Checkmate

28| D-day

The days leading up to the debate feel surreal. When Blake and I aren't working on my campaign, we're kissing, and when we're not kissing, we're thinking about kissing – or at least, I am. Blake, as usual, is hard to figure out, but I know he grows frustrated when we near the point of going too far, forcing me to pull the plug. He doesn't show it, just steps back, breathing hard, and switches on the TV, but I know he wants more.

The truth – and the part that I keep denying myself – is that so do I. I'm constantly wondering what it would be like to see parts of Blake I haven't yet seen or have him see parts of me. But in the back of my head, rational Rose softly whispers, you'll only get hurt. For me, sex is a big thing – huge – and I've always wanted to wait until the moment felt right with someone I love. Whenever I'm with Blake, all of that's forgotten.

Occasionally, his friends will come over, and I won't have to worry about taking things too far, but mostly it's Blake and me. Blake and me. It feels weird to even say it, but there's no other way to describe us. Are we friends who kiss? Dating? The old me would have obsessed over labels, but with everything else going on in my life, I'm trying not to think about it.

On the morning of the debate, I wake up early and follow the same routine as for my speech. I spend forever in the shower, washing, preening, and slathering myself in vanilla and rose soap until my skin has that almost raw sheen. I take my time blow-drying and styling my hair to perfection. If there is one thing my mother instilled from an early age, it's that looking prepared is just as important as being prepared.

When I'm ready, I head into my room to change. My phone blows up with a million messages, mainly from Freddie, who posts a million celebration emojis in our Vote Rose Matthews group chat.

I type back: I haven't won yet.

I'm about to put my phone away when I see Blake typing. My eyes widen. While Liv and the others have messaged a few times, Blake never uses the chat. I sit on my bed, staring at his name for six torturous seconds.

You will.

That's it – two words, but they fill me with this blinding warmth that gives me the courage I need to face the day. I put my phone down, working on breathing exercises to calm me. They never quite work, but I like to believe I'm doing something useful.

My mother comes in when I'm staring at my closet, coffee in her hand as she hovers in the doorway. "I just came to see how you're feeling about the debate. Are you prepared?"

"I think so," I say. "As prepared as I can be, anyway."

"I figured," she says, crossing the room. She pushes my hair back, her eyes filled with the tiniest glimmer of pride. "I know I've been busy with work the last few days, but if I haven't said it enough, I'm proud of you, Rose. Not just regarding the campaign but because of your overall approach to life. I wish I had been half as put-together at your age. You're going to do great things in life, Rose."

I hug her. It's a lot of pressure when she says things like this, but I know it comes from a good place. "Thanks, Mom."

As soon as she leaves, I turn to my closet and contemplate what to wear. Since meeting Blake, my campaign book no longer serves as a roadmap but a reminder of how different I am from the girl who made that book: the outfits, the speeches, the step-by-step playbook – I hadn't needed any of it, and I still don't; I made it to debate day without them.

I settle on a simple white shirt and black jeans. As I stand before the mirror, buttoning up my shirt and rehearsing my debate, I start to feel like a fraud. It's not that I've ever bullied anyone unless calling Blake names counts, but I can't pretend that I didn't know how Chase treated people, and what does that say about me? Doesn't that make me a hypocrite? Between that and the cheating scandal, why would anyone want me as their president?