As the summer dragged on, Frank found himself making the walk downtown more frequently. Food was abundant and the park was pleasant, where Frank found some reprieve from the inexorable summer heat in the shade. His house was air-conditioned, certainly, but it felt sterile at times; the constant room-temperature almost seemed worse than the muggy heat outside. Frank had enrolled in some community college classes held online, which meant that his mornings were generally spent taking notes and being studious, but beyond that, he needed to find his own amusements.

Alan, as usual, took about ten seconds to pick up the phone. "What's up?"

"I'm just calling in to see if you finished the paperwork Ms. Wolfe gave at our meeting. I want to make sure we aren't burdened by any needless delays—this is vacation, you know, and the last thing any of us want to do is paperwork." Not long after Frank and his team agreed to do the celery juice project (other contenders were mouthwash and acetaminophen, both of which were rejected for potentially having health effects), they came to the realization that it needed to be school-sponsored if it were to be effective. Mr. Kurtz was not as dismissive as they had expected:

"So why should we be doing this instead of bringing in drug dogs?" he asked, frantically Googling how much celery cost.

"Well, for one, you don't bring in drug dogs. We think drug dogs would be far more effective, but as those are seemingly off the table, think of this as a plan B," Frank explained. Mr. Kurtz was extremely hesitant to bring in drug dogs, which he saw as a signal to the PTA and everyone else important that his leadership had failed. Heller wasn't supposed to have problems—it was in a reasonably rich residential area and sent at least one kid to Stanford every year. Drug dogs were for what Mr. Kurtz publicly described as "troubled areas" and privately described as "the inner cities"; his colleagues at conferences told him tales of woe, and he responded by promising to help in any way he could, which he never did.

"How do you know this will work?" Mr. Kurtz weighed his three options, as he saw them: he could either do nothing and tell his colleagues that he was choosing to ignore the drug epidemic on campus, bring in the drug dogs and polarize the parents, or go for the third plan and ensure nobody complained. If, somehow, this didn't work, and Mr. Kurtz did not expect this to work, the blame fell squarely on the students and they would be "punished"—not really, of course, because then they would reveal the administration told them to implement the scheme and become heroes in the process.

"When you run a club like I do, you begin to learn something about human nature. There's that classic P.T. Barnum quote: there's a sucker born every minute. And unfortunately for us, those suckers are tarnishing our school's reputation and their health. If teenagers can be taught good and evil, if teenagers can be taught multivariable calculus, they can be taught to drink celery juice. It's cheap, cost-effective, and it tastes like it ought to be medicinal. They'll think it's weed or something."

"Fair point, fair point. Why celery though? Couldn't you just give them sugar pills?"

"I learned a few things about celery in middle school. I was one of those Pemberley kids." Mr. Kurtz laughed and reached out his hand for a fist-bump: that was convincing enough.

"Send Ms. Wolfe an email whenever you need supplies and we'll get them to you by the end of the day," he said, and gestured toward her, who was standing in the corner and trying her hardest to remain calm. If they had gone to her first, she'd have chastised them for the sheer audacity of the affair; unfortunately, they foresaw that outcome and went directly to the principal. They all shook hands, and Frank and Pranav cheered when they left. This was going to be fun. More meetings and calls followed as Mr. Kurtz and Ms. Wolfe tried to file paperwork with the fewest number of people knowing, and Alan was brought in after a few weeks. Alan's role, which he was only partially aware of, was to sell the celery juice without getting beat up; Frank did not trust himself to maintain his composure under pressure, and Alan was eager for a leadership position, already thinking his status threatened by Juliet. Alan considered Juliet a suck-up, as she always showed Frank special favor while treating Alan rigidly and perfunctorily—the issue was that Juliet acted toward Alan as a good person should. What Alan did not know was that Frank, his cabal, and the administration had struck a backroom deal to make Alan the scapegoat should the operation collapse; Alan did not think he volunteered to be a martyr, he thought he finally would be able to hang out with the cool kids.

"So anyway, Frank, I totally agree. Paperwork is such a drag—why not have someone else do it? Surely your esteemed treasurer can afford to delegate."

"Exactly, Alan: you are esteemed, and thus the only person I can trust to handle these sensitive matters. Remember, we're the only two students who know about this. You cannot, I repeat, cannot discuss these matters with anyone else. There's money involved here, and as treasurer, you are uniquely qualified." The planning for the celery juice project coincided with some other behind-the-scenes machinations Frank was implementing: his old club secretary, who was supposed to become vice president, had started to catch onto the fact that he was not in fact the second-most senior club member, and had requested his position be filled by someone else if possible. Only his brainwashing prevented him from seeing the truth, instead believing he had committed some slights that were responsible for his silent censure. Naturally, Frank couldn't have his own club officers doubting the appearance of things—what if the normal people caught on?—and so some shifting had to take place. For vice president, his options were limited to Juliet and Alan, as bringing in a true outsider would only create more suspicions. Juliet was inquisitive as is, and while her promotion would improve gender, racial, and intellectual diversity for good optics, Frank did not want to enable her. Alan also did not need enabling—he was pompous and smug without an inflated title—but he executed his limited duties well and would definitely apply the same zeal elsewhere.

Frank still needed someone to fill the secretarial position, or whichever spot opened at the end of the day, and Tom was open to the idea; Frank promised Tom his duties would be limited and purely symbolic, and he would take no personal offense if Tom remained at the sidelines. Tom found the idea of a leadership position extremely appealing, seeing it as a stepping-stone to some hitherto unknown reward, and said yes without question. Why would he question anything? He was already in the inner circle, and unlike Stanley, whoever he was, he understood everything.

"When you phrase it that way, of course I can take care of the paperwork. I don't mind at all—it's good practice. I'll talk to you later," Alan concluded, and he hung up before Frank could say good-bye as well. Frank sighed, disappointed as usual that Alan did not understand basic etiquette, and decided to go for an evening walk. He'd be back home for dinner, and that would be a perfect end to a productive day. Frank's parents were both accountants, who met in graduate school and bonded over a shared love for auditing and financial prudence. Living thriftily early on as their salaries increased enabled them to buy a house in a nice area, right by an excellent high school and many other families whose salaries doubled theirs. They lived comfortably and happily, and took their son's general success as a sign little interference was necessary.

Frank arrived at the park downtown quickly and took out his phone to play some Pokémon Go. He had increasingly relied on it to make his walks less monotonous, and his natural fast walking speed only made things easier; he knew many adult professionals through the game who played far more than he did, and thus felt no shame in his minor indulgence. Frank was just about to throw a curveball to hit an Electabuzz when he heard Juliet's perky voice from behind him. She wore a sky-blue blouse and matching shoes, a "conservative but nice" outfit that was perfect for a future vice president.

"Frank, how nice to see you here! What are you doing?" she asked while giving him a hug he couldn't negotiate to a fist-bump in time. Frank was not terribly happy to see Juliet alone, meaning that it was less likely she had an excuse not to join him, but maybe this was a blessing in disguise: what a perfect opportunity to decide if she was worthy of a promotion, especially after Alan hung up on him so rudely earlier!

"It's a nice day out, and I was tired of staying inside. Weather like this doesn't deserve to be wasted."

"You wouldn't believe the craziest weather we had in Lake Tahoe last month—I'll tell you about it later. Come with me. Oh, nice outfit by the way. You look like a Mormon—in a good way, don't worry. I think it's stylish." This wasn't terribly inaccurate: after discovering that Goodwill frequently offered formal clothing in his size, Frank had decided to supplement his suits with something less extreme, and he personally thought his white polo and slacks suited him well while being utilitarian in the summer heat. Most definitely "conservative but nice."

"You look, um, summery..." he responded, continuing his walk in the general direction Juliet was headed and hiding his phone. Beth and Regina somehow weren't surprised to hear Juliet triumphantly announce "Look who I ran into!" and see Frank sheepishly standing behind her, smiling blankly.

"How nice to see all of you together here, my loyal disciples," Frank commented, surprised all of them seemed happy to see him. "Is there some special occasion I'm unaware of?"

"Juliet didn't tell you? So modest. It's her birthday today, and we were going to hang out a bit, enjoy the sunshine, you know," Regina explained. "It's so nice you could come," Juliet said once more, standing a bit too close to Frank for his personal comfort.

"Well, happy birthday. I didn't bring a present, but I've been deliberating this decision for quite some time now, and I think this is the icing on the cake: you're being promoted to vice president! Your commitment has been spectacular over the past year, and especially as there's no particular difference in responsibilities, it's only fair that your good effort is rewarded." This unsurprisingly demanded another hug from Juliet, and the others politely applauded.

"This is an occasion that demands celebration. Let's get ice cream," Beth suggested. "Thanks for the recipe last month—best I've ever had."

"If it's the best you've ever had, what's the point in having more if it won't top it?" Frank joked, already regretting behaving so impulsively.

"Only one way to find out." Frank decided a bit of sugar never hurt anyone, and even he thought that on a hot day, this was an acceptable concession. He and Juliet led the way, and Frank tried his hardest to present an amiable exterior. Frank considered himself to be crossing a line by mixing business and pleasure this greatly, but he was a softie at heart, and over the year he thought he had developed somewhat of a friendship with all of them. Regina still leaned toward sarcasm in his presence, but he didn't mind; better that than blind obedience. Still, that meant he was playing politics even as he spoke: Alan would have no choice but to accept the turn of events, especially as he never knew he was up for a promotion, and he knew Tom thought in no uncertain terms that Juliet was an idiot wholly incapable of any prolonged deception. Frank didn't think Juliet was an idiot, as much as he thought only an idiot would act like she did, but he agreed with Tom on the latter point: as originally planned, her role would be to legitimize their operation and maybe assist with recruiting more of the sporty types. Those were decisions best saved for later, and in the worst-case scenario, Frank knew that he could bring in other friends who wouldn't need to be kept in the dark.

"So tell me about this lake trip. I saw the photos, and all I can say is that you all certainly ate well," Frank asked after he grew tired of Juliet's bureaucratic questions; the cognitive dissonance was too much to handle.

"Well, the food was a minor part of it. The weather was frigid and dismal, which was a great disappointment, so we mainly stayed inside, read, and meditated. Casablanca was great, by the way; did John ever get that back to you?" Frank was glad he could trust Beth to be levelheaded and direct.

"He did, although I'm still not sure what happened to my copy of Don Quixote."

"Oh, I read it—interesting book, if a bit long. I'm starting to get a feel for your taste, Frank; no wonder you don't have a sweet tooth," Juliet chimed in. "But I finished the entire book, are you proud of me?"

"Yes, great work. And where is the book? Eaten by a bear?"

"Well, I hope not. I put it back in the bookshelf there before we left, I'll show you next time. If you come, that is."

"As long as you say the book's safe, I believe you; no need to see it with my own eyes. So when you say the weather was dismal, did you really mean the hailstorm? That would have been awesome. Great walking weather."

"That definitely was an interesting afternoon. These weirdos decided to go for a walk though," Beth remarked.

"I guess I'm a weirdo then," Frank responded, and all of them laughed.

"Oh, no, no, no, you're exceedingly normal. Next time there's a hailstorm, you three can meet up and go play tennis or something. Do we still want ice cream or not?" Dirt & Grass was a boutique ice cream parlor that decided to be retro in décor while also appealing to millennial, cosmopolitan tastes with inventive flavors. Frank had never had to decide between black sesame and smoked salmon before, although in that case the choice was obvious.

"No, no, I insist," Frank said as he shoved a $20 into the bemused cashier's hand, even as Regina and Juliet both insisted on treating him. Tom's displays of largess had imprinted vaguely on Regina's mind, as she now believed the best way to tug on the heartstrings was to pull on the purse strings. Common courtesy drilled in her from youth and from Tom's bullish temperament told her honored guests must never pay for anything; Juliet believed in the same, and also wanted to repay Frank for his earlier generosity.

"Let him pay," Beth said quietly but firmly, shooting the other two a strange look, and they moved to their table, ice cream in hand. When they all sat down, Juliet immediately took out her phone to snap a selfie of the four of them about to dig into their ice cream.

"This is your birthday. I'm an intruder, isn't this kind of weird? I can hide under the table. I mean, I stick out like a sore thumb," Frank pleaded, keenly aware that he was going to have a very hard time explaining this to the others. Birthday privileges weren't exactly codified in How To Be A Good Person, nor the importance of "Sweet 16" celebrations, but nepotism and hypocrisy certainly were. On the positive side, this all but assured some of his most valuable club members' loyalties, which were good to build up alongside layers of deceit.

"Nonsense, Frank. We all respect you greatly, and you're such fun to be around," Regina explained, not wishing Juliet to say something insensible. "How did you put it Juliet, 'honorary girl'? Welcome to the dark side." Frank shrugged and leaned in slightly for the picture; Juliet pulled him closer, their cheeks almost touching, to match Beth and Regina on the other side. I could get used to this, Frank thought—this must be what John was up to at the lake.

"How's your ice cream?" Regina asked Frank after seeing him take a bite and grimace.

"Fishy."

"Here, let me try some," Juliet insisted, sticking her spoon into the side of Frank's portion and taking a similarly sized scoop. She swallowed her bite with a similar expression, but still tried to smile.

"I agree." Both the smoked salmon ice cream and his company began to grow on Frank, and he appreciated how they laughed at all his jokes and tried their hardest to include him in all their gossip. They explained to Frank that he was even more fortunate than he had realized: they were going to have a banquet at Juliet's restaurant that night, and he and his parents were welcome to attend; Juliet had already called ahead and was assured that three more non-picky eaters would be no problem at all (Frank's parents were happy to finally meet some of his friends, even when told this was the result of pure coincidence).

"Well, I am absolutely floored by your generosity. It's hard to believe that if I had chosen to take my walk ten minutes later, none of this would have happened."

"Today's your lucky day," Juliet smiled, and they quickly finished their ice cream and temporarily parted ways.

Tom met Alan for lunch downtown about a week later after Frank had had sufficient time to inform Alan of the administrative changes and assure him that his status with the celery juice project was not threatened at all—part of being a good person was belying one's own intelligence, Frank explained, and in that way this was really a blessing in disguise. Tom felt bad about not checking in with Alan before, and asked Alan about his father as politely as he knew how:

"Things aren't looking good. I'm sorry, Tom, but things aren't looking good. I don't know what to do except hang tight. That's why I couldn't go, Tom, I hope you understand."

"I understand completely, and that's why I always insisted that you spend the time with your family. That's more valuable at the end—there are always more summers, but you're never going to get that time back."

"Do you remember that poem we read in English? 'Do not go gentle into that good night,' and so on, however it goes? I've been trying to memorize it. I think my dad would appreciate it."

"It is a good poem," Tom commented, trying to avoid being too sentimental.

"Anyway," Alan continued, "life is largely the same these days otherwise. I try to keep up my routines. Club stuff, too; did you hear Juliet was promoted? Good for her." Tom thought he could sense some resentment.

"Yeah, good for her. I never thought she had it in her, but we all know how good of a judge of character Frank is—he knows more than I, or really you, would about what goes on behind the scenes. He's the man in charge, and I'm thinking about accepting that secretarial position myself."

"Wait, what? You're secretary now?" Alan asked, a bite of burger falling out of his shocked mouth.

"It's tentative, depends on if the other guy still wants to leave or not, but I think it will be good. Great fun." When Tom realized that Alan didn't know he was given a chance to become secretary, he felt like he had betrayed him. Alan spoke passionately about club principles, continuing to speak of Juliet's nomination as the epitome of egalitarianism. How impressive it was that she rose from an unknown to vice president! He claimed not to be envious, but Tom thought he sounded wounded; when Tom pressed further, Alan responded, "Yeah, I guess so, but treasurer is a very important position. I will have many more responsibilities next semester." When he refused to clarify, Tom assumed this was another of Frank's half-truths. The club seemingly maintained two hierarchies: the official, front-facing one and the elusive board of directors behind the scenes. Many who helped Frank prepare materials did not even attend club meetings! But Tom could not do anything but smile and laugh, tactfully changing the topic before he would be forced to lie to a friend.

"What are you most excited about for this year, besides the club?"

"I don't know, Tom. You go first."

"Well, I signed up for a strong course load this year, lots of AP classes. Frank convinced me to go through with it, and what do I have to lose?"

"You know, Tom," Alan said suddenly, "I used to be under the impression that you didn't like the club at all. Or Frank, for that matter. I remember at the beginning of the year you absolutely refused to get involved with anything. What changed?"

"Call it an epiphany, I don't know. I try not to dwell on the past or unpleasant things. I should ask you the same: why are you so devoted?"

"I've always tried my hardest to look for opportunities to get ahead. We aren't all born equal, no matter what they say. You should know that as a fact. Just remember that all the people in this world haven't had the advantages that you've had." That stung.

"Well, I guess you're right. I'd like to think the world rewards plucky, adventurous spirits such as yourself. Greed, for lack of a better word, is good, and there's nothing more good than being a good person."

"I couldn't agree more." After Tom returned home, he dropped the facade he had maintained with Alan and went straight to his computer. Tom had a duty to Alan—his code of honor—to avoid dealing any lasting damage. But this also meant that Tom lied to Alan, multiple times at that, and that was a double standard Tom could not cope with. Tom also possessed his duty to Frank and to the others: they were a well-oiled machine with or without him, and if he refused to play ball he would be a traitor and a turncoat. Just like Leo, just like Ted. Tom opened his email and began writing:

Re: Secretary

Dear Frank,

With recent club developments, which I do not care to summarize further for fear of wasting our time, my attention has once again been drawn to the secretarial position you had offered me previously upon Juliet's promotion. I was greatly honored, and I accepted knowing fully the intricacies of your club's power structure. I did so under a full awareness that everything was being handled to my standards, without the possibility of any loose ends or underlying resentments that could signal the premature demise of our club. I have come to realize, however, that my promotion to secretary could potentially jeopardize that. Alan is clearly of the opinion that he is not expendable, a state of mind which is contributing to his excessive ego and I worry a building envy for myself and Juliet. As much as I value Alan as a friend, I do not trust him to provide the actionable insights needed for our influence to grow. He does not have that "killer instinct," so to say, as his judgment is clouded by his blind desire for social status. Juliet suffers from a similar issue: despite her budding passion for the good person ethos, and surprising studiousness, I worry this ambition will rapidly fade if she pierces the veil and unveils our duplicity. Even beyond the text being satire, a fact I'm astonished she missed in what you said was a thorough examination, the simple fact that we frequently brainstorm ways to amplify the insanity would be devastating to her. She is a truly kind person, someone who believes you are making the world a better place. I do not want to see her when she realizes this is an impossibility. That is not to say that I don't believe the club has become peculiarly educational, more than I imagined at first, but that there is a peculiar lack of charity. It is exactly the issue I believe you criticize in your manifesto, a blinding focus on self-improvement at the expense of all others. You do not suffer from this syndrome yourself, but I imagine some of your disciples do. I could write at further length, even if these elaborate missives are out of character for me, but I believe that I will be best served maintaining my current position as consultant. Godspeed to your fellow officers; they will need it to keep up with you.

Your friend,

Tom

Tom read over his writing a few times, adding and deleting a few sentences to try to make his main points clearer, then hit send without further deliberation.

Discussion Questions:

What do we learn from these bureaucratic adventures Frank goes through? How do they serve to characterize his real personality as different from how he acts with the club?

Do you think Frank enjoyed his ice cream with the girls? How does this reflect on his earlier attitudes about moral austerity?

What makes Tom and Alan's friendship genuine? Is it?