Chapter Text
“Hi, do you want a cupcake?” Peggy puts her best fake smile on, hopes to God there isn’t any lipstick on her teeth, and holds the frighteningly pink pastry out towards Dan Sousa, who looks at it and seems a little—okay, a lot—confused.
“Sure,” he says, and takes it, but glances at her a bit suspiciously. “Uh, what’s this for?”
“Peggy’s running for student body president,” Colleen interjects, handing a pamphlet to a scrawny freshman. “I’m her campaign manager, and this is her campaign table.” Colleen gestures proudly at the table Peggy and her are sitting at, with the pamphlets and the plates of cupcakes neatly arranged and organized.
“Oh.” Dan looks at the cupcake. “Well, you got my vote.”
“Thank you, Daniel,” Peggy says, and smiles genuinely this time. Dan nods and walks off, his crutch clicking on the linoleum floor.
“I think I’ll have your website done by tonight,” Colleen mentions offhandedly, then grins brightly and hands some football player a pamphlet and moves the plate towards him. “Vote for Peggy!”
“Is England even a democracy?” He asks, looking at them skeptically. Still, he grabs a cupcake and takes a giant bite out of it. Peggy glares at him, and he vanishes into the crowd.
“Who was that?” Colleen asks, wrinkling her nose.
“Jack Thompson,” Peggy says, sounding very displeased. “He’s in my European History class.”
“Oh, is that the one who calls you Marge?”
“Don’t remind me.” Peggy grits her teeth. “When are we getting those campaign posters up?”
“I’m not done printing them,” Colleen confesses, then looks over at Peggy guiltily. “You can come over tonight and we’ll just power through?”
“Can’t,” Peggy shakes her head. “Football practice.”
“After football practice?”
“Debate.” Peggy rolls her eyes. “It’s a busy week.”
Colleen makes a vague sound of sympathy. “You can miss one practice, Peggy. It ain’t life and death.”
“Darling,” Peggy sighs, “you have no idea.” She brushes a lock of hair away from her face and straightens her shoulders, ready to go back to smiling and cupcake-ing. “I’ve time Friday, though. And I can probably convince Coach Phillips to let me into the building on Saturday if I come up with a good enough excuse, so we can hang the posters up then.”
“Sure,” Colleen says and shrugs. “Just don’t overwork yourself.”
Peggy gasps like she’s offended. “I would never!”
“So, are these free?” Someone says from the right, and Peggy’s head snaps around. The speaker is this tiny girl in Peggy’s Calculus class that she’s never actually spoken to.
“Yes.” Peggy’s got her campaign smile on again.
“They’re Vote-For-Peggy cupcakes,” Colleen explains.
The girl raises an eyebrow. “Which one of you is Peggy?”
“That would be me,” Peggy says. She shakes the girl’s hand, firmly, like her mother taught her. “Peggy Carter.”
“You got a grip,” the girl remarks. “Angie Martinelli. Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.” Peggy holds the plate of cupcakes out to her. “Do you want one?”
“Obviously,” Angie says and takes a cupcake. “Who’re you running against?”
Peggy makes a face. “Dottie Underwood,” she says bitterly. “She’s, well, quite determined.”
“Yeah?” Angie looks vaguely interested. “What’s she giving out?” She takes a bite of the cupcake.
“I think she’s handing out cookies,” Colleen says nonchalantly, rearranging the pamphlets. “And pickles. Which is weird, but you know, whatever.”
“I might have to go check out the cookies,” Angie says through a mouthful of food.
“So the cupcake means nothing?” Peggy asks incredulously. “The lack of loyalty this generation has is incredible.”
“Sorry, English.” Angie smiles apologetically and grabs a pamphlet off the table. “I forgot my lunch.”
Angie starts walking away, and Peggy almost sighs in exasperation. “Will you at least vote for me?” She calls after Angie’s retreating figure.
Giggling, Angie turns around. “I’ll think about it!” She calls, then disappears down the hall.
“She’s leading me on,” Peggy mumbles bitterly. She rubs her forehead.
“That’s Angie for you.” Colleen grabs a cupcake off the plate. “Your pastries got to her first, though, so don’t worry. She’ll vote for you.”
“You know her?” Peggy asks, then glares daggers at a freshman that’s definitely already had a cupcake and is now loitering around the table again.
“Gloria,” Colleen says, distaste coloring her voice. “Angie’s alright, though. You want me to put in a good word for you, Peg?”
“Whatever you’re hinting at, no,” Peggy sputters—actually sputters—then shakes her head. “Oh, Colleen, don’t,” she protests when she sees Colleen’s look, that slightly amused, get-out-of-the-house-more-Margaret look that’s far too familiar. “I don’t even know her!”
“I didn’t say anything,” Colleen says teasingly. “You better watch out, though, she’s cute.”
“You’re impossible,” Peggy grumbles. “I swear you only do that to get a reaction out of me.”
“That’s because you’re right,” Colleen admits. “It’s really funny. Kind of cute, actually, you look like a tomato when you blush. You make a very charming vegetable.”
“Tomatoes are a fruit,” Peggy says, for the millionth time.
“That’s not so cute.” Colleen wrinkles her nose. “Anyways. Is it okay I leave early? I’ve got to change for cheer practice.”
“Of course,” Peggy says, and starts packing away her pamphlets. “I’ll be here after school for about a half hour before football, hopefully I’ll get rid of the rest of these cupcakes.” She zips her bag up, then looks up at Colleen. “You’re doing the baking tonight, right?”
“Sure thing.” Colleen stands and pushes her chair in. “See you later.”
Peggy clears the table by herself, hands off another cupcake to her English Literature teacher—hey, there’s no harm in a bit of innocent bribery—and makes her way down the hall, passing Dottie’s table on the way to her Calculus class. There’s an admittedly larger group of students hanging around there, probably because Dottie’s got all of her scary friends (there are rumors, not that Peggy believes them, but they’re definitely frightening enough to get the rest of the student body wrapped around Dottie’s little finger) keeping everyone away from Peggy and her cupcakes.
And there is, indeed, a giant jar of pickles on the table.
The throng of people around Dottie’s table finally disperses enough that Peggy can get through. Peggy shoots an angry glare at the back of Dottie’s head, not that she would notice. Fear tactics can only get her so far, Peggy tries to reassure herself. People will realize she’s only bluffing soon enough.
Peggy, much to her surprise, actually makes it to class on time, but Angie walks into Calculus a good three minutes late. Mr. Dooley, of course, doesn’t notice (he’s too busy telling Howard Stark off for bringing his latest gadget into class and somehow managing to sync Dooley’s computer to the PandaCam at the National Zoo), so Peggy takes the opportunity to tap Angie on the shoulder and maybe do a little social networking.
“I hope you’re happy,” Peggy says, motioning to the stack of what must be five or six cookies on Angie’s desk.
“I hope you’re happy now,” Angie shoots back, and when Peggy blinks in confusion, blushes. “Sorry. Latent Wicked phase. “
Peggy laughs a little, then casts a cautious glance towards Mr. Dooley, who is indeed still yelling at Howard. “So, was Dottie’s bribery effective?”
“Aren’t you a little bit of a hypocrite?” Angie grins, an easy smile that reaches her eyes and looks well-practiced.
“I had pamphlets along with the pastries, so no, not really.” Peggy shrugs. “It was information with a little bit of added incentive.”
“You’re good at that,” Angie laughs.
“Good at what?”
“Convincing other people you’re right.” Angie takes a bite of a cookie. “You’d make a good politician.”
Peggy beams. “So you’ll vote for me?”
Angie swallows. “Never said that,” she says, but her tone is light. “You want a cookie?”
“Absolutely not,” Peggy scoffs.
“Suit yourself,” Angie shrugs. She takes another bite.
“I’m running against Dottie, I can’t be seen with her cookies in my mouth,” Peggy says, and Angie chokes on her cookie and starts coughing loudly. “Oh my god, are you alright?”
“I just—“ Angie’s still coughing. There are tears streaming down her face. “Cookies—in your—I’m so sorry,” Angie manages to get out, then starts giggling uncontrollably. “I’m so sorry,” she repeats, then puts her head on Peggy’s desk. Angie’s shoulders are shaking with laughter.
“Peggy,” Mr. Dooley says from the front, and Peggy’s head snaps up towards him, like she’s been paying attention all along. “Everything alright back there?”
“Perfectly,” Peggy says, putting on her best I’m-charming-and-European smile.
“Care to join the class?” Dooley continues, doing that weird thing with his hands that he always seems to be doing.
“Of course, of course.” Peggy nods earnestly, waiting until Dooley looks away. When he (finally) does, she looks down at Angie, who’s still laughing, albeit silently. “Angie Martinelli, get your mind out of the gutter and your head off my desk,” Peggy hisses, but has to bite back a grin.
Angie’s head promptly pops up. She shoots Peggy a quick grin, then turns around and faces the board. Peggy watches Angie out of the corner of her eye for a few moments, then shakes her head and tries to concentrate.
“Website’s up,” Colleen says, plopping another stack of pamphlets onto the table. “I used that headshot from last summer when you were applying for that thing, hope that’s okay.”
“That thing,” Peggy nods. “Very specific.”
“Ha.” Colleen snorts. “It’s pretty picture, though.”
“Prettier than Dottie Underwood?” Peggy says jokingly, then composes herself. “Alright. We’re professional. We’re going to win this.”
“Breathe,” Colleen tells her, then turns to the lanky boy who just walked up to their table. “Hey, Ed! Look, Peg, it’s your fellow European!”
“Hi, Jarvis.” Peggy slides a cupcake across the table towards him, which he accepts. “Can I interest you in a pamphlet?”
“No point,” Jarvis says. “You had me at the cupcake.” He pauses and wrinkles his forehead. “Are these the gluten free ones?” Peggy nods, and Jarvis beams. “Besides, my only other option is Dottie Underwood, and not voting for you would almost be treason.”
“Well, we wouldn’t want that,” Peggy says, shoving a pamphlet towards him anyways. “Here, take it, give to that girl in your English class you’re always talking about.”
“I don’t know if Anna has much interest in politics,” Ed muses, a kind of wistful gaze coming across his face. Colleen and Peggy trade exasperated, if amused, looks. “Anyways, thank you. I’ll be sure to see you around.”
“Bye, Ed!” Colleen calls cheerfully, and turns back to Peggy once he’s out of earshot. “When is he finally going to ask that girl out?”
“No idea,” Peggy sighs. “It’s getting ridiculous, though.”
Colleen nods in agreement, then looks at the stack on pamphlets on the table. “Maybe we should split up. I can go hand these out by the vending machines, and you stay here with the cupcakes?”
“It’s a plan,” Peggy nods. “Luck be with you.”
Colleen rolls her eyes. “So overdramatic. You should join theatre.” Colleen pauses. “Please get rid of those cupcakes, though. I can’t handle eating any more. Especially the peanut butter ones.”
“Alright, alright,” Peggy grumbles. She looks down at the cupcakes, and rearranges them on the plate. When she glances back up, Colleen’s gone, and Angie’s standing in front of the table, looking at Peggy expectantly.
“I get two, right?” Angie asks, and makes a move to grab a cupcake. Peggy swats her hand away.
“One a person. Sorry.”
Angie pushes her bottom lip out just a tiny bit. “Please?”
“No," Peggy says. “One cupcake a person, no exceptions.”
“I saw Colleen eating two yesterday,” Angie protests, a hand stemmed on her hip. “Is she an exception?”
“Colleen baked them,” Peggy argues half-heartedly. She looks around to see if anyone’s coming down the hall—she doesn’t want everyone to swarm her, like teenagers so often do for food—then decides screw it, whatever, one time. One girl. “Alright, fine, but don’t tell anyone. If someone asks, just say you clobbered me over the head and stole one.”
“Thanks, English.” Angie smiles brightly and grabs a cupcake. “I owe you one.”
“How about you vote for me?” Peggy calls after Angie as she starts to walk away, definitely enjoying her cupcake more than she has the right to after getting it through blatant manipulation.
“I’m weighing my options!” Angie yells back, and Peggy sighs and puts her face in her hands.
To her surprise, quite a lot of people trickle over the next twenty minutes—mostly drama kids, a few band members, and some people that Peggy’s fairly sure she’s never seen before. Peggy smiles and hands out cupcakes and hopes that she’s convincing, and gets in a few subtle digs at Dottie that have Carol and Evelyn snorting with laughter. All in all, not bad. Colleen comes back five minutes before the end of lunch, pamphlet stack significantly smaller, and they grin at each other, with an unspoken this might actually work passing between them.
“Lorraine came by today, while I was handing out pamphlets,” Colleen says that night, when they’re feverishly printing the last of a stack of posters with a big bold VOTE FOR PEGGY emblazoned on the top and a moderately professional headshot situated neatly in the middle.
“Oh?” Peggy turns. “Did she do anything?”
“She just did that smirk thing that makes people think she knows when the world is going to end,” Colleen huffs. “God, she’s so annoying.”
“I swear, half of the people that hang around Dottie just do so because they’re terrified of her friends.” Peggy grits her teeth. “It’s not like Dottie’s really that frightening.”
“It’s probably mostly Lorraine and Johann,” Colleen admits. “Lorraine because she’s an ice queen, and Johann because he looks like he can read minds.”
“It won’t work as a campaign strategy,” Peggy says bluntly. “It’s off-putting.”
“Peggy, don’t worry.” Colleen picks up a finished poster and holds it against the light, nodding with approval. “Everyone knows who you are. All the football players like you—”
“Except Thompson,” Peggy mutters bitterly.
“Except Thompson,” Colleen repeats, and sighs. “You have the entire Debate team on your side, plus all of the people who known you from Student Council, which you’ve done since you’ve actually been at this school—”
“Oh, enough.” Peggy looks down, blushing. “Let’s just finish these posters, alright?”
The printer sputters, and Colleen fishes the last poster out. “Here we go.” She checks it over. “I did a really good job on this. Nice, me.”
“Glad to know you’re still humble,” Peggy says. “And officially, there’s a Debate meeting tomorrow, so the building will be unlocked and security systems off, but unofficially, we’re going to school and hanging up the posters. We just have to be out by ten.”
“Ten?” Colleen looks at Peggy, incredulous. “On a Saturday?”
“It shouldn’t take more than an hour,” Peggy says innocently. “And you did want to be my campaign manager. Of course, I could always call Ed to—“
“Fine,” Colleen groans. “But you’re buying me doughnuts.”
“This is too early.” Colleen’s been complaining bitterly the entire car ride. “And I ate too many doughnuts.”
“That’s not my fault,” Peggy sighs. “And it’ll be worth it when I win.” She casts a glance back towards the stack of hopefully unwrinkled posters on the back seat, then looks back at the road. “We should hang some up in the auditorium. And by the library. And in the gym, obviously.”
“How are we even going to get in?” Colleen asks. “You’re not going to pick locks, are you?”
“Of course not,” Peggy sniffs. “Coach Phillips just trusts me a lot.” She fumbles around in her purse, then pulls out a ring with a bunch of keys dangling from it.
“Teacher’s pet,” Colleen mumbles under her breath.
“What was that?”
“Oh, nothing,” Colleen says brightly.
Peggy nods. “That’s what I thought.”
They drive on in comfortable silence, Colleen nodding off against the window and then jerking awake when Peggy parks in front of school.
“An hour, Colleen, let’s get these posters up.”
They’re actually making pretty good time—they’ve only got three posters left, and it’s 9:37, and Colleen’s leaning against the wall and breathing heavily from having run all over the school to hang Peggy’s face up on the wall.
“I can do the last three myself,” Peggy offers, because she does feel a bit guilty. “Just hang out here, alright? I’ll go put these by the auditorium.”
“Thanks, Peg,” Colleen says. Peggy smiles at her and leaves.
The school is silent, almost eerily so—Peggy’s footsteps echo in the halls, and she keeps expecting someone to pop out of an empty classroom. Overactive imagination, she chides herself. Pull yourself together.
Except she’s definitely not hallucinating the babble of conversation coming from the auditorium, nor the angry seeming voice from just before it. Peggy strains to listen; she can’t understand a word the voice is saying, until she realizes—oh. That’s Italian.
Even though Peggy’s taken Italian since she was fourteen, and even though she doesn’t necessarily consider herself untalented when it comes to languages, she can only pick out a word or two—something about unfair, something about favoritism, and some string of animated speech that Peggy’s pretty sure she won’t find in any sort of textbook. Then Peggy rounds the corner and turns into the next hall, and there’s Angie, motioning wildly through the air and pressing her phone to her ear.
Peggy stops a few paces away from Angie, afraid that she’ll think Peggy’s been listening in, or watching—which she really hasn’t been—and considers just walking around Angie and maneuvering her way into the auditorium.
Almost as soon as the thought crosses Peggy's mind, Angie hangs up, pressing the “end call” button on her phone angrily and muttering—still in Italian—under her breath. She turns, just the tiniest bit, and spots Peggy towards the middle of the hall, freezing almost instantly.
“Did you break in?” Angie asks, and there’s still a hint of irritation in her voice.
“I’m hanging up campaign posters,” Peggy says lamely, and wishes she could come up with something more eloquent.
“Oh.” Some kind of relief washes over Angie’s face. “I got worried for a second, there.”
“What would I even be doing?” Peggy motions towards the empty school.
“You tell me,” Angie shrugs. “When’s the vote, anyways?”
“Next Tuesday,” Peggy answers automatically, then pauses. “Wait,” she starts. “What are you doing here?”
“Play practice,” Angie says, like that’s obvious. “I just—I ducked out to call my mom.”
“Oh.” Peggy feels a little bit ridiculous. “Is, er, everything alright?”
“Yeah,” Angie says, waving it off. She looks a little tired, now that Peggy looks at her properly. Angie’s hair isn’t as fluffed as it is during the week. She’s out of dress code (not that that matters) in an oversized sweater and flannel pajama pants.
Peggy clears her throat. “Is it alright if I go into the auditorium and hang these posters up?”
“Of course,” Angie says and starts walking towards the door, motioning towards Peggy to follow her. “Our stage manager is kind of—well, you’ll see. It’ll be okay, though, probably.”
True to Angie’s word, some guy that Peggy only later identifies as Ray Krzeminski jumps up as soon as they walk through the door. “What is she doing in here? This is a private rehearsal!”
“She’s just hanging posters up.” Angie sounds annoyed. “Good luck,” she says to Peggy, then goes and sits next to Gloria, who’s eyeing Peggy dubiously.
“Isn’t that Colleen’s best friend?” Gloria whispers, thankfully out of Peggy’s earshot.
“Who cares?” Angie hisses back.
“I do.” Gloria’s voice edges on a little bit too loud, and Angie elbows her in the stomach to get her to shut up. “How do you even know her?”
“I eat her cupcakes,” Angie replies without thinking.
“That’s quite the euphemism,” Gloria says, snickering to herself. Angie rolls her eyes. Hell will freeze over on the day Gloria does not seize the chance at an innuendo, she thinks to herself, and casts a cautious glance towards Peggy, who’s on her tiptoes hanging up the last of her posters.
“Those posters are looking nice,” Angie remarks, leaning on Peggy’s campaign table with a loose grin on her face.
“Thank you,” Peggy smiles.
“I made them,” Colleen chimes in, grinning.
“That you did,” Peggy says out of the corner of her mouth. She looks back up at Angie and her smile falters. “You’re here for another cupcake, aren’t you?”
“Your website is false advertising,” Angie deflects. “The cupcake in the picture has white frosting. These have pink frosting. And where’s my chocolate cupcake, huh?”
Peggy sighs, grits her teeth, and pulls another container out of her bag. “Here are the chocolate cupcakes,” she says. Motioning towards each plate, she pins Angie with the most severe look she can muster. “These are gluten free, those are peanut butter, and these are vanilla.”
Okay, maybe Angie’s a little impressed.
“Complaints, Miss Martinelli?” Peggy asks, leaning forward and resting her chin on her hand.
“Just checking to see if you live up to your promises,” Angie shrugs, and reaches towards the chocolate cupcakes. “You don’t mind, do you?” Peggy sighs, but she’s smiling, so Angie shrugs again and takes one. “Thanks, English.”
Colleen raises an eyebrow.
“Only because you let me into the auditorium,” Peggy mutters.
Angie laughs. “If you say so.” She starts to walk away, then turns back around. “I’ll probably vote for you,” she says, then keeps walking.
Once Angie’s definitely too far to be able to hear them, Colleen starts snickering. “You’re whipped,” she sing-songs under her breath.
Peggy slams her hand on the table. “Colleen Deirdre O’Brien!”
Colleen’s properly laughing now, tears at the corner of her eyes. “Come on, Peg,” she chokes out. “Professionalism.”