Mr. Brooks sighed. "Ballots are in your lockers. Go, vote, and don't draw hearts unless you mean it."
We all filed out in pairs. Some serious. Some giggling. Some pretending they weren't swooning.
Tyler ran up beside me and slapped my back. "Told you. Star of the show, baby."
"You know I didn't even want to win, right?"
"You still might."
He wasn't wrong.
In just one day, I'd gone from invisible transfer student to… well, let's be honest—school heartthrob and unofficial class president in spirit, if not in ballot.
As I slid my vote into the box, I glanced up at Emma, across the room. Calm. Controlled. But her eye twitched.
Across the other corner: Miles. Adjusting his tie like the villain in a school drama.
And in the middle of it all...
Me.
Just Jay.
Caught between chaos, charisma, and whatever this ridiculous story was becoming.
The class buzzed all afternoon. Not because of what Mr. Brooks was teaching (something about metaphor and "the slow death of youth," I think), but because there was a countdown running in everyone's heads.
The voting box sat sealed on the teacher's desk like a cursed artifact. Mr. Brooks hadn't touched it since we dropped our votes in. Occasionally he'd glance at it, sigh like he regretted becoming a teacher, and continue the lesson.
But no one was listening.
Well—except Amaya, who was diligently copying notes while eyeing the clock every few minutes.
Tyler passed me a folded note halfway through class.
Bet: if Emma wins, she'll declare war on Miles.
If you win, half the class might pass out.
I scribbled back.
And if Noah wins?
He wrote in huge block letters:
MUSICAL. NUMBER.
I choked on my laugh.
Across the room, Emma looked deep in thought, one finger tapping the desk. Miles was subtly watching her from the side, lips pressed thin. And Noah? Noah was drawing stars on his ballot receipt like it was a prophecy.
By the time lunch rolled around, everyone was too restless to sit still.
Cafeteria → Club Recruitment Zone
Lunch today had been moved outside. Not because the school was feeling generous—but because of the chaos that is Club Recruitment Week.
They should've called it what it really was: Club Hunger Games.
Tables were set up all across the courtyard and main hall. Posters everywhere. Flyers being flung like ninja stars. Upperclassmen in full costume. Some even had props.
Tyler immediately perked up.
"This. This is what I was born for," he said, arms stretched like he was entering a festival.
"You mean chaos?" I spoke.
"Exactly."
Amaya, already holding three flyers, sighed. "I just wanted a quiet lunch."
Too late.
A girl in a fencing uniform lunged at us with a flyer. "Are you agile? Competitive? Carry unresolved emotional trauma? Then you're perfect for the Fencing Club!"
"Do I get a sword?" Tyler asked.
"Yes."
"I'm listening."
Before she could lock him in, another upperclassman popped up, wearing a fox mascot head.
"Don't listen to her! Join the Cultural Research Society! We go on field trips! Sometimes to places that don't even exist on the map!"
"Do you guys have snacks?" I asked, mostly joking.
"We have mystery snacks."
Amaya pulled me away before I signed a blood pact or something.
"I'm joining Home Ec," she said, finally breaking away from the madness. "They have a baking team. They're even doing a cake contest next month."
"That's dangerously on-brand for you," I smiled.
She blushed a little. "And you? Any clubs?"
I looked around. So much noise. Everyone seemed sure. People were yelling about archery teams and music clubs and debate societies. I felt like a tourist at a market I didn't understand.
"No clue yet," I admitted. "I feel like if I join the wrong one, I'll end up leading a cult."
"Not impossible," Amaya said seriously.
Tyler, meanwhile, was now surrounded by members of the Soccer Club. They were chanting his name.
"Saw your moves yesterday," the captain said. "We need you."
"Wasn't that just juggling?" Tyler grinned.
"You made it look cool," the guy said.
"I am cool," Tyler answered. Then turned to us and whispered, "I'm in."
One down.
A Few Tables Away...
Noah was signing autographs at the Drama Club table.
"I'm not even famous," he said modestly, "but thank you."
Sofia was filming the whole thing.
"He's milking it," she whispered into her phone, "but we love the drama."
Emma walked by, clutching a clipboard titled: Potential Strategic Club Alliances. She gave Jay a look.
"What?" I asked.
"You should consider something useful. Debate. Student Council. Literature Society."
"Are you recruiting or threatening me?"
"Both," she said, and walked off.
Back to Me
I stood in the middle of it all, unsure.
I could join something fun.
Something quiet.
Something where no one expected anything from me.
But that's not how this school seemed to work.
"You, okay?" Amaya asked again.
"Yeah," I nodded. "Just figuring out where I fit."
Her eyes softened. "Wherever you go, people will follow."
"That's kind of the problem."
Before the Bell... Back in Class 1-A
The buzz was even louder now. The voting box was still unopened. Mr. Brooks finally stood.
"Alright," he said, tapping the desk, "before you all burst from suspense... let's find out who's about to regret signing up for this."
Everyone held their breath.
My fingers tapped the side of my desk unconsciously.
Emma didn't blink.
Miles leaned forward.
Noah did a dramatic hair flip.
I just... waited.
Part of me hoped it wasn't me.
Another part... wondered what it would feel like to win.
Mr. Brooks cleared his throat.
"The new class rep for 1-A is—"