Legally Black [COMPLETE]

3: crushcrushcrush (her)

It was (going to be) harder than she thought.

*

There was a meeting of all eligible candidates for student government a week later, in the auditorium after school. After the guidance counselor explained all the rules, none of which Yves absorbed after 'play nice', the various candidates separated into groups by position.

Presidential candidates took the stage. Veep candidates took the first row of seats in the audience. Everyone below secretary took what space they could find in the back.

Loren was at the heart of the action and everyone jockeyed for room in her orbit; she had charisma most political leaders only dream about. Yves' palms began to sweat as the other candidates took turns introducing themselves by name and year. Two seniors, counting herself and Loren, two juniors, a sophomore, and two nervy frosh. Yves had only signed up to prove she could; she hadn't anticipated actually going through it. She'd have blown off this political gabfest to binge watch ASMR videos till she fell asleep if Sedona hadn't tricked her into coming and left her here. What, like it's hard? It was hard, but she was here now and already full of regret.

When it came her turn to introduce herself, she kept to her rolling prop chair—on loan from the drama club who occupied the auditorium throughout the year—and waved to draw the eye of anyone not staring into the depths of their phone.

"I'm Yves Gates, senior, class of 2019." Loren scoffed. Obvious, Yves was stating the obvious. She took a deep breath, buried her nerves and her embarrassment before they bloomed on her face. Nobody else could see her blush, but she'd feel it. "I'm running for president because this school's pretty cool, but it's pretty messed up, too, and I want to fix it."

"Sweet." One of the freshmen in multicolored French braids and ripped overalls offered Yves a fist bump and she took her up on it. That made two people who didn't think she was dumb for trying. When she glanced back at Loren she was glaring at French Braid—Suzanne, her name was, as in Sugarbaker—like Suzanne had crossed a line. Yves scraped her wheelie chair rudely across the varnished stage to distract her ex-girlfriend. Loren's jealous streak wasn't anywhere near as pretty as she was.

"So," injected Suzanne into the silence as if she didn't see the target painted on her denim-clad chest, "the voters want a town hall like Obama had. I think we should have one."

Loren disagreed. "We don't need one. We know what they want."

Avian, a junior running to get his name out there for next time, chimed in, "Voters don't like being told that. They like to be heard. You can't give them what they want till you hear them."

Loren cut her eyes at him and Yves had to hand it to him, the boy knew how to hold his own against the glare of the century. "I guess. Nix, write it down."

Phoenix, Yves' replacement and Loren's new bae-slash-campaign manager, wrote it down.

"We could have debates," suggested Frederica Buchmann, junior. Suzanne offered her a high five, which she took, beaming. Suzanne would be an inspiring leader when it was her turn. Yves half hoped she'd pull an upset and beat both her and Loren. Their little school deserved better than a fight to the bottom between angry exes; it deserved her.

"We don't need debates," Loren countered, jaw clamped. Phoenix was scribbling furiously, writing nothing much Yves could see. There was nothing to say when it was obvious Loren was about to be overruled by the majority. There would be a debate, there would be a townhall. Loren hated being overruled. It was her bossy bones personality; the girl liked things her way.

Too bad. Nobody gets what they want this year.

That was the moment Yves decided to beat her.