Foes & Cons

over the last three years, and it feels like home to be back for one last go round. One last year of staying on our budget, planning out the school dances, organizing charity bake sales, and campaigning to bring back Taco Tuesday in the cafeteria.
This year, though, we’ll be picking the theme of the prom, and organizing everything having to do with the graduation ceremony. I know it’s not passing some law on immigration or allocating funding on a bill to unemployment, but in the grand scheme of high school, these were important decisions. It feels like something bigger than me to be involved in them, and that is something I am passionate about.
Nate walks in, and I don’t even greet him. My hands just reach for the steaming foam cup and I gulp, the liquid scalding my throat but that’s not something I even care about.
“Good morning to you, too. You know, you’re the only seventeen-year-old I know who ingests coffee like it’s beer they stole from their parents’ garage fridge. Like at any moment, someone will steal it out of your hands.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” I grumble, taking another large swig of coffee.
Nate sets his backpack down behind the podium at the front of the room, the one he’ll stand behind to conduct the meeting. Then he removes a powdered sugar donut from a paper bag and takes a big bite, powdered sugar puffing up in front of his face.
“You have a muffin in there for me?” I eye him.
He reaches into the paper bag again and hands me a lemon poppyseed, rolling his eyes. “You’re like a grumpy, hungry zombie in the mornings.”
“Are you going to bring up the theme and present our ideas?” I ask, feeling semi-human as I chew on my first bite of the muffin.
Nate nods. “Been rehearsing it since last week in my mind. It’s going to be epic.”
Today’s big vote is the same one it’s always been on the first day of class cabinet meetings; we’re deciding on the Spirit Night theme. Each year, every grade comes up with an overarching theme that culminates in one epic pep rally of sorts at the end of the year. Spirit Night sees all the grades piled into the gym, competing for who is the best class in the school. There are relay races, a mural design competition, more activities in between, and then the dance. Each grade painstakingly choreographs a dance with whoever from that graduating class wants to participate. For instance, our junior year theme was Junior Jocks; the music in our dance consisted of a lot of the Space Jam soundtrack, “We Are the Champions” by Queen, and ended with “High Hopes” by Panic at the Disco.
There is a panel of judges, made up of teachers throughout the school, who vote in each category. At the end of Spirit Night, a winner is crowned, and that class gets ultimate bragging rights until the next all-school extravaganza.
It’s everyone’s favorite night of the year, and as seniors, there is a lot of pressure to come in first place. We’ve done so well, even as freshman when we placed second with our dance, and Nate and I have a plan of attack for sweeping the entire competition come June.
Like I said, there are only ever a handful of members who come to these meetings.
So, my jaw basically unhinges when I see the mass of people start to stream into the room before Nate and I can even discuss another thing about the meeting.
And they’re all led by one person, who is flashing me a shit-eating grin. Sawyer.
Nate and I have all but come up with the theme already, as we do every year. We plotted out what it would be, came up with sample music set lists for the dance and mural ideas to present to the smattering of class cabinet members who would attend this meeting. Typically, no one opposed our idea. At least that’s how it has been since freshman year.
But looking at Sawyer’s smug grin, I know that is about to end.
I march right up to where he’s sitting, front row center, and almost jab my finger into his chest.
“What’s the big idea?” I leave off the nickname asshole by a matter of seconds.
“Isn’t this an open meeting? Aren’t I member of the senior class?” He looks like the cat who just ate the canary.
My blood simmers. “Sure. But since I’ve never seen you or your closest hundred friends at any one of these meetings before, and I’m not an idiot, I know something is up. What do you want?”
Sawyer looks around, and I notice Glavin smirking next to him. “We just want to make sure that our idea for the senior theme is heard. And voted on.”
Dread fills the pit of my stomach, because now I understand exactly what he’s doing. He’s here to sabotage, to take away the one bit of power that I actually do have. To ruin all of the work I’ve been looking forward to.
“We have a theme already,” I bite out.
“No, you don’t. You’re required to call a vote on it. And since we have some ideas of our own, you have to listen to us.”
Now Sawyer leans in, so only I can hear. “Remember when I said I’d be issuing every kind of revenge? This is it.” His whisper is cold and callous.
The words he spoke to me just a week after the seven minutes in heaven debacle come rushing back. We were standing in my front yard, no idea the turmoil that was to come for our relationship, when my best friend promised to essentially make my life a living hell.
“You want to go toe to toe with me, Blair? Be careful what you wish for. I’ll break you down, make you curse the day you ever went against me. You want an enemy? You’ve got one.”
Of course, this was after a week of us slinging mud back and forth at each other. After