The Federation

Melanie Gates tucked her long red hair behind her ear, leaning back in her desk as she let her seventh period government teacher’s dull lecture wash over her. She saw no reason to pay attention to Mr. Fenton during the last two minutes of class, despite his unfortunate habit of droning on right up until the final bell. She doodled absentmindedly in the margins of her notes as he talked about the wonders of the executive branch, waiting as the seconds took their sweet time in passing.

Finally, the jarring screech of the bell cut off Mr. Fenton’s dry speech. Five or six students shot out of their desks and were out the door before Mr. Fenton could turn off the overhead. Over the din of everyone else gathering their papers and unzipping their backpacks, Mr. Fenton called, “Remember, the State of the Union address is on tonight! Be sure to watch it.”

“Do we get extra credit if we do?” asked one boy hopefully.

“Absolutely not, Jake,” Mr. Fenton said dryly, “although you could certainly use it.”

Melanie rolled her eyes. The idea of Mr. Fenton giving out extra credit was ludicrous, to say the least. She slung her backpack over one shoulder and left the room, joining the flow of students who crashed mercilessly through the halls in their desperation to leave the school.

After a minute or so, Melanie found herself deposited in front of her locker. She had only spun to the first number of her combination when a pair of hands came out of nowhere and began ruthlessly tickling her.

“Jesus Christ!” she screamed, dropping all of her books as she doubled over, giggling helplessly.

“Sorry to disappoint, but it’s just me,” said Dan. He released her, squatting to help gather the books she dropped. “Did you really think it was the son of God tickling you? Don’t you think He has better things to do?”

“You can’t blame me for hoping,” Melanie retorted, smiling down at her best friend. Dan stood up and held out her books for her to take, a spectacular scowl gracing his face.

“You make me do all the work,” he accused. Melanie ignored him, depositing her books in her backpack and wrenching it out of her locker.

“You will take me home now,” Melanie announced, slamming her locker shut.

“Last one to the car pays for gas,” Dan yelled, already running down the hall.

“Hey!” Melanie screamed, taking off after him.

Their heavy footfalls echoed through the hallways, causing some teachers to stick their heads out their doors and glare at the two juniors. Melanie paid them no attention, focusing on Dan. He had gotten a head start, but he had never been able to outrun her. She soon caught up with him. “You can’t catch me!” she called over her shoulder. She ran full speed out the door to the student parking lot, promptly slipping on the icy sidewalk and falling flat on her back.

Dan caught up with her a second later, jogging to a stop and doubled over with laughter at her stupendous fall. “I give it a nine for style alone,” he said, still in stitches at her expense. Melanie stuck out her tongue at him, pushing herself up and crossing her arms across her chest, glaring.

“Aw, come on, Mel,” Dan said, holding out a hand to help her up. “You know I was just kidding.”

She took it, straightening up. Then she shot off towards Dan’s beat up Pontiac. She heard him shout something about cheating and laughed as she reached his car. She settled herself on the hood of the car, her legs crossed as if she were a queen, and stared regally at Dan as he jogged up, out of breath.

“I believe it’s your turn to pay for gas, Dan,” Melanie said, unable to suppress her giggles.

“Fine,” Dan grumbled, opening the driver’s side door, “but you’re still a cheater.”
Melanie jumped down, intending to land lightly, but instead slipping on another patch of ice and having to grab hold of the side mirror for dear life.

“You’re such a klutz,” Dan teased, laughing.

Melanie ignored this slight, walking around to the passenger’s side and stepping in. She thrust her backpack into the back seat, cranked up the heat, and put her feet up on the dashboard. Dan backed out carefully and maneuvered into the flow of cars heading out of the parking lot.

“You’re such a good driver,” she said accusatorily.

“Well we can’t all be insurance liabilities,” Dan remarked.

“Very funny,” Melanie said sarcastically. “At least insurance liabilities don’t have to pay for gas.”

“Whatever,” Dan said, smiling as he exited the parking lot.

Melanie leaned back in her seat, observing Dan as he drove. She’d known him ever since they were in elementary school, and it still sometimes surprised her to see how he has grown. He was pale, even paler than she was, and had messy brown hair to the nape of his neck. His eyes were brown, too, and his nose was too big and had a bump in it from when he had broken it in eighth grade. He was growing stubble on his chin and cheeks. He really is a pretty one, Melanie thought absentmindedly.

She turned to the window, fogged up from the heat inside the car. She drew two identical stick figures in the steam. Underneath she wrote Danny + Mel, using Dan’s nickname from when they were kids. “Look, Dan, I drew us,” she said.

Dan glanced over at the window, chuckling. “You’re Rembrandt in disguise,” he commended.

“So are you coming to my house to see the State of the Union?” Melanie asked.

“Do I have to?” Dan asked.

“Yes,” Melanie replied. “It’s not Mason speaking, so it’ll be boring without someone to watch it with.”

Melanie had become enamored with Tyler Mason over the last year. She had never really paid attention to politics, being somewhat apathetic about the whole institution, until Mason came along. He was a politician whose ideas made sense—something Melanie had thought didn’t exist. He was a captivating speaker, too, which helped him gather about a following unlike any other in U.S. political history. The State of the Union was something she felt like she should watch, but would be given by the previous President, John McCain.

“I don’t suppose I have a choice,” Dan grumbled in a mock-suffering tone.

“Nope,” Melanie said brightly. “But don’t worry, it’ll be fun. We’ll make popcorn and break out our trusty John McCain foam fingers.”

“Right,” Dan snorted. John McCain’s presidency had basically been eight more years of George Bush before him. By the time the elections of 2016 came around, America was drowning in conservatism and sub-30% approval ratings.

Dan parked in the street outside Melanie’s house and they walked up to the front door. Melanie fished around in her backpack for her key. “Damn,” she muttered. “Where is it?”

“Melanie,” Dan said, shaking his head incredulously. “Why don’t you check where you always put it?”

Sure enough, it was in the front pocket. Melanie scowled at Dan. “Lucky guess,” she said, unlocking the door and letting them in.