Total Knockout (7 page)

I needed to get to school early the next day, so I asked Cooper if I could come down to his house—which is just five houses away—to box at six instead of six thirty. He wasn't excited about getting up so early, but he agreed.

I ran in the dark across the dew-covered grass, crickets still chirping and streetlights still on. Our neighborhood was an older one, like maybe thirty years old. We all lived in tract houses—cookie-cutter homes, as my mom once said—but since they're kind of old, most people have added a porch here, a second story there, and they don't look exactly alike anymore. The Nixons have added a lot to their house since their Mexican restaurant took off, like a cool brick walk to the front door, a bay window on the side, and full-on landscaping. Melanie's house had fancy white shutters and the front door had been moved from the middle of the house to the side. Ours, though, looked like it probably had when it was first built—square, boxy, and in need of a paint job.

I got to Cooper's house just as he was opening the garage door. He yawned loudly and rubbed his eyes.

“This is cruel and unusual,” he said.

“You agreed to it,” I said. “Besides, it's good for you. If everyone did all the exercise we did, there wouldn't be a single diabetic person in our school. Type 2, anyway.” I made a mental note to say something along those lines to Ms. Jenkins.

“I'm still sore from the other day when you went all Tyson on me.” He awkwardly tried to put on his hand
wraps. They were kind of hard to manage, but Dad had taught me how to wrap them right after he taught me how to jab. Cooper still hadn't learned.

“Here, give them to me,” I said. As I wrapped his hands in the blue fabric (mine were black, contrasting nicely with my pink gloves), I noticed how rough his hands were, but he kept perfectly still as I worked the fabric over them. He always watched closely and I wondered, on this morning especially, why my heart pounded a little harder than usual at the feel of his breath on me. I concentrated on the wrapping, and when I was done, his hands looked like a pro's.

He punched a fist into his palm. “I think this is my favorite part,” he said. “These things make me feel tough.”

“You
are
tough,” I said.

We put on our headgear, then tugged on our gloves and strapped the Velcro tight with our teeth. I pounded my fists together and said, “Ready for your next beating?”

Cooper cricked his neck and said, “Girl, I got moves you ain't even seen yet.”

I punched the timer on the clock, leveled my gloves to my face, and said, “Let's go, then.”

Later that morning, dressed in a knee-length khaki skirt with a pink shirt and matching Keds, I sat outside Ms. Jenkins's office, jiggling my legs, my folder balanced on my knees. I tried to hold still, remembering something Henry had said about containing your energy for positive use. Ms. Jenkins's door was shut, and the school secretary, Mrs. Weeks, who had come in just behind me, told me to wait outside her office until she was ready for me. I wondered if she was even in yet.

“We have an appointment,” I told her. “Seven thirty.”

“I know, Lucia,” Mrs. Weeks said. “She'll be with you when she's ready.”

Ms. Jenkins finally arrived ten minutes later, clutching her briefcase, folders, keys, and a cup of coffee. I couldn't help but think that if she hadn't stopped for that coffee, she'd have been here on time.

“Come on in, Lucia,” she said, unlocking her office door and flipping on the lights. I grabbed the handle of my rolling backpack and followed her in. She dumped her folders and keys on her cluttered desk, turned on her computer, and sat back in her chair. “What can I do for you?”

I handed her a folder of information. “Ms. Jenkins, do you know what I did this morning?” She took a sip of her coffee and logged in to her computer. “I boxed. Just like I do at least three mornings a week. With Cooper Nixon, my new secretary. And do you know why, Ms. Jenkins?”

“Isn't your dad a boxer?”

I sat up a little straighter. “Yes. He was.” I had no idea how she knew this, or why it threw me off momentarily. A flash of Dad teaching me to bob and weave raced through my mind.

“So?” Ms. Jenkins prodded.

“Oh,” I said, refocusing myself. “Because of the epidemic of obesity in this country.” I handed her a sheet of paper. “These are the statistics on childhood obesity. Are you aware that fifteen percent of children and adolescents in the U.S. are overweight? That's”—I referred down to my own packet—“eleven million kids. You should be horrified at that figure, because I know I am.”

“Point, Lucia,” she said. Ms. Jenkins often got quick and snippy with me like that, especially before she had her coffee. We'd worked together for two years, and I was used to it.

“There's something we can do, for our students now
and for future Blue Jays. I know that your hands are tied when it comes to making PE mandatory for every student, but we can tackle this obesity issue with the foods we provide our students.” I passed her another stack of papers. “These are the figures for the vending machines we have as well as the nutritional value of each item, including trans fats. This here shows the nutritional values and
lack
of trans fats for the vending machines we should have.” I took a quick breath, happy to see that Ms. Jenkins was looking through the material. “Okay, now I also understand that the cost of our current vending machines is pretty low. But just think—Angus Junior High could be the pilot for these machines across the entire school district. We could be the leaders of this movement.” She looked interested in that, so I pressed on. I told her about the long-term risks of obesity, like high blood pressure and poor self-image. “Which is why, in the long run, it's best to invest now.” Realizing that was a nice little sound bite, I decided to repeat it. “It's best to invest. Now.”

I sat back and waited for her reaction. I knew she would have a ton of questions about logistics and comparison prices, but instead she dropped the handouts on her desk and sighed.

“The truth is, Lucia,” she began, “I've been wanting to do something like this for some time. I just haven't had the time to come up with a solution.” She smiled. “Or maybe I just haven't been creative enough.”

My heart raced the fluttering beat of success.

“Okay.” Ms. Jenkins clapped her hands. “I'll look at these and make sure they're the best ones for our school, especially with pricing. Did your council vote on this?”

My heart caught in my throat. “We're going to,” I quickly said.

“I'd like to get this on the agenda for the next school board meeting, at the end of this week. Let me know once you've got your votes—you need three-fourths approval, correct?” I nodded.

Before I left her office, Ms. Jenkins said, “Lucia? Nice job on this one.”

Here's the thing: I knew the bylaws of the student council better than anyone. I was even on the special committee in sixth grade that helped write some of the amendments. So I knew that what I'd promised was almost impossible because of two things:

 

Article IV, Section 4:

The student council shall meet only
during regularly scheduled meetings as outlined by the advisor at the beginning of each semester. Unscheduled meetings may be called only in an emergency-type situation, with reasonable discretion.

What that meant, but what wasn't explicitly written, was that emergency meetings would be called only in a disastrous situation, like post tornado or school shooting. Like, a for-real emergency. And vending machines were not considered an emergency, I'm pretty sure.

The second thing I knew about the bylaws was:

 

Article VI, Section 2:

Any council vote in which money is involved must have a one-week (seven days) research period between presentation of item and vote. Approval is at the discretion of the principal.

And it was clear Ms. Jenkins didn't know this. But I didn't say anything because, honestly, at the time I was too excited about my presentation going so well. I'd
spent all summer researching those machines, and in one five-minute meeting I got Ms. Jenkins's approval. That felt amazing. I guess I just thought I'd figure out the other stuff later.

The excitement of my mission accomplished faded quickly as I walked down the halls, my dilemma sitting like a brick in my stomach. I couldn't get the vote if I took the rules literally. There wasn't another school board meeting until next semester, and by then it'd be too late. The machines were supposed to be my big finish to an amazing three years as council president. If no one knew about the rules and I didn't tell anyone, was that cheating? Considering no one cared about student council, I told myself not to worry about it.

The second I got home I raced to my computer and set up our first student council meeting for the very next day.

 

Welcome, Team, to the eighth-grade Angus Junior High Student Council!

We have a lot of amazing tasks to tackle this year, so I hope you're ready to buckle down and work!

We'll have our first meeting TOMORROW immediately after school in our fearless leader's classroom, Mrs. Peoria's, room 245.

I have a great surprise for everyone, so make sure you arrive on time.

Humbly yours,

Lucia

The more I thought about the rules of the meeting and voting, the more incensed I became. How could our own principal not know the bylaws? I barely paused to think if Mrs. Peoria, our student council adviser in name only, knew about them. It was clear she had no interest in us at all. I realized how weary I'd become of trying to shake everyone into seeing how important and useful the student council was. When they saw those gleaming new vending machines, they'd know that Lucia Latham got stuff done.

As a test, I decided that if anyone at the meeting mentioned the bylaws, I would halt the vote and scratch the vending machine idea. Everyone had been given a copy of the rules and bylaws immediately after the election results were announced, so they were presumably informed—if they wanted to be.

After school the next day, I dashed out of last-period science and raced for Mrs. Peoria's classroom to make sure I was the first one there. I swear, Mrs. Peoria does the minimum required at this school, including the way she presents herself. Her graying hair was barely brushed, and her blouse was only kind of tucked into her slacks. I know it was the end of the day, but still. As soon as I arrived in her room, she collected some
papers and a book and said she'd be in the teachers' lounge if I needed anything. “I'll be back in thirty minutes.” She sighed as she dragged her feet out the door.

The first council meeting was one of my favorite parts of each year. Sure, in the past I'd had unwilling participants who sometimes made things more difficult, or even impossible for me to accomplish (see: Steven Francis), but I loved those moments before the first meeting, when I actually had myself convinced that this was the year that people understood and cared about what I did.

I arranged four desks in a circle so we could all sit facing each other. My first year as president I had held the meeting standing at the front of the classroom but felt that, after two meetings, the students were resentful of my authority, so I started doing the round table thing. It gave the illusion of us all being on equal footing.

Cooper was the first arrive, with a little smile when he saw me. He wore his standard baggy polo shirt, and his hair—which needed to be trimmed—was all mussed up in a cute kind of way. I smiled back at him. Melanie came in next, wearing a pink newsboy hat and listening
to music on her MP3 player. When she saw us, she did a little shuffle.

“Did I miss anything?” she asked, taking out her earbuds.

“We're just waiting on Jared,” I told her, glancing at the clock. I had avoided admitting it so far, but I was a little nervous about Jared. Only two people had run for treasurer—Jared, who mistakenly thought that being in student council got you out of homeroom, and a girl named Amanda, who failed prealgebra and ran as a dare.

I didn't have a problem with Jared per se, but I did have an uneasy feeling that he was always making fun of me. Anytime he said anything to me, there was always a bit of a smirk on his face, like he was in on something I didn't get, and he liked it that way.

Melanie popped her earbuds back in. “Hey, we should have a dance contest!” I could hear the rattling of music from across the table. “Wanna listen?” she asked Cooper, a bit loudly. She handed him a bud; he wiped it on his shirt, then tucked it into his ear. Melanie rolled her eyes but kept grooving. “Ah, yeah,” she said. Cooper smiled. “Like this,” she told him, and they shifted their bodies left and right in time to the music.

“Y'all,” I said. I didn't want to be a buzz kill, but (a) we should have started the meeting without Jared because (b) I was anxious about getting the vote going, (c) I hated to be kept waiting and felt it was the height of selfishness, and (d) the truth was, I was a little jealous at being left out of the dance party.