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.“He was that freaky guy in The Crying Game.”“No.O’Dowd’s real.Football tricaptain.”“I see.‘Tracy Bannon, sixteen percent.’ Ohhhh.I know Tracy.She’s real.”“Quite.”“Okay, and down here on the bottom, we have.‘Other, four percent.’ ‘Other?’”“I checked.There were a couple of freshmen that voted for themselves, a write-in for the bacon-burger lady in the cafeteria who only speaks Portuguese, and you.”“Well,” I said calmly, practicing my new think-before-speaking policy.“That’s not very good.But the question is, do I give a rat’s ass?”“I don’t know, Gord, do you?”“Let me check.No, I don’t think so.Mos, remember, I just backed into this thing because I didn’t want to get beat up by Sweaty for talking to those girls.Who, other than a complete putzball, would want to spend the greatest year of his life kissing asses to be elected head dildo of this peckerhead factory?”“Wow.” Mosi hopped down from the sill as the bell rang to go to first period.“Now that you put it that way.you’re getting to be some kind of a persuasive orator since you’ve been running for mayor.”I hopped down and started walking with him.“I know it.The whole experience is, like, changing me.It’s a lot of things.the Gran Tourismo Hawk, the radio gig, my own personal campaign office with college girls working for me and stuff.”“College girls?”“Ya, you wanna volunteer?”“Can you make ’em do whatever you say, ’cause you’re the candidate?”“Don’t know.I haven’t tried it out yet.But I figure it must be like being a really good guitarist in a really hot band, you know.It’s got to make you look prime no matter what kind of a melon you are.I’m feeling all nuts and buzzy with power these days.”“Wow some more.I’m volunteering, then.”“Done.First thing is, meet me at lunch to try and work out this questionnaire thing.It’s gonna be a bitch, from what I can tell.”“I’ll be there.”“And keep next Thursday night open.Get this—there’s a hundred-and-fifty-dollar-a-plate fund-raiser for me at some club.”“A hundred and.what’s on the plate, cocaine?”“See, now that’s what I said.”The phone rang as Mosi headed to his class.I let it ring a few more times so that I could feel the way all the hall-crossers were looking at me.Other than the drug dealers’, mine was the only body in school that rang.“Hey, Da,” I said, clanging against a yellow locker.“I want to see you.This afternoon,” he grrred.And all the nuts-and-buzzy power seeped out of me just like that, leaving me shrunk down to what I used to be.“Hello, Da,” I said easily, poking my head into the room.He said nothing at first.He was sitting in his usual chair, casually leafing through a paper.The guard—he waved to me—was standing by the rear door.“Cross-country team’s doing very well.Football team still stinks, unfortunately.” He turned a page, working the paper from back to front.“Oh good, they’ve needed to renovate those lavatories for a long time now, haven’t they.” He was quickly to the front page.It was only an eight-pager.“What do you know.old Ollie North.Never gives up, does he? I have to remember to give him a call.”Fins slapped the newspaper down in his lap and glowered at me.“Oh.Well hello there.Other.I didn’t even realize you were here.Funny, how some people can be there, and then again seem like they’re not.”“It’s not my fault, Da.And I never said I was the most popular guy in the school.”“Most popular? Gordie, you’re off the chart.You’re a flippin’ asterisk.”“Can I ask you how you got that, my dinky little school paper, here in.I mean, you subscribe, or what?”“You may not ask.Gordie, we can’t have this.You’re a Foley.”“If you don’t mind my saying so, Da.who gives a shit? It’s crappy old student body president, which I don’t even want anyhow.”“Ya, well it’s too late for that.You know what the real papers will do with this? You wanna be mayor, but you come in goddamn twelfth in your own high school.”“No, wait a minute.I don’t wanna be mayor.You want me to be mayor.And you promised I don’t really have to win, remember?”He waved me off.“Image, Gordie.Image, is what we’re talking about.You know and I know and everybody in this town with half a brain—which our research shows is like forty percent of ’em—knows that it ain’t you runnin’ for mayor, it’s me.See, I had my successor picked, and everybody could see that she was gonna be me.Then she started not working out.So my boy, my grandson, my Gordie, he shows up with his perfect Foley face, he’s in the race, and my loyal constituency, they get the signal.You wanna vote for Fins—which most of ’em want to do—you vote for Gordie.”I started panicking.“I gotta win? I knew it, you tricked me, Da.Jesus Christ.” I started flapping my arms and pacing like a zoo gorilla.“I had other plans, Da.This was my big year.I’m already way more popular than I can handle—”“At four percent?”“And now what you’re telling me is I couldn’t lose if I wanted to.Which I do [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]