“For real,” she said.
“And this thing where you keep your head down the whole time except when you have some rude comment to make? You’re not funny or edgy, you’re just annoying.”
Someone sideswiped my shoulder with theirs, and I staggered into Anna. She grabbed my arm, steadying me, and we both saw it at the same time: the back of a very familiar hoodie as the person wearing it walked away from us.
“Oops,” Anna said, covering her mouth.
“Whatever,” I said, rubbing my arm. “If you don’t want to be criticized, don’t be a jerk.”
After that, Forrest doubled down, and I did too. Whenever we made eye contact in class, I couldn’t help rolling my eyes or making a face. He returned the gesture with a sneer or some creative way of flashing me the middle finger. It got to the point that our teachers sat us on opposite sides of the room. And then in sophomore year, he showed up at our first Queer Alliance meeting, studiously ignoring me the entire time, and I responded in kind. We had only one class together that year, and he’d cemented his role as class clownby then, with his own little posse of friends. This year, it doesn’t seem like anything has changed.
Whatever. By the end of lunch, I’ll be president, and Forrest will have to listen to me.
“What’s up, motherfuckers!” he whoops, pushing off his hood and galloping across the circle to flop into a chair. His brown curls bounce as he moves, shaggy across his forehead and slightly longer in the back. From across the circle, I can see the red glow of a sunburn on his white skin. The freshmen are silent, eyes wide, like lost kittens in the wilds of Jefferson High.
“Forrest.” Mr. Harrison appears in the doorway of his office, posture as straight-backed as ever, every movement deliberate, like he’s aware of where he is in space at all times.
“Sorry, Mr. H!” Forrest yells—because that’s how loud he is. If he has a lower volume, I’ve never heard it. “What’s up, fools?”
It’s clearly time for someone to take charge. This is a chance for me to show my leadership qualities, so I clear my throat. “Thanks for coming, everyone. Shall we get started?”
“Yes, we shall!” Forrest echoes me. I ignore him.
Mr. Harrison finds an open seat. He’s the theater teacher and our club advisor, and even though I’m not in theater, he’s still one of my favorite teachers. I know it’s not possible, but it seems like he knows every student at Jefferson High School by name. He encouraged me to run for secretary last year, so I know he’ll support me being president too.
“Welcome, all.” He surveys us, eyes twinkling behind his gold-rimmed glasses. “Normally I’m fairly hands-off withthis club, but today’s our first meeting, and we’ve got to pick a set of officers for the year. You can nominate yourself or be nominated by someone else. But first, let’s introduce ourselves and our pronouns. I’m Mr. Harrison, he/him.” He looks to his left, at one of the seniors, who takes the cue.
One by one, we go around the circle. My leg bounces up and down as the minutes tick by. We only have the lunch period, and I want this done, both because I want the satisfaction of the presidency and because I don’t want to feel anxious about this anymore.
Finally we wrap up the introductions, and Mr. Harrison gestures to the whiteboard, where he’s already written the titles of the club offices: Treasurer, Secretary, Vice President, and President.
“If you want to nominate someone, step up and write their name under a position,” he says. “Then we’ll take an anonymous vote.”
For a beat, nobody moves, and then Jayden stands and crosses to the board, just like we planned it. UnderPresident, he writes my name in black erasable marker.
Sidney Walker.
“Excellent.” Mr. Harrison beams at me, then looks around. “Don’t everyone jump at once, now.” He sounds so proper with his British accent, and one of the freshmen cracks a smile.
Anna gets up and nominates herself for treasurer, like she was last year. Riley, a senior, nominates themself for vice president again. It would have made sense if they wanted tobe president after last year’s president graduated, but when I asked them about it on the first day of school, they just laughed and shook their head.
“Noooo, thank you,” they said, clacking their long, lime-green, bejeweled nails in my direction. “Too much responsibility. I like being the second in command.” They grinned at me. “You’ve got my vote.”
We need a new secretary, since I’m not running for it this year, and Stef nominates herself. It’s quiet for a moment as we all take in the slate.
“All right!” Mr. Harrison says, clapping his hands together once. “If that’s it—”
“Hold up.”
We all look over. Forrest heaves himself out of the chair, where he’s been slouched through the proceedings. One of his shoelaces is untied, and I watch it as he scuffs his feet toward the whiteboard, but he doesn’t trip. At the board, he picks up a marker, and writes his name.
Right under mine.
I stare at him as he walks back to his seat. Why the hell is he nominating himself? He’s never held any office in the club before.
When he sits down, he looks at me with a smirk and gives me a little head nod. I turn away, pressing my lips together. This is fine. I’m way more qualified, and everyone knows it. He’s not a threat.
“All right,” Mr. Harrison says again. “If nobody else wants to throw their hat in the ring, we can cast our votes for the president.” Everyone is quiet as he gazes around the room.
