I wake up the day of the school election knowing that it’s going to be the longest day of school ever. We start the morning by voting and the results are usually tallied by the end of the day. Or if not, by the beginning of the next day.
“You own it,” Ro says, high-fiving me.
“It’s a slam dunk,” Clive says.
“It’s not over until the fat lady sings,” I say, which is one of Anthony’s dumb expressions that I really don’t understand, but it seems to fit.
For the entire day I pretend this is no different from every other day, never mind that Ro already told me that they bought a keg and plan on getting pizza and having everybody over once we find out officially that I’m the new class president. At three o’clock I meet Ro and Clive and Candy in the hall near the principal’s office and we go up to the wall where they post the results. Only no results are up.
“Crap,” Ro says, “I wanted to celebrate.”
“I can’t imagine what’s taking so long,” Clive says. “I mean all they have to do is count the ballots. How hard is that?”
Even though in the real world ballots are counted electronically, at Morgan we do it the old-fashioned way, which they must think is quaint. But it is actually more like how corrupt third world countries do it, with everyone filling out a paper ballot that they slide into a cardboard box marked voting machine.
We leave school with an empty feeling, wondering if we should celebrate prematurely then decide that would be dumb. So for one more night I remain a candidate and nothing more is said.
Only the next morning when we get to school and go to the bulletin board the results are still not posted. After lunch we go back to check. And there it is, the new student president of the Morgan School is Brandy Tewl.
“What?” Clive says.
“It can’t be,” Ro says.
“No,” Candy says.
A vocab word pops into my head, flummoxed. It means bewildered, confused. That’s what I am because maybe it can’t be, but it is, and I get this uneasy feeling. Clive has it too because his face is suddenly paler than usual.
Down the corridor come Brandy, Christy, and Georgina and they’re holding hands and skipping and smiling like they won the lottery. They stop in front of the sign.
“Yes!” Brandy says. “We did it. We won.”
“We fixed her,” Georgina whispers as they walk away.
I stand there and stare, not sure what I just heard.
Someone comes up behind me and looks at the notice.
“Jesus, Brandy?”
Other kids look and a few of them make a point of applauding, even though I’m standing right there. Then Jordan walks up to the board.
“Brandy?”
That’s all. “Brandy?” as though if he lost it would at least be to me and if Brandy won then he really hit rock bottom. Without another word, Clive and Ro and Candy and I leave school in total silence.
“Go home without me,” I tell Frankie who’s waiting outside because it’s his shift. “And don’t send Vinnie later because I’m going to Clive’s.”
“Be careful,” he says.
We all storm across the park without a word. When we get into Clive’s apartment we hit his fridge and take out all the beer that he bribes the maids to buy for him and we get drunk and then crush the cans one by one by one while we’re thinking about Brandy and Christy and Georgina, because how else do you handle losing to such cockroaches?
“They screwed you over,” Ro says, coming out with what we didn’t want to say because it sounds like sour grapes. “Maybe they threw out some of your votes or just ignored them,” she says. “I mean who was in charge of counting anyway?”
“I thought the teachers,” Clive says.
“Me too,” Candy says.
I don’t say anything, but at that point I’m thinking, you know, maybe it’s a blessing in disguise because really, why do I need to be president of that place? I mean volunteering my time to come up with ways to make it a better school when the best way would be to just expel some of the people who go there.
My mom looks up expectantly when I walk in.
“Did you win?”
“No.”
“Someone else did?”
“I’m not sure.”
She looks at me like, what? because she doesn’t understand that and neither do I, but I’m getting the gut feeling I get when things aren’t the way they’re supposed to be. But I try to put that out of my head because it’s time to go to work.
I sometimes wonder why people have pastries at dinnertime, but I guess they have different schedules or different needs and if your life is sweetness-starved, pastries might be the ticket.
I’m standing behind the counter dressed in white like a nun minus the cross but feeling like one anyway since I have no real social life beyond Ro and Clive and Candy. And I’m counting out the cookies, which in a strange way is therapeutic because when you’ve loaded up a whole box and tied it tight, you feel you’ve accomplished something, and I feel good about that. Until I hear voices. Familiar ones. So out of context though. It couldn’t be. But my heart is pounding like tribal drums because it knows, yes it can.
Georgina and Brandy are waiting in line. They’re whispering together and glancing at me and finally when it’s their turn they look me in the eye and burst out laughing.
“Oh, hi, Gia,” Georgina says. “We didn’t know that you work behind the counter here as a server.”
I look at her dead on. “What would you like?”
They pretend they’re deciding and stand there forever, holding up everybody else in line.
“Those,” Georgina says finally, pointing to the lace cookies. “Because we’re celebrating,” she says, staring at me pointedly.
I start to wrap some up.
“No, no, we’re staying,” she says.
I unwrap them. “There’s table service.” Isn’t that obvious? If it’s not bad enough that they came in, they sit at a table near the front and order tea and coffee and cookies. Only when their cookies arrive they taste them and Brandy shakes her head in disgust. “They’re so sticky,” she says. “Can we get some other kind?”
“Like what?” the waitress says.
Georgina runs to the case again and makes a show of deciding, finally pointing to the raspberry cookies and the chocolate chip, so the waitress brings those and they sit there untouched because maybe they’re dieting but more likely just dissing everything and getting off on being guests while I’m the help.
Georgina and Brandy start whispering about something and laughing out loud and Georgina takes out her phone and snaps pictures of Brandy like she’s a celebrity and something about what’s going on is starting to make me crazed because I know what will be happening next.
“Gia, hold it,” Georgina says, as she holds up her phone to snap my picture.
Without missing a beat, a strong arm appears behind her and reaches past her neck and pushes the phone away.
“My dear, Gia is working, so please, eh?” Ro’s dad says, steely eyed.
Georgina freezes. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” The laughter at her table dies, the cookies are devoured, and a minute later they pay and leave without a word.
Ro’s dad looks at me and nods slightly.
Just desserts.