Donald Greene swallowed his food and said, “Stop trying to read us, Jackson. You don’t think my dad taught me the same things he taught you and Samuel —”
“Does this have anything to do with the girl from Boston that Samuel’s dating?” Jackson asked.
“You mean the girl not currently enrolled in school, because she’s ‘discovering herself’? The girl with the tiger lily tattooed on her neck?” Miranda Greene stabbed her catfish. “Of course this has nothing to do with her.”
“She doesn’t like basketball,” his father grumbled. “What does Samuel see in a girl who doesn’t even like basketball?”
Jackson pushed away from the table. “Thanks again, but I’ll pass on the suit and the formal.”
He began to pick up his plate, but his mother stopped him. “Leave it. I’m heading to the kitchen in a few minutes,” she said. She placed her hand on his arm. “And honey, Gaby won’t be mad at you forever.”
“What makes you think me not wanting to go to the formal has anything to do with her?”
Jackson’s father laughed. “You’re not the only one that can read people, kiddo.”
Miranda Greene sighed. “Don’t get me wrong — I don’t know what possessed you to kiss that other girl. Really, teenage boys are so dumb! But Gaby understands how sorry you are. She’ll come around.”
“And if things don’t work out with Gaby, you could always ask that Katie Accord to the formal,” his father said, leaning back in his chair. “I have to admit, that took some guts. Even Samuel wasn’t bold enough to kiss the superintendent’s daughter in public at Maplewood!”
“Donald, don’t encourage him.”
“I’m not —”
“I’ll be in my room,” Jackson said, although he suspected his parents were too busy arguing to hear him leave.
There was an email waiting for Jackson when he opened his laptop.
* * *
FROM: [email protected]
TO: [email protected]
BCC: [email protected]
I have fielded a few questions concerning the nominations for the upcoming Student Council elections. In order to ensure a transparent process, I’d like to meet with the candidates and any interested students to discuss the election. We will meet in the auditorium tomorrow at 7:30 a.m. Please come…. After all, this is YOUR election.
Lincoln Miller
Chair, Maplewood Student Honor Board
* * *
Jackson stared at the message for a few seconds, trying to will himself to press the DELETE key. Finally, he saved the message to a folder, grabbed his clock, and set the alarm for 6:30 a.m.
Gaby entered the auditorium and paused. She had forgotten to pick up her contacts from Walgreens last night, and her eyes always took a little longer to adjust to changes in brightness when she wore her glasses. Once she had her bearings, she made her way to the front row and sat down next to Fiona. Even though food wasn’t allowed in the auditorium, Fiona was munching on a fruit bar and slurping down an iced coffee.
Omar Turner sat just across the aisle. When he saw her, he smiled and waved. After a second of hesitation, Gaby waved back. Omar wasn’t running — he was too busy with basketball and MATHCOUNTS and Model UN to serve on Student Council — but he had offered to serve as Gaby’s “strategic advisor” for the campaign.
Gaby’s expression changed when she saw Keith. He had the nerve to smile at her, and then wink. She wanted to flash a hand sign that would show him just how much she didn’t appreciate that wink, but that wasn’t an action becoming of a Student Council officer.
Plus, Mr. Pritchard was standing right in front of her.
“Why didn’t you wait for me this morning?” Charlie asked as he plopped into the seat beside her.
“I didn’t know you were coming,” she said. “I thought Amanda was covering this for the newspaper.”
“I’m here because of you,” he said. “Someone’s got to have your back against Keith. I know I can’t prove it, but he’s up to something.”
“We’ve already gone over this, Charlie. The last thing I want is you and Jackson using my campaign to wage a war against Keith Sinclair. I can handle him on my own.”
Charlie snorted. “Well, you don’t have to worry about Jackson. He’s taking a pass. He’s … retired.”
Gaby tugged her ponytail. “Good. You should do the same.”
A few minutes later, Lincoln Miller took the stage. He coughed into the microphone, and it screeched. “I’m glad you all could make it this morning, especially on such short notice. I was worried that no one would see the email.” He glanced at Mr. Pritchard, who sat stone-faced on the edge of the stage. “I know there are some concerns about the nominations process,” he said, “so Mr. Pritchard and I wanted to address any questions now, before we move on to the next step in the election.” He tapped his note cards against the podium. “As most of you know, Stewart Hogan dropped out of the race on Friday afternoon. Dr. Kelsey felt that, in the spirit of presenting the student body with multiple options, we should allow Keith to enter even though the deadline had passed.”
The auditorium buzzed.
“I know some of you are unhappy with this,” Lincoln continued. “But the bylaws clearly state that the advisor or the administration can extend the deadline as necessary to encourage competition.” He exhaled. “Any questions?”
Charlie looked around. Everyone was looking at their laps or the floor. Everyone except Keith. Charlie finally raised his hand.
“Carlito …” Gaby whispered. “Let it go.”
“Don’t worry,” he mumbled back. Not waiting to be recognized, he said, “I don’t have any issues with Keith running for president as long as his application packet was submitted correctly.”
“It was,” Keith piped up from his chair.
Charlie kept his gaze on Lincoln. “When did Keith turn in the forms again?”
Lincoln looked at Mr. Pritchard. “I’m not sure….”
Mr. Pritchard rubbed his graying beard. “Keith turned in his packet this morning.”
Charlie leaned forward. “But I thought it was due yesterday!”
“Keith was a little late turning in his paperwork, but Dr. Kelsey felt that we should accept it, given the circumstances,” Mr. Pritchard said. “As Lincoln stated, this flexibility is well within the bylaws.”
“I wonder what else the bylaws clearly state?” Charlie muttered.
It was meant to be a snide comment, but Mr. Pritchard decided to answer the question. “The bylaws also allow the administration to aid the Honor Board in the election process,” he said. “Which means the main office will be responsible for collecting and tallying the votes.”
“But … That’s my job,” Lincoln said.
“I know,” Mr. Pritchard said, his voice quiet. “I’m sorry.” He faced the audience. “Unless there are any other questions, I’ll see you all after the election, at our first Student Council meeting next month.”
As the other students exited the auditorium, Charlie dragged Gaby toward Mr. Pritchard. Lincoln was already in front of him. “But it’s my job to oversee the election,” Lincoln said. “It’s always been the chairperson’s job. It’s in the bylaws.”
“Dr. Kelsey doesn’t want you wasting your time collecting and counting ballots.”
“So who’s going to do it?” Lincoln asked.
“I don’t know.” Mr. Pritchard placed his hand on Lincoln’s bony shoulder. “I’ll talk to Dr. Kelsey again. Maybe I can convince him to let you help with the scoring.” He turned to Charlie and Gaby. “I’m sorry about all of this, Gabriela. I’m sure I’m not supposed to say this, but I was thrilled when I learned that you were running. I want you to know that I’m rooting for you.”
Gaby nodded. “Thank you.”
“There has to be something you can do,” Charlie said. He looked at Keith, who stood by the door with a few of his friends. “It’s n
ot fair.”
“I’m sorry,” Mr. Pritchard said, for what seemed like the hundredth time. “My hands are tied.”
Charlie and Gaby returned to their seats to pick up their bags. Keith walked over to them. “I just wanted to wish you good luck,” he said to Gaby, extending his hand.
Gaby glanced at Keith’s thin, wiry fingers. She almost expected him to be hiding a shocker in his palm. Finally, she shook his hand. “Good luck to you too.”
“Do you mind if we talk for a few minutes? In private?” he asked. “No offense, but I don’t usually waste my time with sidekicks.” His eyes cut over to Charlie.
Charlie smiled. “Are you still mad about the Shakedown in Shimmering Hills? You lost those video games fair and square. But I’m sure the Tech Club really appreciated how you and Jackson donated them to their fund-raising drive.”
Gaby shook her head. “Charlie …”
“Jackson stole those games,” Keith said. “Cheated me out of them.”
“Or maybe you’re worried that Gaby will beat you as badly as she and Jackson did during the Blitz at the Fitz?” Charlie continued. “What was the score again? Twenty-one to seven? To ten? I didn’t know two-on-two games could be so lopsided….”
“Jackson bent the rim,” Keith said.
“Not according to the ref.”
“Then he paid off the officials.”
“That sounds like a page from your handbook.”
Keith crossed his arms. “At least I don’t have to worry about Jackson cheating anymore. Ever since he got busted —”
“You mean ever since you squealed —”
“Enough!” Gaby nudged her brother. “Go on. I’ll catch up with you later.”
Charlie slung his book bag over his shoulder. “Don’t talk to him for too long. You know rats carry germs,” he said before leaving the auditorium.
Gaby placed her hands on her hips. “What do you want, Keith?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I just want you to know … me running for president … It’s nothing personal.”
“Um … Okay.”
“I mean, while it would be nice if you would apologize for cheating during the Blitz at the — during that pickup game, I won’t hold it against you. I’ll even promise to reduce paper waste and add more organic food to the cafeteria menu after I win.”
“That’s my platform!”
“As my dad says, it doesn’t matter who comes up with the initial idea. Success takes a group effort.”
Gaby rolled her eyes. That was almost as cheesy as Jackson’s Code of Conduct.
“Come on, Gaby. Think about it this way — I win the election, you save the environment. Everybody benefits.” Keith’s face turned serious. “I’m going to win, Gaby.”
“Are we finished here? I have someplace I need to be.”
He shrugged. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
As Keith walked to his seat to collect his books, Gaby glanced toward the rear of the auditorium. A shadowy figure had paused in the doorway. The lighting was low, but Gaby could just make out a red tie against a white shirt as the figure slipped through the exit.
Jackson paused at the entrance to the library and stared at the sign taped to the door. He told himself to breathe, that this would be a quick, easy chat. That she wouldn’t mind what he was about to say. That the last four months didn’t matter.
He slowly opened the door. Gaby sat at one of the large tables, her eyes glued to her paper, her hand scribbling away. He proceeded toward her, his feet silent against the red plush carpet. “Hey,” he said, his voice soft and reserved. “Got a few minutes to talk?”
Gaby tensed as she dropped her pencil and covered her notebook paper with her hands. “What do you want?” she asked.
Jackson took a small step backward. “I know I said I wouldn’t talk to you —”
“Then why are you starting now?”
“It’ll only take five minutes.”
“I have a meeting.” She glanced at the wall clock across the room. “My campaign committee will be here any second.”
Jackson focused on Gaby’s face. He liked how the rectangular frames of her glasses made her brown eyes look even darker. Wider. More mysterious.
“What happened to your contacts?” he asked. “Allergies? The pollen count is pretty high.”
He suppressed a groan as soon as the words left his mouth. He hadn’t had a real conversation with Gaby in four months, and all he could think to talk about was pollen?
“You know I’m not allergic to stuff like that.” She fiddled with the glasses. “I forgot to get my contacts prescription filled.”
“The glasses are nice. They make your eyes look …” He cleared his throat. “You should forget your contacts more often.”
Gaby sighed, and her shoulders relaxed. “Five minutes, Jackson.” She flipped over her sheet of paper.
“I’ll make this quick,” he said as he sat down across from her. “I’m here to volunteer for your campaign.”
Gaby shook her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“You need someone on your team who understands how Keith thinks. He’ll play dirty. He’ll break the rules.”
“And you know all about that, don’t you?”
“I’ve stopped.” Jackson glanced at the clock. “Mostly.”
“I saw you leaving the auditorium,” she said. “You’re not as sneaky as you used to be.”
“I’m rusty.” He put his hands flat against the table and looked at Gaby’s fingers, inches away from his. The last time they had held hands was in this library, at this very table. “What were you and Keith talking about?”
“He was just telling me how he’d steal my ideas if he won.”
“Of course. He’s not smart enough to come up with something like an organic food station on his own.”
Gaby blinked. “You read my posters?”
He nodded, then looked down at the table. “I just want to help.”
“Charlie thinks he’s up to something,” Gaby said. “You do too, don’t you?”
Jackson remained still for a few seconds, then nodded again. “You can beat him.” His voice cracked as he spoke.
“You really are getting rusty.” Gaby tilted her head as she stared at Jackson. Finally, she flipped the sheet over and slid it toward him. “Got any ideas for my campaign plan? I’m still having trouble sorting out the details.”
Jackson had barely begun reading when Omar Turner burst into the library. Omar was the starting center on the boys’ basketball team, though that was due more to his size than his skills. He cut his eyes toward Jackson before turning back toward Gaby. “We were wondering what happened to you,” he said. “We tried to call, but your cell phone is off.”
“What do you mean?” Gaby asked. “We’re supposed to be meeting in here.”
Omar shook his head. “There’s a note taped to the door saying that the meeting moved to the auditorium.”
“What? But I didn’t —” Gaby let out a huff of air and narrowed her eyes at Jackson. “A note, huh?”
Jackson stood, then reached into his right pocket and pulled out a black marker. “I found this outside the library door.”
“So much for being retired,” Gaby mumbled. “Omar, will you do me a favor and get the rest of the committee?”
“Some of the girls have already left. We’ve been waiting for almost ten minutes.”
“But the meeting wasn’t supposed to start until …” She glanced at the clock. “The second hand isn’t moving, is it?”
Jackson smiled as he placed a shiny nine-volt battery beside the black marker. “I found this with the marker. Honest.”
Omar stretched his face into a tight smile. “So are you on Gaby’s campaign committee?” he asked Jackson. “I haven’t seen you at the meetings.”
Gaby jumped out of her seat, which made the plastic chair tumble backward. “No. Jackson’s not … He won’t —”
“I came to vol
unteer,” Jackson said as he tried to stand taller.
“Thanks for the offer, but …” Gaby circled the table and gave Omar a sideways, two-second hug. “My campaign committee and I can take it from here.”
Jackson finally stopped smiling.
“Omar, can you get the others?” she asked, her cheeks turning red. “We have a lot to go over today.”
Omar nodded. “I’ll … I’ll get the others. Of course.” He was so busy grinning, he ran into a bookshelf. Twice.
“I thought you said you didn’t break the rules anymore,” Gaby said once Omar was gone.
“I said mostly.” Jackson held open his hands as if he were signaling defeat. “Some rules deserve to be broken for the greater good.”
“The greater good?” she said. “You promised you were going to stop.”
“I needed to talk to you.”
“And you couldn’t just come up to me like a normal person?”
“The last time I tried to talk to you ‘like a normal person,’ you slammed a door in my face.”
“At least I said good-bye before I closed it.”
“Slammed it.”
“Closed it. With feeling.”
He rubbed his nose. “I felt it, all right.”
She shook her head, her ponytail swinging like a whip, and picked up the notebook paper from the table. “Mind tossing this in the recycle bin? Since you were just leaving and all?” She wadded up the paper and threw it at Jackson.
It was a perfect pass — right into his chest. Straight toward his heart.
The next morning, Jackson arrived at school with a sour taste in his mouth. As much as he wanted to blame it on his father’s leftover fried catfish, he knew it was due to his conversation with Gaby.
Hashemi didn’t look any better as he walked up to Jackson’s locker. His hair was matted on one side of his head, and his clothes looked like he’d slept in them.
“I found out who has a copy of Ultimate Fantasy IV. Mr. All-American. Stewart Hogan. That’s who Megan’s been hanging out with.” He shook his head. “Stupid jocks. And I thought nerds were supposed to be the cool guys.”
The Great Greene Heist Page 3