Unblended Ch. 12

"Come on!" Tanya said, patting the space between her and Tessa. "We're going to sleep like kittens tonight!"

I gratefully climbed into the pile and everyone shifted to encircle me. I was cradled in an abundance of soft flesh as Tessa and Tanya's boobs pressed up against me. The skin-on-skin contact felt wonderful, and as Michi and Donna pulled the blankets over us all, we started giggling as though this were a big slumber party. Before long, though, we started to drift off and fall asleep in each other's arms.

Well, I'm sure the girls did right away. I first had to get acclimated to the lumber mill that spooled up and buzzed directly in my ears. They must have been exhausted, as none of them reacted to me laughing hysterically as Donna added her own unique sound to the chorus. Eventually, they started to sound like a white noise generator, and the constant drone of their snoring lulled me into a deep, restful sleep.

*****

I got some weird looks the next day when I entered the school and proceeded directly to the band room, a garment bag over my shoulder. The Senior Class Student Council Debate would take place during final period, as it usually did, and I wanted an appropriate change of clothes handy. I figured I could ask to store them in the instrument closet and use that to change beforehand, as it would save me some time.

The music department was across the hall from the industrial arts department and consisted of a large practice room, two interconnected closets with instruments in one and sheet music and other department ephemera in the other, a smaller well-furnished area referred to as the "jazz band room", a largish shared office that connected the two band rooms, a small concessions area connected to the jazz band room, and a staging area off the main practice room that connected in three places to the thousand-seat auditorium.

I lucked out and found Mrs. Althaus, the band director, working in the office. She was a short, thin woman in her early forties with short black hair and sharp facial features. She was also deadly accurate with thrown drumsticks to 50 yards and known for being a stern taskmaster in rehearsals, but it paid off in gold medals and 5-star assessments at every major band festival in the state. She always turned it around and credited the band's hard work and inherent skill, but it was clear they were skills developed under her expert tutelage.

"Ace, my man!" she said brightly as I wheeled around the corner into the office.

"Mrs. A, can I ask a favor?"

"You want to use the closet to change before the debates."

"...and keep my suit in there until then, yeah."

She smirked and nodded. "Sure thing. Though, you might want to be careful when you get here."

"Right, I'll keep my head down."

The day flew by, and I was making my way back to the band room when I remembered Mrs. Althaus's warning. The choir would be meeting at that time, and I'd need to avoid the choir director at all costs if I wanted to get to the debates in a timely fashion. Janelle Adamson was a classically trained opera singer, a soprano, who had taken the choir director's position at Granite Hills after 15 years performing with the Metropolitan Opera Company in New York. She was a big lady before the Blend and even more so after: tall and supremely curvy with long, wavy blonde hair. Her voice sounded like angels singing or devils screaming depending on what she was performing, which could be anything from arias by Mozart or Bizet to the loudest headbangers by any heavy metal outfit one cared to name.

The problem was she knew I could sing. Ever since I was a freshman and Mrs. Adamson caught me singing "Ziggy Stardust" while Kat Unger played guitar, she'd been trying to get me to join any of the various singing groups she directed almost as badly as Coach Andrews tried to recruit me for the soccer team. One might think that three years of constant refusals would blunt her enthusiasm, but it only seemed to make her more determined. "You'd get so much out of it," she'd explain, "you'd sound even more amazing than you do already!" I tried to explain that I didn't like performing for people, but she wouldn't hear of it. Eventually, I had to avoid the department altogether if I didn't want to constantly receive fifteen-minute sales pitches.

I peeked around the door frame into the band room, which was about half-full of choir members. I made eye contact with Michiko, and she looked around before waving me in. There were calls of "Hi, Ace!" from some people before the rest shushed them, and I darted into the instrument closet and closed the door. After taking a moment to breathe, I grabbed my garment bag and started getting ready.

I had a few suits of varying fashion and cut, and today I picked my favorite flashy outfit: a burgundy and black three-piece suit with gold highlights and sharp, Italian styling. One of my Christmas presents the previous year had been a tailoring session at a small boutique in Boston run by a very friendly pair of Italian gentlemen. They interrogated me about my likes and dislikes before fussing over me like a pair of proud grandparents. When I left, I had order slips for two complete suits and a set of shirts, slacks, and waistcoats. I didn't ask how much it ended up costing, knowing how rich bespoke tailoring tended to run, but every piece looked fabulous.

Everything still fit perfectly, which seemed a little odd given I'd put on some weight, but I didn't question it. I spent a moment giving my patent black winklepickers a quick shine before finishing up and stepping back out into the band room. There was a chorus of cat calls from the now fully assembled choir, with Mrs. Adamson enthusiastically joining in from behind the piano. I gave a short bow and proceeded to the auditorium with all speed.

I was just in time to join all of the other candidates for the pre-debate briefing. The three-person panel of moderators was composed of Mrs. Greenwood, a history teacher and the student council advisor; Mrs. Fremont, the librarian and advisor to the school paper; and my ace in the hole for the entire debacle, Amy Hauser. The format was same as always: starting with the council seats and then proceeding through the officer positions, each candidate would get 3 minutes to make a statement as to why they should be voted in. There were 4 candidates for 4 at-large seats and one each for secretary, treasurer, and vice president. Then the actual debate would start with 2-minute opening statements from Kate Baxter and myself, followed by rounds of questions (hopefully with a few to make me look especially terrible from Amy), and then 2-minute closing statements.

Kate was dressed to run a major corporation, wearing an ivory power suit with a powder blue blouse and matching pumps. Her blonde ringlets were perfectly set and hung just past her shoulder, and the brief glances I got of her blue-green eyes contained nothing for me but disdain. I almost wished I had darker hair so we'd be complete opposites, but the angel-and-devil motif would work fine without it.

Eventually, the main doors to the auditorium opened and the senior class began to fill the hall, so the candidates were asked to wait backstage. Amy and I exchanged knowing looks as I followed the rest up the stairs stage right, and I stole a quick kiss from Michiko as she passed by on her way in from the band room. It must have been a good one, based on the round of applause we received from our classmates, and I hustled up the stairs to join the other candidates. Kate was already holding court with most of them, and I chilled out away from them next to the band's battery cage. To fill the time, I started flipping through some note cards I'd brought with me.

"Wow," someone said, "I wasn't sure you were taking this seriously."

I looked up to see Leslie Wynan smiling at me. Leslie had been on the student council since we were freshmen, and I wasn't surprised to see her running for an at-large seat again.

"I'm not," I replied, "these are for D&D Club." I handed her a few of them and she looked through, her eyebrows raising slightly.

"This is for that homebrew system you put together, right?" she asked, and it was my turn to be surprised.

"Yeah," I said, "though I wonder how you know about that."

"Lissa Bourne can't stop raving about it," Leslie replied, "she's really excited to be a part of your gaming group."

"'Lissa', huh."

"She doesn't have a lot of friends," Leslie said, "but she eats lunch with us pretty frequently. Apparently, her dad doesn't like it, but she'd have to eat alone otherwise and she pretty much told him 'fuck, no.'"

"Her dad is an asshole of the highest order," I said.

"No argument there," Leslie responded. "You know he tried to recruit us for his youth group out at that compound they call a church? Before we blended, anyway. Now, he says we've all fallen from God's grace, but he still gives me the creeps."

"Don't worry, I've taken that aggro, apparently."

There was a round of applause from the auditorium, and we shook hands before Leslie joined the other candidates for council positions on the stage. I half-listened to their remarks as I considered my own position. I did actually have a card for my closing remarks, and I took a moment to review that. Regardless of how the Q&A portion went, I hoped it would be enough to ensure Kate got elected. I wanted to make myself look like a terrible choice without pissing her off too much, and hopefully Amy would be able to steer some questions my way to help.

"Thank you. And now, to introduce the candidates for student council president. First, Miss Kathryn Baxter."

Kate walked out purposefully to the far podium and waved graciously, receiving a polite round of applause.

"And Mr. Andrew Wayne."

I took one step out behind the curtain, and the room exploded. You'd have thought Bowie was taking the stage: everyone was on their feet cheering as I strode towards my podium, and I could feel the heat of Kate's glare against my face at the response. Shit, this might be more difficult than I thought. I was firmly on edge as Mrs. Greenwood cleared her throat into her mic and proceeded.

"The candidates have been briefed on our format today, so we'll proceed directly to opening remarks. We will begin with Ms. Baxter."

"Thank you, Mrs. Greenwood," Kate said cheerfully, and I turned to give her my attention. "I'd like to thank everyone for coming out to this debate and hearing not just about us, but all the candidates running for your student council. It's that kind of engagement that makes student council work, and having been class president for the past three years, I'd like to think that I've demonstrated my commitment to both my fellow students and to the school at large. For our final year here at Granite Hills, more than ever, we need that level of investment in ourselves and our school, and I promise to represent your interests to the fullest extent of my abilities. I hope that my extensive experience in student government and my engagement with our class's groups and activities show that the council would be in good hands if you choose to elect me to be your class president once again. Thank you all."

Kate received a fair response to her remarks (to which I contributed, she obviously knew what she was doing). It was clear how Kate planned to win the debate, and I was glad she'd taken the obvious route. She wasn't going to engage with me at all if she could help it. I wouldn't be able to match her on matters of policy or student engagement, so all I really needed to do was blunt whatever cult of personality I had going for me.

Mrs. Greenwood spoke again once the applause finished. "And now, Mr. Wayne."

"Thank you, ma'am. Ladies, gentlemen, and those of you with the wisdom to take a pass on gender binary nonsense entirely," I paused for laughter and received it immediately, "I'd like to make abundantly clear that I have no experience with the student council, and I'm not even sure I know how it works normally. I zone out when matters of government come up on the evening news, and the only time I read the paper is on Wednesdays for the food section. I don't keep up with school trends or gossip, especially lately given the status of my social life," more laughter, a little more enthusiastic this time, "so I don't really know what my fellow students need or want in their government, or if student government has any impact on their day-to-day lives whatsoever. In all honesty, I'd probably make for a terrible class president. Thank you."

I'd planned on keeping my opening remarks short, pointless, self-defeating, and openly derisive of student government. I sent a glance towards Kate in the dead silence I received and saw her quietly smiling to herself. So neither of us was expecting the big round of applause I got a second later. I looked at Amy down at the moderators' table, and she shook her head at me, mouthing the words "do better." By which she meant "be worse."

The debate proper started at that point, with the moderators taking it in turns to ask questions about how we would handle the problems that traditionally faced the student council. Kate's knowledge and experience showed, and her responses were poised and on the mark. I tried to be glib and downplay the issues at hand, making sure that everyone knew I thought student government was a bad idea in general and at Granite Hills in particular. Unfortunately, that idea seemed to resonate with more of my classmates than I realized, and both Kate and I exchanged bewildered looks at my continued support from the crowd.

Things got especially weird when I realized Amy wasn't the only moderator in on our rapidly-failing fix.

"This question is for Mr. Wayne," Mrs. Fremont said, addressing me directly. "Student councilor Leslie Wynan has stated that she feels you don't have the experience or the temperament to be class president. How would you respond to such remarks?"

I took a sip of water to stall for time. I was expecting that obvious setup from Amy, not an actual teacher, and all Amy did was smile and shrug at me when I sent her a quick glare. Clearing my throat, I proceeded with the answer I'd rehearsed. "First of all, thanks a lot, Les." Laughter. "I have a lot of respect for Leslie, I don't know anyone on the student council that can talk me into helping out on projects around the school more effectively than her. She is a true example of school spirit, the Student Task Force committee is lucky to have her, and I can't think of anyone more deserving of your vote." That got a warm round of applause, and I saw Leslie blushing from her seat at the front of the auditorium. "That being said," I continued, leaning forward on the podium and adopting the smarmiest facial expression I could muster, "I'd say that Les Wynan oughta do more thinkin' and less whinin'."

I shouldn't have done it. It was an obvious setup with an even more obvious punchline, but I couldn't stop myself. It landed HARD. I received my second standing ovation of the day, and Mrs. Greenwood had to call for order a few times before they settled down. I was starting to freak out a little at the prospect of actually getting elected class president, and of what might happen when I refused to take office.

"This is fucking ridiculous."

The audience gasped as Kate's muttered response was clearly audible over the sound system. When I turned to look, she was fuming. Not without reason, I thought.

"I'm sorry," Mrs. Greenwood said, "would you like to respond, Ms. Baxter?"

"Yes, I would." Kate turned her podium to face me. "What are you doing?"

"Making a Simpsons reference, I thought." Again, I couldn't help making the glib remark, but something about Kate's manner needed tweaking.

"What the fuck is your problem?" That got another gasp but didn't stop her. "I'm up here trying to address some very real concerns that are facing this class, and you're cracking jokes and making like none of this is a big deal."

I adjusted my own podium to face her. "Yeah, because I DON'T think any of it is a big deal. 'Very real concerns,' my ass. When has the student council enacted any sort of meaningful change on school policy? Answer: never." I was starting to get a little warm under my collar, but I ignored it. "That isn't going to change just because you have a vision."

"At least I actually WANT to be class president! Do you?" Kate snapped.

"Absolutely not," I responded with a scoff, "I've got better things to do with my time."

"Like what? Fucking your bimbo squad? Oh, sure, the great Ace Wayne is so awesome, everyone is constantly throwing themselves at him, but you don't care about anyone but yourself! You just want to preen and make jokes and fuck any dumb bitch that buys into your teen idol bullshit."

I'm sure my face went from zero to furious incredibly quickly, and I became faintly aware of a splintering noise somewhere on the podium. The space had once again gone completely silent, and I took a moment to breathe before I responded.

"When we're done here, I expect you to apologize to the women you just slandered, in-person." The blood drained completely out of Kate's face as I glared at her. My blood, on the other hand, was boiling. I would later be told that the venom in my voice sent chills down every spine in that room and, for once, I knew Tessa wasn't exaggerating.

"You want to attack me, fine, I expect that, but DO NOT attack my friends. But let's set aside those personal remarks, because they aren't relevant to the matter at hand. I am not running for class president, I'm running against you. If you ran unopposed, you would have made a neat little speech today that would have amounted to 'I have really good ideas, guys, you can trust me, I have your interests at heart' and that's it. But since I AM here, you get to make that speech, but then you have to answer questions and go on the record, you have to explain yourself, and now we can hold you to it. Yes, I think the student council is a joke, but only because people like you take it SO SERIOUSLY. Hell, no one knows what you've even done over the past three years!"

I turned my podium back to face the audience. "You're not entitled to my vote, Kate, and you're not entitled to the office. Stop acting like it and earn it for once." I waited a moment before adding "And don't talk about ANYONE like that ever again." I hadn't noticed my voice had shifted into a vicious snarl until I saw the utter shock in response to it from the audience.

Mrs. Greenwood recovered the quickest of anyone and smartly kept things moving. "We will now have closing remarks from the candidates. We will begin with Mr. Wayne. You have two minutes, sir."

I glanced back at Kate, and my heart shattered when I saw how utterly defeated and terrified she looked. She was doing her best to not break down in front of everyone, but she was right on the edge. My closing notes stayed in my pocket, they wouldn't be sufficient.

"With all due respect, I think I've already said more than enough. I yield my time to Ms. Baxter."

I turned on my heel and walked offstage. There was a door leading outside from the staging area, and I opened it with an unusually shaky hand. I stepped into the brisk afternoon, sat down on a nearby bench, and then promptly collapsed, physically and emotionally, as my nerves suddenly gave out.

*****

I don't remember much after that except for eventually getting to my car, getting home without incident, and crawling into bed. Even if Kate had said some horrible things, I wasn't expecting to scare her like that, especially not in front of the entire senior class. They only time I'd ever been anything like that mad was when the superintendent started badmouthing Tanya, and my Voice got out of control then, too. I felt awful.