you protein powder on an infomercial.
“Together Rhiannon and I will do amazing things.” I look up at Rhiannon again, tempted to add in a few of those things I suggested to her, but she gives me a stern shake of the head.
Whatever.
As my eyes drift back down to the card, I catch sight of a figure leaning against the doorway of the gym.
It’s Owen.
Our eyes lock, and with just the subtlest tilt of his head, and the faintest curve of my lips, the message is conveyed.
All is forgiven.
By both of us.
I stand up straighter, slide the cards back into my pocket, and speak clearly into the microphone. “Thank you for your attention and please vote Marshall/Sparks for your junior class president and vice president.”
Lackluster applause breaks out in the crowd. I find Tristan again and he gives me a thumbs-up.
I did it!
I finally got through that dreaded speech, with my dignity—and my normal lip size—intact.
As I step away from the mic, I glance back to the doorway, ready to flash Owen a triumphant grin, but he’s gone.
Stand By Your Man
3:15 p.m.
When the final bell of the day rings, I leap out of my chair like an Olympic sprinter off the starting block.
Victory is mine!
I survived the school day!
No, not only survived … rocked. Killed. Pulverized.
In my mind, I’m running down the hallway in slow motion, high-fiving all the people on the sidelines as they clap and cheer me on and Chariots of Fire plays in the background.
Obviously, in reality, I don’t do that.
But I do notice there’s much more of a strut in my step than usual. After the election speeches, the day only got better. I didn’t ditch school to get Tristan’s band the gig. I went straight from my counseling appointment (where Mr. Goodman gave me yet another pamphlet) to English class. I turned in my extra-credit English paper, solidifying my A for the quarter.
I don’t need to score Tristan a gig to convince him not to break up with me. I just have to be my beautiful, calm, and mysterious self. Which is also why I don’t seek Tristan out at his locker after class. I hang out at mine waiting for him to come to me. He’s bound to come eventually, right?
And then right on cue, almost like I summoned him from the heavens, he’s there. He taps me on the shoulder while I’m stowing my books and bag in my locker.
I spin around and Tristan plants a delicate kiss on my lips. “Nice speech today. You were great up there.”
“Thanks,” I say.
“Are you heading to the locker room for softball tryouts?”
“Yeah.”
“Cool. I’ll walk you there.”
Wow. These commandments really do work. I’m going to have to write a very passionate fan letter to Dr. Louise Levine expressing my undying gratitude to her and her book.
I’m about to close my locker door when I hear a high-pitched, grating voice behind us.
“Hey, Tristan.”
I flinch at the sound, knowing full well who will be standing there when I turn around.
“Hey, Daphne,” Tristan says, stiffening slightly as he glances between the two of us. At first I don’t know why he’s acting so strange, and then suddenly it hits me. He thinks I’m going to flip out again. Like I did Sunday night, which for him was last night. That fight is still totally fresh in his mind.
Well, that just goes to show how much he knows me. This is my moment to prove to him that Sunday night was a fluke. An alternate, hangry version of Ellison Sparks. I am the real version. The cool, collected, my-boyfriend-can-talk-to-cheerleaders-as-much-as-he-wants-and-it-won’t-affect-me-in-the-slightest version.
I paint on a breezy smile. “Hey, Daphne! How was the bake sale today? Did you guys make a lot of money?”
See. Easy, breezy, Creature-of-Mystery Ellie.
Daphne gives me a look that says, “Consider yourself lucky I even tolerate you.”
I fight an urge to roll my eyes.
“So, Tristan,” she says, turning back to my boyfriend. “I have some excellent news.”
Tristan once again casts a glance at me and I smile and turn back to my locker, pretending to be totally absorbed in my magnetic pen holder.
Magnets are pretty amazing, aren’t they? I mean, they just stick to metal naturally! It’s mind-blowing!
I pull the pen holder from the door and stick it back. Then do it again.
Fascinating!
“I found out that the band playing at the carnival tonight dropped out and they have an open slot. So I pulled some strings and I got Whack-a-Mole the gig!”
The pen holder slips from my grasp and crashes