The press of the crowd and its constant need for her attention, in fact, kept her from dwelling on it. They also obscured three realities from Elsa. The first was Mr. Brown. She forgot how Mr. Brown had dismissed her project. For the first time in a long time, she stopped worrying about him. She easily dismissed
him
and his effect on her life.
The second reality she missed was that her mother had not only come to see the competition, but had stayed most of the day and although she did not hover in her daughter’s area, she kept her eye on the progress the entire time.
The third reality, was that there were recruiters in the audience. From Penn State. And Purdue. And Princeton. And they hung around her solar collector much of the day. And they spoke with her mother. And they watched Elsa’s passionate lectures on the history of PMMs. They grasped her grasp of the subject.
At two the decision was announced.
Elsa would have started packing up right away if the crowd in her area would have let her. As it was, though, at two p.m. when Jimmy came up to Elsa and tapped her on the shoulder to tell her the results were in, she had a booth full of people asking questions. She had forgotten her misery by easily moving into her role of teacher and prophet and crowd enlightener. She was enjoying herself.
The crowd’s response erased the failure of the PM club’s sanctioning, eight months of Jason Bridges’ brushoffs, her mother’s dismissal, and Mr. Brown’s cruel derision. In that short span of four hours and fifteen minutes an entire year of pain and disappointment was gone. In that short powerful moment of time, Elsa Webb blasted out of her shell.
The tap from Jimmy came as Elsa was explaining to a woman in a mohair coat and matching hat that with modern lubricants and ball bearings, friction was not . . .
“They’re getting ready to announce,” Jimmy whispered into Elsa’s ear.
She looked at the woman and smiled. “Thanks for stopping by, good luck on your son’s dog program. What was it called? Rippage or something?”
But the woman didn’t answer. Instead she turned and wended her way up to the front of the gym.
Elsa turned to Jimmy and shrugged at exactly the moment the man up front said, “ . . . and today’s winner is Justin Blaine for his Carnage program.”
Elsa and Jimmy looked over to Justin who sat slumped in his chair behind the terminal, head resting on his fisted hand, eyes closed, drool no doubt dripping from his chin. He slept through the applause, waking only when the local wise aleck slapped him on the back and said, “I’ve been waiting all my life for educational software and now I can die in peace.”
“That sucks,” jWad said as he and May rushed into the booth.
“Yeah, well, Justin’s a smart guy,” said Elsa, pretending to be magnanimous.
They all turned to where Justin was wiping his mouth with a sheepish grin on his face.
“What’s he get as a prize?” May asked.
“Not much,” Elsa answered. “Mostly the prestige of winning the Northawken FutureWorld competition.”
“That’s it?” jWad said.
“Well, that and a $500,000 scholarship to the university of his choice,” she said, shrugging to show she didn’t care.
“Wow,” Christine said.
“I’m sure he’ll use it to devote his life’s work to the betterment of humanity,” Jimmy said.
Everyone nodded and then returned to their stations and what they were doing before the announcement dashed all their hopes.
Everyone, except Elsa and Jimmy. She tilted her head to the side and with a half smile said, “Thanks for that. I never knew you to have a vindictive nature.”
“Vindictive?” Jimmy asked, eyebrows raised. “That guy’s a tw—”
“Shhh,” Elsa said, holding her finger to his lips.
He grabbed her hand and held it for a few moments before letting go.
Most of the crowd in the gymnasium, consisting of parents of the losers, went home at this point. One parent however, didn’t go home. She stood and watched with moistened eyes as the few final remaining audience members turned their attention to her daughter’s booth.
“I think that young lady over there should have won,” an older woman at Lainie’s side said.
“She did do well, didn’t she?” the parent said. “And they can’t all win.”
“I’d like to speak to the young lady, but I can’t get a word with her. Do you know who her parents are?”
“I think I can arrange an introduction,” Lainie answered. “She held out her hand, Lainie Webb. My husband had to leave but he’ll be here later to help load up the, uh, displays.”
“Green,” the woman answered, taking Lainie’s hand to shake it vigorously. “Marilyn Green from Texas.”
“Texas?” Lainie said. “You don’t have much of an accent.”
“Texas A&M,” the woman said. “Transplant.”
A delightful conversation ensued, covering the interesting topic of a summer internship, and an early-recruitment scholarship for a qualified student, someone creative and intelligent.
By four, Elsa, jWad, May, Jimmy, and Christine found themselves alone in the gym. The other exhibitors had packed up, the crowd had dispersed. Only Lainie remained standing. She held five letters of introduction from various university agents to pass on to Elsa.
“And U of NC wants to sponsor you. They’ve got a couple of t-shirts for you,” Lainie said.
“There’s only a few weeks left in school!” Elsa said. “Where were they back when that would have meant something.”
“Oh, Elsa,” Lainie said. More importantly she had a hug for her daughter. “I’m so sorry, Baby,” she whispered into her daughter’s ear. “You were cheated.”
Elsa could hold out no longer. She bawled like a baby. jWad and May and Jimmy and Christine looked away, scraping their feet on the floor and glancing at the clock on the wall.
Finally Elsa calmed and her mother announced, “I’m going to appeal the decision tomorrow with the school board.
“Oh, Mom,” Elsa laughed, pushing the liquid from her eyes with her finger tips. “This isn’t a court case. It’s just a dumb high school competition.”
“Yes, I know, but you all deserved the prize. What flimsy excuse could they have for not giving it to you?”
“There’s lots of reasons,” Jimmy stepped forward before Elsa could respond. “For one thing this was supposed to be a single person project.”
“Yes, but there were seven installations here and only five of you. You’re two under the limit. Next.”
“We signed up as the PM Club, a non-sanctioned entity,” Christine said.
“So?”
“Forget it, Mom. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a stupid project.”
“To you, Dear. But you’re not alone here. What about May and jWad and Jimmy, and, I’m sorry, what was your name.”
“Christine,” the five losers answered.
“Christine, yes. What about all of you? Do you all have stellar resumes that have no need for . . . something?”
Three of the named said nothing and stared at their shoes. jWad, however, had an answer. “So what?” he said. “We know we’re the best.”
“Doesn’t work that way,” Lainie answered. “Life is not Disney. You have to fight for whatever you deserve.”
“Maybe we don’t deserve it, Mom. We didn’t invent anything. We’re not saving humanity with some wonderful device. Isn’t that what science is supposed to do?
“No. Not necessarily. It’s about appreciating the world too. Elsa, your project deserved to win.”
“Mom,” Elsa said. “Let it rest. Let’s pack up and go. Where’s Dad?”
“He got a call and had to leave, and we can pack up and go, but, truly, this was an injustice.” The words were said with the zeal of one who felt guilt herself and was looking for a way to erase her crime.
“What was an injustice,” Jimmy said, “was not sanctioning the PM Club.”
“Yes, well, let’s talk about that,” Lainie said to the backs of the club members who were busily dismantling their masterpiece and no longer paying attention to her.
The ride home, despite the disappointing day, was actually light-hearted. Mrs. Webb took the gang out for a Pizza-A-Go-Go fling, during which the conversation centered around the PM Club and other important topics such as if Justin Blaine’s drooling problem will be solved when he gets his adenoids out, or whether Jetstream Soda is preferable to carrot juice, healthwise.
The Club members, used to a year of being a renegade outfit, sort of liked their status as losers. They played along with Lainie because she had bought the pizza, but already they had moved on. They were a hit at the big deal FutureWorld competition even if they hadn’t won. There is something to be said for obtaining life’s trappings, the baubles and bling of money and fame that people always work so hard to get. But when the real deal comes along—say the stopping of a show due to your own little self’s efforts—everything else shrinks. The gang was pretty happy and the pizza tasted great.
Much to Elsa’s gratitude, Lainie Webb did not storm into the school the following Monday and demand satisfaction. She did, however, call Dean Williams to suggest reconsidering the status of the PM Club. She asked the dean to look at the hard work the members put into the science exhibit. It was only fair, Lainie asserted. She made a great closing speech, worthy of a case where the life of the defendant is in the balance.
Dean Williams promised to look into it.
Lainie lined up a number of witnesses to recommend the clubs’ sanctioning. The star of the group was none other than Jason Bridges, who stopped by the dean’s office to testify on the club’s behalf.
“Come in, Jason,” Dean Williams beckoned with a beaming smile as the school’s luminary stood outside her office.
“Ms. Williams,” Jason, said seating himself comfortably in the chair opposite her desk. “Can I tell you a story?”
Dean Williams’ smile froze on her face. “Um,” she started, not quite ready for a locker room speech. Her mind was elsewhere and in fact she had just been looking through Carnival Cruise brochures and was not prepared for a new topic. School would be out in less than a month, the last thing she wanted to do was give some student a pep talk. Or hear one. Or think at all about motivational cues. What the devil was he up to? “Sure,” she said, not meaning it in the least.
“Remember when I was accused of my brother’s . . . you know?”
“Yes, but that was—”
“I’m not talking about that.”
“Okay.” She drew it out, remembering and planning what advice to give. “Why don’t you talk about what you’re going to talk about?”
“When I was in trouble, Elsa Webb was the only one that would help me.”
“That’s nice to hear.”
“And you should sanction her club. If it wasn’t for her, I don’t know if I would have pulled through.”
Dean Williams scratched the back of her neck, wondering if Ms. Webb’s mother had hired this unfortunate young man to say all this heart-wrenching gibberish. Lainie Webb was his lawyer if she remembered correctly. Lawyers. They were all pains in the . . .
“Well, I appreciate your coming forward, Jason. I’m not sure it will help. Elsa is a bright girl and obviously thoughtful, but the club never really gained much support from the student body. She only ever had five members after several weeks of recruiting. It hardly seems worth the effort to get it on the—”
Jason jumped up. “Five, only? So if I can prove to you that there were more people in the club, you’ll sanction it?”
Dean Williams let out a little half laugh. “Well,” she said, wondering what he had up his sleeve and assuming more of Lainie Webb’s influence. “I’ll consider it,” she finished patronizingly.
Jason reached out to shake her hand. “Thanks, Ms. Williams, you won’t regret it.” He dashed out as soon as the dean ordered Robert to open the door. He yelled “No!” to the office assistant before it had a chance to ask if he wanted an appointment.
Within an hour, seven witnesses, witnessing on behalf of the club’s integrity, forthrightness, and honesty, paraded through her office. Em Twill and Jake the Shorter, the Johnson twins, and three fidgety seniors anxious to please Jason stopped by and told about how wonderful their experiences with the club were.
By the end of the day, seven anti-Rifs stopped by to see Dean Williams as well. She’d never been so popular before and had never in her life more regretted giving hope to a student.
It was the last witness that did it. Christine stopped by, sneezing and wheezing and bawling about how she had nowhere to turn before hooking up with Elsa. She was on her last bottle of pills and had considered taking them all if Elsa’s poster hadn’t intervened in her life.
“I was nothing, Dean Williams, nothing. And now look at me. In three years I’ll be president of Northawken High’s Perpetual Motion C . . . ” She wound herself up to the point of a coughing jag. She finished with a sizable hack into her Kleenex. What could Dean Williams do but jump from her seat, pat Christine on the back, and agree to the sanction. Anything to get the infectious student out of her office.
***
A week later, Dean Williams brought the subject up at the year’s final faculty meeting held via SkypeConference. She was determined to get this club sanctioned. She knew Brown would be against it and then Phelps would be confused. They’d be at an impasse and the club wouldn’t get sanctioned. And Jason Bridge’s parade of witnesses would start up again and ruin her entire summer. Bringing it up at the faculty meeting would ensure more than three voters. Most of the faculty could care less about this off the wall organization. They were as anxious as she was to get the year over and done with and the grill fired up.
“Item Three,” Dean Williams began right after the obligatory Skype ad had finished extolling the virtues of VoIP.
“Elsa Webb,” Mr. Brown, reading it on the itinerary, said it along with her.
“Yes, Dean Williams said. “I’m sure you’re all aware of the outstanding achievement of this sophomore and her Perpetual Motion Club at our FutureWorld competition.
“It wasn’t science,” Mr. Brown cut in.
“Correct,” said Ms. Phelps’ crackly Skype voice. “It was so much better than that.”
Silence as the faculty digested Ms. Phelps’ extraordinary statement. They were each sure they had misunderstood through the static in the line, but no one wanted an explanation. Even Brown was too confused to rebut. Finally he came up with something.