I hadn't read for very long before I noticed someone standing beside me. I looked up and saw Logan.
"I'm ready," he said.
"Ready for what?"
"Ready to pass out VOTE FOR SAMANTHA flyers on the front steps."
I stared at him for a moment longer, and he said, "Remember our bet?"
"Oh, yeah." I shrugged, and then returned to my book. "You don't really have to do that."
I expected him to go away, but he didn't. "Yes, I do. A bet's a bet. I would have really made you go out with Doug if I'd won, so now I have to really pass out flyers for you."
I looked back up. "You would have made me go out with Doug Campton? Doug, the Hot Babes calendar guy?"
When he didn't deny it, I went on with indignation. "And you accuse me of being shallow? If you had any sense of integrity, you would have died before you let me go out with Doug."
"Yeah, yeah. If I'd been trying to protect your dating schedule with my life, I would have been dead in the eighth grade."
I glared at him. It was just so easy to do.
He held out his hand to me. "So where are the flyers?"
When I didn't say anything, he said, "Really. I'll do a good job. I won't draw little mustaches on your picture or anything."
"I'm not passing them out today."
"Tomorrow then?"
I tried to find my place in my book. "I don't know."
Instead of leaving, he sat down by me. He leaned over and said, "Would this have anything to do with the fact that you made posters for Amy?"
I still stared down at my book. "Who said I made posters for Amy?"
He sighed, then took the book from my hands. I grabbed for it, but he held it to his side, away from me. I would have had to crawl over him to get it, and I wasn't about to do that. I looked at his face to see why he was being so difficult, and when I did, he said, "I've only known you for forever, Samantha. I recognize your handwriting. I see it on every book order you place."
"Oh." I hadn't counted on this possibility. I wondered who else would recognize my handwriting and if I would be answering this question all day. What would I say to all the people who asked me why I'd made posters for my competitor?
"Well?" he asked. He wasn't waiting around for me to come up with a well-thought-out explanation.
"I did it because . . ."
"Because you were the one who tore down Amy's posters?"
"Who told you that?" Was it common knowledge? Had everyone known all along that I'd done it? The thought made my heart pound in my chest. Everyone thought less of me.
Logan smiled like it was a silly question. "I figured it was either you or Rick, and it's your handwriting on the new Amy posters."
"Oh." I blushed at being so easily caught. Slowly I said, "It was in retaliation for making those flyers about me. Only I just found out it was Rick who actually made the flyers, so I . . ."
"Made new posters for Amy."
"Don't tell anyone."
"I won't." He handed my book back to me and said softly, "For what it's worth, you have my vote."
He smiled at me then, and it's funny, but that smile meant more to me than anything had for a long time. He stood up to go, but before he walked off, he said, "We're still on for dinner on Saturday, right? You're not letting me off on that part of the bet are you?"
"Naw," I said back. "I still have a craving for lobster."
After fourth period, instead of walking to the cafeteria like I usually did, I walked over to Cassidy's locker. She was just pulling her lunch bag out.
"Hi," I said, "do you have a minute?"
She shut her locker door. "Sure," but she said the word tightly, as though she wasn't pleased about talking to me for even sixty seconds.
I gripped my own lunch sack tighter. "Cassidy, I owe you an apology. I just wanted to let you know I'm sorry about everything. I was wrong."
She stared at me with surprise. "About Josh?"
"Well, I was talking about those flyers; but sure, now that you mention it, I was wrong about Josh too."
"What do you mean you were wrong about Josh?" Her voice was edged with anger, like she thought I might be insulting him.
"I just mean it was wrong of me to go out with him when he was so clearly interested in you." A mistake I wouldn't repeat if for no other reason than my ego couldn't take more of that type of abuse.
"Oh." Relief softened her face, but a moment later it was gone. "He's only interested in me now because there's no one else around."
"Thanks. I was around."
"I didn't mean it that way. I just meant that, well. . ." She took a deep breath, and I could tell she wasn't sure whether she should say more—that she wasn't sure whether or not she could trust me with her feelings on the matter—but then, perhaps because I'd just apologized to her, she said, "When Josh was at college surrounded by other girls, he didn't want a long-distance relationship with me. That wasn't good enough for him. But now, now that he's home for the summer, he's being nice to me."
"You don't want to be second-best. I know the feeling." And suddenly it seemed almost funny that Cassidy and I had something in common. We could have formed the Rejected by Josh Club. Only I suppose since neither of us wanted to be second-best, we would have had a hard time deciding who should be vice president.
Cassidy nodded. "It's like he just wants a summer girlfriend. Once school starts again, it will be all over, all over again."
Part of me wanted to nod in agreement and say, "Yeah, men are horrible creatures, and Josh is especially horrible because he never liked me," but another part of me, the better part, felt obligated to say something else.
"If he just wanted a summer girlfriend, he could have chosen anyone, and I can testify that he's not the least bit interested in me. I think he's being nice to you because he likes you."
She smiled, but then forced it away. "Well, maybe it's not his choice this time. Maybe I don't want to be his girlfriend again."
"Uh-huh. He's gorgeous, premed, and can't take his eyes off you when you're in the room."
"Really?"
"I'd tell you all about the prom, but I'm trying to repress that memory."
"He couldn't take his eyes off me?"
I laughed. It felt nice to talk to her. It felt easy. As we turned to walk to the cafeteria I said, "I give you approximately one week till you're back together."
"Definitely not. My pride can hold up at least two weeks." She bit her lip. "Well, maybe a week and a half."
My friends were already eating their lunches when I arrived. They all looked at me with uncertainty as I sat down, so I knew Chelsea had told them what happened between the two of us at the prom.
"There you are," Rachel said. "We were wondering if you were at school today."
"I had some biology stuff to do this morning, and I was late to lunch because I went to talk to Cassidy, you know, trying to make amends."
Aubrie leaned in closer and shot me a wide-eyed look of sympathy. "What did you say?"
"Basically that I'd been wrong, and I was sorry."
Chelsea winced, and then put her hand near mine on the table. "Really, Samantha, I'm so sorry you had to go through that. It must have been awful."
"Not in the way you think. She was very nice about it."
"I bet she really laid a guilt trip on you, didn't she?" Rachel said.
"No, she was nice about it."
"Like right," Chelsea said. "Just wait and see what happens the next time she's out campaigning for Amy."
Rachel nodded in agreement. "She puts on such an act of being sweet. You'd think her main goal in life was to be sprinkled on the top of breakfast cereal."
"She was very nice about it," I said again, this time more firmly.
"Why do you keep saying that?" Chelsea asked.
"She's still on her no-insult kick," Aubrie said.
Rachel looked over at me. "Wasn't that supposed to be over on Friday?"
I shrugged as I took my sandwich out
of its bag. "Maybe I'm just tired of being so critical. Maybe we all could stand to be a little nicer."
Chelsea opened her mouth as though about to protest, but then didn't. She probably still felt so guilty about the flyers she would have supported me even if I'd just suggested that we all take up clogging.
Rachel leaned back in her chair and took a bag of chips from her lunch sack. "Oh, come on."
But Aubrie nodded. "I don't suppose it would hurt if we were less critical."
Rachel humphed. "I'm not that critical to begin with."
"Think you could go two weeks without criticizing someone?" I asked.
"Probably," she said.
Chelsea shook her head, then picked up her fork. "I think Doug is going to get a date out of this one way or the other."
"Yeah," Aubrie said, "but it might be with you."
And then we all laughed, at least we all laughed except for Rachel, who went on to vigorously protest that she wasn't the critical type.
Chapter 15
On Tuesday three things of importance happened— the first one being that when I came to school I ran into Logan passing out flyers in the front lobby. When I got close to him, he winked at me, then handed a flyer to a passing student and in a loud voice said, "Vote for Samantha, she's really not all that bad."
"Very funny." I took a flyer to see what it said. It had my name down one side, and in the middle of the paper it said, VOTE FOR SAMANTHA. SHE'S TAYLOR-MADE FOR THE PRESIDENCY. A little candy bar was taped on the bottom of each flyer.
"Catchy," I said. "Where did you get them?"
"Chelsea made them. She's passing out more of them upstairs."
"How nice." I knew it was her way of apologizing, and despite the last couple of days, I knew everything would be all right between us.
The second thing was that I talked to Amy. I hadn't said much to her, well, ever, but I had said even less to her since the campaign started. Now I sought her out. I walked around the hallway by her locker until she finally showed up. While she pulled color-coded folders from her locker I went and stood beside her. "Look, I'm not really good at apologies; but I thought you made that flyer about me, so I tore down your first set of posters. I'm sorry I did it, and if you turn me in— well, I'll understand."
She stopped shuffling her folders for a moment. "Oh."
I wasn't sure what that meant, and I shifted my weight uncomfortably while I waited for her to say something else.
Finally she said, "I wouldn't feel right about getting you in trouble. I mean, if I win this election, I want it to be because the students like my ideas and want me as their president. Not because the only other choice was some guy whose platform consisted of beer and anarchy."
"Thanks." And then because I really respected her at that moment, I added, "And if I win, I'd like your help running things. I think you're really smart and organized."
She smiled. "Thanks. And if I win, I'd like your help too. I think you're really . . . um . . . popular."
Sometimes it's just better not to compliment people. Still, I smiled and said, "I'm glad there are no hard feelings."
And there weren't. I mean, I couldn't hold it against Amy that she couldn't think of any presidential skills I had. After all, the only thing she'd ever seen me do was lead cheers. Once this was all over, though, I was going to make an effort to get to know her better.
The third thing that happened was that I met up alone with Rick.
Ever since I noticed the poster at the prom, I'd thought off and on what I'd say to him the next time I had a chance. Part of me wanted to scream at him. I wanted to take him by his shoulders and shake all his safety pins loose. I wanted to tell him he and his stupid flyers were the root of all my problems, and everything bad that had happened to me over the last couple weeks was his fault.
But that wasn't entirely true. And besides, he'd enjoy knowing all the trauma he'd caused me.
I seriously thought about not saying anything at all and just taking a marker to his posters. I wanted to go up to every single RICK ROCKS poster and pen the word EATS in the middle.
I couldn't do it, though. Destroying posters was what got me into trouble in the first place. I didn't want to do it again.
I really wished I could take the high ground on the matter. I wanted to walk up to Rick with an aloof stare and say, "I would never stoop to your level."
But I already had. I wished so badly I could go back in time, back to before I ripped down Amy's posters, so I could stop myself. Then I'd feel justified marching Rick and his flyer into the office and nailing both of them to the principal's desk. But how could I do that when I hadn't used good campaigning tactics, either?
So I didn't say anything to the principal, and I didn't know what to say to Rick. And then during fifth period while I ran an errand for my biology teacher, I nearly tripped over Rick on the stairs. He sat sprawled on the landing, head tilted back, eyes half open, listening to a Walkman.
He was probably cutting class. It figured. I was doing everything I could to try and get into a good college, and Rick was skipping school. Had he ever, for even one moment, thought of his future?
And what would his future be?
As soon as this thought occurred to me, I felt sorry for him, and it was probably that one instant of sympathy that kept me from kicking him as I walked by. Instead, I stood in front of him, hands on my hips, and waited for him to notice me.
He pushed one of the headphones off of his ear. "Yeah?"
I still didn't know what to say to him. I stood there simultaneously reliving picking up those flyers from the parking lot and remembering every lesson on forgiveness I'd ever had.
I didn't move. "Hey."
A snarl grew on his face, and he pushed the OFF button on his Walkman. "You want something, Taylor?"
His snarl brought my anger back. "Yeah, I do." I wanted him to tell me he was sorry. I wanted him to borrow a conscience for two minutes, just so he could understand what he'd done. I also wanted to be able to think of the perfect thing to say to him to show him how I felt.
But that was impossible. I wasn't even sure how I felt. And with so many emotions running through me, I was afraid if I said anything, I'd say everything and never stop.
I'd spit out: Speaking of Rick's rocks, which one did you just crawl out from underneath?
And if you're going to stick sharp objects through your head, do us all a favor and aim for a lobotomy next time.
And I notice you didn't report your test scores anywhere on that flyer. I suppose there's a good reason for that.
But as I stood there I kept thinking, What is his future going to be? And I couldn't say any of those things to him. I didn't want to. I was completely and horribly reformed.
I dropped my hands from my hips and shrugged. "I just want to tell you good luck on your campaign." Then I smirked. I couldn't help myself. "And may the best candidate win."
Which, of course, excluded Rick.
Okay, maybe I wasn't completely reformed.
I turned and walked away from him, still smirking when I reached the bottom of the stairs.
For the next three days I spent all of my free time either campaigning or 'worrying about the election. Sometimes I imagined how it would feel when the principal looked me in the eye and said, "Congratulations, Samantha, you're our new president." Other times I worried that if it were Amy's or Rick's eyes the principal looked into, I'd do something to humiliate myself-—like scream, or cry, or perhaps be struck dumb for several moments.
I also spent a lot of time doodling the initials LH in my notebook, but then I crossed them out before anyone could see them. I was almost afraid to think of how our date on Saturday would go. Logan would probably be obnoxious the whole time, or beg me for another chance with Veronica, or do something equally terrible. Then I'd have to throw my lobster at him, and the whole night would be ruined.
Was it too much to ask for just one nice evening with Logan?
On Friday morn
ing before the vote, everyone assembled in the gym, and we gave our election speeches. You would have thought that after years of jumping around in a short skirt in front of the entire school that nothing would frighten me, but as I stood to give my talk I felt as though my knees had deserted me.
I'd actually written four different speeches and decided I didn't like any of them. I finally chose a short and direct one. I told the student body I knew I could do the job, and if elected, I would do my best to represent them. It didn't have the hype I'd put in the earlier four versions, but somehow I just couldn't do hype. I couldn't promote myself on hoopla. If people voted for me, I wanted it to be because they believed in me.
Rick gave a talk that was half stand-up comedy and half social commentary. He received a lot of hoots throughout.
Amy gave a rundown of every program the student body was in charge of and how she'd improve each one. She brought in charts to illustrate her points. Everyone clapped politely for her, as they had for all of us, and when the speeches were over, I still wasn't sure which of us had the lead.
The principal spoke to us for a few minutes about the blessings and responsibilities of living in a democratic society and then dismissed us to our classes so we could vote. During fifth period all the candidates were called down to the front office so they could tell us the election results before they announced them on the PA system.
When I walked in the front office, I noticed Rick, Amy, and most of the other candidates standing around in front of the attendance desk, fidgeting and looking as uncomfortable as I felt. A few people talked quietly to one another; but most of us just stared around the room, fingering our books while we waited for the remaining people to show up. When they did, the principal escorted us to her office.
We listened silently as she talked about how we should all be proud of ourselves for the job we'd done, and so on and so on. Then she unfolded a piece of paper and read the results. First she told us who the new secretary, treasurer, and vice president were. Then without even pausing, she said, "And the president will be Amy Stock."