An ex-couples rivalry for the spot as student body president becomes even more convoluted when two new, unexpected candidates enter the race. Chloe and Preston team up, each vowing to get one member kicked from the competition-- but when they both e...
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I hadn't even known that Chloe was running. Honestly, if I had, I would've picked something different for my new hobby. If she'd asked nicely, I probably would've just crossed my name off the list— I didn't care about being student body president, I was just looking for a distraction.
But then Chloe opened her big mouth, and did not, in any way shape or form, ask politely. She demanded, she insulted, she raised her voice— hell, she practically threw a tantrum right there in the hallway. The outburst was completely overboard, and her self-righteous attitude was intense enough to give me flashbacks of our heated breakup. If anything, it did the opposite of what she wanted it to, since it made me determined to beat her.
The two of us had filled the school with posters before sign-up week was even over. I'd covered the sports wing with "PRES FOR PRES" posters, and Chloe had started at the other end, near the clubrooms. Eventually we met in the middle, overlapping and making the hallways chaotic with our contrasting colors and designs.
"CHLOE IS THE WAY TO GOEY" was hung up across the wall in front of my science class, right next to my very own "I'LL WRESTLE MY WAY INTO OFFICE!", a play on my spot as team captain.
If there was one thing I knew, it was that this would be a close race. Our friendship circles were similar, but I had the jock and cheerleader market pretty much cornered. Granted, she got the preps and the brainiacs, so we were basically even. It would come down to who could convince the others— the "bottom dwellers," as Chloe liked to call them. Anyone who wasn't of her same social status was shoved into that category. I almost wished I was a part of it, just so I had one less association with her.
It was like that for the next few days. The race had barely begun, and the two of us were only getting started. She wasn't talking to me, I wasn't talking to her. I figured (and hoped) that it would stay that way until election day. But then, on the last day of sign-up week, it happened.
A large, bright red poster appeared just outside of the lobby, with bold white letters spelling out "FINN FOR THE WIN." A list of insane promises was written underneath, including but not limited to: hot tubs in the locker rooms, massage chairs to replace all the "shitty uncomfortable ones," and strippers at the next school dance. It was a miracle that Principal Fulton hasn't taken it down yet, and it was an even bigger miracle that I wasn't hearing a high pitched scream echoing through the halls— I was sure I would soon enough, whenever Chloe laid her eyes on the monstrosity.
Even without a last name, the poster was so on-brand that I knew exactly who it belonged to: Finn Harrell. He was a threat. A loud, obnoxious, albeit entertaining threat. He would have the market cornered on bottom dwellers, the biggest group of all. Honestly, he was so liked by all the students he might even steal a few votes from mine and Chloe's crowd. And boy, was she ever upset about that.
I could tell from the scowl on her face when just a few hours later I saw her storming through the cafeteria, unfortunately headed straight in my direction. Her curls bounced around her head with each furious step.
