Vote (2 page)

I heard a collective sigh and turned to face Tina and her friends. JonPaul had Tina holding one of his gluten-free rice cakes while he drizzled organic honey on it, so she, thank the gods of love,
wasn’t one of the sighers. Connie Shaw and Katie Knowles, my sorta friends, were two of the girls oohing and aahing over Cash. I felt a stab of jealousy even though I’m with Tina and I don’t like Katie and Connie that way.

“Cash is going to run for student-body president,” Katie told me, a soft look on her face as she gazed at Cash. A flyer she’d been holding fluttered to the ground. I stooped to pick it up.

That’s it? Three measly words. And one was a misused number! I flipped over the so-called campaign literature to see if I was missing the meaty message. We’d just finished a section in social studies on the American political process, so I knew that a voter should expect dazzling rhetoric and impressive verbiage.

Nope. Nothing. The other side of the paper was blank. I shook my head: I’ve written more engrossing and persuasive text messages. The slogan, if that’s what you call it, was underneath a huge head shot of Cash, winking and flashing a combination
double thumbs-up/finger pistols. Totally cheesy and lame.

Too bad the girls didn’t think so. They were staring at him. Either they’d used a real heavy hand with the makeup that morning or they were coming down with fevers, because they were all rosy-cheeked.

Ick.

I peeked at Tina. JonPaul, good man, had accidentally dribbled honey on her, so she was paying more attention to her sticky sleeve than to Cash’s cry for attention. He’s so obvious.

“I’m running too.” I hoped I didn’t look as surprised as I felt to hear my own voice blurt that out. I jammed a hand behind my back to cross my fingers, hoping that I looked casual, almost bored, like I made announcements like this all the time.

I hadn’t woken up that morning planning to run for student-body president, but it’s undemocratic to have a candidate run unopposed. This is how third world countries begin to languish under oppressive regimes. Besides, I couldn’t let Cash steal the spotlight.

“You are?” JonPaul choked on a rice cake.

“
You
are?” Katie gave me a cool once-over.

“You
are
?” Connie clapped her hands.

The other girls were all staring at Cash as if he were the embodiment of every member of every boy band on the planet.

Double ick. But their mindless adoration of his surface perfection stiffened my resolve.

“Yes.” I lifted my chin, wishing a sudden gust of wind would ruffle my hair and make me look rugged. Rugged and determined and a little like a male model.

Tina, who was patting JonPaul’s back because he was still yakking up rice cake, smiled at me, and as my heart skipped a beat, I knew I had the perfect opportunity to dazzle her. Girls like Tina were born to date student-body presidents. “I didn’t get a chance to, uh, mention, my, um, intentions before, but, yeah, I—”

“I’ll help you,” Connie blurted out. She’s very politically minded, and ever since we’d worked together on a debate in front of the city council a few weeks back, she’d been forwarding me articles about, um, whatever it was we’d argued in favor of. Or against. It was really boring, and I only paid
attention to the details long enough to fake my way through the meeting. I’m good like that: I know exactly how long I need to retain information before I can purge it in favor of something new. I have a mind like a constantly upgrading computer operating system.

“Glad I can count on you,” I told Connie. Before I could turn to Tina and ask for her support, or at least her vote, if not yet her hand in marriage, Katie spoke up.

“Cash,” she said in a tone that made my stomach clench up, “I’d like to offer my services to
your
campaign.” I bet that Katie’s sudden interest probably had less to do with Cash’s qualities and more to do with his perfect smile. And the fact she doesn’t trust me as far as she can throw me. We’ve had a few … misunderstandings in the past that have made me one of her least favorite people.

Volunteering to work on Cash’s campaign gave Katie the chance to spend more time with him and get under my skin. Good one, Katie, I thought; you’re so devious and forward-thinking, you could almost be me.

She caught my eye and we nodded, like two
gunfighters in the Old West before they turned and counted off paces. She knew and I knew: Cash and I might be running against each other, but Katie and I were the ones who would be fighting it out.

Game on.

I don’t dislike Katie, and we’ve had a few nice moments where we’ve clicked as friends, but we mostly seem to get on each other’s nerves. The combined force of our personalities repels us from one another. They say nature abhors a vacuum, but it doesn’t like two take-charge personalities in the same vicinity either.

I keep trying to get along with Katie, but it never seems to work out. And I could tell from the looks we gave each other that we weren’t about to start getting chummy now. But I wasn’t going to let something personal distract me. I was in this race to win. I’d harness our tension as
inspiration; her … antipathy toward me would motivate me to do my best. Every politician needs a worthy opponent, and from what I’d seen of Cash, he wouldn’t give me the run for my money that I knew Katie would. This way, I’d impress Tina, put dopey Cash in his place
and
become a seasoned veteran of a hard-fought political war by defeating Katie’s candidate. Which was perfect, because everyone knows that good things come in threes.

The second after Katie and I silently acknowledged the battle lines, the bell rang. We sprinted toward the building, weaving between slow-moving students and leaping the front steps in single bounds, neck and neck as we crossed the foyer. I gained a few feet on her when Mrs. Nickerson, the home ec teacher, stopped to sip from her cup of coffee. Katie dodged to the left and missed knocking Mrs. Nickerson over, but the maneuver cost her valuable seconds and I raced down the hall ahead of her.

Katie is surprisingly speedy for such a bookish girl, and she gained on me, so we burst through Mr. Crosby’s door at the same time, skidding to a stop in front of his desk.

He’s our social studies teacher and the faculty
advisor to the student government. He had the forms we needed to fill out to register as presidential candidates. If she hadn’t been my opposition, I’d have been impressed by the way great minds think alike and how Katie and I had known that we had to get to Mr. Crosby to make these campaigns official.

“Well, this doesn’t look good,” he said, glancing up from his newspaper. “Whatever prompted the two of you to come flying into my room like small winged creatures from Hades can’t possibly be in the best interest of this school. Or me.”

“Heh heh heh.” Katie and I gave the exact same forced laugh and then glared at each other. “I’m running for president,” we both said. Mr. Crosby raised his eyebrows. So did I.

“I mean, Cash is running for president. It’s Cash, not me. Cash,” Katie corrected herself, looking flustered. Katie always has her facts straight, and I was fascinated to see her deteriorate in front of my very eyes. “Cash and Kevin are running. Against each other. And I’m his campaign manager. I’m Cash’s. Cash’s campaign manager, that is, not his, um …” Katie was about to implode next to me.

She was saved when Cash and Connie straggled
into Mr. Crosby’s room. Cash’s sandwich board was hanging from one shoulder; the string had broken in the crowded hall. Passing between classes can be brutal, especially when you’re wearing poster board. Note to self: extend passing time. That’ll be my first campaign promise. Man, five minutes into this campaign and already I’m coming up with genius ideas. I’m a natural. I’m just sorry I wasn’t of service to the citizens of this school sooner. They need me.

“What’s going on here?” Mr. Crosby was studying us skeptically. I did a double take when I saw that Connie was clutching Cash’s hand; he must have grabbed her to follow us when Katie and I took off. She didn’t look unhappy to be holding on to him, nor did she look like she was going to let go. He had to pry her fingers off before he could turn on the charm for Mr. Crosby.

“We haven’t met because I have Mrs. Skraw for social studies.” Cash leaned across the desk and pumped Mr. Crosby’s hand in a hearty handshake. “I’m Cash Devine, your next president.”

Connie reached for Cash’s hand again. “Kevin has decided to run too.”

“Against Cash.” Katie jerked him away from
Connie and took a firm hold of his hand herself. “And he has—had—a sandwich board announcing his candidacy. He came prepared to win.” Katie let go of Cash’s hand, but only so she could tie the frayed ends of the string together and readjust the sign on his shoulders, before gently pushing him behind her so she and I were shoulder to shoulder in front of Mr. Crosby and Cash was out of reach of Connie.

I looked back at Cash and noted that the sandwich board was still crooked and that his dollar sign had fallen off. VOTE 4 CA H.
Cah
is the sound a cat makes when it throws up, I thought. Fitting, since Cash is a hairball of a candidate. I read once that your thoughts can be seen on your face, so I put on a cheerful expression before I turned to Mr. Crosby.

“Oh, hey, instead of, you know, with all the disruption and distraction and, um, dissension of the whole election process”—I looked meaningfully at Katie—“what do you say you just pick a president, Mr. Crosby?” Being appointed would be even better than running. Less worry and effort, more prestige. Besides, he doesn’t know Cash from a hole
in the wall and he loves me. Or likes me. Or at least recognizes me from class. I edged closer to the desk and tried to look presidential.

“Oh no. Don’t make the mistake of thinking you can rope me into this mess, Kev.” Mr. Crosby and I have a history of misunderstandings, so I guess I can’t blame him for not taking me up on my suggestion. “I don’t even know if this school has an official policy for a student government vacancy, but, by the power vested in me by … by virtue of being faculty advisor because no one else volunteered, I’m creating one now: ‘In the event that the president cannot complete his or her term, an election will be called within one week’s time to elect a replacement.’ ”

Katie and I smirked at each other. Cash checked his hair in the reflection of a shiny letter opener he picked up off Mr. Crosby’s desk, and Connie snapped a picture of me with her phone. At least, I think it was of me. She might have been aiming at Cash.

“The election will be Friday during lunch.” Mr. Crosby started edging out of the room. “I’ll go make the announcement during, um, morning announcements. Good luck, thank you for your service to your school and keep it clean.”

I was pretty offended that he directed the last warning to me alone and kind of bummed that he didn’t spot my leadership potential and just name me president. But then I decided to look on the bright side—because the chief characteristics of a great politician are, um, optimism and … being a natural-born campaigner. That’s me.

I was ready. Not to mention happy and relieved that we didn’t have to fill out any forms after all. Paperwork is not my thing.

Great things happen to great people. I’m convinced of that, whaddayacallit, truism, yeah, something that’s true. I mean, just look at me: one minute I’m just sitting there, trying to think of a way to show I’m worthy of being Tina’s boyfriend, and then, bang, an entire presidential election is pretty much handed to me. The second homeroom bell hasn’t even rung yet and already I’ve taken action that not only will change the course of my life, but also is likely to alter the history of this entire school.

Actually, when you think about it, I hadn’t even had to take action; action had been thrust upon me. Fate called. Or was it duty? Which one calls? Well, whatever was taken or thrust or whoever called:
Kev’s life was falling into place. I would run the greatest campaign this school had ever seen, I’d win the vote—and get the girl—and all would be right with the world.

Man, it is good to be me sometimes, it really is.

I practically floated out of Mr. Crosby’s office, headed toward homeroom. I was psyched. This was the most foolproof plan ever for impressing Tina.

While it’s true that my latest run of good ideas and awesome plans hadn’t been a hundred percent successful, I’m not the kind of guy who lets a few failures get him down. That’s another key component of a great political candidate: undauntability. If that isn’t a word, I’m going to pass a law and make it one, because that’s what this country in general, and this school in particular, needs more of: undauntability. It’s a word that will look great on a bumper sticker.

A lot had gone wrong for me in the past. But this time, I thought, will be different. Because I’m not just
thinking like
a politician, I’m actually
becoming
one. I’m not just
acting like
my role model, I
am
the role model. That is going to make all the difference. See, in the past, I’d taken lessons learned from other areas and tried to apply them to the situation I was facing.
That
had been my downfall. It had been the overall conception, not my specific implementation, that had been faulty. But the disasters, or rather, growth opportunities of my recent past were behind me. I was unstoppable.

I found my way out of homeroom and to my first-period class, where I took notes the entire time. Not on the lecture—they were discussing
The Wizard of Oz
, a novel that creeped me out as much as the movie version. Put the dog on a leash, Dorothy! I could handle the flying monkeys and even the house falling on the witch, but I couldn’t stop obsessing about Toto running around loose. I’m a little obsessive or else a huge advocate of pet safety to worry like that. Animal lover, I decided, jotting that down in my notebook. Voters don’t put their trust in candidates who demonstrate obsessive
streaks, but everyone loves—and is happy to vote for—someone who loves pets.