Don't Care High (19 page)

* * *

Throughout all these goings-on, Feldstein sat in his stairwell, tight-lipped and unforgiving, waiting for the end. His ill humour had stimulated his appetite, and he was using up his stockpile of favours at an alarming rate. If there was one thing that characterized this phase of Don't Care history besides the Mike Otis speeches, it was the scores of students called temporarily away from their normal lives to carry trays of food into the locker baron's stairwell.

The situation was becoming so alarming that even Sheldon paused from his speech campaign to take notice. He tried to talk to Feldstein, but the locker baron was implacable.

“I can't believe this is happening!” Sheldon told Paul as the two walked through the halls after Sheldon's meeting with Feldstein. “I can't believe that Feldstein has come to this! Do you realize that last week he called in
ninety
favours? He just sits there like a big blob of nothing, sucking back food like a vacuum cleaner. He's already gained weight — they say that's how it happened to Slim Kroy.”

“You never see him now without food,” Paul agreed. “And a lot of the kids are getting hit for old favours — Wayne-o, Phil, Rosalie, Samuel. He hit the LaPazes three times.”

Sheldon sighed. “When a great man comes along, the old order changeth. Feldstein came into a school that was in locker anarchy, and he brought the whole ball of wax under one roof and wiped out the competition. But no one stays on top forever.”

As they continued to walk, they came upon Peter Eversleigh sitting by his locker, looking somehow naked without his customary stick of licorice.

Paul nudged Sheldon. “Look at his collar.”

Attached to the collar of Peter's shirt was a large safety pin.

“Hey, Peter,” Sheldon called, “is that holding your head on?”

“Symbolism,” said Peter humourlessly, snapping his gum in the Rosalie Gladstone style. “This pin of which we speak is a reflection of the pins worn by our main dude, Mike Otis, on the cuffs of his pants. With this pin I am making my own statement on the bogus concept of the exile of our leader. It shows that I support the dude.”

Sheldon's and Paul's eyes met. Simultaneously, calculating grins spread over their faces.

“I'd say that's conceptual, wouldn't you say so, Ambition?”

“Very conceptual,” Paul agreed. “Good concept.”

Peter was gratified. “Thank you, dudes.”

Sheldon slapped Paul on the arm. “Come on. Let's go shopping.”

Within forty-eight hours, seventy-five percent of the population of Don't Care High was wearing safety pins on all shirts and blouses. There were small ones and large ones, and all sizes in between, ranging right up to kilt pin size. And the trend was still growing. Pinned students would come across unpinned friends in the halls and rush them out to nearby stores lest they give the impression that they were not in support of Mike. Others still kept extras on hand for the less enlightened.

By the following week, virtually all the students wore pins religiously every day. Peter Eversleigh, on the grounds that he was the creator of the whole thing, wore two pins. So did Wayne-o, on grounds he would not explain. The LaPazes wore three each, and that they didn't have to explain. No one would wear the large, plastic-tipped diaper kind, as that was reserved for Mike himself.

Sheldon picked a sporty model, large and shiny silver, while Paul stuck with a sedate but tasteful one-inch pin.

The pins showed exactly how popular Mike really was. A bare collar was a great rarity among the students, and this visual representation of the incredible support for Mike inspired people all the more.

And as the days flew by, Feldstein continued to burn up favours at unbelievable speed. He now spent all his time — from nine until three-thirty — sitting in his stairwell, eating. He had moved in a few desks as waiting buffets for incoming snacks, and these were constantly laden with a wide variety of goodies. His attitude had gone from anger to depression. Down to his final thirty favours, he acted as though he knew the end was near, and he intended to go out in a wild blaze of overindulgence. The eating action was intense, and as the safety pins and speeches ruled Don't Care High, many students avoided Feldstein's stairwell, for the sight there was not pretty.

* * *

Mike Otis himself might have overlooked the entire safety pin affair had it not been for the fact that students were constantly approaching him to show off their pins. Many times Paul had seen the ex-president accosted by a student proudly displaying a gleaming new pin. There would be an awkward pause as Mike decided whether or not a comment was called for. Then he would say, “Very nice,” and move on. Mike was now coming into contact with more students than ever before, and might have been moved to wonder what these safety pins had to do with him had he not been positive that it all had its place in the now-complex network of things at this school that he didn't understand. On a couple of occasions, Paul himself tried to speak with Mike. He could see the questions bubbling just below the surface of Mike's strange calm. But they were never asked, and the conversations were always brief and uncomfortable, with Mike responding to direct questions only and giving answers where brevity was exceeded only by vagueness.

As always, though, Paul was swept up in the general tide of things. The pre-class exercises raged politely and mercilessly on, and the safety pin campaign continued to blanket the school. He and Sheldon were already known as Mike's top advisers and, as such, they were frequently sought out for consultation on such matters as the wording of the speech, or what type of pin to wear. So Paul was taken completely off guard when he found himself summoned to see Feldstein.

Paul poked his head timidly through the doors of Feldstein's stairwell. His jaw dropped. The slightly chubby locker baron, his face a study in melancholy, sat amidst a vast smorgasbord consisting of several trays of cold sliced meats, cole slaw, enchiladas, fifteen varieties of cheese, several loaves of bread, an enormous hot-fudge and butterscotch-quintuple-scoop banana split, and a basket of fresh fruit. Pizza cartons were stacked in the corner, right by the potato chips, and as Paul watched in amazement, two boys carried in a three-tiered, white-frosted wedding cake, complete with silver bells.

“Good news, Feldstein,” called one of them. “The groom didn't show up.”

Feldstein nodded wearily. “Just put it down there by the halvah.”

The two boys set down the cake and hurried away.

Paul spoke up. “You wanted to see me, Feldstein?”

“You came into this school without a locker, and I got you one. Now I need a favour from you.”

Paul swallowed hard. “What'll it be, Feldstein?”

Reaching around the soup tureen which simmered on the hot plate, Feldstein indicated the fruit basket. “Mangoes, man. I need mangoes. Four of them. Ripe.”

“Right.” Paul ran off in search of Sheldon. He found his friend in the cafeteria line. “Shel! Shel, quick! What's a mango?”

Sheldon nodded understandingly. “Feldstein called in the favour, huh? I guess we should have expected it. Well, a mango is some kind of tropical fruit. That's all I know. There are a few fruit stores around here, but they're only good for apples, oranges, and bananas.”

“You'll help me, right?”

Sheldon chuckled condescendingly. “In this life, Ambition, there are some things that a man must do on his own.”

Paul spread his arms in desperation, “But where am I going to get four mangoes? Will he accept, let's say, a good-sized watermelon instead?”

A hum went up in the line from the sheer absurdity of this statement.

“Feldstein doesn't accept substitutions,” explained Sheldon. “
Any
substitutions. Once I saw him turn down a bowl of soup because it came with plain crackers instead of Ritz.”

Paul grimaced with determination. “I'll just have to work something out then.”

“Good luck,” Sheldon called after his fleeting form.

Paul made the rounds of the local fruit and grocery stores with no success. This was a mangoless neighbourhood. He had known this favour would be trouble, and here it was — another insane crisis to add to that long list of insane crises he called his life. As he walked back into the school, he pondered the advisability of visiting Feldstein and admitting failure. No. He would have to come up with something that was so valuable that the locker baron would put aside his need for mangoes.

Then he saw Mike, and the answer burst upon him like a sunrise. He followed Mike to his locker, worked up his courage and approached him.

“Hi.”

A pause, then, “Hi.” This was Mike's standard response to such a situation.

“Listen, Mike, I'll get right to the point. I'm in a bit of a jam, and I'd like you to do me a favour.”

Mike looked wary. Such situations generally meant the beginning of something unusual. “A favour,” he repeated dully.

“To be perfectly honest, I'm in the soup right now. If you do this one thing for me, I promise I'll make it up to you.”

There was an excruciatingly long pause, during which time Mike looked at the ceiling, the floor and both walls. He alternated between three distinct blank expressions. Finally, he said, “Okay.”

* * *

“Sorry, Feldstein, I couldn't get the mangoes.”

Feldstein shook his head. “He couldn't get the mangoes.” His voice was not threatening, just empty.

“I got you something better,” said Paul.

“No, man. That's not the way it works. You see, I need mangoes. And when I need something, there's nothing better than what I need.” Feldstein stared at the combination lock Paul was holding out to him. “A lock? I've got loads of locks, man.”

Paul grinned proudly. “But this one's the lock to 205C.”

There was dead silence as Feldstein took this in. His eyes filled with tears. “205C?” he barely whispered.

Paul nodded.

“205C is… mine?”

“That's right, Feldstein. That completes your row.”

Feldstein was choked with emotion. He dabbed at his eyes with the take-out menu from a local pizza parlour. Then suddenly he stood up and pushed Paul into his chair. “Here. Sit down. Have some soup. Man, this is the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me. How'd you pull it off?”

“Well,” said Paul, “I just asked Mike if you could have the locker, and he said okay.”

“He's a prince!” cried Feldstein. “I take back everything I said about him! I've been dumping on this whole Otis thing because I know that Slim Kroy and a lot of those guys from The Combo are mixed up in it. But now I'll do anything in my power to see to it that that great guy is president again. And you, man — I owe you! Anything!” He indicated his entire restaurant. “Chinese, Mexican, Italian — you name it! You want steak? I'm a little low, but I'll get you steak!”

“It's okay, Feldstein. It's my pleasure. Come on. Let's go complete your row.”

When they reached the 200C's, Mike had cleaned out his locker and was preparing to move to his new location near the print shop. Feldstein, in a great outpouring of gratitude, ran up and embraced the slight figure in the large raincoat.

“Mike, you're the greatest! I can't tell you what this means to me!”

As soon as he was released, Mike hurried away. Although he said nothing, Paul could hear the words as clearly as if they'd been spoken:
There are a lot of things at this school I don't understand
.

A
chunk!
sound echoed through the hall, signifying that Feldstein had officially become the first figure in Don't Care locker history to control the coveted 200C series, the longest uninterrupted row of lockers in the school.

Paul felt good.

Feldstein's reluctance to support Mike had been a sobering factor on the otherwise fabulously successful Otis campaign. Within an hour of his possession of 205C, the rejuvenated locker baron managed to acquire one hundred fifty safety pins to broadcast to the world his change of heart. He threw open his delicatessen to anyone wearing a pin and, for the first time in weeks, was all smiles and good will as he greeted his guests. He announced complete amnesty, restoring all confiscated lockers — even for Cindy Schwartz.

Sheldon was on cloud nine, lecturing at length on how things tended to fall into place. Feldstein was an enormously influential member of the Don't Care community, and his show of support was the completing brick in the superstructure of Mike's power base. With regard to Mike Otis, Don't Care High cared one hundred percent.

By the next week, however, Sheldon felt the need to move ahead. “It's time for a confrontation,” he announced to Paul one day over ginger ale and stale cake at Sheldon's house. “It's time to have a mammoth rally.”

Paul choked. “What happened to polite and restrained? What happened to not breaking any rules?”

“We still won't break any rules. I envision everyone assembling in front of the school at about seven-thirty in the morning, and greeting all the staff members with our solidarity.” He cleared his throat. “And it might not hurt to tip off a few members of the local press to come by and cover it.”

“In this city?” said Paul dubiously. “They'd never show up.”

“Sure they will. We're Don't Care High. We killed the science fair and trashed Laguna. They won't know we plan to be peaceful. And our numbers are good. I expect almost everybody to turn out to support Mike.”

And so the word went out. The entire student body was expected at seven-thirty Friday morning to take its big stand. The spreading of the news was a very serious business, and Sheldon and Paul took no chances with the publicity.

“It's better to have every student hear this a million times than risk having one guy forget to show up,” Sheldon declared to the LaPaz triplets as he recruited them as P.R. representatives.