But that wasn’t entirely true. And besides, he’d enjoy knowing all the trauma he’d caused me.

I seriously thought about not saying anything at all and just taking a marker to his posters. I wanted to go up to every single RICK ROCKS poster and pen the word EATS in the middle.

I couldn’t do it, though. I didn’t want to destroy posters again.

I really wished I could take the high ground on the matter. I wanted to walk up to Rick with an aloof stare and say, “I would never stoop to your level.”

But I already had. I wished so badly I could go back in time, back to before I ripped down Amy’s posters, so I could stop myself. Then I’d feel justified marching Rick and his flyer into the office and nailing both of them to the principal’s desk. But how could I do that when I hadn’t used good campaigning tactics, either?

So I didn’t say anything to the principal, and I didn’t know what to say to Rick. And then during fifth period while I ran an errand for my biology teacher, I nearly tripped over Rick on the stairs. He sat sprawled on the landing, head tilted back, eyes half open, listening to his ipod.

He was probably cutting class. It figured. I was doing everything I could to try and get into a good college, and Rick was skipping school. Had he ever, for even one moment, thought of his future?

And what would his future be?

As soon as this thought occurred to me, I felt sorry for him, and it was probably that one instant of sympathy that kept me from kicking him as I walked by. Inste ad, I stood in front of him, hands on my hips, and waited for him to notice me.

He pulled one of the headphones out of his ear. “Yeah?”

I still didn’t know what to say to him. I stood there simultaneously reliving picking up those flyers from the parking lot and remembering every lesson on forgiveness I’d ever had.

I didn’t move. “Hey.”

A snarl grew on his face, and he paused his music. “You want something, Taylor?”

His snarl brought my anger back. “Yeah, I do.” I wanted him to tell me he was sorry.

I wanted him to borrow a conscience for two minutes, just so he could understand what he’d done. I also wanted to be able to think of the perfect thing to say to him to show him how I felt.

But that was impossible. I wasn’t even sure how I felt. And with so many emotions running through me, I was afraid if I said anything, I’d say everything and never stop.

I’d spit out: Speaking of Rick’s rocks, which one did you just crawl out from underneath?

And if you’re going to stick sharp objects through your head, do us all a favor and aim for a lobotomy next time.

And I notice you didn’t report your test scores anywhere on that flyer. I suppose there’s a good reason for that.

But as I stood there I kept thinking, What is his future going to be? And I couldn’t say any of those things to him. I didn’t want to. I was completely and horribly reformed.

I dropped my hands from my hips and shrugged. “I just want to tell you good luck on your campaign.” Then I smirked. I couldn’t help myself. “And may the best candidate win.”

Which, of course, excluded Rick.

Okay, maybe I wasn’t completely reformed.

I turned and walked away from him, still smirking when I reached the bottom of the stairs.

For the next three days I spent all of my free time either campaigning or worrying about the election. Sometimes I imagined how it would feel when the principal looked me in the eye and said, “Congratulations, Samantha, you’re our new president.” Other times I worried that if it were Amy’s or Rick’s eyes the principal looked into, I’d do something to humiliate myself—like scream, or cry, or perhaps be struck dumb for several moments.

I also spent a lot of time doodling the initials LH in my notebook, but then I crossed them out before anyone could see them. I was almost afraid to think of how our date on Saturday would go. Logan would probably be obnoxious the whole time, or beg me for another chance with Veronica, or do something equally terrible. Then I’d have to throw my lobster at him, and the whole night would be ruined.

Was it too much to ask for just one nice evening with Logan?

On Friday morning before the vote, everyone assembled in the gym, and we gave our election speeches. You would have thought that after years of jumping around in a short skirt in front of the entire school that nothing would frighten me, but as I stood to give my talk I felt as though my knees had deserted me.

I’d actually written four different speeches and decided I didn’t like any of them. I finally chose a short and direct one. I told the student body I knew I could do the job, and if elected, I would do my best to represent them. It didn’t have the hype I’d put in the earlier four versions, but somehow I just couldn’t do hype. I couldn’t promote myself on hoopla. If people voted for me, I wanted it to be because they believed in me.

Rick gave a talk that was half stand-up comedy and half social commentary. He received a lot of hoots throughout.

Amy gave a rundown of every program the student body was in charge of and how she’d improve each one. She brought in charts to illustrate her points. Everyone clapped politely for her, as they had for all of us, and when the speeches were over, I still wasn’t sure which of us had the lead.

The principal spoke to us for a few minutes about the blessings and responsi bilities of living in a democratic society and then dismissed us to our classes so we could vote. During fifth period all the candidates were called down to the front office so they could tell us the election results before they announced them on the PA system.

When I walked in the front office, I noticed Rick, Amy, and most of the other candidates standing around in front of the attendance desk, fidgeting and looking as uncomfortable as I felt. A few people talked quietly to one another; but most of us j ust stared around the room, fingering our books while we waited for the remaining people to show up.

When they did, the principal escorted us to her office.

We listened silently as she talked about how we should all be proud of ourselves for the job we’d done, and so on and so on. Then she unfolded a piece of paper and read the results. First she told us who the new secretary, treasurer, and vice president were. Then without even pausing, she said, “And the president will be Amy Stock.”

On the positive side, I didn’t cry or scream, or even become mute. I felt myself turn, almost automatically, to Amy and say, “Congratulations. I know you’ll do a great job.”

“Yeah, congratulations,” Rick mumbled.

Amy looked back and forth between us, and then to the principal. “I can’t believe I won. I just can’t believe it.”

That made three of us.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be happy for her, I was just too busy being devastated to muster much enthusiasm. I wanted to go home and lock myself in my room for a long time.

“You all did a fine job with your speeches and your campaigns,” the principal told us.

“I hope you learned something valuable from the process and will try again sometime.”

Oh, yeah. I’d just spent four weeks of my life trying to convince people to like me, all so I could come into this office and have my hopes and dreams shattered. I was not exactly eager to repeat the process. I smiled at the principal anyway. “Thanks. Maybe I will.”

It was all I could do to make it through the rest of what was left of the school day. I mean, how many times should a person have to say, “It’s okay. I know Amy will be a great president,” when I really wanted to say, “Did you vote for her and not me?”

I suppose it’s a good thing I didn’t know who came in second place. It would have killed me to know I lost to Rick too. At least this way I could imagine it had been very close between Amy and me and that only three people voted for Rick.