On Friday morning before the vote, everyone assembled in the gym, and we gave our election speeches. You would have thought that after years of jumping around in a short skirt in front of the entire school that nothing would frighten me, but as I stood to give my talk I felt as though my knees had deserted me.
I’d actually written four different speeches and decided I didn’t like any of them. I finally chose a short and direct one. I told the student body I knew I could do the job, and if elected, I would do my best to represent them. It didn’t have the hype I’d put in the earlier four versions, but somehow I just couldn’t do hype. I couldn’t promote myself on hoopla. If people voted for me, I wanted it to be because they believed in me.
Rick gave a talk that was half stand-up comedy and half social commentary. He received a lot of hoots throughout.
Amy gave a rundown of every program the student body was in charge of and how she’d improve each one. She brought in charts to illustrate her points. Everyone clapped politely for her, as they had for all of us, and when the speeches were over, I still wasn’t sure which of us had the lead.
The principal spoke to us for a few minutes about the blessings and responsi bilities of living in a democratic society and then dismissed us to our classes so we could vote. During fifth period all the candidates were called down to the front office so they could tell us the election results before they announced them on the PA system.
When I walked in the front office, I noticed Rick, Amy, and most of the other candidates standing around in front of the attendance desk, fidgeting and looking as uncomfortable as I felt. A few people talked quietly to one another; but most of us j ust stared around the room, fingering our books while we waited for the remaining people to show up.
When they did, the principal escorted us to her office.
We listened silently as she talked about how we should all be proud of ourselves for the job we’d done, and so on and so on. Then she unfolded a piece of paper and read the results. First she told us who the new secretary, treasurer, and vice president were. Then without even pausing, she said, “And the president will be Amy Stock.”
On the positive side, I didn’t cry or scream, or even become mute. I felt myself turn, almost automatically, to Amy and say, “Congratulations. I know you’ll do a great job.”
“Yeah, congratulations,” Rick mumbled.
Amy looked back and forth between us, and then to the principal. “I can’t believe I won. I just can’t believe it.”
That made three of us.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be happy for her, I was just too busy being devastated to muster much enthusiasm. I wanted to go home and lock myself in my room for a long time.
“You all did a fine job with your speeches and your campaigns,” the principal told us.
“I hope you learned something valuable from the process and will try again sometime.”
Oh, yeah. I’d just spent four weeks of my life trying to convince people to like me, all so I could come into this office and have my hopes and dreams shattered. I was not exactly eager to repeat the process. I smiled at the principal anyway. “Thanks. Maybe I will.”
It was all I could do to make it through the rest of what was left of the school day. I mean, how many times should a person have to say, “It’s okay. I know Amy will be a great president,” when I really wanted to say, “Did you vote for her and not me?”
I suppose it’s a good thing I didn’t know who came in second place. It would have killed me to know I lost to Rick too. At least this way I could imagine it had been very close between Amy and me and that only three people voted for Rick.
After school Chelsea, Aubrie, and Rachel offered to drive me to Baskin Robbins so I could drown my sorrow in double fudge brownie, but I took a rain check. I just wanted to go home, where I could fall apart in private; and although I didn’t come right out and tell them so, they seemed to understand.
On the way driving home, I decided to tell my mother about my SAT score. No matter how upset she got, I couldn’t feel more awful than I already did, so it was good timing. Ranting, raving, threatening—none of these things would even faze me.
Besides, now that my political hopes had been squelched, Mom needed to get used to the idea that I wasn’t going to college. I was going to be one of those people who lived on a street corner, mumbled things no one understood, and ate discarded Big Macs. In my spare time I’d try to catch pigeons. It would be an easy, carefree life.
Mom was unpacking groceries into the refrigerator when I walked into the kitchen. I got a glass from the cupboard, then went to the sink to get some water. I took a long drink, a deep breath, and blurted out, “I lost the election, I bombed my SAT test, and I’ve given up any hope of having a happy future.”
Mom shut the refrigerator door. “You lost the election? Oh honey, I’m sorry—” Then she stopped, and I could almost see her processing the rest of the information. “What did you say about the SAT?”
“I bombed it.”
“What do you mean, you bombed it?”
“I got a three hundred and fifty on the math portion. It dragged my score down.” I didn’t mention that my other score didn’t have very far to drag.
Mom shut her eyes and opened them slowly. She was on the verge of a lecture—you could almost see the words “What have you been doing all these years during your math classes?” about to spring from her lips. But instead she asked, “What was your composite?”
“Eight hundred and ten.”
“Eight hundred and ten?” Mom looked up at the ceiling, then back at me with a cold stare. “When did you find out about your score?”
“A few weeks ago.”
Mom took a box of cereal from the grocery bag, shoved it into the cupboard, and slammed the cupboard door shut. “So basically, everyone but your parents knew your score all along, and you didn’t tell us so I could make a fool of myself in front of everyone by insisting you hadn’t got your scores yet.” She then took a loaf of bread and flung it into the bread box with enough force to ensure we’d be eating three-inch sandwiches all week. “I even called the school and complained that your scores hadn’t come in.”
Quietly I said, “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to be angry.”
“Well, that worked out really well. I’m not angry at all now.”
Tears stung my eyes, and I didn’t try to stop them from coming. “This isn’t about you. It’s my score, my problem, and I feel really awful about it. It would be nice if you could just be a little sad for me.”
I didn’t wait for her to answer. I turned and walked out of the kitchen and upstairs to my bedroom. Once there, I lay down on my bed and buried my face in my pillow to muffle the sound of my crying.
After a few minutes Mom walked into the room. I didn’t even know she’d come in until she sat down on my bed. She put her hand on my back and said, “I’m sorry, Samantha.
I handled that all wrong. I shouldn’t have yelled.” She rubbed her hand slowly across my back. “I make a lot of mistakes as a parent, but I’m trying to be better. Isn’t that as much as any of us can do?”
I sat up and gave her a hug, and she held me for a while. I know she never thought I listened to her, but her words kept repeating in my mind. “I’m trying to be better. Isn’t that as much as any of us can do?”
I wanted so badly for those words to be true for me too. “I’m sorry about everything.”
“Things will seem better tomorrow. We’ll talk about what we can do to help your studies.”
I nodded, even though I had the feeling what-we-could-do would probably involve things that were hard, painful, and required me to sit in front of textbooks for long hours.
Still, I felt better about my score when she left. I wondered why I didn’t tell her in the very beginning about it, instead of carrying the secret around like a lead weight.
I lay there for a while longer, staring at the ruffle on my pillow sham while I tried to figure out how much my GPA would rise if I aced all of my finals.