Chapter 2 (ii)

While I was hardly the hopeless romantic, I liked a good challenge. Misguided as the idea was, they were my chance at redemption. Whenever I won, if only for that brief moment, I felt like I was finally good enough for my mother to love me. After winning anything, I’d be all beams and smiles, eagerly recounting my victory, then we would become the only two people in my world. She’d happily show me off; she’d call the rest of the family and spend hours with them on the phone bragging about what a brilliant kid I was. For just that moment…we would be a happy family.

Those moments were always short lived, of course. After that, things would go back to normal and I’d have to work to convince myself that I never wanted her love to begin with all over again.

It didn’t always work, but it worked often enough that I fell back to it each time the magic faded and the carriage turned back into a pumpkin.

Would Mom care that I’d ‘won’ the student body president? I didn’t know, but winning had become a high I liked to chase when I could for the ever-elusive chance to see her smile that special smile reserved for one Matthew Dominic Deneiro.

Delusional? Maybe, but it helped to break up the monotony.

“Really?” I asked. “Who?”

"Erin Saunders,” Hayley said. “She's on the student body’s board, too."

It figured. I’d have been more surprised if she were a regular nobody like the rest of us. This was how all the greatest romances went. The popular girl and the popular boy; they were the real power couple. They were the ones everyone expected to go to the same college, compete for valedictorian then co-found their own law firm before growing so busy the marriage eventually failed and they sought out former classmates to represent them in the divorce.

It must have been nice to already have so much of life planned out—to not be aimlessly trying on different skins until you found out who you were and the direction you were going. I’d have that one day, I just needed to change faces a few more times first.

The wheels in my brain were turning. I needed a strategy and one was already playing out before my eyes. My inner musician would have to be put on the back burner. Today, I answered to a higher calling.

It was decided.

"I’ll get on the body then," I said after another minute of silent contemplation. My gaze locked on the table of student body representatives, my eyes shining like a hungry dog who’d just been shown a bone. The path couldn’t have been straighter as it laid itself out before me. It would be a big feat, no doubt, but it was now the thing I was most looking forward to in the school year.

My attention shifted back to the table when the others erupted into wild laughter. It took me a moment to realise it was directed at me.

"What?" I asked.

I hadn't made a joke and had expected to be taken seriously. If they played their cards right, they could help me get elected and in turn I could make their school lives comfortable. It was a win-win situation if I ever heard one, but if they insisted on taking it for a joke, I’d have to source some dedicated legmen elsewhere. At this new school, as with all the others, I could be whomever I wanted, and I chose to be on the student body board of representatives.

Maybe someday I’d be president—if I stuck around long enough.

"Not just anyone can get on the body. There's a certain criterion," Carter explained when it seemed no one else would.

It was nothing so bad after all. Everything had criteria, hoops you had to jump through to get what you wanted. This was a local school body system, not the state government. It couldn’t have been too difficult, not for a spunky new girl with heart. It wasn’t a difficult role to play.

I pulled out my notepad and a hot pink pen I saved for important notes that demanded to be remembered. This was going to be serious business.

"What's the criteria?" I pressed, my pen poised and ready to begin its work.

Suddenly the table fell silent; suddenly no one had anything to say and no more snickers to share between themselves. They all exchanged glances but said nothing. In response, I raised an unimpressed brow at the lot of them, hoping someone would break this pact of silence long enough for me to get the information I needed.

"Someone’s gotta answer me,” I demanded, avoiding too great a degree of force. I needed to remain a non-threat; lull them into keeping their guards lowered while I figured out the next steps.

"Well,” Madelyn began with evident hesitation. “No one really…knows the criteria."

"That's ridiculous."

“Yeah, but no one’s ever really needed to know. The body’s always been so efficient and they’ve always known how to…like…squash any aspiring hopefuls they aren’t interested in. Long as a car’s running, who cares how the engine works, y’know?” Carter said.

The explanation was jarring. The students had collectively decided to stay ignorant of what was starting to sound more and more like a secret society of ‘the chosen’. No one thought that was suspicious?

I looked back to the table, noting that the body was still wrapped in their own little world. There was now an aura of exclusivity where there hadn’t been one before. It was almost taunting me, daring me to get closer. I wanted to know what secrets they kept so closely guarded that they took a democratic process and turned it into a damn near monarchy. How were they allowed to get away with it? Had no one brought it to the attention of the principal—a staff advisor at the very least?

I pushed away from the table, easing my food tray away to avoid spilling what little remained on it. No one knew the criteria? It had to be posted somewhere or the existing members wouldn't have been elected. Surely there was some kind of obligation for transparency, even just for show.

"Wait, where are you going?" Madelyn asked, taking an extra second to process my intended departure.

"To find out the criteria," I answered in my most matter-of-fact tones. There was an injustice that needed to be addressed for the wider school community and a goal I couldn’t start without this bit of crucial information. The gameplan would never leave the clipboard if I remained in my seat talking to those four neigh sayers.