My whole world changes after the apology.

Suddenly, I'm the captain of the rejects. Well, not the captain, exactly. Nobody follows me or does what I say. It's not like I'm C-3PO playing god to the Ewoks on the Moon of Endor. I'm more like a hero. Or maybe just a cool guy you want to hang out with.

The stoners invite me to hang with them in the parking lot, but I decline because I don't smoke pot.

"That's cool, Peter. See you around, amigo," one of them says.

The theater kids want to know if I've ever thought about going out for the school play, and I tell them the truth. 

"Nope, never. I kind of have stage fright."

Nobody really believes that, not after what happened at the assembly. But it's true. I've never done anything like that in my life. Something, I don't know what, just came over me.

"Well," one of the theater geeks says, "if you ever change your mind, you'd make a great actor. Good timing, tons of confidence. I could see you as the male lead."

Even the exchange student from Kyrgyzstan gives me a high-five, although I'm pretty sure he has no idea why everyone is suddenly calling me "the man."

But that's the thing about being cool, I realize. It's not real. What happens is that for some reason or another the herd just votes. Well, they don't actually vote, like with ballots, they just sort of agree. Like one minute, you're such an outcast even the other outcasts won't have anything to do with you. Then something happens, and all of a sudden, everyone just agrees that you're the man.

Well, not everyone. The football team hates me more than ever. They glare at me in the halls and in class. But they don't say anything. And they don't come near me. The truth is, my nut-punch didn't frighten anyone. But what I said at the assembly put real fear into the football players at John Wayne High School. What I did was expose them. Kind of like the lesson in that Hans Christian Andersen story, The Emperor's New Clothes. Actually, maybe it's not like that story at all. Honestly, I read the SparkNotes for a test, and who knows with those things? But I'm pretty everyone just saw Nick Spears naked today, at least metaphorically. 

It's the same deal with the mean girls and all the other cool kids. Mocking me just isn't cool anymore. That doesn't mean they like me. In fact, they shoot me angry glares just like the football players. But as long as they leave me alone, who cares? Maybe I can even reactivate my social media accounts. 

I'm pretty confident when I walk into the cafeteria for lunch. And it doesn't even phase me at all that they're serving corn dogs. Everyone calls them "dicks on sticks," and yesterday that would've been yet another stupid opportunity to make fun of me. But that was yesterday. Today is a new day. I'm a different man. A bigger man. Well, bigger in the metaphorical sense.

So I grab my tray and go looking for a table. 

Today, I have my pick. The stoners wave me over, but they look like they're a little too into the corn dogs to be good dining companions. The theater kids offer to make room, but if they're anything like the theater kids back at my old school, they're going to spend the entire lunch period talking about musicals I've never seen. Even the kids at the exchange student table offer me a seat, but I know where I want to sit.

My eyes find Elroy and he waves for me to join. This is the smart kids table, where the math geeks and science nerds sit. I know these kids are smarter than me, but that's the point. I'm hoping that some of their smarts will rub off on me before my next date with Audrey. 

"Hey Peter," a girl with thick glasses says. "We saved you a seat."

The girl, who I think is named Brenda, slides to her right, and I sit down between her and Elroy.

"We were just talking about straws," a kid named George says. 

George lifts his soda can, and I notice that there's no straw. I look around the table and see that like George, everyone is drinking straight from the can. Then I look down at my tray and see that I have a straw. A mild panic overcomes me. Is this how the smart kids make dick jokes?

"You know, because of climate change," Elroy says. "Single-use plastics are a disaster for our oceans."

Everyone nods. 

I hold up my straw and say, "the cashier just stuck it on my tray."

"Of course she did," Brenda says. "People are just mindless robots programmed to do what they're told."

"I don't know about," George says. "Robots always follow the rules. Humans seldom do."

"Are you saying everyone is capable of thinking for themselves, George? Because you and I both know that's not true."

My head is swimming. What does this have to do with straws? And shouldn't the smart kids be talking about, I don't know, math, or the books they've read? I sat here because the first time I met Elroy, back at Coffee Fix, he was talking about French cinema. And I guess I was sort of hoping that these kids would be talking about some other important cultural thing, something I could impress Audrey with. 

"Let's ask Peter," Brenda says.

Oh god, I think. I have no idea what they're talking about, and anything I say is going to be stupid.

"Good idea," George says. "After all, he's the only one at the table with a straw."

"I can just throw it out," I say.

Suddenly, everyone gasps.

"I mean recycle it."

"Peter, straws are made of type five plastic, also known as polypropylene," Elroy says. "It can be recycled, but for reasons that are very complicated, most recycling facilities don't accept polypropylene."

"Sure," I say. "I knew that."

"The point is, if we ban straws, we won't have to deal with this," Brenda says. "Take the straw out of the equation, and let the mindless robots carry on with their day."

"See, that's where I disagree," Elroy says. "The straw is a symbol. Sure, it's a real thing too. But it's a symbol of what needs to change, if we're going to save the planet."

"Yes, so ban them," Brenda says. "It's simple."

"No, it's complicated," George says. "We have to raise consciousness. We need people to start seeing themselves as part of the solution. People need to see that they can be a force for change. Sure, it's messy. But instead of banning straws, it's better if we all decide not to use them."

"But not ever one will decide," Brenda says. "Because most people are incapable of thinking for themselves."

"I still want to hear what Peter thinks," George says. "After all, he's a real leader."

Leader? Me? How could I be a leader? And then it hits me. My speech didn't just annoy Principal Boone and humiliate Nick Spears, it changed the way the students at this school think about me. Maybe it even changed the way the students think about themselves and their school. Maybe I am a leader.

"Well, the thing about straws is that they're just there, and so everyone just uses them without thinking."

"See," Brenda says.

"But I don't see why we can't talk about straws."

"We are talking about straws," Brenda says.

"No," Elroy says. "I think Peter means talking about straws as part of the larger conversation."

"Exactly," I say. "I mean, I never really thought about straws until this conversation. But now, I don't think I'll ever use a straw again."

"So people can change their minds?" George asks.

"I think so."

I want to add that I might be living proof, but the last thing I want to do is bring up the past when the present is going so well. So I dig into my corn dogs, and as I eat, I'm grateful that nobody says the words "dicks on sticks."

The debate between Brenda and George continues. But it's not as if the two are fighting. In fact, I get the sense that the more arguments she throws at him, the more George respects Brenda, and vice versa. I'm not sure any of this will impress Audrey, but it's better than eating alone.

As lunch comes to an end, Brenda turns to me and says, "I'm glad you joined us, Peter. If you ever want to go out for the debate club, George and I are co-presidents, so just let us know."

"Oh. Cool. I'll think about it."

"Great," George says. "Also, I'm having a party at my place this Saturday. You should come."

"I will," I say. "Can I bring a date?"

"I don't know," George says. "Can you?"

This joke I get. Grammar humor.

"May I bring a date?" I ask.

"Sure," George says.

"Who's the lucky person?" Brenda asks.

"Her name is Audrey," I say. "She doesn't go here, but she works at Coffee Fix."

Suddenly, every face at the table turns serious. 

"She used to go here," Brenda says. "Until... there was an incident."

"Peter, are you sure that's a good idea," Elroy says. "I mean, Audrey is..."

Nobody wants to be the one to tell me what I already know, that Audrey is a size queen. As I look around the table, everyone seems to be looking at what's left of their corn dogs.

"It's cool if you want to bring her," George says. "We all like her. It's just, you know..."

Yes, I do know. Which is why after everyone leaves the table, I pull Elroy aside.

"I need more Chub Potion Number Nine," I say.

"Peter, I don't know if that's such a good idea."

"Why? Is it dangerous?"

"No, no. Nothing like that. It's just that, there are things about this experiment that you don't know, and it's probably best that you don't know them."

"I'm not asking what's in the magic potion."

"Science, Peter. It's science."

"Right. And I'm pretty sure that of yours science gave me an extra quarter of an inch."

"Really? That's remarkable."

Elroy looks surprised, as if he didn't expect his invention to work.

"It did. I felt it."

"Felt it, or measured it?"

"Does it matter?"

"For scientific purposes, yes. It's critical to quantify results."

"Well, I'm feeling results," I say. "So make another batch, because I'm coming over after school. I need all the growth you can give me by Saturday."

Thanks for reading!

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