“And, in a landslide victory, claiming a whopping 82 percent of the vote, the junior class president and vice president are Rhiannon Marshall and Ellison Sparks!” I stop walking. I’m halfway to my locker after seventh period but my feet just kind of congeal to the spot. People are hurrying past, bumping into me, tripping to get around me. We won? We actually won? After three days of losing, I kind of started to think that winning an election with Rhiannon Marshall as your running mate was impossible. But today we did it! “Nice going, Sparks!” a voice says, and I turn around to see some jock in a letterman jacket extending his fist toward me. “Awesome speech!” Random jocks are fist-bumping me? I tentatively lift my fist and tap it against his. He nods like we do this every day. “Yeah!” he says. “Yeah,” I echo with significantly less enthusiasm. What is going on here? “Go, Ellison!” I hear someone else say. I turn around and a girl I’ve never spoken to in my life draws me in for a hug.
