My sister rocked the block with her speech and I wasn’t surprised; when she recited it for me last night I legit knew it was going to kill. The only thing that did surprise me was that she’d actually memorized the whole thing in one night. When she sat back down she wasn’t smiling, but I could tell she was happy with what she’d just done, as she should’ve been.
Mr. Dranger, with his long-winded ass, was back behind the mic. He said, “Thank you, Regina . . . Our second candidate is also an eleventh grader, and he grew up right here in Collingswood. He joined Knight High as a freshman and he quickly made a name for himself on the football field, helping the school defeat Washington High, Cuthbert High, and Lambert High, among many others. He was named MVP two years in a row and consistently earned the respect of his coaches and teammates. Unfortunately, a life-changing injury last summer disrupted his plan to be on the field again this year. But, to slightly alter what an astute person once said: ‘You can never keep a brave man down.’ And that’s why he’s about to stand up right now and come to this microphone. Let us all welcome our second candidate—John William Smith!”
The whole auditorium erupted with applause and some of Smith’s old football peeps stood up and fist-jabbed the air with chants of “JS FOR PREZ, JS FOR PREZ!”
Smith, wearing a football jersey over his shirt and tie, stood up and his girlfriend—head cheerleader Sherry Shipley—appeared from backstage to take his arm and lead him to the mic. Once he was there, she waited a few feet behind him so she’d be ready when he was done.
When the audience put a lid on the applause, Smith pushed his dark glasses farther up his nose and started talking. “Good morning, Knight High. I want to be your president so I can help make this school be a place that you’re proud to call your own. School doesn’t have to be a place that you hate getting up and going to when that alarm clock sounds in the morning. It’s supposed to be a place where you build your future. And I plan to make this a comfortable place where you can use the tools you’ll need to build that future. One of those tools is always being positive, no matter what happens to you. I’m living proof of that. Some people have asked me if I’m angry or bitter about being blind. But I’m not. My theory is that everything happens for a reason. I feel that, when life gives you lemons, you should make lemonade. And that’s why I’m running for president. Thank you.”
We all clapped as Smith’s girlfriend took his arm, kissed him, and guided him back to his seat on the stage.
Mr. Dranger seemed to be in a daze when he got back to the mic, like his ass was surprised to be back there so soon. He quickly clipped his smile back on and said, “Thank you, John. I guess we can all file that under Short and Sweet . . . And now, next is our third and final candidate, also an eleventh grader and also born and raised right here in Collingswood. She joined Knight High as a freshman and has built quite a distinguished record here, ranging from making the High Honors list for three years in a row to serving as soccer team captain to being co-manager of the Yearbook Committee. Let us all welcome—though she already kind of got an early start last week—our third and final candidate: Leona Priscilla Walls!”
As the applause and whistles and calls of “LEONA FOR PREZ!” ripped through the auditorium, Sallie’s sister—in a red dress and matching boots—damn near bounced her way over to the mic. She yanked it out of its holder and got out from behind the lectern—the same way she’d done in the cafeteria.
Sallie squeezed my hand for some reason. Before I could give the squeeze more mind time, her sister started speaking and right away the crowd put a lid on the applause.
“First of all,” Leona said, “much love to Mr. Dranger for getting us all out of Period C this morning. I so wasn’t ready for that vocab quiz.”
The auditorium laughed and clapped.
Gripping the mic, Leona moved closer to her two opponents. “And second of all, how about another hand for my two candidates here.”
The auditorium clapped for Smith and my sister.
Leona pointed at Smith and told the audience, “How many people can go through what he’s gone through and still run for president?”
Then she pointed at my sister. “And Regina . . .” She turned to the audience. “How lit was that speech?”
The auditorium clapped again.
Leona turned to Regina and said, “You so rocked my life with that speech. I just gotta touch you.”
Still gripping the mic, Leona moved closer to my sister and was about to touch her, then stopped and said, “Can I touch you? I mean, I don’t wanna just do it without—Can I touch you?”
My sister just stared at her.
“I don’t have cooties or anything, I swear,” Leona assured my sister. “No cooties.” She turned back to the audience. “My ex can back me up on that.” She visored her eyes with her hand, squinted at the crowd, and said, “Where’s Trevor Nelson? Trevor—where are you?”
A hand shot up from the pool of seniors at the front.
“There he is,” Leona said. “Trevor, do you have cooties?”
Trevor said, “Yeah, but you didn’t give ’em to me, so no worries.”
The auditorium laughed.
Leona turned back to my sister and said, “See? But seriously—can I touch you?”
Regina looked at Leona for a long time. The silence in that auditorium was suddenly so thick you couldn’t have cut that shit with the bloodthirstiest of chain saws.
My sister slowly nodded.
Leona reached down and touched Regina’s shoulder. Then she said, “Ahh, yes.”
Sallie looked at me. Her face was a canvas of confusion and tucked in the canvas’s corner were the artist’s initials: WTF.
My sister was staring at Leona’s hand like it had more in common with a cadaver.
Leona took her hand away and told the audience, “And isn’t she beautiful? I’ve always wanted to say that.”
The auditorium clapped.
Still pointing at my sister, Leona told the audience, “I love those braids. I so wish I could pull off a look like that.” She pointed at her own hair. “But it wouldn’t work with me.”
Some people in the audience laughed.
Leona said, “Braids on her and she looks like a goddess. Braids on me and I look like an escaped mental patient screaming in the middle of the street about the end of the world.”
The auditorium laughed.
Leona and her mic walked back over to the middle of the stage. “It’s the same with guys and shaved heads. A black guy with a shaved head looks cool, but a white guy with a shaved head looks either racist or sickly. Why is that?”
The auditorium laughed.
Leona pointed at someone in the audience and said, “Look at Ron Campinello over there, sliding down in his seat and putting on a baseball cap. It’s too late, Ron—we all know you got a shaved head under there. Quick, somebody—give him Sensitivity training or a teaspoon of Robitussin.”
The auditorium laughed some more.
When the crowd got quiet, she said, “Now I know what some of you are thinking. I shouldn’t be saying things like that about black people’s hair. White people should never talk about black people’s hair, right? It’s a territory with too many landmines, right? And each landmine has the same thing written on top: You Might Offend Them. Well, I don’t agree with that. You know why? Because I was just being honest. Honest. That’s all I’ve been since I started this campaign. Everything I’ve said has come from an honest place. I think we owe it to black people to be honest with them . . . I’m gonna tell you about something that happened to me a couple of summers ago. I was at camp and one night my roommates and I were really bored, so we asked one of the camp counselors to take us to the movies. We ended up seeing a Tyler Perry movie—I forget the name of it, but it was the only movie playing in town. So, when it was over, the camp counselor asked us what we thought of it. Now, two of my roommates were white and one was black and the camp counselor was black too. My two white roommates went on and on about how great the movie was—it was so funny and unique and way more witty than they expected. And when the camp counselor got to me and asked me what I thought of it, I looked her right in the eye and said, ‘I thought it sucked. I thought it was an insult to the audience’s intelligence. I didn’t laugh once.’ Now you should’ve seen how my white roommates reacted. They acted all scandalized, like I’d committed sacrilege or something—you know, how dare I say something negative about something black-people-related. But the black camp counselor and the black roommate? Not offended at all. The camp counselor shrugged and said, ‘Well, you can’t like every movie.’ And the black roommate actually agreed with me and said, ‘Yeah he’s really overrated.’ You see? I said something that was supposed to be so offensive to black people, but the only people who got offended were white people. Why weren’t the two black people offended? Because they knew I was being honest with them. Honesty is the best gift you can give somebody. You know what would’ve offended the two of them? If I’d said, ‘Oh my God, what a funny, unique, witty movie!’ when I really didn’t mean it. People want the truth, and black people are no different. And the truth was all I was giving you last week when I said that this school got worse after the Woodlawn and Oakville kids started coming here. And I stand by that statement, and will always stand by it. It would be offensive if I stood up here and said, ‘Oh my God, this school is so much safer now that the Woodlawn and Oakville kids are here.’ It would be offensive if I stood up here and said, ‘Oh my God, this school was such a danger zone back when it was all-white.’ It would be offensive if I stood up here and said, ‘All the white kids are happy and comfortable going to school with all the Woodlawn and Oakville kids.’ It would be offensive because I’d be lying to you. And I’m not in the lying business. I’m in the gift-giving business. And honesty is the gift I wanna give you. And that’s why I’m running for president.”
She started walking toward us, stepping so close to the edge of the stage that another step would’ve sent her ass plummeting into the crowd.
She said, “So if you wanna see the light, be a Leonite. If you wanna give Dishonesty a fight, be a Leonite. If you wanna kick Deception with all your might, be a Leonite! If you think this plan is tight, be a Leonite!! IF YOU THINK I’M RIGHT, BE A LEONITE!!!!!”
She held up the microphone and let it go, literally dropping the mic, then she shot both of her hands into the air.
The mic drop had sent an ear-splitting sonic boom into the audience but mofos were too busy—clapping, standing up, and chanting “Leonite!”—to recoil from the pain.
I didn’t stand up but I still clapped because I didn’t want to hurt Sallie’s feelings, but inside I was disgusted. And I didn’t clap too long because I didn’t want to hurt my sister’s feelings. She already looked hurt enough, if you can feel me on that.