Dear Albert: Life of Gil

LIFE OF GIL

“And who are you?” Superintendent Calhoun looks at me.

Duh, man.

“I’m Sam’s representation.”

Several stupid-looking board members mumble to each other at the makeshift, cafeteria conference table. Snooze. I swear at least 93 percent of them are wearing brown. A particularly unkempt old hag looks like she purposely dressed herself in barf. Sam squirms in his seat. I love the guy, but he totally doesn’t get it—this is just like Law and Order! We bout to rock this joint. Objection! Denied! Overruled! Jeff Wellstone’s going down tonight.

Jeff’s dad jumps to his feet. “I didn’t take off work to hear some random kid spread lies about my son.”

I shoo at him with my hand.

“Objection,” I say. “With blah blah respect, Mr. Wellstone, you don’t even go to this school. You’re more random than I am.”

Sam puts his head in his hands. Poor guy.

I lean in and whisper to him, “I so got this.”

Calhoun looks at me again.

“I’m afraid he’s right, young man. Unless you’re Sam’s family, you can’t be here,” he says.

“I’m his bro, mate!”

“You’re his brother?” Calhoun asks.

I roll my eyes. Really?

“No man,” I say, “I’m his br—“

“—Excuse me, may I sa-say-say something?” Sam’s shoulders are back. He’s sitting up taller than I’ve ever seen him.

“Great, we’ll be here all night,” Jeff Wellstone whispers from the next table over, just loud enough for me, his dad, and Sam to hear. The board members are too far away.

For once, Sam doesn’t flinch. This is why I’m here! I fill the kid with confidence.

“I can represent myself,” he says.

Wait, what?

“Are you sure?” I look at him.

“Yeah,” he says, looking at me straight in the eyes. “I may stutter, but I can do it.”

Something about Sam’s face looks older. It’s probably just the way the late afternoon sun is coming in the cafeteria. I’ve never been in school this late before in my life.

I get up.

“Good day, big boys!” I say to the board, just so they know I’m still down with their authority—in case I need to come back and clear things up. I bend over Sam’s table. “If you need anything, I’ll be waiting right outside, okay?”

“No need,” Sam says, “But thanks.”

I wait on the floor outside the glass-walled caf, anyway.

The board calls the meeting to order. Lots of Law and Order mumbo jumbo. Robert’s Rules and stuff. Who is Robert, anyway? And would he like Jeff Wellstone? I don’t even fancy the bloke, and I like everyone! I just wish he wouldn’t have thrown a stapler at my mate’s head, ya know? Maybe he’ll apologize and we’ll all go for ice cream after.

I could really go for a hunk of cookie dough on my tongue.

Calhoun’s voice bellows from inside the cafeteria.

“I have in my hand 26 letters from students who claim to have witnessed the incident, and believe it was a deliberate attack against Sam Mason.”

I lift my head up and see Calhoun waving a stack of papers. This may not be so tough for Sam after all. I rummage through my backpack for some homework to do.

Yes, homework! I wouldn’t classify myself as a particular fan of homework, per se, but I’m not above doing it when I have some time to kill. I mean, it’s just economical. Whatever official business happens in that room is going to be boring as pea soup on Sunday. I can either sit outside the crapateria and listen to it, or do my Spanish homework and listen with one ear so I can have fun later.

I realize most people don’t think this hard about time and fun and stuff, but I’m probably going to major in philosophy in college. It’s all good.

Conjugations. Easy as crumpets. Hacer—to do: Hago, haces, hace, hacemos, haceis, hacen.

Use it in a sentence: Hago mi tarea porque soy un estudiante buenisimo (y guapo—hola chicas).

Calhoun continues. “But I also have letters from seventeen students who say that it was an accident.”

An accident?

“Sam and Jeff, before we take a vote, is there any additional evidence you’d care to bring forth?”

“No,” Jeff says.

“The letters of support for Jeffrey speak for themselves,” Mr. Wellstone adds. Wanker.

I hear a chair grind against the floor and look up to see Sam standing. He looks right at the board members. From what I can tell, he’s trying to connect with each and every one individually. Classic Law and Order strategy.

Finally, he speaks.

“I have no additional evidence,” he says. Mr. Wellstone slaps his thighs, as if to say “We’re done here.” Double wanker.

But Sam continues. “But I request the nay-nay-nay-names of Wellstone’s supporters be read aloud.”

Surprisingly, Calhoun starts down the list. I have no idea why Sam’s having him do this. To buy time?

Conjugate “hacer” in present perfect:

Instead of conjugating, I make a note in the margin: The present is never perfect. (This assignment is a sham.)

Finally, Calhoun finishes. The entire board is silent, waiting on my buddy to do something.

"I would like to poy-poy-point out that... that... that..."

What, Sam? But he doesn't glance at me through the glass for help.

"That all of those names are people on the football team," Sam says, and stops for a breath. "They're all Jeff's friends."

"BOOYAH!" I shout, and everybody looks at me through the glass. Jeff Wellstone gives me a look to kill. Whatever, Jeff.

I scribble over my note out in the margin and conjugate the verb.

What is Dear Albert? It's a fiction experiment on SparkNotes about a guy, Sam, who writes a secret advice column under the name Albert. The "experiment" part is this: His story is a mesh of pure fiction, and YOUR input. Want to participate? Leave a question or a message for Albert in the comments (real, or totally fake)!

Read Dear Al from the beginning here!