Chapter Text
Quick question. Does anyone actually know how a high-school election works? Me neither. But I know a guy who… definitely doesn't know how a high-school election works. Or any election, for that matter. But there he goes, Rudolph Jackson, more well-known as “Sha-Lightning, the best football player in the world since my pops, Thunder Jackson!” …It's a self-proclaimed title.
Anyway, there he goes, strutting down the halls of his small-town high-school like he owns the place. Some freshmen adore him. Some seniors roll their eyes when he goes for a high-five. Some juniors are kinda friends with him. Ish. But this isn't really about those guys. It's actually all about Lightning. And how he's gonna sit down at that lunch table… and stand back up again, because he realized it's kinda hard to project your voice when you're sitting and you kinda just end up looking like a bratty baby yelling with your sound organs all mushed up a la bad posture- he sits down to straighten his back out, and then stands back up again- and it's all about how-
“Guys, y’all better prepare, because the Lightning's running for president!”
…crickets. Then laughter. Immense, hysterical laughter rings throughout the cafeteria.
“What? Did I say something funny? I'm sha-serious, guys!”
More laughter. A “Oh my god, Jockstrap’s 100% serious. That's too good.”
“You wanna come say that to my face, Jo??” No response.
A quiet voice cuts through the laughter. “Lightning, I… think you should just sit down now.” Lightning immediately looks around for the source of the voice. And he can't seem to find any.
“...Down here.” He looks down. And sure enough, a few seats down and across the table, there sits a kid who looks to be about seven years old. A scrawny little black boy with thick glasses and a red sweatshirt, that's too big on him. Lightning looks confused for a second, wondering how this toddler snuck into high-school, when said “toddler” speaks up again.
“Did you hear me? I said to sit down. I'm not trying to be mean or anything, but they're only going to keep laughing at you if you do that.”
Lightning frowns. “Do what? Dominate everyone?? Cause I ain't stopping that anytime soon!” He proclaims loudly. A pissed-looking blue-haired girl tells him he's hurting her ears and to shut up, and she speaks for the rest of the room in saying this. Lightning slowly lowers himself back into his seat. The girl sitting next to him, a blonde chick who always finds a way to get dress-coded, pats him on the back sympathetically. Then she turns her attention to the scrawny glasses kid.
“Hey… I don't think I see you- I don't think I've seen you sitting at this table before.”
The kid seems to get a bit flustered when someone finally notices that. “O- oh. Well, yeah, I usually… I usually sit over with the big group of sophomores. I'm Cameron, by the way.”
Lightning interjects. “Those nerds? No wonder I've never seen you.”
“Yeah… you tend to avoid most of your class.” Cameron adjusts his glasses. “And call them nerds. Which doesn't help your chances of going far in your campaign and achieving your goal of sophomore president. Though I assume your idea of a class president is more like a monarch.”
“...uh, what?” The sha-idiot turns to the blonde girl. “You know what he said?” She shakes her head, and shrugs. The boy sitting next to the right of her, who wears a red tracksuit and sweatband, taps his chin thoughtfully.
“I think he's calling you a failure and a dictator.”
Lightning gasps, and glares at Cameron, appalled by his audacity. “You're calling the Sha-Lightning a failure!? Did you come all the way over here just to use your nerd words to insult my intelligence!?”
“No, I-”
“Well!? You gonna explain yourself!?” Lightning slams his hands on the table. A few people look over.
The scrawny boy shrinks into his seat. “That- that's what-”
“Explain yourself!”
“That's what- that's what I was… trying to do, but you kept interr-”
“Go on!”
Cameron sighs. “I came over here to assess the competition. I had no intention of insulting you, I swear!”
Lightning doesn't seem to believe this, but he forgets about his anger anyway, because something else the glasses boy says catches his attention.
“The competition? Don't tell me- you're running for class president??” He starts to laugh. “Ooh, that's a good one. Go back to sha-kindergarten, fool. There's only one spot on the top, and it's for Sha-Lightning!”
“Okay… I'm not gonna argue with you.”
“There was never a sha-argument! I'm gonna win! Especially if you're my only competition!”
The table goes silent. A bigger girl at the end of the bench, with great makeup and a shirt with… apples? Oranges? Are they apricots? I dunno, she laughs.
“Ohh… you really think you're the only sophomore running who has a chance of winning the election?”
“Hey!” Cameron exclaims, a bit offended.
“Yeah, Leshanda, I thought you'd be on Macaron's side.” The blonde girl adds.
“Girl, it's Leshawna- you know what? Nevermind. You think that just because I'm dating Harold, I'm suddenly on every nerd's side?”
“So you admit it! You are dating Harold! It only took four years.” Another blonde girl, this one wearing a blue sweatshirt, joins the conversation. So does her cowboy-hat wearing boyfriend, who's currently feeding her like she's an infant.
“When I asked you last week, you told me it was just a casual relationship. …Here comes the airplane, Bridge~” Everyone at the table cringes.
“...It is just a casual relationship, but it's kinda cute to say we're dating.” Leshawna refutes.
“Speaking of casual relationships-”
“Tyler, don't-”
“-Did you guys see Anne-Maria and Mike kissing this morning?? They were like, going to town!”
Bridgette raises an eyebrow. “Isn't Mike going out with Zoey?”
“Exactly! She's gonna be so mad when she finds out he's cheating.” Cameron makes a noise that sounds like something between a sneeze, a choke, and a cry. Tyler looks at him. “You okay, dude?”
“‘M fine!” He squeaks.
“Alright, but if you're choking, I know the Heimlich!”
“Uh, I wouldn't let Tyler give you the Heimlich if I were you. He might break all your ribs. No joke.” The cowboy hat boy warns.
“Geoff, that's not nice.”
“Nah, but it's true, babe. I swear on my surfboard.”
Leshawna snickers. “Oh, I have a good story about surfboards. So, last week-”
“Hello! Stop going off-topic! The Sha-Lightning wants to know who this ‘competition’ is!” Lightning slams his fist on the table.
“Okay, okay, I'll tell you guys later.” Leshawna turns back to the annoying quarterback with the annoyingly high-pitched voice. “I heard that that ginger kid is running. The one who tries to be like Duncan, but just ends up looking pathetic?”
“Scott!?”
“Yeah, Scott. Anyway, he's been really sneaky about it, but I heard him and Dawn talking about it in the library yesterday. He was mad at Courtney because she drew rat whiskers on his posters while he was in the bathroom. And why would he be making posters if they weren't for his election campaign?”
Lightning gasps. “No way that little wimp is going against me! Nobody even likes him! Everyone likes me!”
Crickets.
“Well,” Bridgette breaks the silence, “that just makes it more fun! A third party is always interesting.”
“Not if it's Rat Face.” Jo, one of last year's class presidents, mumbles, walking by with her empty tray. Lightning vaguely wonders why she's not running again.
Cameron, just wanting this banter to end, finally stops having a panic attack over Anne-Marito, so he can have a panic attack over his competition instead. “W- well,” He holds out his shaky hand for Lightning to shake. “I wish you l-luck. It… its gonna be- something, working-”
Lightning slaps his hand away, looking at him with nothing but cockiness and malice. And denseness. “-Against me? Nice try, Bubble Boy, you ain't making it far in this one.” Cameron gulps comically.