The Initial Insult - Mindy McGinnis Page 0,42

you know they won’t win against you.”

“Oh my God,” David says. “You’re cockblocking class elections.”

I flip my spoon over again, watching fat and cheese roll off it in an oily stream. I don’t want to be secretary. I don’t want to plan prom. And I don’t want to be sitting here with David and Gretchen. I don’t want to think anymore.

I want to go home. I want to go to bed.

“Meeting’s at one, auditorium.” Gretchen pats my arm. “It’s mandatory.”

Class meetings are mandatory for the whole school; I know that.

But I don’t think that’s what Gretchen means.

Everyone files into the auditorium, eyes sliding across each other as we assess after the summer break. We’ve been in school a week, but there are still some surprises: the cute girl who suddenly became hot; the hot guy who doesn’t have the same shine to him anymore; the pasty person who apparently went outside for the first time and looks better for it.

I feel eyes on me, too—a lot. I know my exterior looks amazing. No one needs to know about the rest.

Mrs. Febrezio is our class adviser, and when she goes up to the podium everybody gets quiet more quickly than they would for anyone else. She writes more reference letters for colleges than anyone in the district, and nobody wants to burn bridges.

“All right.” She clears her throat. “You all know the drill. I’ll open nominations for the offices, and we’ll vote by show of hands. President?”

She surveys the crowd, and Maddie stands up. “I nominate Gretchen Astor.”

“I second,” Brynn pipes up. Nobody even attempts to run against her, and the inevitable wave of hands go into the air, sealing the deal.

“Vice?” Febrezio calls, but Gretchen is on her feet before she’s finished with even that one syllable.

“I nominate Brynn Whitaker.”

“Second,” Hugh yells, loudly enough that there are giggles. The pattern repeats itself, with no one wanting to face off against the volleyball star . . . or maybe they just don’t want to be the person who challenges the only Black girl and look like an asshole. Or . . . wait. Brynn would win anyway. Am I being racist? While my Oxy-riddled brain tries to puzzle that out, Brynn wins and we move on to treasurer.

“I nominate Maddie Anho,” Brynn says, but Lisa Johnson is right behind her, and nominates Meg Cofflero. Beside me, Gretchen tenses. Meg then nominates Lisa, and it becomes clear that they are trying to split the vote just enough that Maddie won’t slide into the spot so easily. People are looking up from their phones now, aware that the room just got tense.

Febrezio calls for a vote, and it’s actually close. Maddie wins, but it’s not the landslide Gretchen was looking for. Beside me, she’s texting furiously, promising people free prom tickets and open-campus lunch for upperclassmen if they vote for her candidate for secretary.

“Secretary?” Febrezio calls, and Gretchen jumps up. I reach out to grab her arm at the last second and manage to snag her, pulling her back down.

“Ouch! The fuck?” she says to me, too angry to notice the people around us covering their smiles.

Lisa stands and nominates Meg.

“I don’t want to,” I tell Gretchen.

“What do you mean you don’t want to?” she repeats back to me, like I spoke another language or something.

Meg stands and nominates Lisa.

“I . . . just don’t want to,” I say, my tongue heavy in my mouth, my brain too slow to process words as the Oxy keeps its promise.

Gretchen’s eyes narrow at me, and suddenly Hugh is standing, taking everyone by surprise when he says, “I nominate Tress Montor.”

It gets super quiet then, and all eyes go to Tress. She’s sitting by herself in the back, her gaze bouncing off everyone else’s. She won’t hang her head, but she doesn’t know what to do with all that attention, either.

“What the fuck is he doing?” Gretchen asks me, like I’m supposed to know. “Great. Now we’re going to have a safari-themed prom, and that crocodile is going to eat somebody.”

“It’s an alligator,” I say, but Gretchen slips my grasp and jumps up right before Febrezio closes the nominations.

“I nominate Felicity Turnado,” she shouts, and some of the tension leaves the room. Everybody knows what Gretchen wants now. They know who they’re supposed to vote for.

I win.

Of course I do.

I always win.

Chapter 30

Tress

“I needed that,” I tell her, tapping the edge of the mortar knife against the pail.

“I didn’t want it,” Felicity says.

“That’s not the point.”

I