Tales From Heller

Blue Skies

After Frank's year in the limelight, election season at Heller was never quite the same. It could still be considered an election season—there were multiple candidates (all from the club, of course)—but gone was the spectacle, and in its place came real presidential debates, an innovation stolen from UCLA, where questions were asked about club loyalty and proposals for further corrupting the youth were suggested. Harry had volunteered as a campaign officer for the previous two elections, helping ensure the integrity of the polls and that no unauthorized candidates were to sneak themselves onto the ballots; the term "Kayla" had been adopted as a slang term for candidates who stood no chance and were quite frankly an embarrassment to the democratic process if they were let on stage. With this distinguished pedigree in mind, it was suggested that Harry run for secretary, a position befitting his status as a good-hearted, if imperfect club member.

"I think it's going to be a great fit for you, Harry," Daisy pleaded. "Stalin was secretary once, and look where that took him. You should run. There's nothing stopping you."

"I'm not the most qualified candidate at all. I may be an Alpha—I may be a dedicated club member—but some Alphas are more equal than others. The position should go to someone who wants it more."

"But you have to do something more senior. It's our last year—if we don't put our noses to the grindstone now, there's no chance of us getting good positions in college. And after that, what hope do we have of getting good networking done? Consider a deputy position then. Event planning, charity, security, propaganda, anything at all."

"I don't know, Daisy, I have to think about it. Rome wasn't built in a day, and neither was Heller."

"Think about it, please, for me," Daisy said, and she went to class. She had a point: Harry was nowhere near as ambitious as some of the other club members, and had always depended on the charity and good advice of others to get anywhere. Sophomore year, it was then President Jamal who had told him to try stretching wings a little, and then it was President Haneul this year who had urged him to do something new.

"Frank had placed great trust in you, you know that, to rise from your humble roots to become something greater," she had said in her typically lecturesome manner.

"I understand, Madame President, I'm trying. And compared to where I've started, I've risen a lot. If some other people, who unlike me have had certain advantages—even more of a political pedigree, a richer family, better academic sense—have done even more, that is good for them. What is good for one of us is good for all. All that matters is that I'm striving toward my ideal of a good person, and that every day I'm a bit closer."

"You're a good speaker. You should be a speechwriter next year. Secretary will be a good position for you, or if you want something less in the limelight, I think you will be a good fit for the presidential cabinet. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger."

"Thank you, Madame President. I'll be sure to keep that in mind," Harry said, and left her office. Harry truly felt blessed to have so many mentor figures in his life. It reminded him of freshman year, when John had tutored him that fateful fall semester. What had happened to John and Regina anyway (her name still feeling like a splash of lemon juice on his exposed brain)? The last he had heard of Regina, there were rumblings that she and Tom became Alphas once more at the very end of the school year, during prom—whether this was a bit of end-of-the-year amnesty or a political move had been hotly debated, but afterward it became established precedent to make sure all but the worst seniors were at least Gammas by the end of the year. Many petitioned for their careers at Heller to be looked over once more with a forgiving eye, and because good people were always forgiving, these appeals were usually granted. Regina, Tom, and all those figures had become historical by then: it was certain that few of them thought about Heller, and the same applied in the opposite direction. Everyone actually involved with the club—Alan, Jason, and so on—people remembered, and names like Madeline came up occasionally too when the discourse was appropriate. Jason's habit of obsessive record-keeping persisted, and because there was a belief that those who did not study history were doomed to repeat it, much critical analysis was done of the first year of club administration and what came before, not to mention the new stories which unfolded afterward. To say that he had met some of these figures in the flesh during their tenures as students, and not merely if they visited Heller on official business, was one of Harry's greatest accomplishments. He had shaken hands with the Juliet Wong and the Behrooz Ghorbani!