Kayla had spent her first three years at Heller blissfully unaware of the political machinations unfolding all around her, and would have rather kept it that way. Her obsession with pigeons had faded after her escapades with Gordon, and sophomore year she had better things to do (namely struggling with Mr. T's sophomore English class and watching anime). What exactly those kids were doing in Mr. T's classroom on Fridays was none of her business; they never asked her how she was doing, only giving her condescending sneers, so she did the same to them. She couldn't say fairer than that.

Now, something must have happened over the previous year, Kayla thought to herself while Frank breezily ambled through his presidential speech (even calling her out by name—the nerve of him!). She hadn't had any classes with him since freshman year, where they didn't talk at all outside of group projects or until Frank had unsuccessfully tried to sell her on his new manifesto thing. What a weird kid, going around and telling people that he was Noah and his club next year was the Ark. It hadn't even occurred to her that what he said succeeded until she started seeing the club people assemble in center court, those odd copy paper boxes appear in odd places, and, well, these speeches.

Maybe it was a hint that backstage, the four of them stood in a huddle while she awkwardly lingered by the curtain, peeking out once or twice to wave to her friends. Or that they were all dressed like they were attending a business meeting—nobody had told her about a dress code! Or even worse, that Ms. Foster had told her "Good luck" when she signed up, but not in the jovial way that would say she genuinely believed in her, but that slow, drawn-out intonation that really should have been a red flag. Again, Kayla wasn't really aware of these sorts of things, and despite her acute perception of what was happening around her, that wasn't coupled with the acuity or cynicism to truly understand.

It had been Frank, after all, who had given such a wild speech the previous year everyone assumed was satire. But then it started sounding like he meant it seriously, and when people started getting in trouble for celery juice and rumors spread he was involved, perhaps it wasn't that funny anymore. Or now, when Alan had pointed to her and said "Fish-face" during his speech, and everyone laughed, that was probably a red flag too.

Perhaps it wasn't a bad thing that they were going to win. Kayla didn't know what she would have done as president beyond, she figured, making Heller even more fun and artistic and colorful than normal. There was a low bar set there, given the gray that pervaded the school—there wasn't even that much gray, it just felt like it. In her mind's eye, the school was gray. That was the term she was trying to think of. And, well, anyone who could perform a full musical number probably just wanted it more than she did, and Kayla couldn't say fairer than that either. What had she done to earn any of this? She had spent three years sitting around in corners drawing on her tablet or sketchpad, talking with friends or really anyone who would lend her a sympathetic ear, and staying up late because of test anxiety and consequently shooting herself in the foot. These people, to her knowledge (Kayla knew nothing about them beyond vague generalities, but was always willing to let her imagination run wild and fill in the gaps), spent all day studying, had perfect grades, were more attractive than average, and most of all, were popular. She could take them one by one: all of her friends respected Frank out of fear more than out of any popularity he really had, everyone loved Juliet, everyone was united in hatred against Alan, and Behrooz was kind of nice. OK, maybe that was a bad argument.

Kayla was prohibited from casting votes, but backstage they had a screen showing the candidates the votes as they came in. Well, just her, actually: the Gang of Four had left already for something or other, leaving her and a freshman she didn't recognize. Typically Kayla would have found it disheartening to see the gushing torrent of votes for Frank and the lazy trickle for her, but she had spent all the previous assembly imagining that outcome and the pain had already dulled. She got just over a percent of the votes, which at least was visible on the pie chart as something more than a sliver. Before Kayla could say anything insightful, perhaps a concession speech delivered to an audience of one, the freshman packed up and left, leaving her alone backstage. Kayla didn't feel like leaving immediately, but Mr. Cathcart was giving her the stink-eye, so she took that as a sign she, the loser, had overstayed her welcome.

Kayla tried her hardest to imagine, as she sat on the concrete by the flagpole outside the theater (after her humiliating loss, she didn't feel like seeing all the people who had betrayed her—there was no way some of her friends weren't part of that traitorous bunch), how the school would have actually looked different the next year had she won. The same bright blue sky with its cotton-puff clouds would be there. The same pigeons hopping around on the blacktop certainly would be there. All the goofy posters and paintings she passed in the hallways would still be there. So what was the difference, anyway, if someone else won? It would still be Heller, the best high school in existence, and she would still be fortunate enough to attend it. That was a fact she believed in so vehemently that she repeated it five times in her speech, and her loss made it no less true.

Discussion Questions:

Do you think Kayla understands how much trouble the school's about to be in? Why doesn't she seem too bothered by this?

If you'd heard about all of these surrounding circumstances, would you have run for student council?

How much of Heller would have been the same if someone like Kayla won instead?