Page 9 of Something Rad
I try to tell myself he didn’t hear me the first time and that this is more in the range of ademandthat would make Alice proud. But Mr. Hughes still doesn’t respond. He just raises his hand to run it once over his mouth, then crosses his arms.
Okay, now I’m starting to feel silly.
“You should make me the yearbook editor.”
Third time’s the charm?
Mr. Hughes lets out a sigh, looking away and then back to me. “I heard you the first time, Sara.”
I feel a crease form between my brows as I tilt my head. “Okay…?”
Then why didn’t he answer me?
“And you know I agree with you,” he says.
“I do? I mean–Yes, I do,” I babble.
Mr. Hughes is silent for a few moments, and I hate the way I strongly sense abutcoming with his next statement.
“But it isn’t up to me.”
I feel my face fall. I knew there was abutcoming.
But,how?
“What do you mean it isn’t up to you?” I ask, my face feeling very warm all of the sudden. “You’re the journalism teacher. And the head of the yearbook club. You always choose the yearbook editor.”
“You’re right,” Mr. Hughes says, running a hand through his hair as he turns to dig through the pile of papers behind him. “I usually do.”
“Then what’s different about this year?”
“Unfortunately, this,” he says, turning back and handing a paper to me.
“What is this?” I ask, feeling incapable of reading with the way my mind is racing right now.
“A note from Principal Whileyman,” Mr. Hughes says, frowning. “He let me know that he wants this year’s yearbook editor to be the–”
“What?” I cut him off, suddenly regaining the ability to read the typed note in my hand. My grip tightens on the paper, creasing it, as my vision suddenly begins to blur. “He wants the yearbook editor to be the same person as…the student body president?”
Mr. Hughes nods. “It seems that way.”
The temperature in the classroom suddenly feels like it has risen thirty degrees. I unbutton my jacket, fanning myself, not caring at this point if Mr. Hughes sees my pathetic stained wardrobe.
“But…why?” I finally ask, pushing the paper back onto Mr. Hughes’s desk, decidedly done with reading for today. “I mean, how are the two even related?”
He takes the note back, shaking his head at it. “Principal Whileyman feels like the student body president is the best representative of the school. The true face of the student body. He feels it only makes sense that they be the person to oversee the creation of the class yearbook.”
I keep shaking my head, not sure what else to do.
Well, there it goes. My one shot.
I shake my head some more.
No, it can’t be. I’ll think of something else. Some other way to prove myself.
My teeth sink into my bottom lip.
No. There is nothing else. This is it. This has always beenit. And you were supposed to make it yours. There’s gotta be a way around this. A way to convince Principal Whileyman–
