Stuffed (7 page)

“What's to be nervous about?” I asked, trying to sound calm and cool—exactly what I wasn't feeling inside.

“For starters, you're appearing before everybody in your whole school, and every single person is listening to you…the kids you
go to school with every day…strangers…your teachers…your best friends…maybe that girl you have a crush on.”

Julia's image popped into my mind. But that was because she was a close friend, not because I had a crush on her.

“And if you make a single mistake, a little mistake, that's all they'll hear, all they'll remember and talk about for days, maybe even weeks after,” he continued.

What a jerk. What a big, mean, stupid jerk!

“I never thought of it that way,” I said, trying to hide both my nerves and my anger. “I thought it would be
you
who should be nervous.”

“Me?” he scoffed.

“Yeah. I'm just a kid,” I said with a shrug. “If I say something stupid, nobody will be surprised. I'm almost
supposed
to screw up…but you…that's different. If you aren't perfect—heck, even if you
are
perfect and the boycott happens anyway—then Frankie's will be mad at you. They might just fire you and your firm! Maybe my parents' law firm can put in an offer to take over from you.”

He didn't say a word. His only answer was a reddening face. He didn't look friendly. He looked annoyed, even a little bit angry. I looked out through the curtains.

“Can we have everybody take their seats?” Mr. Phillips announced as he stood at the podium. “We'd like to begin.”

The noise in the auditorium started to die down. Soon there was silence.

“We have assembled today, as the student body, to hear a special proposal,” Mr. Phillips said. “Here to explain the details of this proposal is Mr. David Evans, a senior partner in the law firm that represents Frankie's restaurants. Please welcome our guest.”

The audience began clapping and Mr. Evans walked across the stage. He shook hands with Mr. Phillips and then leaned forward and said something into his ear—probably thanking him as he'd said he was going to do. He then settled in behind the podium, adjusted the microphone and waited for silence before beginning.

“What a pleasure it is for me to be here today,” he said. “I know there are many
students in the audience who are members of the Frankie's family, who are amongst the
123,000
employees we have worldwide!”

Mr. Evans was right. I knew seven kids who worked at Frankie's, and I only knew a quarter of the kids in the school.

“These associates are not only given opportunities to develop work skills and earn money, but are also eligible for university scholarships. Each year Frankie's helps to send hundreds of students to university and college. This is just one of the many things we do for our community,” Mr. Evans continued.

“We are an industry leader in recycling of plastics and cardboard. We support charities and local sports teams. We are a good corporate citizen.” He seemed to be hitting his stride.

“Now, sometimes a company as big as ours can be accused of making mistakes. Is there anybody here who hasn't been accused of doing something wrong?” he asked, and then he paused.

“One of your fellow students, a wonderful young man who is to speak after me, started
an e-mail chain letter designed to create a one-day boycott. Not that we want that to happen, but we applaud his imagination and efforts. All he was trying to do was make a difference—just like the people at Frankie's are trying to make a difference.

“We at Frankie's are on your side. We care about you and we care about what you think about us. And because of that we've made an offer. Let me restate it. Next week, on Friday the 13th, we'd like to bring to your school a complete Frankie's lunch for each student and staff member! And remember, Frankie's is more than fast food…Frankie's is your friend!”

The audience erupted in cheers and screams and applause. There wasn't much question how people felt. Maybe there was no point in me even talking. Maybe I should just go up, thank Mr. Evans and be done with it.

“Thank you all!” Mr. Evans said. He shook hands with Mr. Phillips and walked offstage as the audience continued to clap.

He smiled at me. “You heard how they
reacted,” he said. “I don't think
I
have anything to worry about. Go ahead, tell them you're going to call off the boycott…make everybody happy.” He paused. “And don't be nervous.”

In an instant I went from nervous to angry. He was enjoying this, enjoying beating me, stopping the boycott and defending his precious client. I had to fight the urge to reach out and slap that smug little smile off his face.

“And now,” Mr. Phillips announced, “could we please welcome one of our own, one of my best students, Ian Cheevers!”

The crowd started cheering and my knees got weak. I was frozen in place.

“You better get going,” Mr. Evans said.

His words unstuck me. I started across the stage. The lights were bright and for a split second I was blinded. I focused on Mr. Phillips. He offered his hand and we shook as people kept on clapping. I thought I heard Julia yell out my name.

“Just say what you're going to say,” Mr. Phillips said in my ear. “And remember, you
can't
lose.”

I looked up at him. He was right. I couldn't lose.

I stood in front of the podium and looked out at the audience. I focused on the first few rows, filled with kids and teachers, people I knew, people I recognized and people who were complete strangers. The clapping had stopped. The whole room was silent, waiting for me to begin.

I leaned into the microphone. “Hello,” I began, my voice cracking over the word. I took a deep breath. “I just wanted to start by saying…by saying that you're all
stupid
. You're all a bunch of
stupid losers
who can be easily tricked and fooled.”

There was stunned silence and then people began booing! I stepped back from the microphone and the booing continued.

Mr. Phillips walked back up to the podium and raised his hands to silence the crowd. “Please, allow our speaker to continue.”

It got silent again, but this time it was an angry silence.

“Go on,” Mr. Phillips said to me quietly.

“It isn't
me
who thinks you're stupid and it isn't me who thinks you're all losers. It's Frankie's and it's Mr. Evans. Actually, they think I'm a stupid loser too. They think we're all stupid. How do I know that? They say they're leaders in recycling, but we all know that a major source of garbage on the streets and in landfills is Frankie's. They say they care for you, but instead of feeding you good food they serve the unhealthiest food in the industry. They say they care for the people who work for them, but they give them no benefits and pay minimum wages. Why do they do that? Because all they really care about is money. They can make more money selling soda than they can selling orange
juice. They can make more money selling burgers and fries than they can selling salads and fruits. They care about themselves, about the money they make.” I took a breath.

“For years they've been tricking you into eating at their restaurants. They've been offering you plastic toys and contests and play places to get you in and eating their food. And today they want to trick you again.” I paused. “Maybe trick isn't the right word.
Bribe
is better. They figure because we're a bunch of teenagers we don't have any brains or integrity. They figure that if they offer us a Frankie's lunch we'll do what they want us to do and not what we should do. They figure we think with our stomachs and not with our brains.

“Next Friday I'm not going to eat at Frankie's. That's my choice. But I'm not here to make
your
choice. I'm not here to try to trick you or make your decision for you. That's up to you. I'm here to let you have the power to make the decision. You've heard Mr. Evans speak and you've heard me speak. Now it's up to you.”

Mr. Phillips walked back up to the podium.

“Could we please turn up the house lights,” he said.

The auditorium became visible as row after row of the ceiling lights came to life. I scanned the crowd. I saw lots of people I knew—my entire computer science class was sitting together, and the principal was standing beside them, and there were Julia and Oswald sitting together! Julia waved her arms at me and I waved back. She flashed me a big smile. She looked so happy. Was that because she and Oswald had resolved their latest fight or because of what I'd said…was she proud of me?

My goodness, here I was standing in front of the whole school, doing probably the most important thing in my whole life, and I was thinking about what Julia was thinking. Maybe I
did
have a crush on her.

“Today,” Mr. Phillips began, “you are being given a unique opportunity. You are bright, well-informed young adults. Today you will be the judges, or more correctly, the jury. You
are going to vote. You have two choices. You can either support the boycott or vote for the free Frankie's lunch. Simple rules. One person, one vote. The majority rules. If you vote for the lunch, then Ian has agreed to try to cancel the boycott.”

I nodded my head.

“Here's how you will vote. When I ask if you support the boycott you will rise to your feet and stand. If you want the meal you will remain seated.” He turned to me. “Anything else, Ian?”

“Nothing.”

“Okay, on the count of three we want you to either stand or stay seated. One…”

I felt my whole body tingle.

“Two…”

I took a deep breath.

“Three!”

Julia practically jumped to her feet, as did dozens and dozens of other people. Then a whole row, and pockets and patches around the whole room stood up. I quickly tried to estimate…were there more people standing or sitting down? As I tried to figure it out,
more and more and more people got to their feet, and then a bunch of them started to climb up onto their seats, cheering and whistling and clapping. The noise was deafening. I looked around the entire room…more and more and more people rose until there wasn't a single person sitting down!

Mr. Evans moved onto the stage and stood beside me. “You really are your parents' child,” he yelled into my ear.

“I take that as a compliment.”

“That's how it was meant. I assume you're going to become a lawyer when you grow up.”

“Who knows?” I said and shrugged. It had been a buzz up there presenting my case.

“When you become a lawyer, you come and see me and you got yourself a job!”

“Thanks, but I think I'll be working for another firm.”

“Come and see me. I'll top the offer your parents make.”

I held the phone to my ear. Elevator music played while I was on hold. At the far end of the room, my parents sat staring at the TV. It was tuned to
Good Morning New York!

“Are you there, Ian?” a voice asked.

“I'm here.”

“Good. You're up next.”

“I'll stay right here,” I said.

“And now, on the phone,” the TV host said, “we have a young man who has created quite a controversy. He's fifteen and he lives
in New York. His name is Ian Cheevers. For those who haven't heard, he is the young man who started a boycott of Frankie's Fast Foods. Are you there, Ian?”

His voice was suddenly coming from the phone. It startled me. “Yes…yes, I'm here.”

“Now we all know that you started the boycott after watching the movie
Stuffed
. What gave you the idea to use the Internet?”

“It was part of a school project on mass communication,” I said. “The idea popped into my head and I talked it over with my friends Julia and Oswald.”

“And they were in favor?” he asked.

“They thought it was great.”

“So it started with you e-mailing forty people and asking them to each e-mail another forty people who e-mailed forty people.”

“That's how it started and it just grew, getting forty times bigger each time people sent out their messages,” I explained.

“How do you feel about the results?” he asked.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Our reports indicate that business at Frankie's nationwide was down almost forty percent, while in certain areas, like New York and Los Angeles, it dropped by almost sixty percent today.”

“Wow,” I muttered.

“Wow is right,” the host laughed.

“But I didn't do it to drive down their business,” I said. “I did it to send them a message that they have to change their menu to promote more healthy eating.”

“And do you think they got the message?” he asked.

“I don't know,” I said. “What I do know is that we can do this again next Friday, and the Friday after that and the Friday after that.”

“That sounds like a threat,” he said.

“No, not a threat. A promise.”

The man laughed again. “Just out of curiosity, what do you think of our show?”

“I like it.”

“That's good. I wouldn't want you mad at us. Thanks for being with us, Ian.”

“Thanks,” I said.

The line went dead. I hung up.

“And in a related story,” the
TV
host said, “Frankie's Fast Foods has called a press conference for tomorrow. I have it from reliable sources that they will be announcing a revised menu which will include healthy choices.”

“Congratulations, Ian, perhaps you did get the results you wanted,” said my dad.

“Not just me,” I said. “I just started it.”

“Every idea in history started with one person. Congrat—”

The phone rang. I picked it up.