floorboards creaked sharp sounds that stabbed straight into my forehead. He did it on purpose, of course. Anything to rattle me. My pleated skirt crinkled up underneath my thighs, itching me like crazy, but I wouldn’t move. Not an inch. I didn’t want to risk touching Mike by accident. I didn’t even want our uniforms to touch.
What seemed like the entire school had gathered to hear the results. Connor Hughes sat in the front row, his tie loose around his neck, turning when someone behind him started chanting, “Dom-ski Dom-ski Dom-ski.” A bunch of other voices joined in the chorus. The whole room got loud, and I suddenly had trouble swallowing the syrupy dissolve from my peppermint Life Saver.
In a perfect world, this would be no contest. The most qualified candidate would win. But Mike Domski had a lot more friends than I did. A lot more.
I quickly tried to prepare myself, in case things didn’t go my way. I envisioned myself having to smile, to shake Mike’s hand, because that’s what a gracious loser does. I wiped my palms against my bare legs. They felt clammy. Cold.
As tough as that would be, I refused to give Mike the satisfaction of humiliating me on top of everything else. I forbade myself to cry if I lost. I’d drown my insides before I let a single tear roll down my cheek. That’s exactly what he’d want. Natalie Sterling, crying over a student council election.
Losing wouldn’t even be the worst part. The worst part would be quitting student council. I didn’t want to, of course, but what else could I do? I decided it was best to write a resignation letter to Ms. Bee instead of telling her in person, so she wouldn’t try to convince me to stick it out. I couldn’t do that to myself. And as much as I knew Ms. Bee would be disappointed, she wouldn’t want my participation to come at the price of my dignity. I knew what would happen — Mike would get bored with all the responsibility and work, and push everything on my lap. He’d try to make me into his personal secretary, someone he could boss around. And there was absolutely no way I could deal with that.
Ms. Bee sat inside the library office. I watched her through the glass, her head down as she counted ballots. Her forehead seemed more wrinkled than usual, which worried me for obvious reasons. I sat up tall and tried to make eye contact.
“Nervous?”
Mike smugly stared me down, thick-as-caterpillar eyebrows touching over his nose. I pressed my lips together tight and ignored him. A smirk spread across his face, and he rubbed the dusty black of his stubbly chin. Of course Mike didn’t bother to shave for election day. “I have to say, Natalie, your level of intensity is pretty hot.” He gently patted his lap. “I’m actually getting a chubby.”
I glanced over at Kevin Stroop, his eyes burning holes through the floor. It could have been a campaign strategy. Let Mike and me duke it out, while Kevin cleaned house. Though I doubted it. More likely, Kevin feared Mike Domski, or he just didn’t care if a guy said such disgusting things to a girl.
Not that I needed Kevin to stand up for me. I could handle this myself. “Stop talking to me,” I declared, which fell far short of the sharp retort I’d hoped to conjure up.
“Hey! Come on, Natalie. I’m only kidding with you.” His smile lengthened to a sneer. “You could never give me a hard-on. You’re like . . . dick repellant.”
Anger burned hot through my body, and I gripped the sides of my chair. Mike Domski wanted to hurt me, and the best way he knew was to call me ugly. I hated that, despite the fact that I would rather eat vomit than touch a hair on Mike’s head, it worked. It took all my self-control not to hock the biggest, wettest ball of spit right between Mike’s eyes. And I would have, too, if not for Ms. Bee weaving through the thick crowd, waving a slip of paper over her head. “Okay! Thank you for your patience! Here we go!”
Spencer lurked near the doorway, huddled with a couple of other girls. When our eyes met, she gave a big wave and blew me a kiss, which was a gesture more baffling than comforting. I tried to find Autumn’s face in the crowd, but when I couldn’t, I settled on the wall to my left, where the senior portraits of former Ross Academy student council presidents hung. Most were boys in blazers, wearing grins dripping with unabashed, unapologetic ambition. There were only a handful of girls, all stern-faced with set jaws. I felt the kinship straight away.
Ms. Bee joined us in the front of the library. The smell of her peppery perfume comforted me, just a little. “It’s wonderful to see so many of you interested in student council this year,” she said. “Our first meeting will be on Monday, and I hope you’ll parlay this enthusiasm and sign up for one of our many committees.”
I waited, a hollow smile frozen on my face, and listened to the names of the winners. David Goss won secretary. Dipak Shah won treasurer. Martin Gedge took vice president. I smiled at Martin to congratulate him, and he gave a worried look that cut right through me.
The stuffy library air fluttered with the tepid applause of people waiting for the main event. Ms. Bee cleared her throat and the room went quiet. All except for my heart, which pounded rapid and crazy.
“And in the election for your new student council president, we may have had our closest results in my history as an adviser. The winner, by just a handful of votes, is . . . Na —”
Somebody in Mike’s crowd booed, and I never heard the rest of my name. Not that it mattered.
From somewhere in the back of the room, Autumn barreled through the crowd toward me, knocking people aside with her huge book bag. Her hair flopped all in her face, and she screamed at the top of her lungs. I rose to my feet, smiling so hard it hurt. Autumn wrapped her arms around me tight, and we swayed with such force that we almost fell on the floor. We jumped up and down, over and over, both of us screaming and laughing.
I noticed Mike standing with his friends. Connor grinned at me. He thought my celebration was funny, I guess. But Mike could barely conceal his disgust.
I broke free from Autumn and pushed myself in front of him. I knew I had huge damp spots in the armpits of my white shirt, but I didn’t care. After pulling up my hair into a quick ponytail, I stuck out my hand and waited for Mike to shake it. “Don’t you want to congratulate me?” I said in my most sarcastic voice. His friends were all listening. Connor Hughes. Everyone. And I loved every second of it.
Mike looked down at my hand and scoffed. “Congratulations on being the kind of loser this stuff actually matters to.”
Before I could say anything back, Autumn pulled me away. “You okay, Miss President?” she asked, and massaged my shoulders like a boxer and his trainer after a long fight. The library had begun to empty out, but there were still lots of students who stuck around to congratulate me. The moment felt so right, so beautiful. Like destiny. Like all those life-changing moments should feel. Easy.
I picked up Autumn later that night. It was supposed to be, at least to her knowledge, our typical Friday — renting whatever movie was next on our list (we’d been working our way through the AFI Top 100 Films list, which I’d cut from the newspaper and dutifully laminated at my mom’s office), followed by snacks, followed by either face masks or new nail polish, followed by whatever lame show was on television until we fell asleep.
Except I had heard on NPR during breakfast that A Streetcar Named Desire was playing at a little independent movie theater a few towns over. It wasn’t actually the next film on our list, but the chance to see one on the big screen was too exciting to pass up. Plus, it would make for a more special night, considering I’d
