you told your mom everything !”
Mari looked past Celia and out the window. “Sort of. I’ve been feeling bad, keeping it from her. I was dying to talk to her about what’s really been going on. We’re like you and your mom, you know? You and my mom are my best friends.”
Celia suddenly felt like the worst person in the world. She felt so guilty for making Mari keep something this big from her mom. She’d been swallowing down her own guilt about not coming clean to her mom either, especially since her mom seemed to suspect something was going on. But she’d planned on telling her eventually—she’d just had no idea when or how.
“I’m sorry I’m letting you down,” Mari said after a long silence. “But you did make a promise, and this is the only way I can see that you can keep that promise. And if you can get past probably hating me right now and really think about it, I know you’ll agree.”
All Celia could think about, though, was the immediate future. “But it’s just one more day, Mari! Please, don’t do this.”
“It would have been a disaster, anyway. It’s not like you can stand behind me at that podium tomorrow and back me up like you did during the homeroom visits,” Mari said, getting up from the rug. “And what if I had won? How would we have kept this up for a whole year when we’re barely making it work for a week?”
Celia didn’t know what to say. She’d pushed this same worry out of her own head days before, focusing instead on just getting elected. She’dtold herself, We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it , something she’d heard Ms. Perdomo say at least a dozen times. But the truth was, she had only a vague idea of how she and Mari would handle things down the road. She knew people would start to suspect things if Mari kept picking her to work on projects. She couldn’t promise Mari that things would get any easier after the election.
“Besides,” Mari added when Celia didn’t answer, “it’s already done. The call’s been made.”
Celia imagined Yvette and her groupies gossiping at the lunch table about this, whispering Mari’s name and spreading rumors. They were going to go nuts over this news—Celia had to do something. She jumped up from her chair and flailed her arms. “But don’t you care what people are gonna say? Aren’t you worried what everyone at school is going to think of you if you drop out?”
“Who cares?!” Mari snapped. “I can’t control what other people think. Right now, I only care what I think. And I feel like I’m doing the right thing for the first time in a while.”
She marched to the door. Just before she left the room completely, she stopped in the doorway and turned back to face Celia. Her face looked strong, but her eyes seemed tired and hurt.
“You’re the real candidate, anyway,” she said before closing the door behind her and disappearing down the hall.
A few seconds later, Celia heard the front door click shut. Eventually, she heard Mari’s mom drive away. She sat back at her desk, trying to think about what to do while waiting for her mom to knock on her door and let herself in—a lecture was inevitable now.
It wasn’t until after the sun went down and she was left waiting in the dark that Celia realized her mother wasn’t coming. Maybe Mari’s mom had told her mom everything and now she was mad, or worse, hurt and disappointed.
It was up to Celia alone to figure out what to do next. She thought about calling Mari and asking—maybe even begging—her to reconsider, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it: She had promised Mari that she’d help her keep her part. And the only conclusion Celia had come to while thinking things through by herself was that Mari was right—this was the only way to keep that promise. The next day’s debate took a backseat to the one Celia was not at all ready for: the debate in her head about what to do come Friday morning.
Chapter Ten
Celia heard her mom’s
Mari looked past Celia and out the window. “Sort of. I’ve been feeling bad, keeping it from her. I was dying to talk to her about what’s really been going on. We’re like you and your mom, you know? You and my mom are my best friends.”
Celia suddenly felt like the worst person in the world. She felt so guilty for making Mari keep something this big from her mom. She’d been swallowing down her own guilt about not coming clean to her mom either, especially since her mom seemed to suspect something was going on. But she’d planned on telling her eventually—she’d just had no idea when or how.
“I’m sorry I’m letting you down,” Mari said after a long silence. “But you did make a promise, and this is the only way I can see that you can keep that promise. And if you can get past probably hating me right now and really think about it, I know you’ll agree.”
All Celia could think about, though, was the immediate future. “But it’s just one more day, Mari! Please, don’t do this.”
“It would have been a disaster, anyway. It’s not like you can stand behind me at that podium tomorrow and back me up like you did during the homeroom visits,” Mari said, getting up from the rug. “And what if I had won? How would we have kept this up for a whole year when we’re barely making it work for a week?”
Celia didn’t know what to say. She’d pushed this same worry out of her own head days before, focusing instead on just getting elected. She’dtold herself, We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it , something she’d heard Ms. Perdomo say at least a dozen times. But the truth was, she had only a vague idea of how she and Mari would handle things down the road. She knew people would start to suspect things if Mari kept picking her to work on projects. She couldn’t promise Mari that things would get any easier after the election.
“Besides,” Mari added when Celia didn’t answer, “it’s already done. The call’s been made.”
Celia imagined Yvette and her groupies gossiping at the lunch table about this, whispering Mari’s name and spreading rumors. They were going to go nuts over this news—Celia had to do something. She jumped up from her chair and flailed her arms. “But don’t you care what people are gonna say? Aren’t you worried what everyone at school is going to think of you if you drop out?”
“Who cares?!” Mari snapped. “I can’t control what other people think. Right now, I only care what I think. And I feel like I’m doing the right thing for the first time in a while.”
She marched to the door. Just before she left the room completely, she stopped in the doorway and turned back to face Celia. Her face looked strong, but her eyes seemed tired and hurt.
“You’re the real candidate, anyway,” she said before closing the door behind her and disappearing down the hall.
A few seconds later, Celia heard the front door click shut. Eventually, she heard Mari’s mom drive away. She sat back at her desk, trying to think about what to do while waiting for her mom to knock on her door and let herself in—a lecture was inevitable now.
It wasn’t until after the sun went down and she was left waiting in the dark that Celia realized her mother wasn’t coming. Maybe Mari’s mom had told her mom everything and now she was mad, or worse, hurt and disappointed.
It was up to Celia alone to figure out what to do next. She thought about calling Mari and asking—maybe even begging—her to reconsider, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it: She had promised Mari that she’d help her keep her part. And the only conclusion Celia had come to while thinking things through by herself was that Mari was right—this was the only way to keep that promise. The next day’s debate took a backseat to the one Celia was not at all ready for: the debate in her head about what to do come Friday morning.
Chapter Ten
Celia heard her mom’s
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