Checkmate

15| Practice makes perfect

There is a knot in my stomach the moment I wake up. I roll on my side, propping myself up with an elbow, and stare at the clock on the bedside table. It's just gone seven, which means my parents will already be awake and eating breakfast. Sundays are usually family Day in the Matthews household, which is why it feels strange that I'm here, in a house and bed that are not my own.

In Blake's bed.

For a moment, as I lie here entangled in his sheets, I'm overcome with shame. Not over last night – from what I remember, I didn't do anything too bad – but over the thoughts I'd had about Blake. We are opposites in every way, so opposite, in fact, that I struggle to think of a thing we have in common, not to mention he's a jerk. If he knew what sordid thoughts crossed my mind, he'd be horrified too.

My stomach squeezes just thinking about it. I tell myself it was down to the alcohol and nothing else. Blake was being nice – uncharacteristically so – and my brain got confused. That's it. As if to prove it, I jump out of bed and gather my things before tiptoeing into the hallway. The house remains quiet, and there's no sign of movement coming from downstairs, which tells me Blake is asleep. I push on further, convinced that if I look in Blake's eyes, he'll see the dirty thoughts I had. When the coast is clear, I sneak back to my car before reversing out of the driveway.

The drive gives me time to get my head straight. Whether last night helped or hindered my campaign remains to be seen, and the worst part is that I won't find out until Monday, which means another twenty-four hours of overthinking.

Instead of obsessing, I think about the next few steps in my campaign, such as preparing my speech and putting together a plan of action for if it's successful. I'll need to talk to Mr. Charters, the faculty advisor, at some point, and I'll need to start planning what else I'm going to do to ensure I get the vote. No doubt Chase and Libby have something big in the works, which means I've got some serious thinking to do. I just hope last night helped to make me relatable like Blake said it would, or else I'm in trouble.

As soon as I get home, I drop my purse on the hanger by the door, brush out my hair, and follow the voices to the kitchen. My parents are at the table, Dad's nose in a book and Mom's in her laptop. Even though they're preoccupied with different things, I catch Dad holding her hand beneath the table.

"Morning," Mom says as I sit at the table, "how was last night?" She doesn't look up; she's too busy replying to an email. Even on a Sunday, the mayor doesn't rest.

"It was good," I say, reaching for a piece of fruit. "It was nice spending time with Angela outside of the campaign."

"That's good, honey," she says. "How is the campaign going?"

"Okay, I think. I know what I want it to be about, so I'm going to spend today working on my speech."

Mom frowns. "What do you mean?"

"I thought you had that planned out since kindergarten," Dad teases.

The familiar tightness in my stomach returns. I keep my voice light as I say, "I had to make a few changes, but I think it's for the better. I'll be campaigning to help victims of bullying."

Dad smiles, but Mom stops tapping on her laptop to look at me. "Your campaign is on bullying?"

I falter, and then, "I thought it would be good to campaign about something that many students in Archbury experience. Something more...relatable."

"Oh, Rose," she says with disapproval, "you don't want to be that candidate."

As if by magic, the last of the Rose from last night wilts away. "What candidate?"