The Campaign Manager

Runners Take Your Marks

*Note: as of 7/13/14, this chapter has been re-written*

"It isn't what we say that defines us, but what we do."

- Jane Austen, Sense and Sensibility

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There are three things in this world that send me over the edge: Public Humiliation, Melted Cheese, and Elitists. You might think that it would be a challenge to find yourself in a situation that involved all three of these things, but my general clumsiness and poor timing are two attributes that have lead me into situations like these on multiple occasions. Take now for an example; as I lie in the middle of my high school's dirty hallway, wondering what on earth I must have done to piss God off so much that he has decided to throw me off a stepladder. Okay, so maybe thrown is a bit of an exaggeration, but the ache radiating from the back of my skull was a sure sign that I had fallen pretty hard.

"OH MY GOD! ROWAN! ARE YOU OKAY?!" my best friend races over to me, going as fast as her short legs can carry her, and is quickly at my side. I prop myself up on my elbows and spit out a couple pieces of my blonde hair that had flown into my face during my less-than-graceful landing on the linoleum floor.

"I think so," I wince, the pain in my head feeling less sharp as I notice the gazes of several students locked in our direction. I can already feel the heat begin to rush to my cheeks, so I quickly lift myself off of the floor, dusting any remainders of my high school's floor off of my worn Phillies sweatshirt.

Public humiliation? Check.

"Rowan, I'm so sorry, I should have been paying more attention," Emilie gushes, checking me with her eyes to make sure I'm not missing any body parts. Emilie Singh; known for her excessive apologies, short stature, and for being the hopeful candidate of Student Body President.

"Em, I'm fine," I say, rolling my eyes. "It wasn't your fault." I love the girl to death, but sometimes she can be a bit ridiculous. I once overheard her apologizing to a tree root after she accidentally tripped over it. Unfortunately, I'm pretty sure the root didn't accept her apology.

"Well, if I had been holding the ladder more firmly-"

"It's not your fault, Emilie!"

"Fine," she sighs in defeat, brushing off some remaining glitter from the poster off of her bright pink jeans. Emilie Singh for ASB President was written almost entirely in the glitter glue, and by the amount covering my hands, I knew I would be finding sparkles from her poster for the next couple of days in various places.

"Don't you think all that glitter is a bit... excessive?" the third part of our trio sounded out in an unintentionally snarky tone. Tyler cocked an eyebrow at us, and I could tell by the look on his face that he thought we were ridiculous. You'd think he'd be used to it after almost fourteen years of friendship, but I guess not. "I mean, not to sound rude or anything, but if you want to appeal to the male population..."

"Shut up, Tyler," Emilie and I snap, both with equal glares of annoyance. "And get that stupid camera off of your neck," I add on, slapping the machine that might as well be permanently attached to his body.

"It's called art, Rowan," Tyler says in a fake snobby voice. Tyler got the camera from his parents for his twelfth birthday, and it instantly became a part of his every day attire. His favorite subjects appeared to be Emilie and I; but that was probably because he didn't really hang out with anyone else. Irritated, I stick my tongue out at him, only to be blinded by a flash of white light. "You didn't just do that," I test, giving him a threatening glare as the spots in my eyes began to clear. Tyler just smirks at me, flipping his camera around so I could see the display.