The Lucy Chronicles
The Presidential Debates
When I was fourteen, in the fall of my freshman year of high school, I ran for class president. Things were going splendidly. Homemade campaign posters that I worked on with my mother decorated the halls, and people seemed rather eager to cast their votes in my favor, though one little thing seemed to stand in my way: one of classmates, a rather vicious young girl named Keely Elliot.
Mother said that Keely was born into a family that didn’t like my family very much, mostly due to the installment of the Global Federalist Republic, which my mother and her close friend, Dean Cassidy, lead with iron fists. Her parents were part of the League, a terrible, totalitarian regime that my parents and their dearest friends fought for years to bring down. It wasn’t easy, at least not according to my parents or my history books. Many people died. Things were better now, much better, however, my mother warned me that League families were still raised to breed hate and despise anything good or free in this world, at least if those good and free things were impoverished.
Thanks to the GFR, most people were pulled out of poverty. Apparently, League families would never see that as a good thing.
Nevertheless, I went about my campaign in a decent and respectable manner, just like Mother told me, though Uncle Dean protested and told me that nothing was more fun than a little smear campaigning. I politely declined his offer to create insults for me, though I never quite suspected that Keely Elliot was going to pull the card that she did.
The week before the debates went off without a hitch, but it was while we were standing at the podiums that things went horrible wrong. I was dressed in my best navy blazer and skirt, something I had gotten compliments on from the press before. Keely was dressed almost just as professionally. It was just after lunch hour, and the entire student body was gathered to watch the debates about to happen. They intended to host them all today: freshman, followed by sophomore, then junior, senior, and finally, student body. I considered running for student body, but I felt that to be just a tad ambitious.
Freshmen were up first, so I stood there rather awkwardly at the podium, tugging at the ends of my blazer and hoping that my hair looked okay and that the light wasn’t washing me out. I didn’t know why I felt nervous; I never got nervous about much else. After all, I was an actress. Besides that, every day more I lived was another act of defying fate. I tried not to be nervous because I felt that being nervous was like taking for granted another day that I wasn’t even supposed to have.
Even still, my palms were sweating as I gripped the sides of the podium, trying to gather my thoughts. I knew my public speaking was decent enough to carry me through my speech; it was the words I was worried about. I had practiced for hours and hours and hours what I was going to say, and here I was, blanking right there on the stage. My stomach churned at the thought of speaking. Thankfully, I wasn’t even supposed to go first. I had planned it that way. Generally speaking, people only seemed to remember what they heard last. I hoped to leave a lasting impression in that sense, so I waited patiently with deep, heaving breaths as my opponent cleared her throat into her mic.
“Good afternoon, my fellow classmates,” she began in a clear, even tone. Suddenly, all of my confidence dropped into the pit of my stomach. “I’m not here to tell you to vote for me. I’m not here to tell you to vote against my opponent, Lucy Devlin. I’m not here to promise you better lunches or vending machines in the cafeteria. I can’t grant your every wish, but what I can do is present the facts. A class president is supposed to be here to represent you and delegate your wishes to administrators. You need somebody dependable, somebody reliable—“ she paused and glanced at me from the corner of her eye. “Not somebody who misses months and months of every school year because of illness.”
I didn’t have words. She kept talking, but I had stopped listening. My eyes glanced over to crowd to see a reaction. Most students looked uninterested. My old brother, Travis, a junior, was seated two rows from the back on the left side of the auditorium, scowling. I blinked a bit, averting my gaze from the crowd and staring at the wooden surface of the podium, my stack of notes in front of me. I didn’t think I was going to cry, even if what she had said was horribly offense. I was too shocked to know if I felt upset. I didn’t know how I felt. I didn’t even know what I was going to say.
“Miss Devlin?” the principal addressed me over the microphone. It must have been my turn. I stared at her for a moment, and she raised her eyebrows, probably wondering if I was even going to speak. I took my eyes off of my notes and looked at the crowd.
“Hi,” I addressed them softly, leaning into the microphone. My brother still looked like he was going to strangle the kid sitting in front of him. “I know that to most of you, this is just a silly class debate, and some of you will probably only vote for whoever you think is prettier or more popular, or who you like more, but—“ I paused and swallowed the lump in my throat. “I would be very grateful to have your vote. I’m not here to boast about my impressive academics or my sparkling personality… and I’m certainly not here to engage in name-calling and mud-slinging. I think that if you truly believe that Miss Elliot has your best interests at heart, then you should vote her. I don’t have her attendance records or anything like that, but I think that what she just told you should say a lot about her character.”
The crowd was silent as I grabbed my papers and walked off the stage. I dodged the few older candidates standing in the wings. I went home that day, and I didn’t tell her about what Keely Elliot had said, didn’t tell her that Travis nearly murdered a freshman girl. I told her exactly what the after school announcements told me: the freshman class chose me to be their president.
Mother said that Keely was born into a family that didn’t like my family very much, mostly due to the installment of the Global Federalist Republic, which my mother and her close friend, Dean Cassidy, lead with iron fists. Her parents were part of the League, a terrible, totalitarian regime that my parents and their dearest friends fought for years to bring down. It wasn’t easy, at least not according to my parents or my history books. Many people died. Things were better now, much better, however, my mother warned me that League families were still raised to breed hate and despise anything good or free in this world, at least if those good and free things were impoverished.
Thanks to the GFR, most people were pulled out of poverty. Apparently, League families would never see that as a good thing.
Nevertheless, I went about my campaign in a decent and respectable manner, just like Mother told me, though Uncle Dean protested and told me that nothing was more fun than a little smear campaigning. I politely declined his offer to create insults for me, though I never quite suspected that Keely Elliot was going to pull the card that she did.
The week before the debates went off without a hitch, but it was while we were standing at the podiums that things went horrible wrong. I was dressed in my best navy blazer and skirt, something I had gotten compliments on from the press before. Keely was dressed almost just as professionally. It was just after lunch hour, and the entire student body was gathered to watch the debates about to happen. They intended to host them all today: freshman, followed by sophomore, then junior, senior, and finally, student body. I considered running for student body, but I felt that to be just a tad ambitious.
Freshmen were up first, so I stood there rather awkwardly at the podium, tugging at the ends of my blazer and hoping that my hair looked okay and that the light wasn’t washing me out. I didn’t know why I felt nervous; I never got nervous about much else. After all, I was an actress. Besides that, every day more I lived was another act of defying fate. I tried not to be nervous because I felt that being nervous was like taking for granted another day that I wasn’t even supposed to have.
Even still, my palms were sweating as I gripped the sides of the podium, trying to gather my thoughts. I knew my public speaking was decent enough to carry me through my speech; it was the words I was worried about. I had practiced for hours and hours and hours what I was going to say, and here I was, blanking right there on the stage. My stomach churned at the thought of speaking. Thankfully, I wasn’t even supposed to go first. I had planned it that way. Generally speaking, people only seemed to remember what they heard last. I hoped to leave a lasting impression in that sense, so I waited patiently with deep, heaving breaths as my opponent cleared her throat into her mic.
“Good afternoon, my fellow classmates,” she began in a clear, even tone. Suddenly, all of my confidence dropped into the pit of my stomach. “I’m not here to tell you to vote for me. I’m not here to tell you to vote against my opponent, Lucy Devlin. I’m not here to promise you better lunches or vending machines in the cafeteria. I can’t grant your every wish, but what I can do is present the facts. A class president is supposed to be here to represent you and delegate your wishes to administrators. You need somebody dependable, somebody reliable—“ she paused and glanced at me from the corner of her eye. “Not somebody who misses months and months of every school year because of illness.”
I didn’t have words. She kept talking, but I had stopped listening. My eyes glanced over to crowd to see a reaction. Most students looked uninterested. My old brother, Travis, a junior, was seated two rows from the back on the left side of the auditorium, scowling. I blinked a bit, averting my gaze from the crowd and staring at the wooden surface of the podium, my stack of notes in front of me. I didn’t think I was going to cry, even if what she had said was horribly offense. I was too shocked to know if I felt upset. I didn’t know how I felt. I didn’t even know what I was going to say.
“Miss Devlin?” the principal addressed me over the microphone. It must have been my turn. I stared at her for a moment, and she raised her eyebrows, probably wondering if I was even going to speak. I took my eyes off of my notes and looked at the crowd.
“Hi,” I addressed them softly, leaning into the microphone. My brother still looked like he was going to strangle the kid sitting in front of him. “I know that to most of you, this is just a silly class debate, and some of you will probably only vote for whoever you think is prettier or more popular, or who you like more, but—“ I paused and swallowed the lump in my throat. “I would be very grateful to have your vote. I’m not here to boast about my impressive academics or my sparkling personality… and I’m certainly not here to engage in name-calling and mud-slinging. I think that if you truly believe that Miss Elliot has your best interests at heart, then you should vote her. I don’t have her attendance records or anything like that, but I think that what she just told you should say a lot about her character.”
The crowd was silent as I grabbed my papers and walked off the stage. I dodged the few older candidates standing in the wings. I went home that day, and I didn’t tell her about what Keely Elliot had said, didn’t tell her that Travis nearly murdered a freshman girl. I told her exactly what the after school announcements told me: the freshman class chose me to be their president.