Jae Ham
The second Sir Reuben Shaw strides into the classroom for first period on Thursday morning, he says, "Since you've all known each other for almost a week since the school year began, it's time to commence our impromptu student election. No campaigns. No tedious speeches. You're allowed to nominate anyone you deem qualified for the particular role of the student government. We need five people to fill in the spots of President, Vice President, Secretary, Treasurer, and P.R.O."
A blanket of stunned silence falls over the roomful of fifty-eight teenagers.
Our professor plants his palms firmly on the desk in front of him. "As your adviser, it is also my responsibility to inform you all that whomever is chosen for the five important roles will be considered as candidates for the College of Science Council in the freshman division. You will be assigned to assist with the Acquaintance Party next week, along with the College Week which shall be held three weeks after."
Now that he mentioned that, whatever possibility of anyone cooperating just drastically flies out of the window. Who in their right mind would willingly surrender their remaining free time to academic activities? There's only a few days to prepare for the Frosh Party, and to use the next two weeks planning the university's College Week will be mental and emotional suicide.
Nobody makes a sound except for their nervous breathing.
On impulse, I look to my right side. Sage's fair head is bowed low, and she seems to be riveted on the open notebook in front of her. She's tapping the head of her pen on the paper, and her brown eyes are pensive, as though she's deep in thought.
My gaze travels down to her lap. Her other hand is drumming against her thigh. Oblivious to my observation of her, she furtively rakes her scrutinizing stare over the sea of timid students. All too soon, she nails her attention on her notebook, and I blink to myself, wondering if what I'd seen was just a mirage, an illusion. But it's too real to be a hallucination. I know what I saw.
She was measuring everyone's behavior, but why?
"No one?" Sir Reuben looks utterly disappointed. "Five names is all I need. This will reflect quite nicely on your records. Whomever becomes the members will merit extra credits in every subject, and if the Faculty of Sciences decides to make you official members of the C.S.C., you can be exempted in some of your final exams."
Again, Sage sweeps her probing gaze over the class of fellow Psychology majors. Some hands are twitching but nobody makes a move to volunteer themselves. It's almost like.. she wants to make sure she's not taking away the chance of someone who actually wants to be nominated?
"This is very saddening," says Sir Reuben Shaw, his face and voice crestfallen. "If no one is going to take initiative--" he's cut off by a girl stretching her arm, raising her hand in the air for everyone to see. I can almost imagine her saying 'I volunteer for tribute' like from The Hunger Games, and for one fleeting moment, I think she might, but I don't believe she will do such a thing.
I'm proven wrong. "I volunteer for tribute!" exclaims Sage, her open palm still lifted.
Shock makes way for laughter. The entire classroom bursts into peals of raucous, boisterous laughter. The noise is so lively and rambunctious, I can't resist chuckling into my hand.
A bright, zealous smile spreads across Sir Shaw's mouth. He eagerly picks up a black sharpie and proffers it to Sage, who is already crossing the higher platform, making her way to the lower platform of the classroom, where she accepts the marker our adviser has been holding out to her.
"Miss Sage seems to have called on herself. But we still need to hear it from you, Miss Heart. Are you sure you're up for the task?"
The blonde nods her head at him, at the class. "I nominate myself for class president. Would anyone else like to compete for the role?" she says gaily, a jovial gleam in her brown eyes.
She waits a few minutes, and when her question is met with silence, she nods again before turning to face the whiteboard, where she writes in a vertical format;
President:
Vice President:
Secretary:
Treasurer:
P.R.O.:
A girl from the second row calls out: "Aren't you allergic to the scent of markers?"
Sage turns to face the audience, her eyes like rainbows. "No,I'm okay as long as I wear a mask. Thank you for asking, Eleanor." The girl named Eleanor blushes pink, much to the entertainment of her friends.
Another girl, this time from the third row and with chocolate-colored skin, asks over the din of the room, "How long have you been wearing that mask?"
I might be imagining things again, but an odd flicker passes over Sage's brown eyes before she answers. "Almost four years now."
"FOUR YEARS?" The class erupts with incredulity.
"Isn't that hard?" asks a male wearing ripped jeans.
"Maybe she's overly sensitive to most smells," remarks a black male in a cotton sweater.
"Class, that's enough," says our adviser sternly. The noise peters away for the next few seconds. But after Sage writes her name next to 'President' and faces the class again, her eyes twinkling with warm merriment, our classmates dissolve into carefree banter and lively chatter once more.
Thirty minutes later, three more names have been added to the roster on the whiteboard:
President: Sage Heart
Vice President:
Secretary: Joaquin Carr
Treasurer: Shell Caldwell
P.R.O.: Julian Ray
You know you want to, a small voice inside my head tells me.
No way. I value my free time too much to bother with this crap.
Sage happily gestures her hands around the whiteboard. "There's one more spot left." From the way she said that, I know she's confident that someone will volunteer sooner than later. After all, she is the very reason why everyone suddenly wanted to cooperate in the election. She has this magnetic personality that draws people towards her, and I'm not sure I'm immune to it.
Behind me, I can hear two guys talking. "Come on, Nate. You'll be closer to her if you become VP," says the first voice. "She's smart and I bet behind that mask, she's got a cute face too."
"I don't know, man," says the guy probably called Nate. "It's a lot of responsibility."
Don't do anything stupid, I tell myself over and over. I want sleep. I love to sleep. My bed is my best friend during the weekends. My happiest hello, my hardest goodbye. I hate working---
Already I'm raising my hand up high. Sage looks taken aback while Sir Shaw's smile stretches wider than I'd ever seen it. He glances from me to Sage, then back to me. "Very well, then. Sir Ham, you will be this batch's vice president for the next eight months. Will all five members of this section's student council kindly come up to the front so we can take a photo. If anyone wants to say a few words, you may do so."
I stand next to Sage, who shoots me a smile---at least I think she's smiling. Her eyes are doing that crescent moon thing again. "Let's do our best," she says to me before facing the cameras.
What did I get myself into?
