up?” Chris’s tone turned to the trademark take-no-bullshit voice.
Raina was not deterred. “Yeah. I think we should talk about why they should vote for Sienna—”
“Which is what I’ve done.” Chris cut in.
“And not vote for Keith.”
“I’d like to hear it,” I yelled from the couch.
Chris gave Raina a hard stare.
Raina glanced back at me. “The candidate has spoken, so I’ll take that as a yes . . . Okay! Here’s a good one.” She cleared her throat and turned on her late-night radio voice. “Did you know that Keith sits down when he pees?”
Kara coughed, and a surprised laugh spurted out of her like an old engine. “Good grief, Raina.”
“It’s true.” I shook my head. “I thought that was weird.”
“It is weird.” Raina looked back at me and nodded. “Anyway, I’ll give them a chance to respond. Most likely with, ‘Really! That’s fascinating. What else should we know about our councilman? ’” Raina lifted a finger to Chris, who opened his mouth to interrupt.
“Then I’ll say, ‘Did you know that your councilman has athlete’s foot . . . not only on his feet but also on his penis?’”
Kara cackled. “Raina, you’re too much.”
“Enough!” Chris’s voice rose over Raina’s chatter. “We will not insult Davenport. That is not how you win people over, and that is not how I win campaigns. Stick to the notes. No exceptions.”
Raina sighed. “Fine, fine.” She nudged Kara’s shoulders. “Let’s get out of here.”
Kara cracked a smile and Raina gave her a big smile back. I suspected Raina had no intention of saying those things about Keith. She had probably noticed Kara’s mood and attempted to make her feel better with a few immature jokes about my ex.
After they left, Chris turned his attention to me. “Please tell me you have normal friends who can help out?”
“Afraid not. Besides, being normal is overrated.”
“Sure it is.” Chris nodded to my yellow legal pad with notes. “Let’s practice. This,” he pointed to my temple and then my heart, “is how we beat Davenport.”
* * *
The cheater, formerly known as Keith Davenport, paced to my left, shucking and jiving for votes.
The crowd was fairly large for a debate, and I knew why. They wanted fireworks. Drama. I’d heard the whispers. “What happened to Keith and Sienna? They were so cute together.”
Chris had encouraged me to embody Michelle Obama’s famous motto: When they go low, we go high.
I’d discovered that I wasn’t quite as forgiving as the former First Lady. While I didn’t plan to announce that Keith was a lying, cheating scum of the earth, I was mentally throwing my ex weapons of mass destruction.
“Focus on your personality,” Chris had advised while we waited in the green room. “You know these people and you care. That’s your strength.”
I snorted. “Yes, I care. See where that got me.”
“A great relationship with the Neighborhood Planning Unit, coffee dates with the president of the West End Neighborhood Association, first-name basis with involved citizens—”
“Okay, okay,” I raised a hand, “I’ve got it.”
“Do you?” He crossed his arms and tilted his head. He cocked his head a lot around me. A crease between his eyebrows usually meant he was frustrated. Whenever the crease was absent, he was thinking, assessing. In this instance, he frowned.
“You don’t realize how beloved you are. Keith won the last race because voters knew you would keep him accountable. And you tried, but you can’t do his job for him. And, sure, people will ask what happened between you two, but keep it above the belt.”
I gave him a fake-serene smile. “I’ll keep it classy.” Besides, my friends and parents were here. While the ladies would get a kick out of it, Mama would be horrified if I embarrassed her, though I’d never done anything of the sort.
When it came to Keith, Baba would give me a thumbs-up. He’d never hid his hatred for my ex.
“The race needs to be about the people and how you will improve your constituents’ lives, not about a woman scorned. Don’t waste my time with your ‘I am woman hear me roar’ bullshit.”
I rolled my eyes, deciding to ignore his last insulting statement. Sometimes Chris’s straight-shooter ways were harsh. I was mostly used to him. “Of course I care about the people. I’m just—”
“You’re just what?” He stepped closer, towering over me. His sturdy hands rested on my shoulders, comforting and strong.
I softened a bit under his expert touch. “I’m angry, okay?” My eyes lifted to study his, to scan for judgment. There was