“You want to talk to me?”
“I mean, yeah,” I said. “You’re not totally horrible, and you’re kind of the only other person in the world who gets what this is like.”
“I thought people only used this app for sending dick pics and cheating on their significant others.”
“Hold up,” I said. “I’m having trouble wrapping my brain around hearing you say ‘dick pics.’” I shut my eyes and shuddered, though I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t have been into getting a couple of those pics from Dean. He wasn’t the type of guy I usually thought was cute, but there was definitely something about his stern-economics-professor-at-a-wealthy-private-school vibe that I liked.
“I’m serious. What are we going to talk about?”
“I don’t know. Whatever we want. School, college, how annoying all this presidential stuff is?” I couldn’t believe I was having to explain to Dean what two people talked about. He probably didn’t have any friends that his mom hadn’t vetted and approved.
I handed Dean back his phone. “All set.”
Dean immediately tapped the icon to open it. “PrezMamasBoy?” He glared down his nose at me, and I broke out in a grin, unable to help myself.
“I’m in there as DreOfTheDead. You can change your name if you really hate it.”
Dean shook his head, but there was a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “It’s fine. The missing possessive apostrophe is killing me, but at least you’ve come around to correctly assuming my mother’s going to win the election.”
“Like hell,” I said. “Maybe Jackson McMann will surprise everyone and beat both our parents.”
“There is an almost zero-percent chance of that happening.”
“That’s why it’d be a surprise.”
Jackson McMann was a billionaire who’d made his fortune starting up and then selling tech companies. He had a reputation for treating his employees like garbage, for thumbing his nose at the law, and for exploiting anyone and everything he could in order to make money. According to my dad, he was an entitled rich dude who’d entered the race as an independent to create chaos and line his own pockets, and because he liked seeing his face on the news. According to my mom, he was an asshole.
“The only way McMann could possibly win is by cheating,” Dean said. “And I wouldn’t put it past him.”
As I nodded my agreement, Dean furrowed his brow and looked at his phone. “Wait, how did you download this if there’s no signal?”
Dean was right. I shouldn’t have been able to access the app store. “I just—”
The lights came back on, and I stood and rushed toward the door as the agent who’d shut us in peeked her head in and told us the lockdown was over.
“My parents?” I asked.
“Everyone is safe and secure.”
Relief flooded through me, and my legs felt like jelly as the adrenaline surge that had been keeping me upright dissolved. I had to hold on to the wall for a second to keep steady.
“See?” Dean said. “I told you everything would be all right.”
Moments later, the Arnaults showed up, followed by my parents. My mom and dad wouldn’t stop hugging me, even though Dad said there hadn’t actually been anything to worry about. A shelf in a janitorial closet had collapsed, spilling chemicals on the floor that might have been dangerous but ultimately weren’t. The power going out had been a fluke and had been unconnected to the scare.
“At least you weren’t trapped in a room with Jose,” my dad was saying as we got ready to leave. “He used the time to force me to go over my schedule for the rest of the week. It was pure torture.”
“Sounds like it,” I said, but I kept stealing glances at Dean.
From across the room, Governor Arnault said, “I hope you weren’t too bored, Dean.”
That hint of a smile that I’d come to recognize hit Dean’s lips, and he risked looking my way. “Actually, it wasn’t terrible.”
Not terrible. Dean Arnault thought spending time with me “wasn’t terrible.” I don’t know why that made me so happy, but it kind of really did.
Dean
I STOOD OVER Tamal, holding my hands under the bar as he breathed in, preparing to lift. Tamal bared his teeth and grunted as he pushed. His arms wobbled and I wasn’t sure if he was going to make it, but with one final burst of energy, he powered through. I grabbed the weight, guiding it onto the rack.
Tamal sat up, grinning. “Two-seventy-five, baby!” He grabbed a towel from between his legs and mopped the sweat from his angelic face.
I’d known Tamal since my family had moved to Tallahassee. We were on the baseball team together, and he’d run my campaign for class president. He’d created an app that let students rank issues they thought were the most important. I hadn’t thought anyone would bother with it, but Tamal is a heck of a coder and people really love ranking things.
“Good job,” I said. “Pretty soon you’ll be joining the two-hundred-percent club.”
“Doubt it.” But Tamal was flexing his arms like he could already see himself lifting 200 percent of his body weight. And maybe he would. Tamal was the kind of guy who usually succeeded through hard work and perseverance. His charming smile and personality helped, but he didn’t need them.
The gym was quiet, still in that space between the end of school and the end of work when the only people who were there were students like Tamal and me or adults who weren’t stuck in a nine-to-five job. It was a locally owned place, not as big or clean as some of the chains. They taught boxing in the evenings, the owners were nice, and they knew about my mom and made sure no one bothered me, including the press.
“Your turn.” Tamal wiped down the bench and helped me change out the weights. I considered myself in good shape, but Tamal seriously outclassed me.
It felt good to push myself, to feel my pectoral muscles stretch and contract as I held the bar steady and drove it upward, defying gravity. I was going to hurt a little when I was done, but it was a good hurt. There was satisfaction in the pain gained from doing something honest and pure. I guess that sounds a little ridiculous, but I felt no shame enjoying a little simplicity in a complicated world.
“You can do better than that,” Tamal said between sets. “Gotta make sure you stay in shape until baseball starts or Coach will kick my ass.”
“Fine. Add another ten pounds, please.” The weights clanked as Tamal slid them onto the ends of the bar, and then I quickly grabbed the bar and started the set. An extra ten pounds may not sound like much, but there’s a fine line between the exact right amount of weight and too much. Luckily, I had Tamal spotting me.
My arms were jelly after I finished, and I didn’t think I could lift so much as a bag of flour, so Tamal and I hit the treadmills. It might have been fall everywhere else in the country, but it was still summer in Florida. Not only was it hot, but there were clouds of gnats everywhere waiting to fly into my mouth. And then there were the mosquitoes. I hated running outside when I didn’t have to.
Tamal and I fell into our strides, his heavy-footed and quick, mine light and long. I liked running for the same reason I liked lifting. It was easy to lose myself in the rhythm of it. It was one of the few times when I felt free to let my thoughts and worries fall away and I could exist as the embodiment of physical effort.