Mike could get under my skin so bad.
“Are you sure it was him?”
“Yes.” I glanced at the clock above her head. If we didn’t act fast, students would soon be arriving, looking at that poster, laughing at me.
“You saw him do it?”
“No.” My face burned. “But I know it was Mike. And he wrote terrible things about me.” I thought about telling her exactly what terrible things, only I was too mortified.
“I see.” Ms. Bee set her cup down. “Is it true you threw a slice of pizza at Mr. Domski last Friday?”
My chin hit my chest. “Yes, I did.”
Each semester, I’d drive my guidance counselor crazy, shifting requirements around so I could take every single history class Ms. Bee taught, even her electives like Vietnam and the ’60s, which were way harder than electives like ceramics, but incredibly interesting. She supplemented her lectures with personal photos, memorabilia, even reading from her own diary. I had always wanted to impress her. And now, thanks to Mike Domski, I’d done the opposite.
She took off her glasses, an angular pair of black frames, and slid them into a silk pouch. “Despite the fact that you’re upset, I must admit that I’m glad to hear about this poster issue. I was worried that I might have to discipline you, but since Mr. Domski has also chosen to take a less-than-dignified route in this campaign, these infractions can cancel each other out.” She leaned back until her wooden chair creaked. “Can I give you a little friendly advice, one girl to another?” I nodded. “Boys like Mr. Domski are intimidated by powerful women, Natalie. The only way he can think to belittle you is for simply being a female. But you must remain as strong and poised as you have been the last three years of high school. You must not let him beat you in this election.”
A burst of energy flew through me. Ms. Bee was right. Mike could only resort to low blows because I outmatched him in every legitimate way.
Ms. Bee pulled open a desk drawer and rooted around. “I wish I could say that you won’t meet a million more Mike Domskis in the course of your lifetime, but I’m afraid that simply isn’t true.” She handed me a glossy pamphlet. “There’s a leadership conference for young women in Boston during our spring break. It’s going to address exactly these sorts of challenges. The woman who runs it was my roommate during my master’s program, and I might be able to work out some kind of discount for you. Or at least the opportunity to network directly with some incredibly inspiring women at the very top of their fields. If you haven’t already packed your bikinis for Cancun” — she grinned — “I think it could be a formative experience for you.”
“Thank you,” I said. But really, those two words didn’t even come close.
I walked back to my locker with my head held high. The hallway was starting to get thick with students, the height of the morning rush. I found an empty trash can I could flip over and climb on, to be tall enough to rip the poster down. But I didn’t need to. Someone had beaten me to it.
On election day, I sat between Mike and Kevin in the front of the library. Kevin was a couple of inches away, but Mike was so painfully close that the arms of our chairs were touching.
His left leg bounced up and down in a khaki blur, and the floorboards creaked sharp sounds that stabbed straight into my forehead. He did it on purpose, of course. Anything to rattle me. My pleated skirt crinkled up underneath my thighs, itching me like crazy, but I wouldn’t move. Not an inch. I didn’t want to risk touching Mike by accident. I didn’t even want our uniforms to touch.
What seemed like the entire school had gathered to hear the results. Connor Hughes sat in the front row, his tie loose around his neck, turning when someone behind him started chanting, “Dom-ski Dom-ski Dom-ski.” A bunch of other voices joined in the chorus. The whole room got loud, and I suddenly had trouble swallowing the syrupy dissolve from my peppermint Life Saver.
In a perfect world, this would be no contest. The most qualified candidate would win. But Mike Domski had a lot more friends than I did. A lot more.
I quickly tried to prepare myself, in case things didn’t go my way. I envisioned myself having to smile, to shake Mike’s hand, because that’s what a gracious loser does. I wiped my palms against my bare legs. They felt clammy. Cold.
As tough as that would be, I refused to give Mike the satisfaction of humiliating me on top of everything else. I forbade myself to cry if I lost. I’d drown my insides before I let a single tear roll down my cheek. That’s exactly what he’d want. Natalie Sterling, crying over a student council election.
Losing wouldn’t even be the worst part. The worst part would be quitting student council. I didn’t want to, of course, but what else could I do? I decided it was best to write a resignation letter to Ms. Bee instead of telling her in person, so she wouldn’t try to convince me to stick it out. I couldn’t do that to myself. And as much as I knew Ms. Bee would be disappointed, she wouldn’t want my participation to come at the price of my dignity. I knew what would happen — Mike would get bored with all the responsibility and work, and push everything on my lap. He’d try to make me into his personal secretary, someone he could boss around. And there was absolutely no way I could deal with that.
Ms. Bee sat inside the library office. I watched her through the glass, her head down as she counted ballots. Her forehead seemed more wrinkled than usual, which worried me for obvious reasons. I sat up tall and tried to make eye contact.
“Nervous?”
Mike smugly stared me down, thick-as-caterpillar eyebrows touching over his nose. I pressed my lips together tight and ignored him. A smirk spread across his face, and he rubbed the dusty black of his stubbly chin. Of course Mike didn’t bother to shave for election day. “I have to say, Natalie, your level of intensity is pretty hot.” He gently patted his lap. “I’m actually getting a chubby.”
I glanced over at Kevin Stroop, his eyes burning holes through the floor. It could have been a campaign strategy. Let Mike and me duke it out, while Kevin cleaned house. Though I doubted it. More likely, Kevin feared Mike Domski, or he just didn’t care if a guy said such disgusting things to a girl.
Not that I needed Kevin to stand up for me. I could handle this myself. “Stop talking to me,” I declared, which fell far short of the sharp retort I’d hoped to conjure up.
“Hey! Come on, Natalie. I’m only kidding with you.” His smile lengthened to a sneer. “You could never give me a hard-on. You’re like . . . dick repellant.”
Anger burned hot through my body, and I gripped the sides of my chair. Mike Domski wanted to hurt me, and the best way he knew was to call me ugly. I hated that, despite the fact that I would rather eat vomit than touch a hair on Mike’s head, it worked. It took all my self-control not to hock the biggest, wettest ball of spit right between Mike’s eyes. And I would have, too, if not for Ms. Bee weaving through the thick crowd, waving a slip of paper over her head. “Okay! Thank you for your patience! Here we go!”
Spencer lurked near the doorway, huddled with a couple of other girls. When our eyes met, she gave a big wave and blew me a kiss, which was a gesture more baffling than comforting. I tried to find Autumn’s face in the crowd, but when I couldn’t, I settled on the wall to my left, where the senior portraits of former Ross Academy student council presidents hung. Most were boys in blazers, wearing grins dripping with unabashed, unapologetic ambition. There were only a handful of girls, all stern-faced with set jaws. I felt the kinship straight away.
Ms. Bee joined us in the front of the library. The smell of her peppery perfume comforted me, just a little. “It’s wonderful to see so many of you interested in student council this year,” she said. “Our first meeting will be on Monday, and I hope you’ll parlay this enthusiasm and sign up for one of our many committees.”
I waited, a hollow smile frozen on