Sunday's moping means that by the time Monday comes, I'm ready to follow Liv's advice. I sit up in bed, spending the next few minutes scrolling through Chase's social media. At the moment, it seems the video he sent was reserved just for us, but it's only a matter of time before he feels I'm not embarrassed enough and shows the entire school; I'm just thankful today is not that day.

As I get ready, I can't help but go over today's schedule in my head. Usually, the last few days of campaigning are supposed to be the nice part: the hard work is over, and the candidates can enjoy the fruits of their labor before the election.

For me, though, this part feels like torture. There isn't much to focus on – no grand campaign ideas, no handing out flyers, or shmoozing for more votes, which means the only thing occupying my mind right now is Blake.

It's customary in the few days before the campaign to liaise with your Campain Captain, and putting on a united front is more important now than ever, but the thought of meeting Blake terrifies me. It's not that I plan to ignore him forever, but I want to talk to him when I'm ready, on my terms, and right now, I'm not.

As if on cue, Liv and the others send me some encouragement through the group chat, which Blake is still part of but as silent as always. I send them a few emojis back to convince them I'm raring to go, but the truth is, I just want this day to be over.

Breakfast is a quiet affair. A perfectly cooked omelet awaits me on the table, and as I sit down, straightening out the ruffles of my collar, Mom barely looks up from her coffee. It's just us this morning – Dad left early for work, no doubt to avoid any confrontations, which means it's just me, her, and all the things we left unsaid.

"Election Day is Wednesday, right?"

I look up from my breakfast to check whether she's really talking to me. Her eyes are on her paper, but her body has tensed like she's acutely aware of my presence. "Yeah, it is."

"And what are your plans for the next few days?"

I don't answer right away. What my mother is really asking is how much involvement I plan to have with Blake in the days leading up to the election, but the truth is, I haven't decided. "The days before the election is usually calm," I say evenly. "There isn't much left to do, but I'll have to liaise with Blake and put on a united front so as not to jeopardize the campaign."

She looks up, and I give her this look as if to say, As mayor, you know this better than anyone. "And after the campaign?" she asks. "If you win, you and Blake will be expected to continue working together during your presidency."

It feels strange to hear the words after the campaign. I've been so focused on getting through the campaign that I haven't thought about what life will be like after election day. Win or lose, nothing will be the same.

"I doubt he'll want to continue on my council," I say. "He only agreed to help me in the first place out of–" I'm about to say something about money, but my mother doesn't know that part yet; I'd like to keep it that way, "–pity."

It's hard to miss the look of relief that crosses her face. "I'm not saying there's anything wrong with Blake–"

"But you are," I say, looking up. "That's exactly what you're saying."

She sighs and puts her paper down before leaning toward me. "Rose, there are certain people that I ask you to stay away from because I know how quickly things can unravel. New friendships and peer pressure are the biggest leading factors in how seemingly good children go down the wrong path. As Mayor, I've seen it happen to countless children I've met. I will never let that happen to you."

"But Blake isn't like that," I say. "You're making a snap judgment based on what I can only assume is what he wears, considering you don't know him at all."

"Oh, I'm not basing it on his clothes," she says. "I'm basing it on his records. He's been arrested for stealing from stores before, he's been in detention more times than I could count, and he's been caught smoking weed on school property and suspended. No sane parent would want their daughter hanging around with somebody like that."

"You checked his record?" I ask.

"Yes," she says simply, "I did, and I'm glad I did. Rose, you've worked so hard since that party to change people's perception of you, and it's only a matter of time before something happens with this boy that unravels all of that. In this day and age of social media, every little mistake you make is documented for colleges and employers to see. Now, add in the fact that you're the mayor's daughter. You don't have the same luxuries of flying under the radar as others. I don't want anything you do in high school to negatively impact your future. I've seen it happen to hundreds of children, and there is no going back from it."

I don't say anything for a moment. In some ways, I can see how hard she's trying to protect me as any mother would, but there is a line that parents can't always see, and this time, she's crossed it. "I understand that you're trying to protect me," I say slowly, "but you also need to trust me. You need to trust that I know what's right and wrong. I have to be able to make my own decisions and, with them, my own mistakes. You can't protect me from everything. The more you try, the more you push me away."

I get to my feet without waiting for her response, scooping my bag off the floor before heading to my car. The whole way to school, my stomach is tight with knots at the way I'd spoken to her. It's not often that we get our feelings out in the open like that, and now it feels like adrenaline seeps from my pores.

As soon as I get to school, I pull into the parking lot, check my makeup, and take a few deep breaths to calm down. I don't go to the bikeshed, even though it's the first thing I think to do. I head to my locker, spending a few moments reorganizing its contents, mostly because I don't know what to do with myself. It's lonely without him. Cold. I'm so used to seeing him first thing in the morning or spending the evenings at his house, but now that's all gone.

I hate it. Not just it, but him, because he's the one who made it like this. He's the one who made me feel comfortable around him, only to set fire to it all. And then I'm just expected to forgive? To pretend like it's normal that he agreed to sabotage my campaign in exchange for money? Whether he went through with it or not, the intent was still there, and that's what I can't get over.

For better or worse, he doesn't show up to first period. I sit in class alone, every so often glancing at the empty seat he left beside me. I keep going back and forth between being happy he's not here and hating him for it. Maybe Liv has a point that he's not the type for big gestures, and maybe that's acceptable, but running away from his problems or mistakes is not.

At lunch, I catch Liv waiting at my locker for me. I walk up to her and fake a smile because, for some reason, she thinks I'm this confident go-getter who's going to win this election, and I don't have the heart to tell her otherwise.

"Hey," she says, pushing herself off the door. "Figured I'd come and check on you."

"I'm okay," I say, shutting my locker. Some part of me thinks that the more I say it, the more likely it'll be that it comes true. "Have you seen him today? The candidates are supposed to meet their campaign captains in five minutes, and as usual, he's AWOL."

"I haven't," she says. "Haven't heard from him either, so I guess he's not in. Do you wanna come and get lunch with us?"

I shake my head, defeated. It's like I keep hoping that Blake will turn around and show me I'm wrong about him, but all he does is the opposite. "I think I'm just going to head to the library."

"All right," she says, turning, "I'll come with."

"You don't have to," I say before taking a breath. "Don't feel like you have to check in with me either." As much as I like Liv, I know how this thing goes. "You're Blake's friend, so of course, your loyalty is with him. I'll understand if we stop speaking." I'd been through the same with Libby and Chase; if anything, I'm used to this.

"Yeah," Liv says slowly, like I've grown three heads, "Blake's my friend, but so are you." Then she grabs my arm and leads me toward the library while talking about some band.

I follow her blindly, still not quite believing she's not about to dump me the way Libby did. But maybe that's the difference between Liv and Libby, and maybe, despite my past experiences, I need to start giving people the benefit of the doubt, even when the very idea is terrifying.

We grab an empty table in the corner and unpack our stuff. I flick through my campaign book, making some notes about what I'll do first if I do get elected for the presidency while Liv listens to music. It's a nice way to focus my attention on the future instead of worrying about now, and if I win, at least I'll be prepared.

As I'm working on my campaign book, a ping comes through from the group chat. At first, I think it might be Blake, and my heart does this jump as I pull my phone from my pocket, but it's not.

Freddie: Where is everyone?

Deflated, I quickly type back that we're in the library. Several minutes later, he and Kenny walk through the doors and quickly look around as though this is the first time they've ever stepped inside.

"Look at those goons," Liv says as she watches them. "They always look perpetually confused."

It's Kenny that glances over first. He spots us and waves before nudging Freddie's shoulder and heading over. After taking a seat at our table, Freddie leans forward, yanks out one of Liv's earphones, and pops it in his ear before scrunching his nose.

"Isn't it a little early for heavy metal?" he asks.

"It's afternoon," Liv says. "When is the appropriate time of day for metal?"

"Night time," Freddie says. "Or special occasions."

Kenny rolls his eyes before looking at my campaign book. "I thought there wasn't any more campaign stuff to do."

"There isn't," I say. "I'm just making a few notes in case I win the election. Not that I think I will win. Just, you know, in case."

"Hey, we think you'll win," Liv says, looking up.

"So does Blake," Freddie adds.

The table falls quiet at the B word. Freddie looks over, somewhat guilty, and raises his hands in surrender. "Sorry."

"You're allowed to say his name," I say. "He's not Voldermort."

They laugh, and I'm glad it breaks the awkwardness. For the rest of lunch, we make notes on the election and listen to various songs from Liv's playlist, arguing about what constitutes heavy metal before returning to class.

The rest of the day is surprisingly stress-free. A few people I don't usually talk to make the effort to ask me how I'm doing, and others want to talk about my campaign, which I take as a good sign. I spot Libby at one point as I'm heading to the bathroom. She stops in the hallway, her expression downcast, and I can't help but wonder what she's upset about. Part of me thinks about going over there, asking her what's wrong, but then she turns her back and heads in the opposite direction.

At the end of the day, I found out why she was upset. As I'm grabbing my stuff from my locker, desperate to get home, Liv comes hurrying through the crowd to get to me, sounding somewhat breathless. I turn to face her, my heart in my throat as I take in her face, certain her news is not good.

"Blake isn't here," she says, slightly gasping, "because he's been suspended for beating up Chase."

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