The Person Who Gives Points

On Friday afternoon, the school's small gymnasium had all other activities canceled. A wooden podium decorated with the school emblem was set up, with hundreds of folding chairs arranged neatly in front of it, and another row placed to the side and back.

Song Ya sat in that row of chairs to the side. To his left sat Hayden, and to his right was a black woman with a very intellectual air. She was a representative sent by a Chicago civil rights organization, named Michelle, who held a Juris Doctor degree—a terrifying academic credential.

Directly opposite, the faculty and staff took their seats one after another. Familiar faces like Aunt Susie and Old Joe had also arrived. The principal stood before the podium, silently observing everything.

Song Ya waved to Aunt Susie and Old Joe, while his other hand involuntarily gripped the speech draft in his pocket, feeling his throat go dry.

"Take a deep breath. You don't need to be too nervous; it's fine if you make a mistake." Michelle keenly noticed the change in Song Ya's mood.

"Thank you." Song Ya smiled at her. Michelle was a Democrat, as was Underwood, who had yet to arrive. Both had been brought in through the principal's introduction, so the principal's political leanings were self-evident. According to regulations, public schools were supposed to remain politically neutral; school funds, services, or resources could not be used to influence the election of government officials or partisan political activities. However, the incident he had caused this time certainly wouldn't count as a political activity, even if it was a good opportunity for politicians to gain exposure and curry favor with black voters.

Come to think of it, he hadn't even met Congressman Underwood himself yet. Song Ya leaned forward to look around, but aside from the black female assistant he had met and some reporters, Congressman Underwood remained elusive.

"Ladies and gentlemen..."

The principal checked his watch; the appointed time had arrived. After he spoke, the gymnasium quieted down. Once everyone was seated and began to watch the podium, he continued with his opening remarks, "Today is a glorious day for both our school and student Alexander Song..."

He turned to gesture toward Song Ya. Song Ya felt everyone's gaze shift to him and hurriedly stood up, revealing the standard smile he had practiced for a long time.

"To recognize his achievements in music, the Broadcast Music, Inc. has decided to accept him as a member. He is also the... member from our school to join the association, and at the same time, the youngest member from our school..." the principal continued.

Song Ya sat down.

"Our school has been deeply involved in various arts for many years, cultivating talents such as... This is inseparable from the professional and hard work of all our faculty and staff..."

"Here, I would also like to thank BMI for their recognition of our students, as well as the selfless help provided by Dr. Michelle of the... Civil Rights Association and Illinois Congressman Mr. Underwood. The stubborn disease of racial discrimination has profoundly affected every aspect of America..."

"Next, I invite the special representative from BMI... to present the membership certificate to student Song..."

After the principal finished speaking, he stepped back a few paces, yielding the podium.

A BMI representative of Indian descent stepped up to the podium, "Ladies and gentlemen, on behalf of BMI... BMI has been on the front lines of fighting racial discrimination for many years. In the years when discrimination was at its worst, we granted membership to a series of African-American artists such as... Today, I am honored to act as the representative to present this certificate to student Alexander Song..."

BMI was very experienced in handling such crises. They didn't send a white person, as that would have made them a target, nor did they send a black person, as that would have seemed too deliberate. A dark-skinned Indian was a very good choice.

Song Ya stepped forward and took the certificate from the man with both hands. Applause erupted from the audience at the appropriate moment.

The man stepped back, and Hayden came up to the stage to present Song Ya with a transparent plastic trophy, "On behalf of... Magazine (a small media outlet with close ties to SBK Records), I present the America March Best New Artist Composition Award to Alexander Song... in recognition of the excellent work he brought us, Thrift Shop..."

Song Ya took the trophy, and Hayden winked at him.

"Thank you, thank you." After receiving the items, Song Ya stood at the podium, placed the trophy and certificate on the stand, and took the speech draft out of his pocket.

"Thank you to BMI for their personal recognition of me and to... Magazine for their undeserved praise. Ladies and gentlemen, I was born here and grew up here. As a boy from a poor and ordinary single-parent family, I want to thank the whole society for its..."

As he spoke, he gradually relaxed. While reading the script, he could multitask, observing the various details of the audience facing him.

Daniel said he needed to help him understand how the whole of American society operated, and this was the best empirical environment for it.

Daniel said he needed to be the one who "gives points," and this moment was the result of his efforts.

He gave the principal a reason for encountering "racial discrimination," and gave the principal a reason for an "awards ceremony." He gave the points, and the principal turned this reason into an actual political activity. The principal gave points to Congressman Underwood and Dr. Michelle, and Congressman Underwood and Dr. Michelle provided help to him and pressured BMI; they were also the ones giving points.

Perhaps this was the essence of how society operated.

"First, I want to thank my music teacher..." Song Ya read to this point, controlling his facial muscles to show a grateful smile to the music teacher in the audience, "When I was full of doubts about music, it was your care and strictness that gave me confidence again, allowing me to persist on this thorny path. It was you who provided me, a poor kid, with all kinds of conveniences, letting me focus on creating in the school's instrument storage room without interference..."

As he read these words, he saw everyone in the audience fix their eyes on the music teacher. The appreciation in their eyes and the arc of their smiles were all cut from the same mold, just like a "ritual music" or "protocol" defaulted to by society. Regardless of what was in their hearts, their outward performance had to conform to mainstream behavioral patterns.

The music teacher had helped him, and he rewarded her with points. He didn't know what she would do with these few points in the future—perhaps for promotion qualifications or something else. Of course, that had nothing to do with him.

"I also want to thank my math teacher..." Song Ya shifted his gaze to the elegant old lady in the audience, "Without your encouragement and help, perhaps I would be like those children who gave up on themselves, starting to put my energy into idle play, getting in touch with gangs, and getting in touch with drugs... I remember after you gave me a perfect score, everyone called me A+. They used this as a nickname, and I was very proud, so I used A+ as my signature on my works, APLUS..."

The old lady looked at him, her eyes moist and filled with love, nodding slightly. Perhaps she had already used the points for the self-satisfaction of teaching and educating people.

"I also have to thank you, Aunt Susie..." He turned his gaze to Aunt Susie.

Aunt Susie knew nothing about this "protocol" familiar to the teaching class. She excitedly pointed at him on the stage and showed off to the people next to her with her innate rapping talent, "This is my sister's son. I raised him from a child..."

"And, my boss, Joe. Hey, BOSS..." He looked at Old Joe.

Old Joe had changed into a dark suit, looking suave, and stood up with a smile to bow to the surroundings.

All of this was accompanied by waves of standard-length, standard-volume applause. These teachers might not like this time-consuming activity in their hearts, but the reaction given by everyone was impeccable. And this was still the public middle school in the black slum with the worst teaching quality.

"Next, I also want to thank Dr. Michelle. She has put in arduous work for me and for our African-American community in the effort to fight racial discrimination..."

He imitated the principal, turned to the side, and looked at Dr. Michelle.

Dr. Michelle stood up to acknowledge the gesture. Congressman Underwood had sat down in the outermost chair at some point, and the reporters' flashes in the audience began to work.

"Finally, I must thank one person. For many years, he has been for the community..." Song Ya began to read the flowery words provided by Underwood's campaign office, "Thank you, Congressman Underwood!" Finally, he said with emotion.

The duration and volume of the applause from the audience began to increase significantly.

Underwood stood up, smiling and waving repeatedly. He was of medium height, slightly chubby but sturdy, with deep and firm eyes, and a unique temperament that mixed aggression and affinity. Song Ya had never seen him before, but he guessed his identity at a glance. In short, he was definitely a big shot.

"Thank you, everyone!"

When all this was over, Song Ya left the podium to Michelle and Underwood, "I can consider this as having contributed a little bit of points to both of them," he thought to himself.

Michelle delivered a brilliant speech about racial discrimination. She quoted extensively, from Martin Luther King to Mandela, from the whole world to the South Side of Chicago. To Song Ya, it sounded like four words: "Don't understand, but feel it's powerful."

Then came the finale speech by Congressman Underwood. He spoke very vividly and humorously, very grounded, and would intersperse some self-deprecating jokes in between.

This time, in addition to gazes and applause, there was also laughter that rang out at the precise moment after every one of Underwood's little jokes. It was the same—very standard.

Finally, Underwood announced a government project plan to provide funding to the school.

This time, the applause was thunderous; the teachers stood up to clap, their smiles appearing a bit more genuine.

It seemed that for the sake of this media exposure and the Black vote, the points Underwood brought with him were quite substantial.

"Thank you, thank you."

As Underwood stepped off the stage, the principal had already directed everyone to line up, shaking hands with Underwood one by one as the cameras crowded in to begin close-up filming.

It was a perfectly executed event.