Picture Us In The Light(35)
“Oh, you know,” she said finally. She smiled; I don’t think I realized it at the time, but there are people who always smile when they’re upset, and she was one. She pitched her voice in an imitation I knew was supposed to be her parents. “You don’t win. Too lazy. Never best in anything. Don’t waste time trying if you don’t win. College don’t want to read about number two.”
“That’s messed up.”
“Well.” That smile again. “It’s not a big deal either way. I probably won’t win, anyway. Everyone loves Harry, right?”
It felt like a loaded thing to say, and I think she meant it that way. I could feel my face turning red and I mumbled something about the float, how I’d get ideas and draw up plans, and then I pretended to have to check my phone so she’d take off. Which, I mean—she was probably teasing. How hard would it have been for me to just laugh it off, or say the truth, which was that everyone says stupid shit when they’re freshmen and it’s not something you’re supposed to carry with you?
The election was a week later—speeches in the gym while all of us were cramped in on the bleachers, Mr. Hartwell getting on the mic to remind us this was supposed to be about people whose achievements we admired and trusted and not just a popularity contest (one of the white stoner sophomore guys sitting near the front booed, which made everyone laugh). Harry’s was about the importance of inclusivity and kindness and diversity and all the other things he’s been saying our whole lives (in other words, practice for if he ever runs for political office someday). Sandra’s was about how whatever else we did that year, we should make sure we also did things to just relax and live in the moment.
Mr. Davidston, who taught my Honors History class, taught the Leadership class too and was giving extra credit for the first five people to sign up to help tally the votes, so I signed up. I didn’t know Regina had, too, until I walked into the teachers’ lounge and she was there.
“At least your civil war’s almost over, right?” I said. And Regina said—I’ve never forgotten this—“I’ve been getting stomachaches thinking about how one of them’s going to lose.” Then she looked around the room. “Can you keep a secret?”
“Yes.”
“I think I might break up with him.”
“You’re what?” I grabbed her sleeve. “When?”
“I don’t know. My parents would kill me if they found out I had a boyfriend. And I always feel weird about it at church. But mostly—I’ve just been thinking about it. For kind of a while.”
Then Mr. Davidston got there and I was spared having to come up with the right thing to say. We all took an honor pledge not to share numbers with anyone outside the room and split the ballots into five piles to tally. I thought about how Harry would take it if he lost, and I thought about how all year so far he’d been letting me cheat off him in Advanced Geometry because otherwise I’d be tanking. I thought about him having no idea right now that Regina was thinking about dumping him. And I thought—it physically hurt to think—about how hopeful he was. The force of someone else’s hope can be completely crushing.
It was much closer than I would’ve expected. Leaving the room I felt kind of sick, and I told Regina my mom wanted me to go home and I hurried off before she had a chance to say goodbye. We weren’t supposed to tell anyone results, but I texted Harry to tell him—Davidston was going to call all the people who’d run, but I wanted to be the first. I waited until I was home and then I closed the door and waited until I heard my mom go out into her garden, which was stupid, because it was just a text, but I was nervous. His phone did that ellipses thing that meant he was typing, then it stopped, then he typed again, then stopped, like he couldn’t figure out what to say. Finally he wrote back, Fuck I was nervous. Just been sitting here trying to calm down. Thanks for telling me, buddy.
In the morning they made the announcement. I told myself not to look at Sandra, but then I did, and I saw her eyes fill with tears, and I saw how long it took her to wrest her expression into something presentable in public. She clapped for Harry along with everybody else.
He was so happy; I caught him sneaking off at lunch to call his dad to tell him, his hand cupped over the phone like he didn’t want anyone to hear. I avoided Sandra, and I avoided Regina a few days, too. And I waited for her to break up with him, and I thought about warning him, and in truth the only reason I didn’t was that I never knew how to bring it up. And then, of course, Regina never did.
I have never told anyone this. I wanted to at the time—I wanted to immediately, mostly because I felt like garbage—but who was I going to tell? The truth is, though, Harry was supposed to lose. I lied tallying up my votes.
I still can’t say exactly why I did it. I knew it was wrong. And deep down I think I only even partly wanted him to win; watching him smile modestly at everyone the next day I was filled with this rush of something that definitely wasn’t happiness. Maybe I wanted to give him something and that was the best I had. Or maybe I wanted to let Harry have something I might’ve, maybe, wanted for myself—not the election itself, which I didn’t care about, but just the idea that you would want something or want some version of yourself and you would get it. Maybe I wanted to hang on to the belief that the world worked that way for as long as I could.