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Turika turns to the three girls and replies with an unenthusiastic, “Yeah.” Turika Pulliam, a seventeen-year-old junior at Kenwood Academy, is a candidate for Student Council President and Local School Council representative. Elections for both positions are less than a week away, but her friends don’t know she is running for either office until she introduces me to them as a writer who is following her campaign. “When’s the election?” asks Ellaina. “Tuesday,” replies Turika. “Good,” says Ellaina. “More time.” She turns to her left, where there is an empty seat, and casually asks an imaginary companion, “Who are you gonna vote for?” After a moment waiting for a reply, Ellaina reacts, eyes wide, “Lauren Preston? Oh.” She pauses, and then punches her imaginary companion in the face. Ellaina turns back to Turika, asking, “And when do the results come in?” “Probably they’ll tell us the next day,” Turika says. “Well,” Ellaina considers, “we’ll just have to keep holding re-elections.” She looks around her, and starts pulling imaginary posters down, muttering the names of the other presidential candidates, “Lauren Preston, no. Catherine Knight, no.” She looks over to her imaginary companion and says, “Then we’ll ask, ‘Who you gonna vote for?’ ‘Turika.’ ‘Okay then. Turika.’” This time, instead of a punch, Ellaina’s companion receives a pleasant smile. Renee and LaShana exchange wide grins during Ellaina’s performance. Turika, by the end of it, rocks back and forth, laughing hysterically into her arms. ************** In Kenwood’s main hallway, across from the metal detectors, a bright blue bulletin board display announces, in large letters, “Tuesday, March 30th: Local School Council and Student Council Elections.” The LSC, the main governing body of the school, has one student representative, who will be chosen in this election by Kenwood’s seventh through twelfth grades. The Student Council is responsible for student concerns, like class trips and school dances, and its officers are also elected by Kenwood’s student body. At the top of the blue display, typed on white index cards, hang abbreviated descriptions of each of the candidates for Student Council president. Catherine Knight, junior, has a GPA of 3.8, serves as a Big Sister, a Junior Mentor, and the Captain of the Volleyball team, and belongs to Concert Choir and Model U.N. Lauren Preston, sophomore, has a GPA of 3.3, is Student Council Vice President and participates in the Crew team, the Parent Teacher Student Association, the Hip-Hop Club, the Math Team, and the Project Exploration Science Club. Turika Pulliam, junior, also has a GPA listed on her index card, but the number has been scratched out with a dark marker. The card lists Turika as a member of the Student Council, Multi-Cultural Club, and an Honors Society. Her index card account ends there, a few lines and many club memberships shorter than her opposing candidates’ accounts. On paper, Turika may seem unimposing; in person, she is just the opposite. She stands only 5’3”, and she dresses conservatively, in black denim pants and a striped knit shirt, with her gold-streaked brown hair pulled up into a perfect knot on the back of her head. Her voice, however, booms with authority, and she rarely hesitates to use it. Whether she’s shouting out correct answers in Physics class, or heckling her African History teacher for mispronouncing the word “polytheistic,” or cackling with her French classmates about some inside joke, Turika is usually the loudest student in the classroom and is not intimidated by her teachers. “I’m not afraid of any of them,” she proudly reports to me. “I used to be afraid of the vice-principal last year, the really tall guy. But now I’m the only one that makes him smile.” Turika’s favorite teacher is her homeroom (or Division, as it is referred to in Kenwood) teacher Ms. Kirby, a black woman in her late 20s who teaches African-American studies. Ms. Kirby runs the Student Council elections and recommends Turika to me as the most interesting candidate. “She’s not your typical goody-goody student who runs for president,” she says. Ms. Kirby pauses a moment, then adds emphatically, “Turika has something to say.” Turika is well aware that she is not a typical LSC or Student Council candidate. In her campaign speech, she says, “I am not a golden apple polisher and I haven’t always been accepted as one of the elite intelligent Kenwood students.” In fact, Turika had a relatively awful sophomore year, which she is reluctant to discuss. She failed one class because she hardly ever attended it, and her GPA still hasn’t recovered. Last year, Turika also formed a group with twenty-some girlfriends called Messayah Klick. When I ask her what this group was, she immediately protests, as if making this defense for the hundredth time, “We weren’t a gang!”—even though the word “gang” has not been mentioned in our conversation. “We’re just a clique, a group of girls,” she elaborates, “We’d do stuff, you know. But once a few girls get caught doing something, we all get labeled.” This school year, Turika still belongs to Messayah Klick, but she does not hang out with those friends as much. Instead, she has concentrated harder on her classes, and her grades have steadily improved. Last semester, Turika is always quick to mention, she received straight A’s on her report card. In February, under Ms. Kirby’s guidance, she wrote and directed a play, with a cast of forty of her schoolmates, and staged it at a school-wide assembly. Now, she has entered herself in the race for the two most prominent positions a student can hold at Kenwood—LSC rep and Student Council President—and considers her checkered past one of her greatest advantages. Sitting in Division, Turika looks to the two different groups of students—to her left is a group of kids circled around a boy with a graphing calculator; to her right is a group of boys, wearing oversized jeans, and girls, wearing tight blouses and high-heeled shoes, giggling and hollering flirtatiously. “I’m a part of both worlds,” Turika says. “I know both sides.” ********** By the Friday preceding the Tuesday election, campaign posters speckle Kenwood’s hallways. All are simple white 81/2 x 11 sheets with large black letters. Turika has several different types of posters hanging up, each of which sports a different line from her campaign speech boiled down into a single catchphrase: “Bridging the Gap Between Student Body and Faculty;” “Representing Heard and Unheard Voices;” “The Voice That Can And Will Speak;” “Breaking Down the Fence of Social Separation;” and “Ending the Collective Divisions.” Lauren has her picture on some of her signs, but, beyond that, the presidential candidates’ signs are remarkably similar. All of the candidates pledge to best represent their schoolmates’ views and provide the most assertive, effective leadership. None of the presidential candidates mention particular issues (like those—funding, magnet school programs, standardized testing, discipline problems, racial divisions, or school maintenance—heatedly discussed at a recent LSC meeting). In Turika’s case, this refusal to take a stand on particular issues is deliberate. “I’m running to represent the student body’s views, not my own,” she explains. “I have to wait until they come to me with a problem and then I’ll fight for it, or else I would just be doing what I wanted.” Turika had posted her signs a day before Catherine and Lauren posted theirs, and she is dismayed as she walks through the halls on Friday. “Look!” she points, grimacing, at one of Catherine’s signs. “I use the word ‘voice.’ That’s one of my words. I put my signs up yesterday, and now she puts up her signs, using the same word.” Catherine has also been distributing candy, along with small white rectangular stickers, with “Vote for Catherine” handwritten on them. In art class, Turika’s friend Christian reports, “Catherine’s just forcing people to vote for her! Going up and down the classes and sticking stickers on everyone!” Another friend, L’Keesha, adds, “I saw some students wearing Catherine’s stickers but with the name ‘Turika’ written on them.” “I didn’t tell them to do it,” Turika snaps, and then relaxes. “But it’s fine. I can make my own stickers! You make yours and I’ll scratch your name out and put mine in!” she says with a quiet laugh. ********* Turika decides not to pass out stickers and candy. She expects Monday’s school-wide assembly to be her campaign’s biggest boost. There, each candidate for Student Council positions and LSC rep will be able to present a short speech and answer a few debate questions in front of half of Kenwood’s student body. For her speech, Turika plans to use the essay she wrote to be on the ballot. In her Friday African History class, she finishes the geography quiz fifteen minutes early and spends the rest of the period hunched over this essay, reconsidering each word, her glasses slipping down the ridge of her nose. After the bell rings, she hands in her quiz, folds up her essay, and heads into the hallway. I ask her whether she’s going to work on her speech over the weekend. “Well, I’m busy tomorrow,” she says. “What’s tomorrow?” I ask. “A funeral,” she says, brushing past an immobile circle of people blocking her way. “Whose funeral?” I ask. “It’s our friend’s funeral,” she reports, smiling to a passing girl. “Your friend?” I reply with some surprise. “Yeah,” she says, her eyes scanning the passing crowd for people she knows. “What happened?” I ask. “He was stabbed in the neck,” she says, turning the corner toward her locker. “It happened Tuesday, and he was in a coma for a few days. Yeah, and then my mother told me yesterday. Someone else had called, and one of our other friends was shot. Shot in the leg.” She rifles through her bag, and exchanges one folder for another. As the bell rings, Turika slams the locker shut. “I guess I’ll work on my speech a little bit,” she says, and heads for French class. ********** By second period Monday, the school auditorium is set for the candidates’ speeches and debate. Sixteen chairs curve around the back of the stage, leafy potted plants line the stage’s edge, and one podium stands center stage. The candidates for each of the six Student Council offices enter the back of the darkened auditorium, and walk down the long aisles toward the lighted stage. Catherine—light-skinned, beanpole thin, with long straight hair in a high ponytail—bounces down the aisle ahead of everyone else and turns around to exclaim, “Ooooh! I live for debates! Ooooh! I love to debate!” A few steps down the aisle, Turika slows to a near stop, and, looking down at the lighted stage, she shakes her head and says, “I’m scared. I’m scared.” After a moment, she hurries after the other candidates, and shouts down to them, “Don’t ask me any questions in the debate!” She points to Catherine and yells, with a half-smile, “Catherine! You better keep quiet!” The other candidates all put their bags down in the second row from the stage. Turika walks down to the third row, and heads for the opposite side of the theater, announcing, “I’m going over here. Don’t bother me for forty minutes. No one talk to me!” She plops down in a seat, unfolds her wadded speech, and hunches over it until Corey Adams arrives. Corey, a senior who is this year’s Student Council president and LSC rep, gathers the candidates and explains how next period’s assembly will proceed. Each of the candidates has a minute and a half to speak (Turika, Catherine, and Marcie, get two minutes since they’re running for LSC rep, too), and then the groups of candidates for each position will be asked a debate question by the moderator. “Don’t get nervous,” advises Corey. “Oh, okay,” Turika shouts back, rolling her eyes. “Whatever you say, Corey.” When the bell rings, starting third period, the fourteen candidates and two moderators take their seats on stage. Classes begin to file into the auditorium, and Turika, fixing her hair, blows friendly kisses to some students. As the students continue in, she pulls out her notebook. Some incoming girls call out “Turika!” but she is too busy mouthing her speech to notice. Presidential candidates are the last to speak, and, according to numbers they picked earlier, Turika is the last of these candidates to speak. While the thirteen preceding candidates make their speeches, Turika’s legs are wound around the front of her chair, her lips are pouted out, and she stares blankly over the rims of her glasses at the audience. Marcie, who is running for LSC rep as well as secretary, is hardly audible as she speaks, and receives only muted applause. Lauren, wearing a conservative black suit, begins her speech strongly. Whereas all previous candidates had leaned awkwardly over the podium’s microphone, Lauren takes it in her hand, and she hardly glances at her speech as she talks. In mid-sentence, though, Corey whispers over that her time is up. Rather than finishing her sentence, she announces embarrassedly, “My name is Lauren Preston. Vote for Lauren Preston.” Some of the audience claps, some giggle, and others look confused. Corey’s introduction of Catherine Knight is greeted with some applause. In her sleeveless white top and high-slitted denim skirt, she saunters up to the podium with a coy smile. Once at the microphone, Catherine’s face turns blank. She leans closely into the microphone, but as she starts into her speech, her voice gets progressively quieter until she can barely be heard. When Catherine finally ends her speech, a small portion of the audience claps and one boy cheers. At the podium, Corey announces, “The last candidate we have for the office of president is Turika Pulliam.” Girls squeal, boys holler, and people shout “Turika!” Turika struts up to the podium and takes the microphone comfortably in her hand. She speaks loudly and clearly, but she reads her speech in a near monotone. Only when she finishes her speech, thanking the audience, is there any kind of response from the students. This response, compared to that the other candidates received, is enormous. Several people call out her name, a row of boys gives her a standing ovation, and girls screech and yelp while stomping their feet. Corey begins to ask the debate questions of the different sets of candidates, but by the time he gets to the presidential candidates, the period is nearly over. Just as he poses a question to Turika, the bell rings, and the assembled students bolt out of their seats without waiting for her answer. Turika smiles with relief and walks over to congratulate the other candidates. Outside the auditorium, different girls approach Turika, saying, “Turika, you did so good!” and “I clapped so loud for you!” At her locker, another girl comes up and gives her a hug. “That delivery was for real, Turika!” she says. Turika smiles and tells her, “I wasn’t really trying to sell myself. I was like, if you like it then you like it. If not, then, too bad.” “Yeah,” replies the girl. “When you were saying you would speak from both sides—I think that a lot of people really responded to that.” Turika nods, her smile widening, as she pulls some books out of her locker. The girl leaves, and a teacher, who has been listening to her conversation from a doorway a few feet away, comes over. He is middle-aged, white, nearly bald, and wearing a sweatshirt with the American flag on it. “You know,” he tells her, “There are people that read and there are people who speak. You should have spoken, Turika.” As the teacher—the first to offer her a candid reaction to her speech—talks, Turika recoils away from him, pulling her head back and scrunching her nose. She is quiet for a moment after he finishes, then she asks defensively, “What do you mean? What was I doing?” The teacher softens his voice, and regretfully reports, “A little bit of both.” Turika, without replying to him, walks off toward art class. ********** A security guard blows his whistle and shouts down the hall, “Move along! Get to your section!” Turika strolls down the empty hall on her way to Kenwood’s main office. She laughs casually as the guard approaches her. Looking past him, far down the hall, she tells him, “I lost my pass,” referring to the ID badge that everyone in Kenwood must wear. “I’ve got to go to the office to get a temporary one.” The guard, unsmiling, waves her by. Truthfully, though, Turika’s trip down to the office is less about acquiring a pass and more about doing some last minute campaigning. Today in Division each student is given a bright pink ballot with which to vote for one of the three LSC candidates—Catherine, Marcie, and Turika. Later today, during lunch, students will have the chance to vote in the separate election for Student Council officers. On her way down to the office, Turika stops at classrooms she passes, peeking in the glass window to see if she recognizes anyone. When she does recognize someone, she walks in, waving to friends, strutting past the teacher, and shouts across the room, “You gonna vote for me?” The girls invariably respond with large smiles and eager nods, saying “Of course!” or “Who else would I?” The boys reply with equally enthusiastic “I love you Turika!” or “I already did.” “Great!” she shouts back to her friends. “Vote for me! My name’s Turika!” she adds in a booming voice, and the entire class turns to look at her as she walks out the door. After peeking into one classroom, a boy, wearing a red t-shirt that nearly reaches his knees, pops out to greet Turika with a handful of bright pink slips. “Look Turika! All of these are for you!” “What are you doing?” she mutters as she sifts through the crumpled slips, looking for which name has been checked off on each. “This is just yours,” she says, picking up a slip with her name checked off. “Look, this one’s for Catherine,” she says, her voice dropping with disappointment. “No, no, these are for you!” the boy tries to explain. “I got them and I marked off—“ Turika suddenly turns nervous. “No, no. Get back in there,” she says, pushing him back into his classroom and shoving the slips back into his hands. “Wait, Turika!” he steps back toward her, and lifts the handful of slips up. “No no no no no no!” she shouts and turns quickly away from the boy. As she continues down the hall, she exclaims, “I’m not going to be a part of this heist!” After Turika returns to her own Division from the main office, temporary ID affixed to her blouse, Ms. Kirby distributes the bright pink ballots to begin the LSC vote. Turika quickly checks off her own name, and then turns eagerly to the rest of the students. “Let me see that ballot before you close it!” Turika shouts to her neighbor. “You need a pen? Come over here and let me give you one!” she hollers to a girl across the room. “Let me see that ballot!” she barks at another girl, and a whole row of students hold their pink slips up for her to inspect. Ms. Kirby looks over with her eyebrows raised and her lips stretched into a disapproving grin. Turika smiles to her and turns back to the class. In the calm tone of an elementary school teacher, she advises, “You vote for who you think you should.” Turika sits right next to her Division’s door, and a girl, Anise, in a pink t-shirt, stops in the hallway when she sees Turika. In a grave tone, Anise tells her, “In my Division, Allison was telling everyone not to vote for you.” Allison used to be a close friend of Turika. “She was telling everyone not to vote for me?” Turika repeats, incredulous. “I don’t talk to her! Where did that come from?” Her voice rises as she addresses an imagined Allison, “I don’t say anything about you? What are you saying about me? I don’t think about you enough in the day!” “I wouldn’t say anything,” says Anise. “She’s not worth it.” In African History, Turika takes off her glasses and slumps over her desk. Ellaina asks, “What’s wrong with Turika?” “Nothing,” mutters Turika. “You’re not going to lose, don’t worry,” reports Ellaina authoritatively. “It’s not that,” says Turika, “Allison got her Division not to vote for me.” She pauses and addresses the air, “I don’t think about you enough in the day.” She turns back to Ellaina and concludes, “I was going to say something, but I really don’t care.” Turika opens her notebook to a blank sheet and begins to copy the vocabulary terms from the blackboard. After African History, though, Turika spots Allison ten feet ahead of her in the congested hallway. “There she is,” she tells me, her eyes glued to a girl wearing silvery pink jeans who struts through the crowds. Turika follows Allison through the corridors and into the bathroom. More than a dozen babbling girls, including Allison and Anise, are crowded in front of the mirror to fix their hair and make-up. Anise spots Turika standing behind the crowd, staring menacingly into the mirror at Allison, and hurries over. “Don’t say anything!” she tells Turika excitedly. Turika doesn’t reply but continues her glare. Busy rearranging her hair, Allison doesn’t seem to notice Turika. “Don’t say anything!” Anise repeats, even more frantically. Turika refuses to break her stare or to reply. Anise turns to one of Turika’s friends, pleading, “Tell her not to say anything!” Turika suddenly turns toward the exit. “I’m not going to say anything,” she announces disdainfully as she leaves the bathroom. Throughout the day, people approach Turika in the hallways and in classrooms. They stop her, put a hand on her arm, or around her shoulder, and confide that they have voted for her and have convinced fellow students to do the same. Sometimes Turika will give the friend a hug, other times she’ll just thank them and widen her grin, and she reminds them to vote in the other, Student Council election today during lunch. None of the promised votes or congratulations seems to fully comfort her, and she is quieter today than usual. Even though Turika knows a lot of Kenwood’s students, she doesn’t know many younger ones, who might be more familiar with sophomore Lauren. Catherine is also quite popular, judging by the numbers of people wearing her stickers. Marcie is in Turika’s circle of friends, so, in the LSC election, Turika is not even guaranteed the votes of her close friends. At lunchtime, Turika goes to vote for Student Council officers. A long line of students waits in line for their IDs to be scanned and then to use one of the voting booths stationed around the room. After waiting quietly in line, and then quickly punching out her favored candidates, Turika peers around the voting booth, shouting across the room, “Corey! How do you take this out?” Corey, officiating the election, comes over, removes her ballot, and then politely tells her, “Now you have to leave.” On her way out, she scans the thirty students lined up to vote. “Candace!” Turika shouts, after spotting her friend who is running for vice-president. Stopping in the middle of the room, Turika shouts again, “Corey, look! Candace is over there!” “Turika, what did I tell you?” Corey asks with exaggerated exasperation, taking a few steps towards her. “You have to leave. No campaigning in the election room!” “Come over here and tell me, Corey” Turika shouts, and the line of chattering students turns quiet. Corey, helping a girl with a ballot, replies smugly, “Look, I’m president. You’re just running for it.” “What am I running for, Corey?” Turika asks loudly, with her sly grin widening. Corey doesn’t reply and buries his head in the polling booth. “President,” she says, answering her own question. “And what’s my name?” she shouts again to Corey, who refuses to look up. “Turika Pulliam,” she answers for the line of students to hear, as she strides out of the room, having gotten a final plug in. ************* Friday morning, in Mr. Hanselman’s first period physics class, Turika’s feet tap uncontrollably. She has two classes left until the election results are announced. She had expected to hear yesterday, or even the day before, but an administrator decided it would be best to wait until Friday’s Division to reveal the winners. For now, Turika sits at the far end of the first row, hurriedly doing her Spanish homework that is due next period, while gray-haired Mr. Hanselman writes equations on the blackboard. As he walks around the class, passing out worksheets, she closes her Spanish book. When he reaches Turika, he asks her, “Are you going to throw a big party if you win?” Turika smiles and stretches her arms wide above her head. “Yeah, I guess,” she replies happily. Across the room, a girl with curly hair asks, “Did we vote?” and then answers herself, saying, “Yeah, we voted,” as if unsure if she’s correct. Turika jerks around to face the girl. With a menacing finger pointed at her, Turika hollers, “If I lose and I lost that one vote!” After a few seconds, a grin breaks across her face, and she turns back to her desk. Once the bell rings to end second period, Turika heads straight for Division, rather than making her usual leisurely detours. After getting a folder out of her locker, she goes into Ms. Kirby’s classroom and sits in the far corner. Other students trickle in, and the bell rings to start Division. The students talk to each other while Ms. Kirby takes attendance and a girl makes announcements over the loudspeaker about upcoming fieldtrips. Turika shouts, “Quiet! I can’t hear!” as the class’ noise drowns out the loudspeaker. The girl finishes her announcements, and the loudspeaker turns off. Turika, her eyes growing wide and her mouth hanging half-open, looks over to Ms. Kirby and asks, “Where’s Corey?” Within moments, the loudspeaker turns back on, and Corey’s voice announces, “ This is Corey Adams, current Student Council President and Local School Council Representative. This week you voted for our 2002-2003 Student Council and Local School Council representatives for Kenwood.” Ms. Kirby tells the class, “Shush! Shush!” and grins at Turika. Corey continues, “I would like to thank all of the candidates who ran, and I’d like to let everyone know that there are no winners or losers but strong leaders.” The whole class is turned toward Turika. Her eyes are planted on the ground. As Corey begins to list off the winners, Turika meanders across the room to throw away an empty bag of chips. The room is silent as Corey reads the list, “For Secretary, Stacy Young. For Business Manager, Kaysan Brunt. For Executive Officer, Shamika Cook. For Vice-President, Candace Garrison.” Back in her seat, Turika stares blankly up at the loudspeaker. “And for Local School Council and President of the Student Council,” Corey pauses and Turika leans forward in her chair, “Turika Pulliam.” Turika is completely silent, her face still blank, but the rest of the class erupts into screams, hoots, claps, and cheers. Everyone watches Turika as she pulls her glasses a few inches away from her face to delicately wipe the rims of her eyelids. “Are you crying? She’s crying!” one girl says from across the room. “Now,” Ms. Kirby tells the class, “whenever you have a problem, you know who to come to. Right here.” She winks at Turika and comes over, saying, “We’re so proud of you!” After a few minutes, the students settle back into their groups. Their discussions drift away from Turika and the elections, and toward homework, report cards and the upcoming weekend. Turika watches them for a while, and then closes her eyes. Suddenly, without any provocation, she releases a piercing yelp, sounding as if she’s just been shot: “Uh-Aaaaaoow!” Some people look over, smiling. Turika giggles to herself, rocking back and forth over her desk, her eyes on the ceiling. Ms. Kirby watches her, and laughs quietly. The students turn back to their conversations. Turika closes her eyes again, and screeches, even louder than before, “Aaaoow!” No one turns to look this time. A few seconds later, the bell rings to end Division, and everyone hurries out the door. Turika gathers her books slowly, waves good-bye to Ms. Kirby, and walks into the hall.
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