On Friday afternoon, the school's small gymnasium canceled its other activities. A wooden podium decorated with the school crest was set up, with over a hundred folding chairs arranged neatly opposite it and another row off to the side behind it.
Song Ya sat in that side row, with Hayden on his left and a poised, intellectual Black woman on his right. She was Michelle, a representative sent by the Chicago Civil Rights Organization, and held a doctorate in law—a terrifyingly impressive degree.
Across from them, faculty and staff gradually took their seats. Familiar faces like Aunt Susie and Old Joe had come, too. The principal stood before the podium, silently watching everything.
Song Ya waved to Aunt Susie and Old Joe. His other hand involuntarily tightened around the speech in his pocket. His mouth felt dry.
"Take a deep breath. There's no need to be so nervous. It's okay if you stumble over your words," Michelle said, quickly noticing the change in his mood.
"Thanks." Song Ya smiled at her. Michelle was with the Donkey Party, as was Underwood, who hadn't arrived yet. The principal had introduced them both, so his political leanings were obvious. Public schools were required to remain politically neutral, and school funds, services, or resources couldn't be used to influence the election of government officials or support partisan political activities. But what he'd arranged this time definitely didn't count as a political activity, even if it was a good opportunity for politicians to get exposure and curry favor with Black voters.
Come to think of it, he still hadn't met Representative Underwood in person. Song Ya craned his neck to look around. Aside from the Black female aide he'd met before and a few reporters, the congressman was still nowhere to be seen.
"Ladies and gentlemen..."
The principal checked his watch. The scheduled time had arrived. As soon as he began speaking, the gym fell silent. Once everyone was seated and looking toward the podium, he continued with his opening remarks. "Today is a day of honor for both our school and our student Alexander Song..."
He turned and gestured toward Song Ya. Feeling everyone's eyes shift to him, Song Ya quickly stood, wearing the polished smile he'd practiced so many times.
"To recognize his achievements in music, Broadcast Music, Inc. has decided to welcome him as a member. He is the... member of this organization to have come from our school, and also its youngest member..." The principal continued.
Song Ya sat back down.
"Our school has spent many years cultivating talent in a variety of artistic fields, producing such figures as... This would not have been possible without the dedicated work of our professional faculty and staff..."
"I would also like to thank BMI for recognizing one of our students, as well as Dr. Michelle of the... Civil Rights Organization and Mr. Underwood, a state representative from Illinois, for their generous assistance. Racial discrimination is a deep-rooted affliction that affects every aspect of America..."
"Now, please welcome BMI's special representative... to present Student Song with his membership certificate..."
After finishing, the principal stepped back and yielded the podium.
A South Asian BMI representative stepped up to the podium. "Ladies and gentlemen, on behalf of BMI... For many years, BMI has been on the front lines of the fight against racial discrimination. In the years when discrimination was at its worst, we granted membership to a number of Black artists, including... Today, I'm honored to represent BMI in presenting this certificate to Alexander Song..."
BMI had plenty of experience handling this kind of crisis. They hadn't sent a white representative, who would have become a target for criticism, nor a Black one, which might have looked a little too deliberate. A dark-skinned South Asian man was a good choice.
Song Ya went up and accepted the certificate from him with both hands. Applause rang out at just the right moment.
The representative stepped back, and Hayden took the stage, presenting Song Ya with a transparent plastic trophy. "On behalf of... magazine, a small publication with close ties to SBK Records, I'm presenting the March Best New Composer Award in America to Alexander Song... in recognition of his outstanding work, Thrift Shop..."
Song Ya accepted the trophy. Hayden winked at him.
"Thank you, thank you." With the awards in hand, Song Ya stepped to the podium, set the trophy and certificate down, and took the speech out of his pocket.
"I'd like to thank BMI for its recognition, and... magazine for its kind words. Ladies and gentlemen, I was born here and raised here. As an ordinary boy from a poor single-parent family, I want to thank society as a whole for..."
As he spoke, he gradually relaxed. He read from the speech while still finding the attention to observe the little details in the audience facing him.
Daniel had said he would help Song Ya understand how American society as a whole operated. This was the perfect place to see it firsthand.
Daniel had said he wanted to be the one who "gave out points." This moment was the result of his efforts to try.
He'd given the principal a reason to claim "racial discrimination" and a reason to hold an "awards ceremony." He'd handed out points, and the principal had turned those reasons into an event that was, in practice, political. The principal had given points to Representative Underwood and Dr. Michelle, while the congressman and the doctor had helped him put pressure on BMI. They, too, were the ones handing out points.
Perhaps this was what made society run.
"First, I'd like to thank my music teacher..." Song Ya read, controlling his facial muscles as he turned a grateful smile toward the music teacher in the audience. "When I had doubts about music, your care and discipline gave me the confidence to keep going along this thorny path. You helped this poor kid in so many ways, letting me create in peace and quiet in the school's instrument storage room..."
As he read, he saw everyone in the audience turn to look at the music teacher. The approving looks and the curve of their smiles were all cut from the same mold, like a kind of social "etiquette," a kind of "ritual." No matter what they felt inside, outwardly they had to conform to the accepted way of behaving.
The music teacher had helped him, and now he was giving her points in return. He didn't know what she'd use those few points for. Maybe they'd help her get a promotion, or maybe something else. Of course, that was none of his concern.
"I'd also like to thank my math teacher..." Song Ya shifted his gaze to the elegant old woman in the audience. "Without your encouragement and help, I might have been like those kids who gave up on themselves, wasting my time on aimless fun, getting involved with gangs, getting involved with drugs... I remember that after you gave me a perfect score, everyone started calling me A+. They used it as a nickname, and I was proud of it. That's why I sign my work as A+, APLUS..."
The old woman looked at him with tears in her eyes, her gaze full of affection. She kept nodding slightly. Perhaps she'd already spent those points on the satisfaction of teaching and guiding her students.
"I also have to thank you, Aunt Susie..." He turned his gaze to Aunt Susie.
Aunt Susie knew nothing about the "rituals" familiar to teachers. Excitedly pointing at Song Ya onstage, she bragged to the people beside her in her God-given rap style. "That's my sister's boy. I raised him from the time he was little..."
"And my boss, Joe. Hey, BOSS..." He looked toward Old Joe.
Old Joe had changed into a dark suit. Looking dapper, he stood with a smile and gave the people around him several gracious, curtain-call-like waves.
All of it was accompanied by rounds of applause, each of standard length and volume. The teachers might not have liked having their time taken up by this sort of event, but every one of them reacted impeccably. And this was the worst-performing public middle school in a Black, low-income neighborhood.
"Next, I'd like to thank Dr. Michelle. She has worked tirelessly for me and for our Black community in the fight against racial discrimination..."
Following the principal's example, he turned to look at Dr. Michelle.
Dr. Michelle stood and acknowledged the audience. At some point, Representative Underwood had taken a seat at the far end of the row, and the reporters' camera flashes began going off.
"Finally, I must thank one person who has done so much for the community over the years..." Song Ya began reading the flattering words provided by Underwood's campaign office. "Thank you, Representative Underwood!" he concluded, his voice full of emotion.
The applause grew much longer and louder.
Underwood stood, smiling and waving repeatedly. He was of average height, a little plump but solidly built, with a deep, determined gaze and a distinctive air that blended assertiveness with warmth. Song Ya had never met him, but recognized him at a glance. Whatever else, he was certainly an important man.
"Thank you, everyone!"
When it was all over, Song Ya left the podium to Michelle and Underwood. I guess I've contributed a few meager points to them both, he thought.
Michelle delivered an eloquent speech about racial discrimination. She cited examples from Martin Luther King Jr. to Mandela, and spoke of everywhere from the world at large to the South Side of Chicago. Song Ya could sum up how it made him feel in four words: I didn't understand a thing, but it sounded impressive.
Then came the grand finale: Representative Underwood's speech. He was lively and witty, speaking in a down-to-earth way and slipping in a few self-deprecating jokes along the way.
This time, along with the attentive looks and applause, the audience also laughed at just the right moments after every one of Underwood's little jokes. Those reactions were just as perfectly timed.
Finally, Underwood announced a government program to provide funding to the school.
This time, the applause was thunderous. The teachers stood and clapped, their smiles a little more genuine.
Looks like Underwood had brought plenty of points to the table in exchange for media exposure and Black votes.
"Thank you, thank you."
Underwood stepped down. The principal had already lined everyone up, ready to shake hands with the congressman one by one. The cameras moved in closer to film.
It was a flawless event.
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