May Parker's Guide to Winning the Election

Tip #15: Perfection Isn't All It's Cracked Up to Be

 It's nearing ten o'clock and I'm still in the Journalism room. Riley and the rest of my team have long since gone home, but I couldn't bear to go home after what was posted on Trip's campaign account. Much against Riley's wishes, I read some of the comments and they've managed to make me feel even worse than the original post did. I've spent the last few hours reading and rereading the ever-expanding section of comments and they get worse with each passing one.

My phone rings and Riley's name pops up on the screen. I brush a few tears from my cheeks and pick up. "May, are you reading the comments?" He asks without even greeting me.

"No," I say, staring at the computer across from me.

"I told you not to read them," He sighs like he knew I'd do it anyway. "They're a reflection of them, not of you."

"What do you need, Riley?" I ask, changing the subject with a sigh.

"I just wanted to know how you were doing; I didn't like leaving you at school all alone like that."

"I'm fine." I say, waiting for him to hang up.

"May, please stop reading those comments." Riley pleads, even though he knows it's fruitless.

"I'll see you tomorrow." I say, hanging up before he can protest. I scroll through the comments again; they haven't changed since I started reading them, only gotten worse. I bite my lip as I read one about the zit on my chin. What good does it do to comment on superficial things like that? I sniffle and run the back of my hand under my nose as the tears start again. I lay my head down on the desk, my face buried in my elbows. I continue to cry until a hand on my shoulder stops me in my tracks. I glance up and find Trip standing behind me with a look of concern. I shake my head, unable to find the words to speak to him at the moment.

"May, what's wrong?" He asks, his hand still on my shoulder.

"Why'd you do it?" I turn to him, my glare burning his skin.

"Do what?" He tilts his head, confusion shadowing his eyes.

"Did I ever do anything this bad to you?" I bite my lip, tears burning in my eyes.

"May, I don't know what you're talking about."

"Really?" I snap bitterly, turning the computer screen towards him and scrolling up to the original picture. "Someone posted this earlier this morning; it's been shared over a thousand times, people from other schools have seen it and even a few news sources. So, congrats, Trip, you have officially ruined me; you've won the game, it's over."

"May, I swear this wasn't me." Trip pleads, reaching out for me. "I'd never do anything this low to you."

"You were the only one I told about what happened to me in middle school. I trusted you with that information and you used it to back stab me. I guess that was my mistake, though." I shake my head, turning back to the picture where 'brace-faced, four eyes', as one commenter so politely put it, is staring back at me.

"May, I would never do anything like this to you." Trip whispers, pulling up a chair next to me. "You told me that in confidence and I knew it was the kind of thing you didn't want to get out, so I kept my mouth shut. This wasn't me."

"You and Riley were the only ones I told, not even my parents knew what happened. I know Riley wouldn't do this to me, so that leaves you, Trip." I mutter as more comments join the ever-expanding comment section.

"I'm glad you have so much faith in me, May." Trip sighs and scrolls through some of the comments.

"It was on your campaign page, so you're the only suspect I have so far."

"May, I can't believe people are saying these things about you." Trip says, ignoring my last comment. His eyes widen with each vicious addition he reads.

"I can believe it." I reply, my eyes stinging as a particularly nasty comment materializes at the end of the section.

"May, you have to believe me; I had absolutely nothing to do with this and as soon as I find out who did, they're going to wish they'd never learned how to use the internet." Trip says, his tone serious as he closes the computer.

"Trip, you probably don't want to do that."

"Why?"

"Are you prepared to beat up your friends for a girl who played you?"

"I choose to believe that you weren't playing me the whole time." Trip says, his eyes locking with mine. "And if it was my friends, I wouldn't think twice. If this was them, then they're not the people I want to be friends with anyway. Bullying is despicable and if this is what they do for fun, then I'm done with them." I don't say anything for a little while, contemplating what he just said. Maybe I didn't give him enough of a chance.

"I wasn't part of this, May, but I overheard my friends talking last night about coming back here for something. When I asked, they told me not to worry about it, that they would take care of everything, that they would ensure my victory."

"They must've snuck in and stolen my school file from here." I screw my eyes shut and shake my head slowly. "It has all of my school pictures and all other things I'd want to keep secrets. I bet you anything that's what happened."

"I'm really sorry." Trip says again, his hand on my shoulder. I don't say anything as realization crosses my features. Think of all the other things they know. I bury my face in my forearms as the tears begin again. Trip's hand is still on my shoulder and he's rubbing it slowly in an attempt to comfort me.

"That file had everything in it, all the things I wanted to keep secret were in there and now they have it." I say, choking up. Trip remains silent as I continue to confess. "You know why this matters so much to me? Why I care so much that these things are kept secret?" My questions are met with more silence. "I've spent so much of my life trying to be perfect that sometimes I forget I'm not. I forget my problems, push them aside so much, that I don't know how to deal with them when they come up..."

"May," Trip says, but I continue on without listening to him.

"But none of it matters anymore; you can have the election, Trip, I don't care anymore." I throw my hands up in defeat and turn to face him. "I don't care anymore."

"May, please don't do this."

"I wasn't cut out for this."

"May, of all the people in this race, you're the most qualified. There's no one else who's put this much effort into getting elected than you. You deserve to win." Trip says as I stand up, grabbing my bag.

"I'm done, Trip," I say, slinging my bag over my shoulder and wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. "I'm done." With that I walk out of the journalism room and head towards my car. It's over and I've never felt better. I pull out of the parking lot and drive down the main road to my house, the windows down as I let campaign notes float away on the wind. When I get home, I find the house lit up, my parents sitting in the living room reading, probably waiting up for me. I walk up the steps, my body feeling considerably lighter.