Читать книгу Election - Том Перротта - Страница 10

PAUL WAS THE perfect candidate—varsity fullback, National Merit semifinalist, a good-looking, genuinely nice kid without an ounce of arrogance or calculation. He was smart, but unlike his sister Tammy, he didn't wear his IQ on his sleeve. In fact, if you didn't know him well, you could have easily drawn the conclusion that he wasn't the swiftest guy in the world, with that pumped-up body of his and those utterly vacant blue eyes.

I didn't bullshit him about service to school or any of that. As faculty advisor to the Student Government Association, no one knew better than me that the post of President was entirely ceremonial. All you presided over were a handful of meetings and a couple of bake sales.

“You're a smart guy,” I told him. “But the admissions people at the selective schools are going to notice the gap between your grades and your board scores. The only thing that's going to convince them to take a chance on you is the right mix of extracurriculars.

Varsity sports look great on your application, but nothing beats President of your school. They really eat that up.”

Paul blushed—he did that whenever anyone praised him—and lapsed into his mild stammer.

“Y-you think I can really win?”

“I don't see why not.”

“But what about Tracy?”

“I wouldn't worry about Tracy. You're a lot more popular than she is.”