Laggan Lard Butts (3 page)

“I don't know about this,” I said as we walked down the hall.

“I don't know why you had to come along,” Sarah said.

“Me?”

“Yes. I don't know why Mr. Davidson wanted you to be part of this delegation to the principal.”

“Two people are hardly a
delegation
.” It was just like Sarah to use a big word when it wasn't needed.

“I don't care if it's two people or twenty-two, I still don't understand why you had to be part of it.”

“It was my idea,” I said.

“Your idea? Mr. Davidson came up with it.”

“But he wouldn't have thought about it if I hadn't brought up the whole name thing to begin with. I should be here.”

“At least, nobody in the school has been to the office more than you, so you should know the way.”

I didn't answer. I didn't react. I didn't want to give her the satisfaction.

“And you've spent so much time with the principal—I wonder, do you still call him Mr. McGregor or do you call him by his first name?”

“I don't call him by his first name, but he does like me,” I said. “He likes people with backbone. Nobody likes suck-ups.”

She grabbed me by the arm and spun me around. It was amazing how strong somebody that small could be.

“Are you calling me a suck-up?”

“I didn't mention any names, but you must think it applies, and if the shoe fits then—”

“Do you want me to tell you where my shoe
could
fit?” she demanded.

“Oooohhh...I'm ascared.”

“Ascared isn't a word. The word is either scared or afraid, you can't put them together.”

“I guess I'm just so scared and afraid that I can't talk right. I'm just so
ascared
of you that I'm making up words.”

She made a strange little sound, sort of a huff, like steam escaping from a kettle. She was frustrated. I knew it would be easy to make her even more frustrated.

“The big question isn't why I'm here, but why you're part of the
delegation
. You didn't even play on any of the teams this year.”

“I'm here because I'm the student president!”

“Only because nobody else wanted the job.”

I could see her spine stiffen and her chest deflate all at the same time. I could always
get to her, although I often felt bad after I did—like I felt now.

“Okay, how about if we stop fighting for a few minutes and get this meeting over with,” I suggested.

“Let me do all the talking,” Sarah said.

“Like I could stop you if I wanted. But maybe I should talk. Remember that the principal and I are tight. He was over at my house the other day watching videos and—”

“Mr. McGregor was over at your house?” she gasped.

“Sarah, I'm kidding. You do most of the talking.” Since I didn't have a gag, that was a given.

We stopped at the counter in the office, and the secretary—who I thought actually ran the school—looked up at us. She gave me a scowl and Sarah a smile.

“We're here to see Mr. McGregor,” Sarah said. “We have an appointment.”

Appointment? Typical. Why didn't she say that her
delegation
had an appointment?

“He's expecting you,” she said and motioned for us to go inside his office.

Sarah led. I followed. The door was open, but she tapped on it anyway. Mr. McGregor was sitting at his desk. He looked up from his work.

“Come in, please.”

We walked in and took the two seats across from his desk. I took the seat on the left, the one closest to the door. I always took the seat closest to the door because it was two steps closer to leaving.

Instinctively I felt the palms of my hands start to sweat. I had to remind myself that I wasn't in trouble. I hadn't done anything wrong in weeks, in fact.

“Your teacher has informed me that your class has an interesting idea, a way to put your study of democracy into action.”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Yes, sir,” Sarah replied.

What a suck-up, I thought, but I kept my mouth shut. I had the strangest thought that I should call him by his first name now, but even I wasn't
that
stupid...or brave.

“You see, sir, some of the students—not me but some of the students—don't really
like the name of our school teams,” Sarah continued.

“Some of us think it's stupid,” I said.

Both of them shot me a dirty look.

“Well it is,” I said. “Nobody knows what a laird is.”

“I know what it is,” Sarah said proudly.

“You know now, but you didn't this morning,” I said, cutting her off right at the knees.

“Laird is certainly not a word that is used everyday,” Mr. McGregor said. “But it has been the team name since the time the school was built. That is almost one hundred years of tradition.”

“Tradition? Isn't that just another way of looking at the past instead of thinking about the future?” I asked.

Now they both looked shocked. I was actually a little surprised by what I'd said.

“Tradition is far more than that,” said Mr. McGregor. “It is using the foundation of the past to build a future.”

“Sometimes it's just saying we won't change because that's the way we have always
done things. Isn't that the same argument they tried to use to exclude women from the democratic process?” I asked.

Mr. McGregor now looked shocked, and Sarah looked pleased.

“Voting has to do with it,” Sarah said. “We want, as a class project, to hold an election to choose a new name for the school teams.”

“Interesting idea,” he said.

“So you're not against it?” I asked.

“I need to hear more before I can decide if I'm for or against this idea. Go on.”

“We were thinking we could suggest possible names and then we'd vote. The name with the most votes wins,” Sarah explained.

“I understand the democratic process,” Mr. McGregor said with a smirk. “But are you talking about your class or the whole school?”

“Our class, I guess,” Sarah said.

“And does that sound fair?” he asked.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Well, for one thing, half of your class, all the grade eight students, will be leaving the school in a few weeks. And second, if
we just let the older students vote, aren't we doing the same thing as those who wouldn't let women have the vote?”

“Um...I guess...but even the kindergarten kids?” I asked.

“Aren't they going to spend the next nine years in this school and on those teams?” he asked.

“Yeah, I guess. So you're going to let us hold the election?”

“Following certain rules and conditions,” he said.

I hated conditions and I wasn't so good at following rules. “What?”

“Perhaps other people think the school team should remain the Laggan Lairds. It must be allowed to be on the ballot. Is that agreeable?”

“Sure, of course, no problem, sir,” Sarah said.

“And you must establish rules that follow the common practices of democratic elections,” he said.

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“Polling booths, secret ballots, limited
election campaigns and no threats or bribes.”

“I don't think anybody is going to be threatening people,” I said.

“Good, then there won't be any difficulties following those rules.”

“I have one more question,” I said.

“Yes?”

“I want to know that whatever name is officially elected by the majority of voters will become the name of the school teams. I don't want to go to all this work if it's just going to stay the Lairds.”

Mr. McGregor stood up and reached out his hand. “You have my word.” We shook on it.

“The first thing we have to discuss is how nominating a name is different than nominating a person,” Mr. Davidson said.

“How is it different?” Sarah asked.

“For one thing, when you nominate a person that person is able to launch a campaign and tell you why they should be elected. Who will speak up for a nominated name?” he asked.

“How about the person who suggests that name,” Tanner suggested.

“That sounds right to me. If somebody thinks a name is a good one they should be willing to campaign for that name,” Taylor agreed.

“But what if somebody has an idea—an idea that is really good—but they don't want to campaign for it?” Kelsey asked.

“I think if somebody else is willing to take on the name and be its champion then that's okay.”

“And if nobody is willing?” I asked.

“Then the name can't be nominated,” Mr. Davidson said.

“Does it have to be just one person or could it be more than one who works with a name?” Sarah asked.

“You mean like a delegation?” I asked sarcastically.

Before she could answer back, Mr. Davidson spoke. “I think each name could have a whole committee of people. I think since this is a class project, every member of the class should be on a campaign.”

That sounded like work. It was too late in the year for work, but I wasn't in a position to object since I'd started the ball rolling in the first place.

“I'm still not sure about the kindergarten kids voting,” Tanner said.

“Because they're too young?” Mr. Davidson asked.

“Because they're too stupid,” he answered.

“No name-calling,” Mr. Davidson warned. “I think that should be one of the ground rules for the entire campaign. No name-calling. You're allowed to say why your name is better but not why another name is worse.”

“Isn't that sort of the same thing?” Sarah asked.

“Not quite. Saying Laggan is a good school filled with wonderful students is much different than telling everybody that Maple Ridge is a bad school with bad kids.”

“Maybe different, but generally true,” I said and people began laughing.

“You really have a thing for that school, don't you?” Mr. Davidson said.

“If you think hate is a thing then you're right,” I agreed.

Mr. Davidson took a deep breath before continuing. “We need somebody to write down the rules.”

“I will!” Sarah exclaimed.

Big shock, big surprise, big suck-up.

“To start, each name must be nominated by one person and be seconded—that means agreed to by one other person. Each nominated name must have a champion, one person who acts as its campaign manager.”

“And it can be more than just one person, right?” Sarah asked.

“It can be up to ten people. Elections will take place in two weeks, secret ballot, and there will be no attempts to buy, bribe or threaten voters to influence them to vote for your choice of name. And, finally, no negative advertisement. You can only say what's right with your name but say nothing negative about another. Those are the rules.”

“I've got them,” Sarah said.

“Good. Can you please read them back to me, just to be sure.”

Sarah started to recite the rules. When Mr. Davidson had listed them, they'd all seemed reasonable. Coming out of Sarah's mouth they sounded bossy.

“Thank you. Now, all in favor of the rules raise your hand.”

Hands shot up around the room.

“Opposed?” Mr. Davidson asked.

No hands.

“The rules are approved in a true democratic fashion. Let me now open up the floor for nominations.”

Hands flew up and names were added to the list on the chalkboard. The first three names that were proposed, and seconded, were names you'd expect: Lions, Leopards and Lynx. Apparently there were lots of members of the cat family that had names that started with
l
.

“Does it have to start with an
l
?” Tanner asked.

“I don't think it has to start with anything.
It's just tradition that there is often alliteration in team names,” Mr. Davidson said.

“What's alliteration?” Kelsey asked.

“It means things all starting with the same letter of the alphabet. It's common practice. Did you have something in mind, Tanner?”

“I was thinking the Lizards,” he answered.

“But Lizards does start with
l
, that is alliteration.”

“I know,” he said. “I just wanted to know if I could do it a different way.”

“How about the Laggan Dragons?” Cody asked.

“Certainly. I like the sound of that,” Mr. Davidson said. “Any other suggestions?”

“Leprechauns,” Sarah said.

“What?” I asked in stunned response.

“Leprechauns. They're magical and mythical and—”

“And green and tiny,” I said cutting her off. “What would the players get at half time? Lucky Charms instead of oranges and Gatorade?”

“Would our team be magically delicious?” Tanner questioned.

“How about if teams beat us they get a pot of gold or maybe—”

“I think that's enough,” Mr. Davidson said, ending the discussion. “There will be no negative campaigning even when we're choosing the names.”

“So do you want to campaign for your little suggestion?” I asked Sarah.

“Well...”

“I didn't think so. Anybody else?” I asked the class. Nobody volunteered. “That settles it, lets go back to
real
names.”

“Leprechaun is real,” Sarah said, defending what she really didn't want to defend.

“It's as real as leprechauns. Doesn't exist, just made up.”

“He's right, Sarah,” Tanner said. “If you're going to nominate that name you might as well call us the Laggan Lard Butts.”

“That's disgusting!” Sarah said, turning up her nose.

“It's not disgusting,” I disagreed. “The proper way to say Laird is lard, so
maybe Lard Butts makes more sense than Leprechauns.”