we’ve been missing is a little imagination.”
“And that seems like a good ending point.” Cat set down her pencil. “I think I’ve got enough from Emmie and Jay.” She gestured to Grady. “Photos?”
Grady grabbed his phone, and Cat shook her head. “An actual camera. With a lens that’s bigger than my pinky.” She pointed to a clunky camera that looked too heavy for Grady to pick up. “Try outside. The lighting’s better than in here.”
“But I’ve got all these filters,” Grady whined.
Cat sighed and turned to Ravi. “Could you—”
“Sure thing. Two siblings got me well-trained in babysitting.” He grinned at Cat, who, Angeline noted, reflexively smoothed down her cowlicks.
The group clambered over chairs and out of the newsroom, but before she left, Emmie thanked Cat. “It’s nice to see someone else who cares.”