It's Saturday, which means one thing: the rally. I've spent all week mentally preparing myself for this moment and now that it's here, I want nothing more than to retreat to my room and hide from my public, the ones who expect too much of me, the ones putting me through this election hell. By the way I'm talking, many would think that I should just drop out, that all this complaining doesn't make up for the prize at stake; I'd tell them all they're dead wrong. If I had a choice, I would drop out. I'd hand the election to Trip, but at this point, there's more at stake than my family's reputation; I have my own competitive stake in this: shattering Trip's ego once and for all, wiping that insipid smirk off his face.

Riley goes down his checklist; finalizing the itinerary, the menu, and my speech while the rest of my team rushes around the house, making sure everything is in the proper place. My foyer, living room and back deck have been transformed into rally central. Purple balloons and streamers decorate the walls and a banner hangs near the front door; "May for Student Body President' painted in large, neat letters is easily legible from a considerable distance. I readjust my shirt and smooth my shorts as I stand anxiously by the door. I'm no good at these types of events, especially around people my own age. Usually, I have my parents talking for me, my only job being to smile and nod politely. Now, I have to do all the talking for myself and it's my entire reputation on the line.

The clock strikes noon and people begin to pull into the driveway. I shake a few hands and greet my constituents before another member of my team leads them to the backyard where the band from the arts group is setting up. After half an hour, my backyard is filled with all my usual voters and a few wannabes and scorned popular kids. The band fires up, igniting the crowd with raw excitement as the lead singer strums a chord on his electric guitar. He introduces the band as 'Everest Rest' and begins to play a cover of a well-known rock song, the audience chanting along. Riley and I watch from the deck, our gaze tracing the entire crowd in a matter of seconds.

"Genevieve is one of the scorned." Riley whispers, pointing out a redhead who's standing near the back of the crowd. "She and Trip were dating until the end of last year. He said he wasn't feeling it anymore and dumped her over a text before turning around and taking her best friend to prom."

"Damn, she must hate his guts." I say, a mischievous smile playing on my lips.

"Precisely," Riley replies with a wink. "Get her on your side and you may be able to flip the scorned and the wannabe vote in your favor."

"Oh, I have better ideas than just getting her to vote for me." I say thoughtfully, my eyes transfixed on the back of her bobbing head. "You know what's better than having your enemy's enemy voting for you?"

"What?" Riley asks, his amused gaze implying he knows what I'm going to say.

"Having your enemy's enemy run with you." I wink and begin to walk down the steps towards Genevieve.

"The enemies of your enemies are your friends." Riley calls back with a small laugh.

"Now you're catching on." I smirk and continue to make my way towards Genevieve. I exhale a deep breath and put on my best political smile; it's the one I've perfected throughout my parents' many campaigns. It's fake, but resembles a normal smile enough that its falseness goes almost always undetected. I tap Genevieve on her shoulder and she turns around, returning my smile. She steps off to the side and I follow her.

"It's a great party, May." Genevieve says, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.

"Thanks, it's just a little something I threw together, so I could get to know my voters."

"You really do take this seriously." Genevieve laughs softly as the band begins to play another song.

"So, if it doesn't sound rude, may I ask why you decided to attend?" I tilt my head, prompting her to answer.

"You want to know why I'm voting for you instead of the guy from my own social group." Genevieve replies knowingly. "You have real ideas. You're poised and well-spoken and the people voting for Trip are either doing it as a joke or hoping to get laid."

"Good to know." I say, turning my attention back to the band.

"And you've got another thing going for you," Genevieve says, causing me to turn back to her. "Trip's an insufferable ass-hat and it'll come back to bite him someday."

"Oh, I'll make sure it does." I say, high-fiving Genevieve. "Can I ask you something?" Genevieve nods, allowing me to continue. "You can take it or leave it, but I think you'd make a great addition to my campaign as my vice presidential candidate." I pause and gauge Genevieve''s reaction. She grins at me and holds out her hand.

"Anything to deflate Trip's enormous ego." She says, a wicked gleam in her eye.

"Just what I had in mind." I agree and shake her hand. "We're in business."

~~~~~

"May, we need to go." My mom calls up a few hours after my rally ended. I'm currently rushing around my room, looking for my sensible shoes and the necklace my dad gave me after he won his senate seat. It's a Saturday in September, which means another reelection rally for my dad and another headache-inducing night of small talk for me. I hope and pray I won't find my shoe, so that maybe my parents will bar me from going on the grounds that I'll ruin their reputation with my lack of formality in dress. Sadly, I find the ugly heel sticking out from under my bed. I slip it on with a sigh and clasp my necklace around my neck as I make my way downstairs.

My parents and Mr. Edwards are standing by the door, all dressed in their political finest, ready to shake hands and small talk their way back to Capital Hill. At events like these, I only go so my dad can play the family card, so he can pretend we're a perfect family for the public, even though we're the exact opposite behind closed doors. I'm there to make my parents look good and nothing else.

I'm ushered out to the car where our driver is waiting patiently for us to arrive. I slip into the back seat and pull out my phone, opening the group chat for my campaign team as the car pulls out of the driver. My parents turn on their soundtrack of smooth jazz and begin to discuss the plan for the evening as the driver pulls onto the highway. I tune them out and continue to text my team members. This is going to go down just like every other one before it; shake hands, say a few words, eat some crappy food and go home at some God forsaken hour.

The car pulls up in front of a country club in Gainesville, joining a long line of BMWs and Range Rovers that are pulling through the circular driveway. The lights in the large windows of the front of the country club illuminate the dark night side, highlighting the jewel-like socialites that are walking through the doors. I step down onto the cobblestone surface of the circular driveway and follow my parents inside. Applause frames our entrance, my parents waving to those of their constituents who were lucky enough to be invited. I do my part, waving to a few people before sitting down at the table the was set aside for my family and our closest friends. People fill in around me, occasionally asking me questions and nodding as I give my rehearsed answers. Chatter fills my ears, my eyes transfixed on my water glass as I wait for food to be served; socialites pass by me as if I'm not present, as if my parents need to be around for me to be of much interest. I pray the night will go by quickly, even though it's barely inching along right now.

~~~~~

It close to midnight and the Parker family is finally exiting the building to the cheers of socialites and the whispers of a sure-fire reelection. I yawn as we make our way outside where a surprise is awaiting us: protesters. A small group of teenagers are gathered in the circular driveway with crude poster board signs voicing their anger. My mom puts a hand over her heart in embarrassment, while my dad's eyes gloss over the crowd as he searches for the best method of escape. Mr. Edwards and my parents begin to walk down the steps, urging me to follow along. As we make our way down the circular driveway, I catch the eye of one of the protesters. Upon a second glance, I figure out that it's Trip staring back at me.

"So, this is what the golden boy does in his free time." I smirk as I pass him, slowing down slightly, so that I can carry on my conversation.

"So, this is where you learned how to play dirty." Trip fires back, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

"You could say that."

"I'm guessing this public life isn't all it's cracked up to be," Trip says, nodding towards my parents who are trying to maintain face while the protesters continue shouting at them.

"Well, aren't you observant."

"It's kind of obvious," Trip replies, scrunching up his nose.

"If it was all it's cracked up to be, you wouldn't be protesting right now." I sigh and go to follow my parents, not once looking back to gauge Trip's response.