Here’s the thing. Our junior year, Missy and I were both in the running for Student Council President at Pine Lakes High School. Every Downing in my immediate family has been Student Council President in their high school career, and this was my shot.
Well, Missy decided she also wanted to run. And if two years of competing against Missy for the top-ranking student in our class had taught me anything, it’s that if she was running, I needed to step up my game. Everything always came so easy to her. But that had never been the case for me. So, I took a page from my dad’s book and started to campaign, working hard to make sure every student knew that I was running and what I could do for them if elected.
Apparently, Missy didn’t like that. So much so that she told one of her friends that my dad had paid the principal off to make sure I won. Missy’s friend ran with that, and thus began the Great Pine Lakes Rumor of junior year.
“I didn’t spread that rumor. I was just joking around. How was I to know Lilly was going to tell everybody? Besides, it wasyouwho got yourself kicked out of the running. You were the one using your daddy’s pretty pennies, paying people off so they’d vote for you.”
“I was passing out voting stickers. Welcome to America, where voters get rewarded with stickers when they vote.”
“Hmm, last time I voted, my sticker didn’t come with a gift card to Chick-fil-A attached.”
Okay, so maybe not my finest moment, but I had good intentions. Regardless, not long after the rumor was spread, Principal Henderson caught wind of it and pulled me and Missy into an empty classroom to tell us we were both disqualified from the running that year—Missy for spreading rumors and me for supposedly bribing students. Principal Henderson then left us alone in the classroom, letting us decide how to inform our peers we were stepping down from candidacy. It took Missy all of two seconds before she accused me of ruining her shot at a future scholarship. But losing a chance at a scholarship was nothing compared to the look of disappointment I’d see on my dad’s face when I told him I was disqualified.
And thus, our competitiveness turned to loathing.
But despite our disagreement, the one thing we did agree on in that classroom was that, regardless of how we felt about each other, we would not let it ruin our friend group. We’d recently been witness to Paige’s breakup with Ian and the fallout that happened, and we weren’t eager for another rift among friends. Not when our friend group meant so much to us both.
Ever since then, we’ve made it our motto to “endure and not stir.” Missy’s little way of reminding us to endure each other and not stir up any unnecessary drama.
And so that’s what we’ve done. Going on nine years now. Well, nine years that, thankfully, have been broken up by years of college and law school. But in the few moments we’ve spent together since our high school days, we’ve made our jabs count. I’m quite proud of how our little loathing baby has grown up to be nice and strong.
“So was it you?” Missy asks, jarring me from my thoughts.
“What do you think?” I level her with a look.
“Then was it your dad?”
I scrunch my forehead. “Why would my father nominate us?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you told him you wanted to be on the show so he pulled some strings. I don’t have enough fingers to list off the many times he’s done something like that. Is it so far removed from the realm of possibility for it to cross my mind?”
I involuntarily flinch. So often we fling insults at each other in our weird game of Battleship, just hoping our missiles will strike the other’s pride. So often they miss, but every once in a while, Missy manages to strike me where it counts, and I’m hit and sunk before I know it.
Her words remind me of the deal I made with my father last month. This game show is my chance to prove to him I’m capable of succeeding without him, not to mention that I’ve staked the next five years of my life on winning this show.
The memory of that conversation alone has my blood pumping.
“You okay in there, Major Tom?” I look up to see Missy’s furrowed brow.
“What?”
“You were out in space.”
I flex and stretch the ache in my hands, realizing I’ve been clenching them tightly.
Missy looks at me like I’m a UFO.
I’m about to tell her that she’ll have to get Botox earlier than she planned if she insists on scrunching her face so intently, but she cuts me off.
“So we’re doing this?” she asks, lips tight.
“I mean, we don’t have to. I can always go, and you can stay here.”
Missy rubs a hand across her forehead, blowing out a controlled breath. “Why couldn’t you have been a hockey player?”
“Because hockey is for people who can’t play baseball.”
“Oh, not this again.” Missy does an exaggerated eye roll.
