as I’m in the hallway, I pull a black pen from my bag, hold the pass up against the wall, and with two quick pen strokes, expertly turn the one into a four.
There. Now I have until 2:40 to get my butt down to the fairgrounds, convince that greasy carnival manager to give my boyfriend the stage gig, and get back here before I’m thrown in detention.
That’s a little less than thirty minutes. Not ideal, but not impossible either.
I dart out the back door and into the student parking lot, smiling to myself the whole way.
Apparently this outfit is not only making me a better girlfriend, but also a better delinquent.
That’s called progress, people.
I Get Around
2:39 p.m.
I make it back just under the wire. After parking the car, I grab my bag and sprint for the building. The conversation with the carnival manager was short and sweet and now the stage belongs to Whack-a-Mole.
I’m only a few paces from my English classroom when the massive shadow of Principal Yates falls over me and I slow to a stop.
“Ms. Sparks.” She pronounces my name like she’s a warden in a prison movie.
I turn. “Ms. Yates.” I try to replicate her tone. She doesn’t look amused by that.
“I do hope you have a pass.”
I give her a big toothy grin. “But of course. Who do you take me for? Some kind of rabble-rouser?”
Not even so much as a lip twitch.
Tough crowd.
I produce the pink slip from my pocket and hand it over. “I was just coming from the counseling office. Mr. Goodman is meeting with all the juniors. Gotta start thinking about those colleges. Ticktock ticktock!”
Yates slides her reading glasses onto her nose and glares at me over the rims. She studies the pass for a lot longer than necessary and I start to get antsy. Is she comparing the pen strokes? Will she determine that the four is a fake? I half expect her to hold it up to the light like she’s checking a counterfeit hundred-dollar bill.
My heart leaps into my throat. I can’t go to detention again. I can’t suffer through that pit of despair and risk missing softball tryouts.
Principal Yates pushes her glasses back onto her head and hands the pass back. I breathe out a sigh and start for my classroom.
“Interesting speech today,” she says from behind me.
Apparently we’re not finished here.
I slowly turn back around. “Thanks!”
“If you could even call it that.”
I shrug. “A politician’s gotta do what a politician’s gotta do.”
She makes a grunting sound. “Be careful, Ms. Sparks. Telling people what they want to hear is not the same thing as winning.”
Um, okaaay. What’s up, random cryptic pep talk from the principal?
“You’re a good kid, Ellie. I’d hate to see you go down a bad road.”
I force out a smile. “Well, I appreciate that.”
She nods and takes off around the corner. I almost want to snort aloud. Bad road? Just shows how much she knows. Right now, my road has never looked better.
My Boyfriend’s Back
3:22 p.m.
“And, in a landslide victory, claiming a whopping 82 percent of the vote, the junior class president and vice president are Rhiannon Marshall and Ellison Sparks!”
I stop walking. I’m halfway to my locker after seventh period but my feet just kind of congeal to the spot. People are hurrying past, bumping into me, tripping to get around me.
We won? We actually won?
After three days of losing, I kind of started to think that winning an election with Rhiannon Marshall as your running mate was impossible.
But today we did it!
“Nice going, Sparks!” a voice says, and I turn around to see some jock in a letterman jacket extending his fist toward me. “Awesome speech!”
Random jocks are fist-bumping me?
I tentatively lift my fist and tap it against his. He nods like we do this every day. “Yeah!” he says.
“Yeah,” I echo with significantly less enthusiasm.
What is going on here?
“Go, Ellison!” I hear someone else say. I turn around and a girl I’ve never spoken to in my life draws me in for a hug. “You killed it today. I knew you could do it!”
“Um, who are you?” I say into her shoulder.
She laughs and pulls away, tweaking my nose. “You’re hilarious!”
This is too weird.
Is this what it feels like to be popular? Everywhere you go people acting like you’re best friends?
My feet finally unfreeze and I stumble down the hall toward my locker. It takes forever to get there. Everyone in the world suddenly feels the need to say hi to