Don't Care High

  Mike himself was aware that a new breed of question had begun to invade his cocoon. Students were coming up to him and saying, “How’s the sewer project coming along, Mike?” Or “Were you able to make any use of that diagram I drew up last night?” Many times, a smile and a nod were not enough for these people, and it was necessary for him to speak. He assumed that the project was the same one mentioned in his most recent conversation with those two guys, the ones who kept coming to him with unusual things to say. He did not know what the connection was, nor did he want to know, as it was obviously another one of the things at this school he didn’t understand.

  Mike’s participation, beyond his photograph, was not necessary, however, as Sheldon was definitely in charge. At three-thirty, he took possession of the physics office and settled himself in the swivel chair, crossing his legs and resting his feet on the desk top. He called himself the project’s nerve centre, but he had delegated the responsibility so well that it left him nothing to do. Every now and then, he would randomly select a few pieces of paper to approve, like Dick Oliver’s city sewer map, or Cindy Schwartz’s pictorial representation of the life and times of Don Carey. The rest of the time he spent in conversation with members of his elite group of intellectual commandos, which Paul had taken to calling the Stink-Tank Think-Tank.

  Paul felt that he was the true nerve centre of the operation, because he was having a near-nervous breakdown imagining what would happen to himself and Sheldon if Mike denied any connection to the project. If the Mike Otis hoax ever became known to the president’s twenty-six hundred devotees, Paul’s life and Sheldon’s wouldn’t be worth an oompah out of Slim Kroy’s big brass tuba.

  By the next Friday, even Paul had to admit that the project was a good one. Though it was based on a joke topic, there really did seem to be a lot to be said about the sewer system, and the information of the project was pertinent and well-presented. There were visual aids, such as graphs, charts, diagrams and maps, and the working models were particularly impressive.

  After class, all of the materials were organized and set up in the large, attractive display case built by Samuel Wiscombe, Dick Oliver and Dan Wilburforce. The three had become very close friends in Mike’s service, and claimed to be a trio rivalling even the LaPaz triplets. They called themselves the “WOW Connection.” It didn’t bother them a bit that the name never caught on.

  When the project was all assembled, it was an impressive sight. The words THE SEWER SYSTEM, BY MIKE OTIS gleamed in silver sparkles, flanked by an eight-by-ten glossy on either side. The working models sat on the bottom, and the information was arranged in booklets strategically placed around the display. The attractive city sewer map was placed front and centre, with heavy flow pipes drawn in bright red, and light flow pipes in a more conservative blue. Directly to the right of that was the section on the life and career of Don Carey, which was well done, if a little dry. It was certainly not the fault of the students that Don Carey had been a boring person.

  The only reservations Paul held about the project were in the “Whither Sewage” section. This was the product of Sheldon’s elite group of storm drain visionaries, the Stink-Tank Think-Tank. The group, which included such members as Peter Eversleigh, Trudy Helfield and Wayne-o, had come up with a fifteen-page booklet outlining in great detail four original proposals for the disposal of sewage waste:

  1) Package sewage in sealed containers and drop it in the deepest part of the world’s oceans.

  2) Incinerate sewage using the heat of the earth’s core by dropping it into dormant volcanoes.

  3) Develop heavy-duty, low-cost rockets for the purpose of firing sewage into outer space.

  4) Construct a pipeline to convey all sewage to Greenland.

  But setting aside “Whither Sewage,” the effort was excellent, and everyone was agreed that Mike Otis was a brilliant student as well as a wonderful president.

  Paul allowed himself a laugh as Sheldon called for a round of applause for Mike, but his laugh came out a nervous giggle. He had a deep, gut feeling that something would go wrong with “The Sewer System.”

  * * *

  Meanwhile, Mr. Morrison was undergoing the great crisis of his career. Ever since his arrival at Don Carey, he had been trying desperately to motivate the students. What did he get in return? An indifferent student body, and co-workers who laughed at him. He could still hear Mr. Gamble’s voice more than eight years ago — his first day at Don Carey — saying, “These kids can be difficult. Don’t beat your head against the wall.” And then, just a few short weeks later, “You’re beating your head against the wall.”

  It was true. He could still feel those twinges of pain as all his valiant attempts to stimulate the students fizzled into nothing, one by one: the Yearbook Society, the Social Committee, Students for Don Carey, the Welcoming Committee. Even the General Interest Group had attracted no interest. He could hear the principal’s deep, mocking baritone announcing that yet another one of his projects had bitten the dust “due to lack of interest.” How many nights had he lain awake in his bed hatching brilliant schemes, only to have them fall victim to that relentless monster called “lack of interest?” He’d given so much of himself to Don Carey High, and what was his reward? Ridicule from the teachers, blank stares from students, a small fortune in analyst’s bills and a carload of unsold raffle tickets.

  Now everything was different. The students were motivated and active. They finally had a purpose. And it was his job to tell them that they were wrong. The irony of it was driving him crazy. How many years had he prayed for the day when student activities would become more than an abstract concept? And yet, when that great day arrived, Arthur Morrison was on the other team.

  Each morning his student suggestion box was full of politely worded requests for the reinstatement of the student body president. He had yet to see one slip of paper that dealt with any other topic. Each day, his appointment book was full, and at fifteen-minute intervals, he interviewed students who had come to guidance to express their frustration over the handling of the Otis affair. None would accept the clear and untarnished truth that Mike Otis had had nothing to do with his own candidacy.

  Twenty-six hundred informed, motivated kids, taking an interest in student government through civilized and peaceful means — any guidance counsellor’s dream. It was within his grasp; so close, yet so far. So what if Mike never ran for president? He didn’t mind being president. If Gamble would just let him back into office, the possibilities with these students would be limitless! But no. Gamble would be stubborn, and the opportunity would be lost. And once again, Arthur Morrison would walk the barren wasteland stalked by that inevitable monster called “lack of interest.”

  10

  Monday morning before classes, Sheldon and Paul presented “The Sewer System” to Mike. It took the two of them to carry the large display case through the hall and set it in front of Mike’s locker. Then they waited, Sheldon in undisguised pride, Paul in extreme anxiety.

  A few minutes later, Mike’s face appeared in the window of the heavy stairwell doors. He came no closer, though, but instead stared through the glass at the project in bland perplexity. Then he turned around and disappeared from view.

  It took a few seconds for Sheldon and Paul to realize what was happening. They caught up with Mike in the parking lot, hunching toward the black behemoth.

  “Hey, Mike,” said Sheldon, “where are you going?”

  Mike didn’t stop. “Home.”

  “But it’s only eight forty-five. Classes haven’t even started yet.” No response. “Why are you leaving now?”

  Finally, Mike stopped. He looked squarely at Sheldon and Paul. “I don’t think this is going to be a good day.”

  “But you can’t leave!” blurted Paul. “Your project is ready to be handed in today.”

  During the silence that followed, Paul stared into Mike’s distant eyes. For one brief moment, he wondered if the flood of questions he thought he saw ther
e might suddenly pour out and inundate them. Instead, there was just one word.

  “No.”

  Sheldon decided to be firm. “What do you mean, no? After everybody’s hard work — no? If you don’t hand in this project, you’ll fail physics!”

  Mike paused again. “Do I have to do anything?”

  “No! Nothing at all!” Paul said quickly. “We’ll even carry it for you. All you have to say is ‘Here’s my project, Mrs. Nelson.’”

  “Here’s my project, Mrs. Nelson,” repeated Mike.

  “Perfect,” approved Sheldon. “Let’s go.”

  They found Mrs. Nelson in the physics office. Mike spoke his line, and Sheldon and Paul placed the project beside her desk. At this point, Mike tried to leave, assuming that since his part was over, maybe he was no longer needed. But Paul put an iron grip on his shoulder.

  Mrs. Nelson was amazed. First she walked back and forth in front of the project as though trying to look at it from all angles. Then she began leafing through the information booklets, illustrations and diagrams. Sheldon operated the working models for her, trying his best to appear as though Mike were directing him.

  “Does it hook up this way, Mike?”

  “Sure.”

  As Mrs. Nelson went through the whole project, a wide smile took root and spread across her normally severe face. She looked a little confused at “Whither Sewage,” but much to Paul’s great relief, she let it pass.

  “Congratulations, Michael. This is the most wonderful project I’ve seen in all my years of teaching!” The teacher raved up and down about the effort, and spoke of how pleased and surprised she was. Sheldon beamed with pride, and even Paul felt a great deal of satisfaction over the project’s reception. Mrs. Nelson obviously didn’t suspect any irregularities, and through it all, Mike looked marginally aware of what was happening. Everything was going along beautifully until Mrs. Nelson announced her intention of entering “The Sewer System” in the Citywide High School Science Fair, which was taking place at the Midtown Community Center on Wednesday.

  Paul turned deathly pale, but Sheldon smiled even wider. “That’s great news, isn’t it, Mike?”

  “Very good.”

  When they had left the physics office and Mike had made his escape, Paul turned on his friend. “You’re sick, you know that? How could you agree to participate in that science fair? Oh, I can’t believe you did it! Why couldn’t you make up some dumb excuse like Mike has a doctor’s appointment, or a dentist appointment, or a safety pin polishing appointment?”

  “Cool it, Ambition. This is a great opportunity. If Mike can win this science fair, think of what it’ll mean!”

  “Shel, we barely got him to say ‘Here’s my project.’ How can you possibly expect him to compete in a science fair?”

  “He was right there with us when Mrs. Nelson brought it up,” Sheldon argued, “and he didn’t protest.”

  “That’s because he had no idea what was going on, and he didn’t want to know,” Paul retorted. “If I hadn’t been holding him, he would’ve made a bolt for the door. This is crazy.”

  “Look, you’re the one who’s always complaining about Don’t Care High. Well, here you go! Now we have our first science fair entry in… in… I don’t think anybody knows how many years.”

  May I have your attention, please. Just one announcement. On Wednesday, the Citywide High School Science Fair competition will take place at the Midtown Community Center. On that day, we were to have achieved the distinction of being the first school ever to go without an entry for forty years. However, I have just been informed that, due to a sudden outburst of interest, Mike Otis will be representing Don Carey High School this year.

  There was cheering in all homerooms. The teachers were stunned at the fact that Mike Otis, who ought to have been a dead issue at this point, was resurfacing.

  When Sheldon and Paul went after Mike to remind him to attend the science fair, Mike seemed to have a game plan of his own. He stood his ground in the conversation, and whenever something he didn’t understand came up, he simply said, “No.”

  “But everyone’s counting on you!” protested Sheldon.

  “On me,” Mike repeated.

  “Exactly. So you have to go to the science fair with us on Wednesday afternoon. That’s all.”

  Mike thought about it for a long time. Then he said, “No.”

  “Oh, please!” Paul blurted. “We need you to be there! You have no idea how much we need you to be there!”

  Mike looked haunted. “I won’t have to do anything there?”

  “Not a thing,” said Sheldon quickly. “Nothing at all. We’ll do everything.”

  “Well, then, I guess I can go.” There was a pause as Sheldon and Paul looked at him, awaiting more. “I should eat lunch now,” said Mike, looking extremely uncomfortable.

  “Sure!” said Sheldon. “No problem. We’ll get right out of your way. Thanks a lot, Mike.”

  On Wednesday morning, the principal urged all students to drop by the science fair after classes when the prizes were to be awarded. Sheldon did him one better, however, spreading the word that Mike expected a good turnout for the judging, which was to begin at one-thirty.

  “The fair is open to the public,” Sheldon reasoned, “so we’ll get a gang in there to ooh and aah over Mike’s project when the judges are looking. It can’t hurt to stack the audience a little.”

  As the head of the science department, Mr. Schmidt was obligated to drive Sheldon, Paul and the project to the Midtown Community Center. Clearly, though, he did not wish to be associated with “The Sewer System,” and once inside the building, made himself extremely scarce. He avoided all his colleagues — apparently afraid that they were going to laugh at him — promised to be back for the presentations, and disappeared.

  Mike wasn’t due to arrive until one, but Sheldon and Paul had everything set up by eleven-thirty. There was light traffic among the booths, mostly adults, and Don Carey High School’s first entry in forty years was the centre of much attention. The boys took some kidding, and smiled bravely through a lot of sewer jokes. The fair officials were shocked by the project. Anything at all from Don Carey High was completely unexpected; the end result of so much work was astonishing.

  Paul let Sheldon field the questions about Mike, which Sheldon did casually by saying, “Oh, Mike’ll be here soon. He’s just tied up somewhere — busy man, you know.”

  Many of the spectators had heard about Mike’s brief sojourn as student body president, and expressed an interest in meeting him.

  “That’s really impressive,” commented one teacher. “It’s quite an accomplishment to get that kind of enthusiasm from Don’t Care — uh — your school.”

  “I hope you get a chance to meet Mike,” said Sheldon glibly. “He’s not what you’d expect. He’s very quiet.”

  At noon, Mr. Morrison arrived, his face flushed with excitement as he attended his first ever extracurricular activity as a Don Carey staff member. He stood proudly in front of the booth, hailing all the people he knew and making sure all were aware that Don Carey had an entry this year. In his opinion, this science fair was the first step on the school’s road back to respectability, and he was aching to see the entry win a prize.

  In another half-hour, Paul began to notice some of the Don’t Care students among the browsers. These were the usual prominent citizens in the Mike Otis scheme of things: Wayne-o, the LaPazes and the WOW Connection. These people stayed away from the booth, though, to avoid being seen by Mr. Morrison, who might have wanted to know why they were not in class. He did see them eventually, but was so overwhelmed by the school spirit that had brought them there that he greeted them happily.

  One o’clock came and went, and there were about twenty Don’t Care students in circulation, but no Mike.

  “I knew it!” Paul moaned. “I knew he wouldn’t show up!”

  “Shh, Ambition. He’ll be here. Don’t worry. He probably just got lost. Why don’t you go to the d
oor and look for him?”

  Paul made his way to the hall’s main entrance and poked his head outside. He gaped. The stairs, the sidewalk and the lawns were teeming with Don’t Care students — it looked like the whole school was there. A group of bewildered centre security personnel had set up a rope barrier and were going through the motions of crowd control. But the students were peaceful. They swarmed behind the barrier and waited patiently for developments. At the head of the group was the massive Slim Kroy. He held his tuba high, like a standard, and all rallied behind it.

  Rigid with shock, Paul hurried back to Sheldon and related the situation.

  Sheldon broke into a broad grin. “What a great school we go to!”

  “Shel, I don’t think you realize the seriousness of the situation! It’s one twenty-five, Mike’s not here, and there are thousands of people out there who are going to blame us for the whole thing!”

  Suddenly, a great cheer went up outside the building, and there was a rush to the front door as the stirring strains of Slim Kroy’s Mike Otis Tuba Solo wafted into the hall. And then he stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the bright afternoon sun — the student body ex-president and true leader of Don’t Care High.

  A murmur went up in the main hall as Sheldon and Paul both hurried over and hustled Mike to the project. Paul was too relieved to speak, but Sheldon babbled ecstatically about “The Sewer System” being the best effort in the place and no one else having a chance.

  “Isn’t it a beauty?” said Sheldon proudly.

  Wayne-o sidled over to Mike. “The way I see it, you can’t lose. There are only three other really classy-looking projects here. One’s about solar energy, which is a big yawn; there’s another called ‘The Abiotic Synthesis of Organic Compounds,’ which is a burn-out because who can understand that kind of stuff?; and the third is called ‘You Can Live Beneath the Sea,’ which is about settlements on the ocean floor. It’s okay, but who’s going to want to live beneath the sea with all that sewage dumped there? You’re a cinch.” To Paul he added, “Look how cool he is! Not a nervous bone in his body! A normal man would be sweating his guts out in this spot.”