“Mr. Harrison,” I say. “Shouldn’t we each say a few words first? Like ...why we want the position, and why we’re the right person for it?”
“Oh!” He seems a little surprised, but he recovers quickly. “Yes, of course. That’s only fair, since we’ve got all these new faces who don’t know you.” He smiles at the freshmen.
“I’ll go first,” I say, and pull my poster out from under my chair.
“Oh, they cameprepared,” Alexander murmurs.
I stand and so does Jayden—another piece of the plan. He always has my back. I unroll the poster, handing it to him, and he holds it up, rotating slowly so everyone can see. Black letters on a lavender background announce who I am in my favorite format: a list. But they aren’t just traits. They’re also reasons why I should be president, bordered by a ring of silver glitter for that extra pop.
“I’m Sidney,” I say, smiling at the freshmen. “I’ve been a member of Queer Alliance since my first year here, and last year I served as secretary. In that position, it was my job to take accurate notes that reflected the content of our meetings. This information was super useful when it came to planning, because it provided us something to refer back to.”
I describe last year’s Homecoming Court committee, and how I was in charge of drafting communications to the student council for our campaign to addMonarchas a title alongside King and Queen. “Now when someone is nominated, and when they win, they can pick the title they want. The kids who want to be kings or queens can still do that, butthe kids who don’t want that have an option too. That campaign was an important step in making our school a place that celebrates all its students.”
Students like me. If I wanted to run for Homecoming Court, which I super don’t. Queer Alliance is my life, my home. Other than that, school is just one long anxious rat maze I have to get through.
The first few weeks at Jefferson, I was a small boat lost in a sea of halls that were so much bigger than my middle school. The few friends I’d had before were at other high schools, and I didn’t know anyone yet. Then, on one of my teacher’s doors, I noticed a poster covered in little cartoon rainbows. “COME OUT to QUEER ALLIANCE this FRIDAY,” said the bubble letters filling the flyer, with a room number and time written underneath.
So I did.
I met Jayden, Anna, and Makayla that day, along with some other freshmen who dropped off the map a few weeks later. But we stayed, and pretty soon we were hanging out at every lunch break, not just Fridays.
I can only assume Forrest joined the club sophomore year because he came out as trans over that summer. Funny how he saw the point of Queer Alliance once it was personally relevant to him. A few weeks later, I came out as nonbinary—first to my friends, then to the club. I was worried people would think I was copying him, or was just doing it to be trendy, but everyone supported me.
I take a deep breath and segue into the home stretch of my speech. “I love this community, and we’ve done so manyimportant things. Before I got here, the club helped bring gender-neutral restrooms to the school. This year, as president, I want to build on our achievements and keep making Jefferson into a place where all queer and trans students can be themselves. I deserve your vote because, as my poster says, I’m dedicated, I’m organized, I’m reliable, I’m caring, and finally, I make change happen.” I feel the back of my neck tingle as I hit each bullet point. Forrest doesn’t have a chance. “Thank you.”
I sit down, to some scattered clapping from the freshmen. Riley wiggles their fingers in silent applause, and Anna squeezes my shoulder.
“Well said.” Mr. Harrison smiles at me. “Forrest?”
All eyes turn to Forrest, slouched in his chair again. He straightens up, but he doesn’t stand. “Hey. So, I joined the club last year.” He fidgets with the strings of his hoodie. “We’ve done some really cool things. When I was figuring stuff out freshman year, I used those gender-neutral restrooms a lot. I don’t know about y’all, but I like having a place to pee.”
The freshmen snort, and Riley cracks a smile.
“I think we could do something different this year, though. Something more fun, and less work. We’ve come a long way, so let’s party!” Forrest grins. “Also, I need something that looks good on my extracurriculars for college.” He sticks out his tongue and flashes a peace sign, and a couple people laugh.
My chest tightens, my shoulders stiffening. This is a joke to him. All the work we’ve done, everything there still is to do, and he wants to party? He sits back, and there’s a longpause, all of us waiting for something more, but he doesn’t say anything.
“All right, then!” Mr. Harrison says. I can’t tell what he’s thinking. He moves to the whiteboard, picking up a marker. “I’m going to have you all close your eyes, and when I call out the name of the candidate, you’ll raise your hands if you’d like to vote for that person.”
I close my eyes, my heart pounding. Forrest can’t win. He can’t. This is supposed to be my moment, where everything comes together, not where everything falls apart.The club will lose membership,a voice whispers.It’s going to fail. Mr. Harrison will disband it.The voice buzzes in my brain like an itch I can’t scratch, morphi ng into images flashing in my head, one of my mental movies trying to play.
That’s not real. It’s not happening,I tell myself.
That’s not real. It’s not happening.
That’s not real. It’s not happening.
I breathe out, my mind clear. The mantra worked.
“If you’d like to vote for Forrest, raise your hand!” Mr. Harrison says.
I keep my hands clasped in my lap. I hear a few rustles. His friends are probably voting for him, but no one else will. They see it too. They have to. He’ll ruin everything.
“And now for Sidney!”
I raise my hand. Beside me, I hear Jayden raise his, and the tightness in my chest eases a little bit.
There’s a long silence, and then Mr. Harrison clears his throat. “You may open your eyes.”
