Falling (The Falling Angels Saga) (25 page)

All afternoon as I moved between classes the Poplarati’s dark stares and snide remarks trailed behind me like the shadow of an evil spirit. The way many of their eyes looked through me when I walked down the halls signaled loud and clear I was no longer one of them. A week ago, being a member of the Poplarati meant everything to me.
Talk about misplaced priorities.
But the events of the past weekend, along with the visions from Satan, opened my eyes as to what was really important. Glendale Union would be a much better school if someone could loosen the Poplarati’s stranglehold on things. Perhaps that someone was me.

There were six chairs and a microphone on a tall mic stand set up in front of the stone fountain at the center of the quad. A long cord ran from the microphone stand disappearing inside the main building. I saw Vice Principal Abernathy making his way to the mic. He was wearing a brown suit that accented his bulging belly, chatting easily with students as he moved through the crowd.

When he arrived at the mic, he got right down to business. He called for quiet, then called out the names of the two students running for the recently vacated seats on the student council; he called up the two students running for senior class president; then he called up Ashley Scott.

Even though my name wasn’t among those called, I began moving with purpose through the crowd toward the makeshift dais. As I squeezed by students, a murmur arose. It was like the sound of swarming bees, the hum growing louder as word rocketed through the crowd that I was heading for the mic. Megan Barnett was about to make a scene.

When Vice Principal Abernathy saw me coming, he narrowed his eyes and gave a quick, violent shake of his head, signaling I’d better not. I ignored the signal, stepped onto the dais in front the vacant chair, and faced the crowd along with the other candidates.

“She can’t be here.” Ashley Scott was first to speak in a purposefully loud whisper that trilled into the warm fall air.

“Allow me to handle this, Miss Scott,” said Abernathy in an officious tone. I hadn’t noticed until then what a whiny voice he had. He placed a hand over the mic and turned to me. “Miss Barnett, I’m afraid you’ll have to go. You’re no longer a candidate,” he said, his voice hushed yet urgent.

“I realize I’ve been disqualified,” I said, raising my voice so as many students could hear me as possible. “I’m here to announce my replacement.”

“You can’t just
choose
your own replacement,” snarled Ashley. She moved to the mic and pushed Vice Principal Abernathy’s hand aside. “This rally is for honest, law-abiding students. Not cheaters!” Mild applause and a few hoots arose from the crowd.

I looked into the faces of my fellow students and raised my voice. “I am certain that when the investigation is over I will be exonerated, and the real culprit,
Ashley Scott
, will be brought to justice.”

A wave of cheers arose. It was soft at first, just a few students, but to my surprise, the cheering began to build, moving through the crowd like brush fire. Of course, what I’d implied about Ashley wasn’t true. It surprised me how many students thought it might be true.

Ashley, standing at the mic, looked into the crowd and turned as pale as newspaper. She could feel the tide turning in my favor and wheeled on Vice Principal Abernathy. “Well!” she said in a tone that demanded he do something.

Abernathy realized he’d lost control—if he ever had it. He stepped back to the mic and sputtered for a few moments, clearly at a loss for words. “Miss… This is…You cannot randomly choose your replacement, Miss Barnett. We have rules,” he stammered, turning bright red. “Papers must be filed, and I’m afraid we’re way past the filing date. Now, if you don’t step down, I’ll have to have you removed.”

Satisfied, Ashley turned to me with a smug, self-important, Poplarati sneer.

“Excuse me,” a small voice near the front called out. “Papers were filed this afternoon.”

Julie, the freshman I’d met in Mrs. Cleveland’s office a few weeks ago when I almost didn’t file, stepped through the crowd and was now standing in front of Vice Principal Abernathy, clutching an application in her hand. “She filed this this afternoon, sir.”

Abernathy reached for the application, but he wasn’t fast enough. Ashley snatched the papers from Julie’s hand and quickly perused them. “So what!” she chimed as she read. “This needed to be done weeks ago. Or do we allow
cheaters
to continue to
cheat
?” She tossed this question into the crowd like a bomb, her eyes darting among them.

I braced for the cheers and applause she was surely going to get. There weren’t any. The students on the quad were deathly silent, waiting for the outcome of this unusual turn of events.

“If a student must withdraw, the application for the replacement student must be filed before the end of the school day,” said Julie, as if quoting law. “She filed on time, sir. I was there.” Julie shot a quick, encouraging smile in my direction.

Vice Principal Abernathy retrieved the application from Ashley’s quaking hands and looked it over. As he did, Julie shot me another smile. I smiled back, wondering if I could have been so brave when I was a freshman. Probably not.

“I see Mrs. Cleveland’s signature here at the bottom. This seems in order,” said Abernathy.

“I just want to announce my replacement, and then I’ll go,” I said.

“All right,” said Abernathy, backing down. “Go right ahead.” He stepped away from the mic.

More murmuring arose from the crowd, loud, bordering on raucous.

“Quiet down now,” said Abernathy, trying to restore order. “Megan Barnett, former candidate for junior class president, has a few words for you.”

I stepped up to the mic and smiled out into the crowd. Butterflies swirled in my gut. I again searched for the comforting face of Maudrina. She wasn’t there. Julie’s smile would be all the comfort I’d get.

Guy’s words rang out in my mind:
if you do the right thing, you’re going to make enemies.

“Hello,” I said, my voice sounding uneasy as it spilled out through the speakers.

“This is a sham!” I heard from behind. Ashley Scott pushed her way up to the mic. “Everyone knows a person is not a candidate until someone seconds their nomination,” she snarled at me.

“You’re right,” I said calmly. “My bad.” I again looked out into the faces of the students. “I’ll need a second for the office of junior class president. The replacement candidate I chose is Tran Phung.”

“WHAT?” a voice of disbelief rang out from far back in the crowd. It was Tran.

“My fellow students,” I began. “I choose my friend Tran for the office of junior class president because he is the absolute best candidate to run for this office. I know most of you don’t know him. He’s not very popular. Some of you have probably never even seen him. He doesn’t go to any of the games or dances or other social functions. But who says the election of school officers has to be a popularity contest? Should we be choosing the most popular students to lead us into the future, or the best leaders?

“Tran is the best. I say this because he’s the only student at GU with a four-point-eight GPA. I didn’t even know a four point eight was possible until Tran did it.”

Laughter. Yes, laughter, not at me, but with me.

“He’s the smartest of us all, and he cares about our school. Please spend the next few weeks getting to know him. But right now, I need a junior classman to second his nomination. Who among you will second the nomination of Tran Phung?” I peered out into the crowd, my heart in my mouth. Members of the Poplarati glared not just at me, but at the students gathered around them.

“And if it’s
not
seconded,” said Ashley, pushing back in. “We can get on with why we’re all here: a
fair
and
honest
election, free of cheaters and their friends.” She knew nothing could be further from the truth. Fair and honest is the last thing she wanted as she narrowed her eyes at the crowd, daring every one of them to defy the might of the Poplarati.

“I second him,” a tiny voice called out from far in the back. Jenny.

“What are you doing?” cried Tran.

“I second him, too,” someone closer to the front said.

“Yeah, me too,” said yet another.

By the time it was done, to his utter amazement and possible dismay, Tran had been seconded forty-five times.

*

After Tran came up and accepted the nomination, I stepped away and faded into the crowd. As the candidates began making their speeches, I slipped further away. There was something else I wanted to do. I entered the building and headed for my locker. If Principal Lockhart had clipped my lock, the clipped link might still be on the ground in the locker area. I knew it was a longshot, and an even longer shot that, if I found the link, I could pin the stolen answer keys on the school principal, but I was in proactive mode, and I needed to try.

The building was quiet. No surprise there. Any student who’d stayed after school was out on the quad at the rally. As I hurried along, I heard the sound of muffled footsteps in the adjacent corridor. Thoughts of Guy flared in my mind, and my heart skipped. I knew it was silly, but why wouldn’t he be here? He’d realized what a jerk he’d been this morning and came to school to pick me up and apologize. When I didn’t show up in the student parking lot, he came looking for me. That made sense. I quickened my pace to meet him at the intersection.

When I arrived at the intersection, it wasn’t Guy but Mr. Percival, my statistics teacher, who arrived just as I did. He was a bit out of breath, with a light coating of perspiration on his forehead. He’d been in a hurry, yet when he saw me, he stopped and smiled.

“Well, Miss Barnett. What a surprise. I thought you’d be outside regaling your fans with tidbits on why you’d make such a fine officer.” He chuckled delightedly.

Mr. Percival should have known that I’d been forbidden to participate in extra-curricular activities. Yet some teachers had no idea of what went on outside their classroom walls. Perhaps Mr. Percival was one of them.

“I was out there,” I said, pointing back the way I’d come. “But I turned over my campaign to Tran Phung. When he accepted, I decided to leave.” There was something odd about Mr. Percival. It was obvious he’d been in a hurry, yet now that he was here with me, he lounged against the wall, listening with a smile as if he didn’t have anywhere to be.

“Ah, Mr. Phung. A very intelligent lad. He’ll make an excellent class officer.” Mr. Percival’s constant smile was starting to creep me out. I’ve known Mr. Percival since the beginning of the semester. I’d seen him around since my sophomore year, and never before had I seen him smile.

“Umm, I think so, too.” My heart rate sped up. I was alone in the corridor with an adult with a creepy smile on his face. “Well, gotta go,” I said in an attempt to let us both off the hook. I made a move to head toward the locker area. That’s when things got stranger. I wasn’t sure, but I thought he made a subtle move to block my path.

“Miss Barnett, I believe you wanted to have a word with me. Am I right?” he said in a cordial tone.

He was right, but something about the way he was behaving wasn’t. I could feel my heart rate quicken more. “Yes,” I replied. “I wanted to discuss my F.”
There, I said it!
“But it can wait until office hours, sir.”

His smile widened, and with it the creepiness factor about him increased tenfold. “These are my office hours. Miss Barnett, since you don’t have anything to do, and I don’t have anything to do, why don’t we pop down to my office and have that chat?” He gestured down the hall.

“Umm… I don’t have my paper with me, sir. I’ll just stop by my locker and get it, and I’ll meet you there.”

He again stepped closer, and this time there was no mistaking—he was blocking my path. “Miss Barnett, I’m certain you don’t need that test paper to plead your case. And you happen to be catching me in a very good mood. Come now,” he said, placing a hand on my upper arm. His grip tightened on my bicep, and he spun me around facing the corridor he’d come down. “Let’s get this thing all worked out.” He gave me a gentle tug, and without releasing my arm, started down the corridor with me in tow.

Help!
The word exploded in my mind, and yet I said nothing.
This is all your overactive imagination, Megan. There’s nothing wrong. He just wants to discuss your grade.

“I’m glad you’re in such a good mood, sir.
Why
are you in such a good mood?” I asked, as he continued leading me toward his office,
like a lamb to slaughter,
I thought.

“Oh, lots of reasons,” he replied with more cheer in his voice than I thought possible for Mr. Percival.

I tried remembering the essay part of my test. I thought if I concentrated on why he needed to raise my grade, all this creepiness would go away. But it’s hard to think about grades when you’re certain you’re on your way to being
murdered
.

“I’m having the hardest time with random variables, sir. Could you explain them to me again?”

We were nearing Mr. Percival’s office. His pace had gradually quickened. It was as if I was being hustled away.

“As soon as we get to my office, dear,” he replied sounding hurried and breathless. “We can go over variable to your heart’s content.”

I didn’t say
variable
. I said
random variables
. The alarm bells going off in my mind were clanging so loud, it was like a five-alarm fire. I began putting the pieces together. I thought back to when I’d come upon him earlier. He was obviously rushing down the corridor to catch up with me.
But why?

“Here we are,” he said as we arrived at his office door. Jittery fingers fumbled his keys out of his pocket. So jittery, he dropped them on the floor.

That’s when I realized what was so different about him. It was his eyes. I’d always thought of Mr. Percival as having what I call “easy eyes,” calm and forever peaceful. This Mr. Percival had twitchy eyes that never seemed to rest on one thing for too long. It could be drugs. It could be that Mr. Percival took drugs after school each day, and he’d just had his daily fix. But that’s not what I thought.