"Election" as Realistic Fiction

“What are we doing in Lynch’s class?” I shouted, leaning over the narrow lunch table.

My best friend matched my position, but shouted, “What?”

At least, I guessed that’s what she yelled. Lunchtime in the cafeteria was always chaotic and loud, but today was off-the-charts noisy. Sara and I sat in a corner, as far away from the epicenter as possible, not necessarily by choice, but it was our spot. Sometimes having a spot that was your own was as important as liking that spot.

Sudden shrieks and squeals bounced off the hard ceiling, walls and floor, followed by mass movement, like a giant wave of fans, but it started from the center and flowed out.

Before I could ask what was happening, before I could process what needed to be done, before I could blink, a slice of cardboard cheese pizza whizzed by my eyes like an errant frisbee—and smacked Sara in the cheek.

Her scream mingled with the rest.

Still frozen in response, I could only shut my eyes as cold, lumpy goo struck me in the ear and drenched my shoulder.

World War III erupted in the cafeteria, with food and drinks the weapon, and screams and mass motion the explosions.

We joined the mass exodus, retreating through the doors with most of the school, while somehow the food fight continued. Once in the safety of the nearest hallway, Sara turned to me, her eyes wide, a massive red splotch covering her cheek, and a dusting of potato chips sprinkled over her hair.

“This is disgusting,” she said as her fingers felt around her red cheek.

“How did we even get hit?” I couldn’t identify the yellowish goo on my T-shirt, but it had already seeped through the thin material, chilling my shoulder. “We’re nobody.”

Sara blinked back tears. “Apparently, nobody’s safe from a food fight.”

My best friend’s words replayed over and over in my head as we waited in the long line to the girls' bathroom. On the wall visible just over Sara’s shoulder, a poster with smiling kids taunted me. What were they so happy about?

When Sara stepped forward in line, I was able to read the title: Student Government Needs You!

Fat chance.

I quietly voted for reps; that’s about it.

But the smiling kids looked so confident and powerful in their button up shirts and khaki pants and skirts. They weren’t kids ignored by all, who only got attacked with food by accident. I might even have a pair of khakis at home.

I scanned the small print. The position requirements for the seventh grade representative: attend monthly meetings, discuss plans regarding events as well as regular day-to-day, discuss and approve the budget. I could probably do that.

After wiping off the goo and dabbing my shirt with a wet paper towel, I made up an excuse about needing ask a teacher about homework, then jammed to the leadership teacher’s classroom.

***

I spent that afternoon googling student campaigns, then creating my campaign poster on Canva, and printing tons of paper flyers to tape on the halls of our school. I had a cool slogan: Vote Emma for Emancipation! And I had my bullet point promises ChatGPT said were my best options: Better food in the cafeteria, better school events, and more class time for homework.

According to Ms. G, the leadership and Spanish teacher, I could post up to 15 posters, so I already mapped out where each would go leaving about 30 feet between each poster per hallway.

My dad dropped me off at school twenty minutes early and I got right to taping my flyers and by the second hallway, I had it down to a science. But all my excitement and confidence deflated one second after I taped my seventh flyer.

I had turned to walk my 30 feet, only to find Sara already in my next spot, taping her own, much larger, poster to the wall.

“What are you doing?” I hurried over to her.

Her giant slogan shouted the answer: Select Sara for Success!

{At just under 1,000 words, I’m pausing at the first trial. I will pick up the second part of this story as a historical fiction.]