Mr. Charter still rumbles about hard work and perseverance as I smile like a kid in a candy store. Blake O'Hare, the most anti-everything boy in school, is holding a banner with my name on it. The same guy who thinks Valentine's day is a scam or that romance is some con, who calls me princess and hates any form of authority.
That guy.
A slow tingle works its way through my fingers. The nerves are still there – I don't think anyone can stand before a crowd and feel entirely at ease – but seeing Blake's face is like a beacon of hope. I don't know what it means, whether it's enough for me to forgive him for going behind my back, but it's a start.
My eyes roam the auditorium, able to pick out Liv, Freddie, and Kenny as they beam from their seats, and that's when that tingle envelopes me completely. As crazily mismatched as the five of us are, I've finally found where I belong.
It's not long before a faculty member spots Blake and frowns. She walks over, whispers something, and practically escorts him out of the auditorium like a criminal, but it doesn't matter. I saw him. I saw him, and he cares.
I turn to the front, which doesn't feel so hard now. The faces stare back at me, but I'm not terrified like I was a moment ago. If anything, I feel ready to face whatever lies ahead, even if that means losing.
"This presidency has always been about democracy," Mr. Charter says as he scans the crowd. Beads of sweat now gather on his forehead as he tugs at the collar of his shirt. "We counted your votes quickly but fairly, and it is time to reveal who will lead you as senior class president. Libby Ridgerton and Rose Matthews have shown great resilience and willpower throughout this. No matter who becomes senior class president, both students will leave this auditorium as winners."
Libby looks at me and rolls her eyes at Mr. Charter's theatrics. I smile back before hoping against hope that my name is called, not because I have anything to prove or because I want my reputation back, but because I want to make a difference.
"So," Mr. Charter says, "without further ado." He lifts the envelope placed on his podium and opens it. The shuffling of paper echoes through the auditorium. He pulls out the slip, then pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, but his expression gives nothing away.
As I wait for Mr. Charter to get on with it, I glance back at Libby. She's nervous; I can tell by how hard she clasps her fingers, her telltale sign. It's the same thing she would do when we would have to wait for test results or for her love interest of the week to message back. And even though it isn't my problem, I can't help but think what Chase will say if she loses today.
I try not to think of the worst and face forward, shoulders back, ready to face the results of this thing, even if they're not the ones I hope for. The truth is, the old Rose would have given everything to become senior class president, even her soul, and the idea of standing here and losing today would have broken her, but I know now that losing this campaign won't break me – not even close.
"The moment you've all been waiting for," Mr. Charter says as he looks at the crowd. "Next year's senior class president, with two-hundred and sixty-three votes to two-hundred and thirty-five, is..."
The pause he takes feels like an eternity. At that moment, I think of several things, not all relating to the campaign. I think of what I had to go through with Chase Ridgerton to get here and how much I've changed since that day in Spring Break. I think of the friendships I've made: Freddie and Liv and even Kenny when he actually talks, people I'd never in a million years have guessed would make a difference in my life, but they have. And finally, I think of Blake. Blake O'Hare. The boy behind the bike sheds in a cloud of cherry vape.
The boy I'm completely obsessed with.
I can't help it; I smile, even though this isn't the time. I should be nervously gnawing on my lip like Libby, overwhelmed by the idea of losing this campaign, but maybe Mr. Charter is right. No matter what that ballot in his hand says, no one leaves here a loser.
"Rose Matthews."
A rush of breath escapes my lungs as I wait for that Gotcha moment. Time stops, and the room succumbs to earth-shattering stillness before applause spreads like wildfire through the crowd. But I don't react. I can't. I'm still repeating those words, unable to believe them. Rose Matthews. Rose Matthews. Rose Matthews.
That's me.
Mr. Charter beams as he leans toward me and sticks his hand out. "Congratulations, Miss Matthews. You are officially our senior class president."
I shake his hand in the same slow motion of a dream. With a fifty-fifty chance of winning, I shouldn't feel this shocked, but I am. I glance at Libby, who's taken two steps back, pushing herself against the billowing stage curtain. From the look on her face, she wants to disappear.
When the clapping concludes, Mr. Charter looks at Libby encouragingly. As the runner-up, she's supposed to step up and give her conceding speech in a show of good sportsmanship, but instead, she's like a deer in headlights. Mr. Charter looks at me when she doesn't move and beckons me over. Before I do, I turn to Libby, take a deep breath, and hug her. She's still for a moment, no doubt surprised by my sudden affection, but she slowly hugs me back.
I pull away and step to the podium, legs shaking, not out of nervousness or fear but excitement. This campaign was never about popularity. My dream to become class president arose because I care, because my father was right: there aren't many opportunities in life to make a difference, so when one comes along, you take it.
"I want to start by saying thank you for trusting me as your senior class president," I say as I swiftly scan the crowd. The faces look up at me, some smiling and happy on my behalf for this win and some wishing they were somewhere else entirely. They don't believe that anything will change, and I get it. How many times have I listened to the teachers denounce bullying? Yet nothing ever changes. They think the same about me too.
I take a deep breath, once again set on throwing out the speech I'd planned because a few buzzwords about ending bullying mean nothing to these kids. What they want is honesty, and that's what they're going to get.
"When I started this campaign, I told you I wouldn't stand up here and claim to end bullying, and that's true," I say, but even though my voice shakes slightly, I have never felt more confident. "Teachers will claim that bullying is unacceptable, but it means nothing to those who suffer daily. These methods don't work. Buzzwords like Zero Policy don't work, which is why I created this initiative in the first place. It won't solve bullying, but I hope that through the three R's, we can offer those who suffer more forms of support and make this school more bearable for all. I meant it when I said that bullying brings us together, but it doesn't have to be for the worse. This isn't just my battle to fight or even yours: it's all of ours. Someone once told me there aren't many opportunities in life to make a real difference, but this can be ours." I pause briefly, focusing on Liv's smiling face before continuing. "I can't wait to start making the changes I know will better this school, and I want to thank you for putting your trust in me to help to create a safer environment. Thank you."
Another round of applause reverberates through the auditorium as I step back from the podium. Mr. Charter steps forward, gives me a look like he couldn't be prouder, and finishes his closing speech, but I don't hear a word. All I can do as he finishes his speech is think about the future and smile.
Afterward, everyone heads back to class for last period. Libby and I huddle backstage, waiting for the crowd to disperse. As we wait, I turn to her, still on cloud nine after winning class president, and see she doesn't look as hurt as I'd anticipated. Part of me wonders if she ever really wanted this for her or if it was always about pleasing Chase.
"Looks like the best candidate won," she says.
I look at her for a moment, trying to find traces of sarcasm in her voice, but all I see is sincerity. "What's your brother going to say?"
She shrugs a little. "If I'm being honest, I don't care. My parents are furious at him for embarrassing the family and ruining his permanent record, so maybe they'll leave me alone now that the heat is on him."
A surge of relief runs through me. In the end, Chase got what he deserved, and I didn't even have to stoop to his level. I could have: I could have planned for revenge, worked to hurt him the way he hurt me, and I'd be lying if I said it hadn't crossed my mind, but this was the best revenge I could have asked for: achieving the dreams he worked so hard to take away.
"The suspension must be killing him," I say, and I'll admit, I sound gleeful. Chase has always been the perfect son in the eyes of his parents: good looks, good grades, and athletic. Libby, as such, has always paled in comparison, but maybe now is her time to shine.
"Yeah," she says, smiling a little, "it is. As soon as he got pulled into the principal's office, he threw Adam and Zack under the bus." She looks up now with a seriousness she'd lacked a moment ago. "He brought up your video." She pauses. I hold my breath. "He said it was all Adam's idea."
Of course. "Did the principal believe him?"
"Not really," she admits, "but there wasn't much proof either way. They're both in serious trouble for the election, though."
I'm glad at least that Adam was suspended too. While Chase was the brains behind my downfall, Adam played a part too. Now that they're both sitting at home, suspended, I can finally move on.
"I'm sorry," she says, looking away, "that I didn't believe you. I should have."
I swallow hard. I hadn't known it before now, but hearing her say that is what I'd needed all along. As my best friend, knowing she hadn't believed me hurt more than what Chase did, and now, just like that, it's all over.
"Thank you."
The last of the crowd leaves the auditorium. The backstage curtain wobbles slightly before Liv, Freddie, and Kenny sneak through and pull me into a four-way hug. I can hardly breathe they're holding me so tight, but I can't help but laugh as my nose gets wedged into Freddie's armpit.
"You did it," he says as they keep on squeezing. "All Hail the Beer Pong Queen."
"All Hail The Beer Pong Queen," the others recite.
Libby looks on like we're officially insane, but for me, this moment is one of those moments that'll stay with you forever. "All Hail the Beer Pong Queen," I say, and we all break into laughter.
Mr. Charter pops his head through the curtain at hearing all the commotion and smiles. "All right, all right. All of you back to last period."
I turn to Libby, give her a brief but reassuring nod, and say, "I guess I'll see you around."
"Yeah," she says, "see you," and something briefly passes between us. We'll never be friends, I know that now, but it's nice not hating each other. It feels like closure.
I head down the steps with the others toward the exit. On the way to class, we pass my locker, where I see someone stuck a bright yellow post-it note on the door. "You guys go ahead," I say to Liv. "I just need to grab something from my locker."
Liv nudges my arm. "You wanna meet us after school?"
"Yeah, I'll wait for you by the parking lot." I wait for them to leave before heading to my locker, half-expecting it to be another attempt at someone making fun of me, but all it reads is:
Ready when you are, Princess.
I swallow hard and look around like I expect him to materialize out of nowhere. When he doesn't, I do the un-presidently thing and skip last period to sneak to the bike sheds. There's no reason he would be there after being carted off by that faculty member, but I have this unexplainable feeling that maybe he'll think to meet me there anyway.
My feet carry me faster. I'm terrified someone will catch me for truancy, and how good would that look as our newly appointed president? But if this thing with Blake has taught me anything, sometimes breaking the rules is worth it.
I round the corner of the bike shed and freeze when I notice it's empty. My smile drops – not just my smile, but every ounce of hope I'd had that he would be here waiting for me. Despite the fact I'd just been on a high, I'm more disappointed than ever.
Then I hear it: the slight crunch of gravel under heavyweight shoes, and I whip around, right into a hard, solid chest. Two hands come out to steady me, warm, solid, and entirely familiar, causing my heart to swell. When I look up, Blake's crooked smile stares back at me.
"Looks like a congratulations is in order," he says. "The princess is now Senior Class President."
I don't speak – I can't. I'm just so happy to see him after what feels like forever that I hug him, and god, does it feel good, like coming home. He hugs me back, tighter than he's ever hugged me, and buries his face in my neck. A million things have happened since we last hugged like this, but standing in his arms still feels the same: safe and right and wrong all at once; I wouldn't have it any other way.
"I thought you were escorted off the premises," I say, pulling back. He looks the same as the first day we met here: messy hair and crooked smile, but his dark eyes are no longer laced with contempt. They are bright, warm, and fill me with something I'd never have thought possible when it comes to Blake O'Hare.
Excitement.
"I was," he says, then leans into my ear with the most wicked look, like he's about to tell me a secret. "I broke back in."
I laugh because it's so ridiculous. "Blake O'Hare breaking into school is something I never thought I'd hear." Then again, Blake turning himself in to take Chase Ridgerton down is something I'd never have thought either.
"If you tell anyone, I'll have to kill you."
"I always knew you were a serial killer," I tease. "You know what this means, don't you?"
His eyebrow arches in that way that I've missed. "You're a masochist?"
I roll my eyes and swat his arm, but I can't deny how good it feels to be back in this bike shed, just him and me. "Now that I've won, you'll have to spend next year as my campaign captain too."
His eyes drop to my lips as he says, "I can think of worse things."
"Are you sure about that? That means planning, meetings, being in school, taking on a leadership role..."
The corner of his mouth tilts downward though he tries to hide his disdain. "I'll cross that bridge when I get to it," he says and tugs me closer. There's no more room left, nowhere to look except for in those eyes, which are steady on mine. "The question is: what happens now?"
My heart beats faster than it has all day. The truth is, I don't know what happens next, whether this thing with Blake will work itself out or if maybe we're too different. Whether I'll make a good class president or only prove to everyone that I'm not good enough. But I do know that for once, I don't care. Life isn't perfect: it can't be predicted or planned, or rehearsed. Things happen, and if there is one thing Blake taught me that I plan on sticking by, it's that sometimes, it's okay to let go.
So I reach up, wrapping my arms around Blake's neck, and playfully meet his gaze. "Don't overthink it," I say and kiss him.
The End
A/N
85,000 words later, and CHECKMATE is finally complete!
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