My fellow Glenville High seniors, this is Ben Stork, candidate for class treasurer, or, as some of you know me, Reeve of the Kingdom of Æthelmearc in the Society for Creative Anachronism. There are some rumors relating to my campaign I would like to address today.

On Sunday evening, from 9:16 to 9:18 p.m., I did indeed conduct a sexual affair with a student who was not my girlfriend.

Some of you may be thinking, “But you don’t even have a girlfriend, nor have you ever.” I’ll remind you that in sixth grade Alicia de Boer and I went out for half a day, though skeptics seek to invalidate our relationship on account of the fact that she did it on a triple dare.

Yes, I know—you see the orthodontic headgear, the EpiPen keychain, and the Sun Microsystems windbreaker and you think, “The closest this guy has come to sex was the secret Level 16 orgy room in the Castle of Griffyndrake.”

But I did. And with another person. Out of discretion, however, I will not name her or go into specifics.

Well, I’ll just say that her first name starts with C. Then an a. All right, it was that girl, Miss Carla Blumfeld, fifth row from the front, left aisle. From the drama audiovisual crew. During our wrap party for Death of a Salesman. In my parents’ Subaru.

A little ambiguity surrounds the question of whether what we did technically qualifies as intercourse. Carla insists it doesn’t. I say it depends on what the meaning of the word “intercourse” is, and, though it may well destroy my Glenville political career, I gravely confess that we, in fact, “did it.”

I also maintain that I did not abuse my power as model U.N. secretary to the secretary-general by promising Carla a position as ambassador to Mali to burnish her college applications. I told her I could arrange a meeting between her and Molly Valentine. It is pure coincidence that Ms. Valentine also happens to be the outgoing ambassador to Mali.

Oh, very funny—I’ve never heard anyone pun on “Stork” before. That’s really mature. And if the football players continue slinging mud at me—particularly the hard chunks—I won’t hesitate to report them to Principal Lowell. Seriously, guys, I won’t hesitate to.

I take full responsibility for my actions—if anyone forgot, having sex with a girl—and, while I believe private lives should remain separate from the political sphere, my conscience feels unburdened by divulging this information to the voters. If you know of anyone who is out sick or skipped assembly today, feel free to relate the news to them, too. Especially if they’re Sarah Morgan, who may perhaps be at cheerleading practice on Rickert Field from 3:15 to 4:30.

I hope reporters from the Glenville High Beagle will honor my privacy and not ask me any further questions on the matter. As I have the past 18 consecutive Friday and Saturday nights, I will be spending some much needed time this weekend with my family to reflect, and to try to remember the already hazy details.

And, Carla, if you change your mind, during my brother’s Little League game on Saturday afternoon, and up until the Mages and Rogues Guild congregates in the Dungeon of Calagon at the witching hour—that’s my basement, 7:30 p.m. sharp, you knaves—I’ll have the keys to the Subaru.