Ethan
I lived my life by a simple philosophy: if it wasn't fun, it wasn't worth doing. Student government? Not fun. It was the domain of over-caffeinated idealists who used words like "synergy" and "stakeholders" without a trace of irony. It was Olivia Chen's world. And for the most part, I was happy to let her have it.
But then my father had called.
"Ethan," he'd said, his voice crisp and devoid of warmth, coming through my AirPods as I walked across the quad. "Your mid-term grades are… adequate. As usual."
"Adequate gets degrees, Dad," I'd quipped, sidestepping a frantic squirrel.
"Don't be glib. An adequate degree from Westridge gets you a corner office at Brooks Corp. A stellar one gets you the CEO's chair. You're not acting like you want the chair." He didn't wait for a response. "I see you haven't registered for a single extracurricular activity of substance. No leadership roles. Nothing that shows initiative."
"I'm the reigning beer pong champion at Delta Tau," I'd offered. "That's initiative."
The silence on the other end of the line was glacial. "Your brother, Dylan, with all his challenges, shows more drive than you do. I've enrolled him in a young leaders' program."
That was the knife-twist. The casual comparison to my younger brother, the one I was secretly funneling half my allowance to for his experimental treatments. My father thought I was just a playboy, burning through his money. He had no idea.
"You need to demonstrate that you can be more than the life of the party," my father had concluded. "Run for something. Win something. Show me you're a Brooks. I've made a donation to the university's business school. I expect to see a return on my investment."
The call ended, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. He didn't want me to lead; he wanted me to perform. He wanted a shiny new accomplishment to brag about at his country club. Fine. If he wanted a show, I'd give him one.
And what better stage than the student council presidential election? And what better co-star than the perpetually wound-up, impeccably organized Olivia Chen?
So, I'd gathered my friends, Jake Morrison included, and crashed her announcement. Watching her face as I'd jumped on that podium had been a cocktail of guilt and exhilaration. She looked so perfectly in her element, so certain of her victory. And I had just walked in and spray-painted graffiti all over her masterpiece.
"You're an asshole," Jake had muttered to me as we walked away from the stunned crowd, my own entourage buzzing with excitement behind us.
"I'm a candidate," I'd corrected him, flashing a grin I didn't quite feel. "There's a difference."
"Not to her, there isn't. You know she's been working for this for years."
"And I'll be working for it for the next two months. It's a level playing field."
Jake just shook his head, but he was my best friend. He'd complain, but he'd have my back.
The next day, I found her in the library. It was her natural habitat, but it felt like a foreign country to me. The silence was oppressive. I spotted her in a secluded carrel, surrounded by stacks of books, her dark hair pulled back in a severe ponytail. She was hunched over a textbook, her brow furrowed in concentration. She was beautiful, in a sharp, intimidating way. Like a perfectly crafted dagger.
I leaned against the bookshelf opposite her carrel, deliberately making a soft thud. Her head snapped up, and when her dark eyes met mine, they narrowed with an intensity that could cut glass.
"Brooks," she said, her voice a low hiss. "Are you lost? The frat houses are that way."
"Funny," I said, strolling over and sliding into the chair opposite her. I propped my feet up on the edge of her table, earning a look of pure disgust. "Just wanted to have a chat with my esteemed opponent."
"We have nothing to chat about." She closed her textbook with a definitive snap. "You made your position clear yesterday. You think this is a joke."
"Do I?" I leaned forward, lowering my voice. "Or do I think that student government could use a little less… starch? A little more life?"
"You think running a multi-million dollar student budget is a party? You think advocating for twenty-thousand students to the university administration is 'fun'?"
"It could be," I challenged, a genuine smile touching my lips for the first time. "Maybe if the person in charge wasn't afraid to get their hands dirty. Or, you know, smile once in a while."
Her jaw tightened. "My smile, or lack thereof, has nothing to do with my qualifications. Unlike some people, I have them."
"Ouch." I clutched my chest dramatically. "And here I was, hoping we could run a clean campaign."
"You forfeited that right when you turned my announcement into a circus."
"I prefer the term 'launch party'," I said smoothly. I dropped my feet from the table and leaned in closer, our faces just a foot apart. The air crackled. I could smell her perfume, something clean and citrusy, like lemons and resolve. "Look, Chen. You're the queen of spreadsheets and five-year plans. I get it. You're probably the most qualified person for this job. But you're also boring."
Her eyes flashed with fire. "Boring gets things done."
"Boring puts people to sleep. Nobody wants a president who governs like a librarian. They want someone who inspires them. Someone they can have a beer with."
"I don't have time for beers. I have work to do."
"See? That's your problem right there." I stood up, grabbing an apple from my backpack and tossing it in the air. "You see this as work. I see it as an opportunity."
I took a large bite, the crunch echoing in the silent library. She flinched at the sound.
"You're not going to win, Brooks," she said, her voice quiet but firm, filled with a conviction that was almost hypnotic.
"Is that a threat?" I grinned. This was fun. Riling her up was fun.
"It's a fact," she replied, opening her textbook again, a clear dismissal. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a campaign to run. A real one."
I lingered for a moment, watching the way the library's fluorescent lights caught the stray strands of her dark hair. She was completely focused, already shutting me out. For a second, I felt a pang of something I couldn't name. Admiration? Maybe. But it was buried under layers of irritation and a fierce, newfound desire to prove her wrong.
My father wanted me to win to prove I was a Brooks.
But now, I wanted to win to see the look on Olivia Chen's face.
I turned and walked away, the crunch of my apple the only sound breaking the studious silence. The game was on. And win or lose, one thing was for sure: it was going to be anything but boring.