I'm seated in the auditorium, it's bright lights adding to my nerves. My hands are shaking and my leg is bouncing up and down as I go over my points for the hundredth time this hour. I count off my main points on my fingers, making sure I have the top five memorized. Riley is sitting in the front row with the rest of my campaign team, making sure everything is prepared for the debate. He pulls a fresh legal pad from his backpack and clicks a pen, ready to take notes on all the things we could later use for attack ads.

I try to calm down, but every time I look out at the audience from my seat on the stage, I see a sea of judgmental faces that are just waiting for me to screw up. My leg bounces faster, my hands shake more violently and I feel my heartbeat speed up. I screw my eyes shut and will myself to just be still, but it doesn't work. I feel someone place their hands on top of mine. My eyes open immediately and I find Trip standing in front of me with a soft smile.

"You really need to calm down, May." He says as he sits down, my hands still in his. "You'll give yourself a heart attack." He rubs them in an attempt to comfort me, but that just increases my anxiety.

"Easy for you to say; your entire reputation isn't on the line every time you step on this stage." I mutter, removing my hands from his.

"May, quit acting like this is the end of the world; it's an election. The day after the votes are in, you'll still be here, you'll still be breathing; the only thing that will change is how much work you'll have to put into every school day."

"You don't get this, Trip, if I don't win, I'm done. My parents will disown me; every single one of my family members as far back as this school's first year have been student body president. If I don't carry on that tradition, I might as well not be a Parker anymore." I say, the confession spilling out before my mind has time to think it through.

"That's cold." Trip replies as if he doesn't know what he's supposed to say.

"Just forget it." I say, exhaling deeply. "We have a debate to focus on."

"And here I thought you were in this election for the handsome rival." Trip chuckles, easing the tension.

"Well, I don't have any of those, so I guess I'm not." I smirk, shoving his shoulder a little.

"Aw, that hurt my fragile, misogynist ego." Trip grins, leaning back in his chair.

"Oh, boy, if that hurt, you'll never survive what I have prepared to say in this debate."

"I can't wait." Trip winks as the principal calls the assembly to attention. She introduces the top ten candidates and allows each of us to come to our designated podiums. Mine is stationed in between Trip and a junior, right in the middle of the stage. The principal lines up the students who have the honor of asking questions at the debate at a table right in front of the stage.

At Mount Forrest Academy, the debates are run by the students with little adult supervision. The chosen students from each social group decide on a few questions to ask and the candidates must answer to the best of their abilities in under two minutes. Each candidate is awarded one rebuttal per question and after the person has asked their question or questions, the principal moves on to the next social group.

Today, the first representative is from the populars group. I feel my skin crawl as she looks at Trip, batting her lashes. Talk about unbiased. She smooths out the note card in front of her as the principal hands her a microphone. The girl clears her throat and looks at Trip as if the rest of us aren't even on the stage. I roll my eyes as her high-pitched voice rings in my ears.

"This question is for Trip," She begins with a giggle. Of course it is. "Trip, what are you going to do to improve the school when you're elected?" The girl giggles as she forces the question out. Trip looks uncomfortable as if he's never really thought about the answer to that question. This should be good.

"I think that goes back to the core of my campaign: less restriction. I want people to be able to do what they want without hindrance." Wow, you are literally every teachers' worst nightmare.

"May, the same question to you." The girl turns, her vapid smile fading since Trip is no longer in front of her.

"What my opponent fails to realize is that rules aren't the problem. A society cannot function without some sort of order. The problem is who the rules apply to in this school. The rules theoretically apply to everyone, but in practice, those who suffer under the rules aren't the ones breaking them. Every day at school, I see people who skip school and verbally abuse others and they get off clean because they're wearing a varsity jacket or they're on the cheerleading squad. Then there's people who step one toe out of line and get detention because the teachers think that being non-sports oriented and trouble-making are interchangeable." This garners applause from the arts section of the audience who often feel put down because teachers don't believe what they do is worthwhile. "If you elect me, I'm going to make this school more accountable, more reliable and more inclusive."

The girl who asked the question looks pissed off. I smile down at her as the principal leads her away from the table. I look over and see Trip giving me an amused grin. This is how the game is played, my friend. The next person who steps up is from the arts group at the school. She smiles at me and waves as she gets her questions in order. I straighten my blazer and give Trip a mischievous look as I turn back to face her. "I would like to ask each candidate their stance on the importance of the arts. Our school used to have a rich history in art, but in recent years, they arts have been brushed aside by intellect and sports. As potential leaders of the school, how will you improve the position of the arts?" She points at a freshman who looks like he's about to throw up.

The minutes drag on as people continue to give their stance on the arts. I internally groan with each response; they all say the same things and offer no solutions, just the same empty remarks to fill up their time. Soon enough it's my turn and I unbutton the button of my blazer like my dad always did; he said it made him seem more relatable, more common. I rest my elbows on the podium and speak clearly into the microphone.

"From the beginning, I've said there needs to be more of a focus on the arts. The arts are what make a lasting impression on people. They can convince people to feel something in a way no other discipline can. Pieces of arts represent memories; they're the windows to the soul. As a firm believer in the arts, I feel that the school needs to place more funding in that area than on another new field or another scoreboard. We need to invest in the things that will make the school beautiful and a place worthy of the legacy its students create. As your student body president, I will reinstate the arts societies and designate a large portion of the school's fundraising money to an arts program. I will create a safe space where the arts can flourish." People applaud as the girl who asked the question moves on to Trip. He looks at me and mouths the words 'game on' before he begins talking. Damn straight the game is on, Trip McCan.

~~~~~~

It's Monday and I'm back in campaign headquarters, much like every other day since the start of school. After the debate on Friday, Riley decided that I needed to adjust my stance to help garner more support from the popular kids. I argued that it wasn't an honest campaign if I was tailoring my campaign to get votes, but I knew even that sounded hypocritical; there was nothing about my campaign that was honest. I spent all weekend with Riley, popping caffeine pills and adjusting my stance on various issues, so the popular kids see me as relatable.

I toss my bag on one of the tables and walk towards the desk in front of my Trip board. I see a bouquet of roses with a card sticking up from the vase. I tilt my head and give Riley a look; he shrugs, his look indicating that he knows as much as I do. I pick up and the card, a smile spreading across my lips as I read it. It says: 'for political gain'. I fold it up and run my fingers over the soft red petals. Maybe this game will be more fun than I expected. I turn around and find Riley behind me with a thoughtful expression, his eyes gleaming as they meet mine.

"I may actually be a genius." He says as he sits down in front of his laptop again.

"What do you have planned?" I dare to ask, his happiness making me suspicious.

"What's your dad's number one rule in campaigning?" Riley says, prompting me to answer.

"Only hustle the rich?" I say, more as a joke than a serious answer.

"No..."

"Family is for political gain only?"

"Getting warmer; you have one more chance..." Riley replies, waiting expectantly for my answer.

"Um..." My voice trails off, my eyes begging him to just tell me.

"Don't let your emotions get in the way." Riley says as if it should've been obvious.

"What does this mean for my campaign?"

"Your dad says to not let emotions get in the way because it'll distract you from your goals."

"True." I say, waiting for him to finish.

"What if you turn that around and distract your rival?" Riley grins smugly as if he's come up with the most amazing idea to ever grace the face of the Earth.

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"You have to date Trip."

"I don't have to do anything." I say, my stomach knotting up uncomfortably.

"Think about it; you date Trip, he falls for you and you break his heart. It's perfect; he'll be so preoccupied with you that he'll forget all about the election."

"Don't you think he'll see through that plan?" I ask, trying to steer the conversation away from dating Trip.

"May, he's got it bad; he won't see anything."

"He doesn't have it bad; he has fifty bucks to win." I mutter bitterly, recalling the bet I overheard him make with his friends.

"Don't you want the satisfaction of breaking his heart?"

"There's nothing to break. Riley, he only wants to get with me; he doesn't want me."

"May, if you date him, not only will you get the satisfaction of breaking his heart, but it'll make you look cooperative and it'll make you more attractive to the popular group." Riley explains, his eyes focused on me.

"Riley, I understand where you're coming from, but I don't want to sink to this level. I don't want to change my standards because I'm going through a rough voting patch."

"Do you want to win?" Riley asks, his tone serious.

"Well, I wouldn't go that far..."

"Do you want to win?" He asks again.

"Only for my parent's sake." I sigh, conceding against my better judgement. "Only for their reputation."

"You want the populars? You have to date their ring leader."

"I'm going to regret this." I screw my eyes shut, pretending I'm not about to agree to this plan.

"Calm down," Riley pats my shoulder as the bell rings, sending us all off to class.

~~~~~

It's the end of the day and I'm still dreading Riley's plan that I've sadly become a part of. I pull a file out of my bag and flip through the pages, making sure I have everything written down. My eyes still trained on the pages, I turn the doorknob of my campaign headquarters and walk in. I look up and the file drops from my hands, my jaw following it straight to the ground. My eyes widen as I walk around the remnants of the brain of my operation. The computers are unplugged, the papers of the files are tossed around the room and the Trip board is covered in black spray paint. I catch sight of Riley in the corner of the room, picking up papers from the ground. He shakes his head as he catches my eye and continues to clean up the files.

"It's going to take days to clean this up and have the campaign running again." Riley explains, his eyes travelling over to the Trip board. "And we'll never get that cleaned up." My blood boils as I look around the room, new vandalisms catching my eye with each lap around the room. I hear a distinct laugh coming through the open door and I feel my face turning red. How dare he stand there and act like he didn't do this. I drop my bag and run out of the room, my eyes scanning the crowd for Trip. He's standing halfway down the hallway, laughing with his friends. I stare daggers at him as I run down the hallway. I surprise him by pinning him to the lockers. His friends chuckle as they give us some space.

"Why the hell did you do it?" I snarl, my hands holding onto his light blue school shirt.

"Do what?" he asks innocently, but his eyes tell another story.

"I know it was you." I reply, releasing him.

"I'm not saying it was, but I am immensely entertained." Trip grins as he smooths out his shirt.

"You're awful." I roll my eyes, my hand on my hip.

"You're obsessed." He fires back, his eyes amused.

"You're not even taking this seriously."

"You need to calm down, babe." He says, rubbing my shoulder.

"You need to watch your back." I say with disgust as I brush his hand off my shoulder.

"And you need to go out with me."

"Not in this lifetime."

"How 'bout this; I'll clean up stress central and in return, you'll go out with me."

"Only if it's spotless." I say, remembering my deal with Riley.

"Consider it done." He smirks as I walk back down the hallway, never once looking back.

~~~~~

I come into school the next day, still worrying about the state of my campaign headquarters. I take an immediate left down the hallway and into the journalism room. I find the door closed, a screen over the glass pane in the door that's blocking my view of what awaits me when I open it. I turn the knob, my hands shaking with anticipation. I close my eyes as I walk a little way into the room. When I open my eyes, all the anxiety melts away as I find my campaign headquarters in almost perfect condition. All the files are back in their drawer, all the computers are plugged in and cleaned and all the news sources are stacked on the center table. I walk over to the curtain that blocks the Trip board from view. I move the curtain and find the board still covered in black paint, but the notes on Trip have been replaced with facts about him and goofy pictures that look like they came from a drunk Snapchat story.

"So, Saturday?" I turn around and find Trip standing in the doorway with a small smile.

"Are you sure you don't have one of your bribe dates on Saturday?" I smirk, tilting my head.

"I'll make a few changes for you." He winks, taking my response as his excuse to come farther into the room.

"How romantic." I roll my eyes, a smile playing on my lips.

"I don't think I'll be going on those dates."

"What?" I say with mock surprise. "The great Trip McCan has lied to all his desperate female constituents? Well, it wouldn't be the first time."

"That was cruel, May Parker." He says, his eyes glowing with amusement. Not as cruel as the bet you made. "I probably deserve it, though." You damn well do, my friend.

"I'll see you on Saturday." I say as I grab my bag from the table.

"Bye, May." He waves as I walk out of the campaign headquarters.

~~~~~

I look in my closet on Saturday; I only have fifteen minutes until Trip comes and the only things I can find in my closet make me look like a thirty-year-old professional going to a meeting with HR. I've tried on every outfit I own and none of them seem to fit. In truth, I've never really been on a date for my own ends, as opposed to my parents' political ends. The only dates I've been on have been to make my parents look better; it's a reputation thing. I don't know how to act on one, let alone dress for one.

Last night, I thought for a split second about asking my mom for help, but then I remembered that I was supposed to be dating Jack Anderson and making my parents look like cooperative leaders. I sigh and put on a skirt and shirt combo I'd worn to some rally for my parents a few weeks ago. It's a little plain, but it'll do its purpose. I pull my hair into a ponytail and grab my purse as I head towards the front door.

I pass my dad's office and see my parents in deep discussion with Mr. Edwards. My mom catches sight of me trying to sneak towards the door. She coughs to bring me to attention and I turn around guiltily. I put my hands behind my back and dare to look up at her. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I'm doing campaign stuff." I mumble, exhaling deeply. "You're not the only one trying to win an election."

My mom looks a little taken aback by my comment. "Well then, I'll see you tonight, I guess." I did not expect it to be that easy. I nod and walk out the front door to sit on the porch and wait for Trip. He pulls up right on time and gives me a look before checking his watch. After realizing he isn't late, he raises an eyebrow in confusion. He gets out of the car and walks up to me, holding out his hand.

"Am I late?" He asks as he helps me up.

"No, you just don't need to meet my parents, especially if you ever want to be able to leave."

"So, they're the talking type?" He chuckles, leading me back to his car and opening the door for me.

"If you consider a thorough background check and a polygraph test talking then yes, they're talkers." I smirk as I slip into the front seat.

"Ah, well I'm glad we could avoid that." Trip replies as he sits down in the front seat, slipping on a pair of sunglasses.

"You and me both." I smile as he pulls out of my driveway and onto the main road towards Georgetown. I take out my phone and fire a quick text to Riley. Plan in motion.