And then we did win. We dated all of sophomore year, through the campaign and the next year, we were kind of famous around campus as the president and VP couple. It was glamorous. We were in love; in fact, compared to what I felt for larger-than-life, presidential Andy, Danny Erickson seemed like a stupid high school crush.
However. It was hard to ditch the lessons I’d learned from Danny and my father. Once the initial buzz wore off, I realized, with horror, that there was no better candidate for cheating than the überpopular Andy Elliot. Girls threw themselves at him constantly.
So I launched a campaign of my own—a stealth mission of phone checking, email monitoring and social media snooping. I made Andy call me multiple times whenever we spent the night apart. I became extremely uncomfortable with the idea of him going to all of his frat parties alone, so I tried to keep glued to his side.
I may have become obsessed with the idea that Andy would cheat. And the longer I went without evidence, the more convinced I became that I simply wasn’t looking hard enough. So I doubled my efforts, waiting each night until Andy fell asleep to sneak to his laptop and comb through all his files and accounts.
But the proof didn’t end up being digital. One day, I sat down to pee and screamed bloody murder. It felt like the lower half of my body was on fire. I practically ran to the health center and demanded a urine test. The results came back, and sure enough, it was chlamydia.
Normal girls might have experienced embarrassment or even shame. But not me. I ended the call with the doctor and raised my fist high in the air. I’d been right all along. Andy was cheating. I was strangely relieved to find the world did, indeed, operate by the rules I’d learned, even if I didn’t like them.
I vowed that from that moment on, I would always assume the worst, like I had with Andy. That way, I would see the heartbreak coming from a mile away. But first, a confrontation was in order. Andy was at his frat house that night, lording over another one of their silly theme parties.
Before I went, I needed liquid courage. I eyed the bottle of Popov vodka that Mac, Claire and I kept for occasional drinks, and decided:Bottoms up. It was awful. Truly, the most disgusting taste. But it had a wonderful numbing effect, turning the pain in my heart into something distant and more manageable.
So I took it with me. And when I strode into Andy’s frat house, the very first thing I saw was Mr. President, locking tongues with another girl. In plain sight. Not only a betrayal, but an infuriating undermining of my public reputation.
“Andrew Elliot,” I’d yelled, and startled him apart from the girl.
His face fell when he saw me; but, just as quickly, he moved to righteous indignation. “It’s your fault!” he called, crossing his arms. “You’re so possessive all the time. It’s suffocating.”
Well. That was too embarrassing a public statement to endure without a response. So I hefted the handle of vodka and chucked it at him.
It didn’t hit him, is the important part. Legally speaking. It smacked into the stair below Andy and startled the hell out of him, which is when he lost his cool and tripped down the long and bumpy frat staircase to land at my feet.
He wasfine. His broken leg healed well before the year was out. Our political dynasty, however, never recovered.
But I’d learned several important lessons. One, cheating and romantic disappointment were truly, truly inevitable. Two, never let a man compromise your political ambitions. And three, alcohol was a problem solver.
“It was a badass move, is all I’m saying,” Alexis continued. “I only regret my ex Chris and I live in a one-story house.”
Sarah nodded. “This is why people can’t be friends with their exes. Too much unresolved emotion.”
Like an angel descending from heaven, our waiter dropped off Ben’s Jameson and poured my wineglass up to the brim.
“That’s true.” Alexis gestured around the table. “Except for Lee and Ben, obviously.”
“What?” Sarah was confused.
I slid my chair back. “I’m going to go—”
“They dated and now they’re friends, otherwise we wouldn’t be sitting here.”
“—jump out a window,” I finished.
Sarah looked between Ben and me. “Youdated?”
Ben stared at her without blinking. “I definitely told you.”
“You didn’t.” Sarah’s voice notched higher, and Ben swallowed his words. He wasn’t even going to argue his case. What the hell? This was not the Ben I was used to.
Sarah turned to me. “I’m sorry. I feel like an idiot.”
“You shouldn’t.” I inched my chair back a little more. “But we can just go ahead and pay our part of the check—”
“Who broke up with whom?” Sarah asked, looking between Ben and me.
“He did,” I said, at the same time Ben said, “She did.”
