You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view …. Until you climb inside of his skin and walk around in it.

—Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird

Thursday, September 11, 7:45 p.m.

I hate politics

Everyone I know is obsessed with the SGA race. The elections are tomorrow, and it’s pretty much the only thing anyone has been talking about all week. At least the people I know.

Sophie has been talking about it nonstop. Ever since she signed up to run, she’s been on a campaign to meet everyone in our class, which isn’t an easy thing to do since there are 337 freshman. All week long she has been passing out campaign stickers that look like lottery tickets with the slogan: Take a chance on the new girl.

Today was the first time all week she stopped to eat lunch instead of just grabbing a snack on her way to fifth period. “What do you think my chances are?” she asked Katia, Harry, and me as she sat down at the table with us.

“You’re gonna win,” said Katia. I’m not surprised she said that. She and Sophie are in art together, and they have a whole group of friends who already promised they’d vote for Sophie.

Harry agreed. “Most of the kids who are running are losers or freaks.”

Sophie laughed. “You hardly know them.”

“I don’t want to know them,” said Harry.

Sophie ignored Harry’s cynicism and looked at me. “April, what do you think?”

The truth was that there was no way to know who would win. Billy would definitely get one spot, but there are six kids running for two spots. I’d like to believe a girl would get the other spot, and since three are running, I think Sophie’s chances are probably equal to theirs. “You could definitely win,” I said.

Sophie sighed. “That sounds like a diplomatic way of saying I might not.”

I felt bad that Sophie thought I doubted her. I think she could tell what I was thinking because she laughed. “I’ll forgive you as long as you promise to pass out campaign stickers for me tomorrow morning,” she said.

“Deal,” I said, even though I’d already told Billy I’d pass out stickers for him too.

I wasn’t the only one campaigning for him. Brynn had become his self-appointed campaign manager, and she was being very aggressive in her efforts to get him elected.

During our break at dance, Brynn was trying to rally support for him. “Vote for Billy Weiss tomorrow,” she told all the freshman on the team. Then she passed out stickers she’d made with a picture of him when he was a toddler. “He’s the cutest candidate running,” she said. “But then I’m biased.”

She seemed preoccupied with what she was doing, which was why I was caught off guard when she said to me, “Don’t you think it’s a little weird that Sophie is running for SGA?”

It was the reaction I’d been dreading. I’d had a bad feeling Brynn was going to make this into a bigger deal than it should be. I felt myself getting defensive on Sophie’s behalf. “What’s weird about it?” I asked.

Brynn shrugged. “It just doesn’t seem authentic.” She looked at Emily who was standing next to her. “We’re on the dance team because we’re really into dance.”

Emily nodded like that made sense.

That was all the validation Brynn needed to continue. “Why does Sophie want to get involved in student government? I have a hard time imagining her doing student government at her art school in New York. They probably didn’t even have it at her school in Paris. So why do you think she wants to do it now?”

Brynn looked at me like she was on the debate team and she’d made her argument—now it was my turn to rebut.

But luckily, Ms. Baumann called us back to practice at that exact moment.

I didn’t want to argue with Brynn. Sophie has a right to do whatever she wants to do. I knew Brynn was implying that Sophie is only doing it because she wants to be with Billy, which I honestly don’t think is the case. I also knew that by defending Sophie it would make what Brynn was thinking more valid.

So I didn’t.

10:52 p.m.

Don’t like what’s happening behind closed doors

Sophie has called ten times (OK, four, but it feels like ten) to read me her speech and to talk about what she’s going to wear to the assembly tomorrow. But it’s hard to focus on what will happen in the school election when I have much more pressing issues at home.

I couldn’t help but overhear the conversation Mom and Dad have been having in their room. Their voices were elevated, which is usually a sign they’re talking about something worth hearing. Their room is across the hall from mine, and I’ve been listening undetected outside their door for years. I usually like being in the know, but I wish I hadn’t heard the conversation tonight.

“I think opening a downtown boutique is a great idea,” Mom said.

“I don’t think it’s a bad idea.” Dad’s voice sounded argumentative. “I know you’re a talented designer. I just think the timing of opening a new store is wrong.” I listened as he talked about the fact that he just recently opened the Love Doctor Diner and how hard it would be on our family if they were both putting in the time required to ensure that a new business is successful. “Flora, it’s also a tremendous financial commitment.”

I thought what he said made sense and that Mom would agree, but she didn’t.

“I’ve put a lot of time into my business plan,” said Mom. She explained how the space she found was a boutique, so all she needs to do is paint and decorate it. “I’ve already done most of the design work, so the biggest time commitment will be sewing the clothes, and I’m going to hire someone to help me.”

“Flora, do you know expensive it is to hire someone?”

Apparently, Mom did. I heard the rustling of papers as she explained to Dad how much it would cost and how she’d finance it.

Honestly, I thought Mom made some good points too. She sounded smart and informed, like she’d done her homework. But as she described her vision for Flora’s Fashions to Dad, I started to feel queasy. She’s made a lot of my clothes over the years, most of which I found pretty embarrassing to wear. I’m not a big fan of what she’s designed, so I was having a hard time imagining other people would be either. But most older ladies, at least the ones in Faraway, have bad taste in clothes. Maybe they’d like her stuff. I just don’t know.

But what I do know is that as their conversation shifted from Mom’s financial plan to her family plan, I liked it less and less. When Dad asked how she sees the two of them being able to manage things at home, she said that everyone in our family, including him, will need to pitch in and take more responsibility.

I wasn’t sure what she had in mind for me. Cleaning toilets? Mowing the yard? It’s not like I don’t help out. I’m constantly babysitting my sisters and walking the dog. I’ve even been pretty good lately about keeping my room clean.

As I crouched outside their door, I waited for Mom to expand on what she meant, but she didn’t. “Rex, you’re living your dream. Shouldn’t I get to live mine?”

“I think it’s hard for two people to live their dream at the same time,” said Dad.

There was a long silence before Mom responded. “I’m doing this,” she said to my dad. “With or without you.”