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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Sometimes life is cruel, and in your most confused and flustered moments, it throws you another curveball just to watch it smack you in the face. I wasn't ready for another curveball— my lips still had the phantom sensation of Finn's left on them, and my hands were still shaking from the argument. So when I stormed down the nearest stairwell and nearly plowed Preston to the ground when I turned into the hall, I was too overwhelmed to even manage a petty, "Watch where you're going," which popped into my head about seven seconds too late.
"Whoa!" He backed up, holding up his hands, a blue gym bag hanging from his left one. "Jesus, you okay?"
I wasn't sure if he was asking because we nearly knocked each other out, or because I'd been thinking about what just happened with Finn and probably had some serial killer type expression on my face. Either way, I was irritated enough that the nice question somehow managed to rub me the wrong way.
"I'd be better if you weren't here." Admittedly some of my weaker material, but I could tell from the way his expression fell into annoyance that it'd done its job.
"Well sorry, I was just leaving— had to stay late and clean out my wrestling locker, since believe it or not, your protest didn't change anything."
"On the contrary, it somehow made Finn's win even more likely— and I didn't think your chances of succeeding could manage to get any lower." The jab was much better than the one before it, but the words were hollow— I couldn't seem to find any of the usual joy in roasting Preston when my own life had just turned into a mess. "How are things going with that girl of yours, anyway?"
"Fine," he snapped, both the defensive tone of voice and scowl on his face making it pretty clear that wasn't the case.
I managed a fabricated laugh, raising my eyebrows. "Doesn't seem like it."
He didn't shoot back like I expected. Instead, he just sighed and looked away, shoulders slumping. It obviously wasn't an I'm-not-wasting-my-time-with-this-conversation-anymore gesture, but more of a yeah-I-screwed-up one.
"Finn and I aren't exactly fine at the moment, either," I admitted, shrugging when he looked at me in surprise. I wasn't exactly sure why I was confiding in my nemesis, either— misery loves company, I guess. "I think we're just too different."
"You seemed to be getting along earlier. Never expected to see you at the front of an angry mob."
I laughed, resting against the door frame. "It was pretty crazy. I think Fulton nearly gave himself a stroke from yelling so much."
Preston gave a small smile, a gesture I hadn't seen from him since we'd broken up. The only smiles we gave each other these days were filled with spite and a large amount of gloating.
"Sorry about wrestling, by the way," I offered, surprised to find myself wishing that the protest had accomplished something. "That sucks."
"Yeah." He nodded, raising a shoulder in resigned acceptance.
