(Im) Perfectly Happy - Sharina Harris Page 0,77

none, and in that moment, I decided to reveal the core of my heated resentment. “I have a right to be angry, too. I won’t pretend that I’m not hurt or that I’m miraculously healed. I have a right to process my feelings.”

The pressure from his fingers deepened slightly. His curved lips flattened into a thin strip. “No one out there will give a damn about your feelings. The ones who do are here for a show.” He released my shoulders. “Key stakeholders want to know three main things.” He raised his fingers to tick off the points. “They want to know who you are, what you stand for, and what you’ll accomplish. Stick to the facts, be yourself, and you’ll win.”

“I hear you,” I said.

“Good.” He relaxed his tense stance and gave me a rare smile. “Now go kick his ass.”

I gave him a winning smile and left the green room. I spotted Raina and Kara in the center of the crowd and gave them a quick wave. Kara waved back and Raina gave me a thumbs-up. My parents sat toward the back of the room, both of them wearing wide and proud smiles.

Keith was chatting it up with the moderator. From the goofy-ass grin on his face, I could tell he was laying on the charm. Martha was a middle-aged white woman with three kids, and by the looks of it, she wasn’t swayed by his all-teeth-and-no-soul smile. After a few minutes, we got started.

“Ms. Njeri. As the contender, you’ll go first. What is your vision for the TrailLine?”

I gave Martha a wide and genuine smile. I was passionate and proud that the city had rejuvenated and leveraged 1,000-plus acres of green space.

“I love the direction the TrailLine is going. It’s fantastic because our residents and tourists are enjoying the trails. But we need to make a major push on the transit elements, which means connecting the streetcar to the TrailLine. Specifically, we need to incorporate the changes that were floated up from the Georgia Department of Transportation and then begin the rollout of the next phases to expand the route along the full length of the line. We also need to pay close attention to other cities, like Portland, that have a successful model for streetcars.” I offered a few more ideas and facts, getting a couple of head nods and a quick grin from Chris.

Keith basically spouted off the same message with a story about his experience at the TrailLine that was supposed to be funny but fell flat. You could hear a pin drop outside of Keith’s droning voice. I hated his voice, hated the way he lied to his constituents about his plans. Hell, half the things he’d proposed had been my idea. And that was the crux of my problem: We basically had the same plan because I had created the strategy.

We received a few more questions about taxes and public safety, and an hour into the debate, I knew I’d edged him out by giving genuine responses and a straightforward way to solve issues within the district. There were few claps and lots of silence after Keith’s responses. I was kickin’ ass and takin’ names; I felt damn good going the Michelle Obama route. I snuck a glance at Chris, who smiled at me. Not just a smile. A dangerous one—hot, potent, daring. A smile that conveyed that if there weren’t seventy-something people in the building, a camera crew, Keith, and a moderator, he’d give me much more than a smile.

“Okay, this is the last question for our candidates. Mr. Davenport. What is your stance on police shootings as they relate to black lives?”

I perked up and attempted to hide a smile. Keith and I hadn’t discussed this subject. After the recent shooting of a young black man within the district, racial profiling had skyrocketed into a hot topic. I reclined in my seat and, for the first time, willingly looked at my opponent.

Keith cleared his throat and steepled his hands. “As a black male, the shooting of Devon Jordan in my district particularly hit home for me.”

Right. I mentally rolled my eyes. Keith grew up in a predominantly white neighborhood and could count his black friends on one hand—his pinkie and his thumb. Not that his neighborhood had any bearing on race relations, but the man had no desire to connect with his community.

“I’ve had many conversations with citizens and leaders of this fine city. As much as I’d love to

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