Into the Velvet

Sixty-One Days Until

"All those in favour of passing our Sustainability Proposal to Principal Beaufort for the upcoming Spirit Day, please say 'Aye'."

The members of the council were all in favour. "Aye," repeated their collective voices.

"All those helping with the event and set-up, have you written your names on the roster?"

I received murmurs of affirmation.

"Yes."

"I did!"

"All sorted."

I smiled. "Perfect." 

All was well in a good day's work. During the latter half of lunch, members of the student council had gathered in the office meeting room for our weekly briefing. We'd been preparing the finishing touches to a proposal on how we would make this year's Spirit Day an environmentally sustainable event — suggestions ranging from reusable food wrappers to banning plastic decorations. With the approval of the simple majority, we were hoping to have it pass through the figurative Senate.

Bianca had written most of it herself. She was an outspoken advocate for environmental justice and chairwoman of her own sub-committee; which, funnily enough, was the same one my brother had founded during his time at school. His stupid made-up club had become a very established part of student politics.

The Student Preservation of Environmental Resources Movement (or S.P.E.R.M) had a brief history starting with Olly and ended with Bianca, who took her conservation efforts more seriously. Bianca was also my best friend. She'd taken a liking to me in third grade, because she was Puerto Rican and I was Afro-Cuban. We'd both spotted each other behind our mother's skirts at the only Caribbean specialty grocer in town.

We've been inseparable ever since.

"Bianca, have you kept the minutes?" I asked.

"Yes, ma'am — twenty-two minutes on the dot," she affirmed. "I have a question to bring forth to the council."

"Go on."

"How cute is the new English teacher?"

The room erupted into giggles. Amos, who liked to be quiet in his presence and contribution, blushed.

"Bianca!" I protested.

"What?" She shrugged with false innocence. "I just wanted a vote of confidence on this very important topic. I'm not even into white guys. So why is he so hot? Is it just me? Or does every young-ish teacher seem instantly attractive because they're so rare?"

Jess Bowen from my US History class, who sat to my left, nodded enthusiastically. "I agree. Definitely cute, but only because he's a unicorn."

Bianca sucked on a pencil in thought. "Which leads me to think if he wasn't the only young teacher within a five-mile radius, I wouldn't find him attractive at all. If I saw him at the supermarket, I wouldn't bat an eye!"

This served to distract everyone at the table — they began clamouring about, talking and speculating, giggling profusely. No more talk of proposals could hold interest at this point.

"Can we all get back to topic, please?" I pleaded uselessly. "All in favour of getting back to topic, please say 'Aye'."

I received silence.

A new presence entered the scene behind me, bringing in a cool gust of air. "Excuse me, girls," interrupted Principal Beaufort himself. Amos had gotten something stuck in his chest. He couldn't stop coughing. "This room is for meetings. You need to wrap these sessions up before fifth period."