cliché musings

A disturbing poster was hanging outside Penelope’s AP Calculus classroom, glaring with its laminated material, bright blues and greens an eye-drawing spot against the pale wall. Penelope halted halfway through the classroom door, staring at the large, printed words. The person behind her crashed into her bookbag, glared, and moved around her to leave the room. 

“Who’s Alondra Vasquez?” Penelope asked.

Lilah, standing beside her, turned to look at the poster. “I think she’s new this year.”

Vote Alondra Vasquez was plastered on the top of the poster in block letters. Change for Somerset High! was on the bottom. In the middle Alondra’s beaming face was stuck, either photoshopped or just pounded with makeup, sheeny, smooth skin, red lips, and joyful eyes. 

Penelope tightened her grip on her bookbag. “And she’s running for president?”

“Guess so.” Lilah looked to see Penelope’s face. “She’s not gonna win, obviously.”

“No,” Penelope laughed. Her heart sped up. She swallowed down the churn in her stomach and began to walk down the hallway towards her next class.  “Of course not.”

“I can always make more posters.”

“I’ll think about it.”

At lunch, Penelope sat at the cafeteria table, poking at the tomatoes in her salad. Lilah and Danny were busy discussing campaign ideas, while Danny was also rushing to fill in the answers for his math homework due next period.

Penelope had noticed another poster by the entrance to the cafeteria, next to the torn and Helvetica-font Say No To Drugs and Tolerance: Easy as ABC! posters. Across the room, she watched a girl with curly blonde hair–Penelope thought her name was Beth, but had never seen her in a Student Government meeting–holding a basket, handing out buttons to what looked like a table of freshmen. Change for Somerset High! flashed across Penelope’s eyesight. Under the table, her knee began to shake, foot tapping repeatedly on the tiled floor. She dropped her fork.

“Have you met Alondra?” she interrupted. “Alondra Vasquez?”

Lilah focused on the burger she was eating.

“She’s in my English class,” Danny said. “Pretty ballsy to be running for president, though.”

“I think I should talk to her,” Penelope said. “The other candidates know they don’t have a chance.”

“Scare her into dropping out? Come on, you don’t need to do that.”

“Me and Danny got this,” Lilah said. She put a hand on his shoulder. “I can order a whole banner if that’s what you want.”

“It’s okay.” Penelope looked at the two of them. An intelligent pair, both in honors and AP classes, in the top five percent of their graduating class, devoted members of Student Government and Honors Society, and friends since freshman year. Could they handle Penelope’s last year of presidency, the year she has the most plans for the school, the semester she submits her college applications, the most important time for the school to recognize her competent leadership abilities?

“I think I’ll talk to her.”

Penelope waited for Alondra after school, hovering outside the doors for exactly seven minutes until she recognized the girl from the posters walking down the stairs. She was with the blonde girl, Beth, wearing a copy of her poster smile, shiny highlighter, and dark red lipstick on her face. 

“Alondra!” Penelope matched her smile and waved. Alondra looked over, a furrow between her eyebrows. “Hey! Can I talk to you?”

Beth whispered something into Alondra’s ear and then kept walking, shooting Penelope a look as she passed her. Alondra stepped down the last few stairs to stand by Penelope.

“Penelope Kingston, right?” she said. “You’re the current president?”

“It’s nice to meet you.” Penelope stuck out her hand, which Alondra reached out to shake. “I thought I could introduce myself to a fellow candidate.”

Alondra was shorter and rounder than Penelope, dressed in a tight black skirt, paired with a white tank top and dark cardigan. There were Doc Martens on her feet and ironed straight hair on top of her head, hoop earrings dangling from her ears. Penelope was sure she looked like her opposite, wearing her Princeton sweater and blue jeans. She shifted on her feet, forcing her eyes to look away from their outfits.

“I wanted to speak to you, too,” Alondra said. She smiled again, displaying too-bright teeth. “I hope you don’t mind that I’m coming for your title.”

“It’s fine, I always have competition.” And she had beat them the last two years. “It just interested me to hear that it’s your first year here. A senior, too?”

“Yeah, my parents moved here over the summer. My mom’s getting this legal job downtown, so we all had to kind of readjust.”

“What are your plans?” Penelope diverted. “For the school, I mean.”

“Oh–well, I’m thinking about better communication to students. It feels like there’s this disconnect between organized events and the student body, you know? I really want to raise participation. I’d also like to see community-based events, which can help students who don’t feel attached to the school and everything.”

“How could you even know that?” Penelope blurted. Alondra’s eyes widened, and Penelope let out a laugh. “Sorry, I just mean you’ve only been here for, like, a month, right? It’s only September, not really enough time to get a feel for the school. And how much can you accomplish in just a year?”

Alondra shifted on her feet, a muscle moving in her jaw. “I’ve talked to people, and didn’t see a lot of enthusiasm about the start-of-the-year events. I was in government at my last school, and no offense, a lot of people seem to think not much has changed since they’ve been here.”

“Do they? I haven’t heard any complaints.”

Alondra shrugged, and smiled once again, a movement that irked the nerves rushing under Penelope’s skin, an itch she couldn’t scratch. 

“Like I said. Increased participation.”

Penelope didn’t return the smile. “You’re new here. I wouldn’t worry about the other candidates. If they’re outside of Student Government, they don’t have dedicated campaigns, and most of them run as jokes. But I want to warn you that I do have the support of SGA and have earned the majority of votes these last two years.”

“Thanks for the input. I learned a lot from this conversation, and I think I’m gonna take away that you can’t handle competition.”

Penelope’s neutral face froze. Her heart rate picked up, could feel the pressure growing behind her skull and eyes. Her muscles and fucked-up brain compelled her to either lash out or cry, and either way would end with a consuming headache later. She took a deep breath instead.

 “I can completely handle competition.”

“Maybe everyone just lets you get what you want,” Alondra continued. “But I don’t take people’s shit lying down. You can threaten me, but I’ll still be running a kick-ass campaign. And when I win I guess you’ll learn what the people here are looking for.”

“When you win?” Penelope echoed. “You know there’s still a vote, right?”

“Do you?” 

Penelope bit the inside of her mouth. “I wasn’t trying to start a fight, but I think this discussion should be over.”

“Sure you weren’t.” Alondra looked up and then back down to meet Penelope’s eyes. “Nice job trying to scare me or whatever. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She turned around and headed down the sidewalk leading to the school’s parking lot. Penelope stood by the stairs for a moment, then rubbed her eyes and rushed down the street.

“What if I lose?”

“You’re not gonna lose,” Danny said, munching on chips over the video call. “She’s new. She doesn’t have a voter base.”

“But what if?” Penelope rolled over on her bed, the lumpy mattress creaking and irritating her back. She had a compressing feeling in her chest, and nausea trapped in her throat. If there was nothing stopping her, no shame, no friends on video, she could have burst into tears.

“I can’t tell colleges I lost my senior year.”

“You don’t have to tell them,” Lilah offered.

“I do if they ask. Were you also president this year? You weren’t? I guess we can talk about the last two years then–”

“Relax,” Danny cut in. “You can’t control if you lose an election. It’s not that big of a deal, but you’re not gonna lose.”

“Not that big of a deal?” Penelope repeated. “And how does that look on me? A good leader doesn’t lose.”

“Jesus. It’s not like you can’t be in SGA anymore.”

“Fuck off, Danny, I’m worried.”

“Me and Lilah are already working so hard. I don’t know what else you want us to do–”

“Okay,” Lilah said. “Okay. That doesn’t matter. Just breathe, Penelope. You’re letting this get to you when you have nothing to worry about.”

“Oh yeah, it’s only my entire future and everything. Do you think they’d let us cover up her posters–”

“Can you just stop?” Danny interrupted. “What is wrong with you?”

“I can’t stop thinking about this, okay? It’s eating me up–I couldn’t sleep last night–she’s trying to ruin all my plans for this year.”

“You can’t tear her down to get what you want. She has just as much of a right as you to be running.”

Lilah had fallen silent on the call. On the video, her eyes were looking away from the screen.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Penelope said. “I’m not tearing her down. I told you–I’m worried. I’m just saying what I keep thinking about.”

“I think you’re freaking out over nothing and acting like a bitch to someone you don’t even know.”

“A bitch? You can’t say that to me–whose side are you even on?”

“I can’t do this,” Danny said. “I’m leaving.”

He hung up the call, the three-panel screen on FaceTime morphing into two. Lilah and Penelope were quiet. Penelope looked over, saw her pile of mail from colleges looming on her desk–postcards, info books, letters–and felt her stomach twist.

“I’m actually kind of tired. I think I’m gonna go, too.”

“Don’t you want to–”

Penelope hit the red button, tossing her phone to the other side of the bed. She turned onto her back, staring at the ceiling, hands rubbing down her face. Of course. Of course her friends hated her now, too. She was only good at fucking everything up. Annoying everyone until they physically could not take it anymore. She could feel another headache coming along. 

You can’t handle competition, Alondra had said. The words echoed over and over. Maybe everyone just lets you get what you want.

Penelope covered her eyes and let two tears drip down her cheeks.

She tried not to worry about it over the next few weeks–don’t stress about what you can’t control; change what you can–even as more posters showed up and buttons turned into candy and candy turned into donuts passed around during first period classes. Beth, holding a Krispy Kreme box, skipped by Penelope and Lilah in AP Calc, and other SGA members, a bit upset, reported the same experience. 

“Like, no free donut?” Mason, the treasurer, complained. “There’s only so much coffee can do in the morning.”

“We’ll buy donuts, too,” Penelope decided. A persistent thought kept creeping into her mind, though, that she had officially made an enemy. 

Lilah and Danny really did order the banner. Danny, who hadn’t been speaking to Penelope outside of lunchtime conversations and casual messages in their groupchat, shrugged about it, while Lilah smiled. Apparently the two of them had some sort of discussion. Penelope wondered if she should have apologized–that Danny was willing to look past their argument, while she had been laying in bed every night thinking about how much of a dick he was and almost crying herself to sleep–but couldn’t work up the courage, felt a mental block that forced her to keep up the friendly but stilted dynamic Danny had initiate. 

The school wouldn’t let them keep the banner hanging, anyway. Too obtrusive, apparently. And really, guys, the election isn’t that serious. Don’t spend so much money. 

They ordered donuts and more posters. Penelope made sure to hang one right next to the Change for Somerset High! that had appeared by her locker, and to stand by Alondra’s lunch table while her, Lilah, and Danny handed out stickers and pens to students.

Lilah ended up taking a poll, because her AP Statistics class last semester had inspired her.

“The participants aren’t really randomized,” she explained. “I just sent out a link to some of the class and club GroupMe’s and got the email lists for a few others. But I tried to get enough people to make it a normal sample, so hopefully it’s a good representation of the school.”

“It’s not if it’s not random,” Danny mumbled.

“It’s pretty even between you and Alondra,” Lilah went on. “About 50-48, with you leading, Penelope. Of course, the other 2% were people who don’t care or voted for their friends–”

“So she’s close?” Penelope asserted. “This is ridiculous.”

“Well, we can assume most people aren’t invested in the elections and are easily swayed by material items.”

“And we’re running out of money.”

“Personal funds are low, yes. Parents are not approving.”

“Great.”

After spending the afternoon rushing to find ways to make money–could they do a bake sale this late?–and, going to Plan B, making use of anything she already had for campaign materials (there were a bag of pencils she never gave out last year), Penelope then stayed up most of Thursday night studying for a math test, coming back home Friday afternoon exhausted with heavy eyes, a dull headache pounding in her skull.

Her mom was in the living room on her computer, job listings pulled up on the browser, glasses perched over her nose. The coffee table was a mess of papers and magazines, college mailings, newspapers with job listings circled, envelopes full of billing notices, Somerset High’s calendar and weekly newsletters. Piles of clothes were on the other end of the couch, waiting to be folded and put away, while the TV was set to the local news channel, volume low and signal flashing in and out.

“Any luck?” Penelope asked, dropping her bookbag on the floor.

“I think I’ll apply to a few of these places,” her mom said, smiling up at her. “I don’t know. I don’t think I have the experience.”

“It’s okay. You’ll find something.”

“Are you off to work now?”

“Yeah. I have to change, though.”

“Do you think you’re good to go? I know you were up late.”

“It’ll be fine,” Penelope said, although it felt hard to keep her eyes open. “I can handle it.”

Her mom looked back down. “I’m sorry, Penny. I don’t want to put this on you–”

“Mom, it’s really okay. I’m fine.”

“It’s not forever.”

“I know.”

“And you’ve been doing alright?”

“I’ve been good, yeah.”

Penelope went into the bathroom to get ready, stopping to look into the mirror. Her dark hair was limp and shiny with oil, her shower time sacrificed the night before, and her skin had started to break out, pimples erupting over her chin and the spot above her nose. Her vision was shaking, waves moving across the glass of the mirror, blurring in and out of focus, until there was spotlight on the redness of her skin, the normal colored lips, her un-accentuated cheekbones.

Not Alondra. Not Change for Somerset High!

Her hands were trembling, her breath getting quicker, inhale and exhaling in puffs that were forced out of her chest. It felt hard to stand, her legs wobbling, losing feeling and blood circulation and muscle and all the things that were supposed to keep her on her feet and poised and strong. Without thinking about it, she dropped down to the floor, digging for her mom’s makeup bag in the sink cabinets. She dragged it out, unzipping the top and rummaging through the brushes and mascara and blush compacts until she pulled out a tube of red lipstick.

With faltering fingers, she pulled the top off the tube, twisting the bottom until the tip of the lipstick pointed out. She didn’t stand back up to look in the mirror, only moved so she was sitting on top of her legs, bringing the tube up to her mouth. She swiped it over her lips, and then did it again and again, a flick of her hands over and over until she could taste the flakes in her mouth and the pointed end had become a nob. She was Alondra now, she had to be, with a red smile that was capable of captivating the student body.

When she rose to look in the mirror, her reflection startled her. The lipstick was wider than her mouth, painted over the dip above her chin, and smeared up to dimple in her cheek. The bottom of her lip had been applied more viciously than her top lip, chapping and pigmented. A dark red, almost appearing like blood dripping from her mouth. She only looked like a clown, and what was worse, a clown who never learned how to apply makeup. 

She heard her mom call out from the living room. “When did you say you had to go to work again?”

The trance was broken. Penelope grabbed one of the makeup wipes, scrubbing at her lips until they were numb and flesh-colored. The wipe was stained with red splotches, and she threw both it and the tube of lipstick into the trash, closing the makeup bag and stashing it away below the sink again.

She saw the empty orange container sitting on the bathroom counter before she left. Penelope Kingston, it said. Take 1 Tablet By Mouth 2 Times Daily. Order Refill By: 08/25/2019

On Election Day, they played the videos during homeroom that the candidates had recorded. The three other people running were disasters, in Penelope’s opinion, with one guy’s whole debate proposing personalized swimsuits and goggles for the school’s swim team. Go swim! he shouted at the end, which earned a total of one whoop and clap from Penelope’s homeroom. From another guy on the swim team.

Alondra’s video was slightly more successful.

“Hi, Somerset High,” she started. “I’m Alondra Vasquez. I may be new here, but over the past few weeks I’ve become attached to this wonderful school and I would love to be involved in making it even better. If you vote for me, you will be voting for better communication between faculty, student organizations, and the general student body. You’ll know when the school’s latest events are and how you can get involved through emails, posters, flyers, and announcements. You’ll be voting for events that will bring together parents, teachers, and students. You’ll be voting for school spirit, and teamwork that’ll make Somerset High School not just the place you have to go to everyday, but a community that will continue to inspire to lift each other up.”

She gave her red lipstick-smile. “Vote for change for Somerset High!”

There was scattered applause from the people not sitting on their phones with earbuds in, a respectable response for election videos before 8 A.M.

Penelope’s video was played last. She had put on her blazer and tied her hair back for the video, but her face looked pale, with a smile that only captured a fraction of Alondra’s.

“My name is Penelope Kingston,” she said. Penelope’s felt her heart beating as she heard herself talk, critical of the way her eyes flick between her script and the camera, aware of the eyes of the students in her homeroom watching her. She had to turn her gaze away from the television and stared at the whiteboard. “For the last two years I have served dutifully as your student body president. I have sponsored countless fundraisers to bring in money for fun events that were widely enjoyed by students and teachers and spent much time making sure to listen to the voices of Somerset. It’s been my honor to be your president, and I hope to continue this through my senior year.  My mission has been to lessen the stress felt by students and I plan on continuing this by organizing even more fun events that you all would like to see and raising mental health awareness in the school. I also would like to enforce no tolerance rules about bullying in all forms. Your happiness is important to me, and Somerset should be a place where everyone can feel happy throughout the school year.”

Penelope’s ears were ringing by the end of the video, blocking out the sound of her slogan–Happily Vote For Penelope!–and almost missing the ballots her homeroom teacher was passing out. Penelope kept herself from looking around the other students. Her hands were shaking again, and she struggled with marking an X in the checkbox under her name. 

Penelope flung her house door open and slammed it shut. Her mom would be in a job interview until 4 today, which still gave her plenty of time for what she planned to do.

She stormed into her room, digging through her drawers until she found her Princeton sweater. On her desk, she swiped her college brochures–Columbia, Stanford, USC, Michigan–into a pile. In the kitchen, she tore through the drawers until she found her mom’s lighter, and then went out into the backyard.

They had a bonfire pit, one of her mom’s projects back when she had a secured job, small due to the space but surrounded by enough bricks to work. Penelope threw her sweater and brochures, her stash of letters and advertisements from colleges, last semester’s straight-A report card into the pit. She held one last item–a flyer she printed, a part of her Happily Vote For Penelope! campaign –and lit it with the lighter. She watched the corner burst into flames, orange flicks twisting up the paper and smudging the font she spent so long picking out. She tossed the flyer into the pit, entertained by the spread to the pamphlets and brochures, waiting until it finally caught the cotton material of her sweater. The fire crackled, light dancing over her face, smoke burning her nostrils. 

Her mom arrived home half an hour later, smiling at Penelope, who was on her phone in the living room.

“I think it went well,” she said, sitting down beside her on the couch. “I’m sorry we’ve had money problems lately, and going off your medication, and everything. That’s all gonna be over soon, I think.”

Penelope smiled back at her. “That’s great, mom.”

“How was the election today? Did you win?”

“Yeah,” Penelope lied. “By a landslide.”