Angeline gritted her teeth. They were both spewing BS. She just had to do it better. “And we can’t have the administration enacting a cover-up to save face. This injustice will only be righted by us. We’ll find out who did this together.”
Maxine yelled from beside Angeline. “So vote your conscience! Vote for—”
“For . . . for . . . highlighters!” A breathless Jay Choi hurled himself into the cafeteria. “Who’s . . . with . . . me?” He gasped, coming to stand next to Emmie, whose arms were tightly bound across her chest, but it was too late for both of them.
Angeline and Leo stared at each other across the expanse of the lunchroom table.
Welcome to Acedia’s two-party system.
Acedia Confronts Its Inner Sloth:
Controversy Surrounding Student Council
Unprecedented in Charter School History
A SPECIAL REPORT
Part 2 of 6
In an effort to mirror the inner workings of the national election, first-year government teacher Ms. Jules Lute instituted the Acedia Student Council Presidential Primary. The election to narrow the slate of candidates down to two may have been held during a school-wide assembly in fifth period, but the results were locked up the previous day when the “Frankengirls” appeared.
Shortly after the images were discovered, Principal Jeffrey Schwartz glossed over the administration’s “active investigation” and made what became seen as a controversial request for students to delete any social media postings depicting the composite photographs. Following this announcement, a spontaneous debate broke out among several of the candidates in the school cafeteria. Speculation as to who was behind the Frankengirls transitioned into a discussion that set each presidential hopeful’s platform in stone and led to frontrunners Quinn, who proposed increased governance by their peers, and Torres, who advocated for trust and a relaxation of the rules.
On the day of the primary, each of the four candidates, which included Jay Choi, freshman, and Emmie Hayes, senior, gave five-minute-long speeches. Ballots were cast, and Quinn and Torres nabbed resounding wins, with Quinn in the lead by a strong twenty-five percentage points.
No one could have predicted then just how far the tentacles of the Acedia Student Council election would reach. Hashtags, angel wings, The Boston Globe, and the halls of Congress were all still to come.
The election engaged students in a way nothing at Acedia had before. Ms. Lute’s government classes had the highest average grades of any course that marking period. A twice-weekly poll, created by Chen, who was also working on a voting app for the wider election, tracked each candidate’s odds of winning. Yet the question remains as to why this election was the one to garner such attention. The facts are clear: Quinn and Torres are popular students at the school, each with visibility beyond its brick walls; their status as a former romantic couple piques a voyeuristic interest; and their campaign platforms embody a conflict core to the national presidential election. And certainly, the provocative nature of the Frankengirls, which only came to be thanks to that summer party at Chen’s, created conditions primed for strong opinions and extreme outrage.
But Goldberg presents another theory as to why the student council election became so renowned: “If you ask me, it’s all because of The Shrieking Violet.”
Click for more: 2 of 6
11
When Cat’s Words Are Read
20 DAYS TO THE ELECTION
The taxidermic bass on the wall above Principal Schwartz’s desk stared at Cat. She tried not to move, even though her feet dangled uncomfortably above the blue carpet tiles. One shift and she feared the thing would come alive, that single glossy black eye the motion-activated trigger for it to break out into song.
“Naturally, we’re investigating,” Principal Schwartz said. His oak desk was barren save for a computer monitor, an inbox with neatly stacked folders, and the metal clipboard that had brought Cat here. “But with no proof of who’s responsible, I’m afraid we can’t take any disciplinary action.”
Cat scooched forward, keeping her eye on the green scales surrounding the fish eye. With her feet firmly planted on the ground, she asked, “Can I . . .”
He frowned. “Go ahead, but no photos.”
Cat rotated the clipboard and scanned the janitor’s cleaning log, which marked when the bathrooms and locker rooms had last been seen free of the Frankengirls photos. She noted the time. “And the two students who first reported the photos in the west corridor bathroom—”
“Ms. Quinn, we’ve been through this. Those boys were cleared.”
“Yes, but how, exactly?” She lifted her notebook. “For the article.”
“We’ve spoken with them, their parents, and their cross-country coach. The students’ early arrival was for extra practice. Nothing more.”
“Right. Speaking of, I was hoping the exterior camera footage might be available?”
“I’m afraid not. We have a duty to ensure the privacy of our students and employees. I can assure you—and you can assure your readers—that no viable suspects entered the premises overnight.” He stood. “Now, considering I agreed to this on a Saturday, if you’ll excuse me . . .”
Cat held up one finger, pretending to need more time to scribble down notes as she formulated what would become the backbone of her story. “While finding the perpetrator is important, this incident has prompted reactions from the student council candidates. They have differing views regarding discipline and justice. Considering Slothy and ‘cupcake’ being written on cheerleader uniforms and the full history of attacks and pranks going unpunished, has this made the administration consider changes?”
Principal Schwartz lifted a Yeti cooler and a tackle box out from under his desk. “No.”
“Right, then.” Cat forced herself not to smile as she slid off her chair. She ducked below the fish and hightailed it out of his office, adrenaline quickening her pulse, for that “no” perfectly set up what came next.
* * *
Cat didn’t know where to look: the indigo of the Atlantic Ocean framed by the floor-to-ceiling windows in Maxine’s living room; the three-foot-wide compass chandelier; the whitewashed rafters from which rustic kayak paddles hung. All deserved her attention, and yet her eyes couldn’t stop jumping from Natalie’s right leg to Maxine’s torso to Dipti’s left clavicle to Riley’s nose to Sonya’s left hand to Angeline’s boobs.
All of the Frankengirls—all of the actual girls labeled in the Frankengirls photographs—surrounded Cat.