Dead To You

11. i was bluffing

After spending most of Wednesday evening reheating leftover Chinese food in the bookstore's breakroom microwave while engaged in casual conversation with my mother about how school was going as she squinted at her computer screen, mouse clicking in between pauses and ordering a shipment of the newest romantic release, I decided to direct my attention away from ruminating on—well, everything—and refocus on my campaign for student council in a couple of weeks.

I might not have been able to achieve one of my goals for senior year, yet, but recementing my friendships with Bridgette, Dylan, and Jun wasn't all I set out to do when I returned to Chanler High. I was still determined to win against Noel Preston in the election for senior class president and if I couldn't spend my weeknights watching reruns of nineties dramas and arguing over what snacks with my friends, then I could spend my night designing campaign ads in my bedroom until the only light was the glow from my computer close against my face.

It probably wasn't the best for my eyes, but the placement of the text was as crucial as it was aggravating.

I was so focused on crafting the perfect campaign ad—inspiration from Instagram posts saved onto my phone and wireless earbuds blasting Taylor Swift on repeat because if anyone knew how to crush her enemies, it was that woman during her reputation era—that it wasn't until I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder that I realized my mom had walked into my room. When I turned, she was already reading the campaign ad draft over my shoulder. "Mom," I groaned.

"You should really have a light on in here," she replied, ignoring me, squinting again and the screen reflected in her reading glasses sliding down her nose. "So, you're really going to run for senior class president? That's what you want to do this year?"

"You sound awfully disapproving for a former politician."

She made a face. "I am supportive of whatever you want to do your senior year. But it might be good for you to branch out a little, try something outside of your comfort zone. See what else high school has to offer. I won't be upset if you don't follow in my footsteps, you know."

"I know," I told her, because it was somewhat easier to let her think that running for student council was about my admiration for her career—and the convenient memory lapse of how it ended—and not so much about ruining Noel Preston. Besides, it wasn't like the first half wasn't still also true. "But this is what I want. You said we need more women in politics, anyway."

"It's just that—" she sighed, stepping away from where I was sitting at my desk and her long cardigan pooled around her thighs as she sat on the edge of my bed, with that look on her face. The conflicted look of apprehension, the wondering in her eyes that didn't need the hallway light's exposure to show the deliberation between a brace of reality and sugarcoating. "Senior class president is...a lot to shoot for. It's also a popularity contest that might not be so easy to win your first month back."

I shrugged, scratching my fingernail against my computer mouse. "That's okay. I'm willing to work hard for it. And I do have friends, Mom."

She smiled, gently, and then glanced away. She might have sensed it was a lie, but I considered it to be a preemptive truth. "How about treasurer? Or secretary? You don't always need to go for the most prestigious position. They're all equally important in their own ways."