The campus had never looked so polished, so feverish, so desperate.
From the moment Lottie stepped through the school gates, the air felt heavy—not with tension, but with spectacle. Evelyn's posters covered every surface: shimmering prints smiling down from the walls, fluttering from railings, even plastered on trash bins as if the very act of tossing away gum should remind students to vote Evelyn Hayes. The photos were flawlessly lit, the slogans catchy in a way that lingered like perfume, and at every turn, Evelyn's curated gaze followed.
Lottie walked slowly through the chaos, her fingers brushing the strap of her bag, mouth tugging into a faint, wry smile. She didn't need to rush; the current of noise parted around her like water around a stone.
Near the library steps, Amy was a whirl of motion, her bright ponytail bouncing as she thrust flyers into students' hands. "Vote Evelyn! Don't forget to tune in for the event tonight!" she sang out, eyes darting anxiously to make sure no one slipped past. When she caught sight of Lottie, her fingers fumbled the stack, one fluttering to the ground like a fallen leaf. Amy's gaze flicked away fast, cheeks tinged pink, a flash of guilt—or was it doubt?—in her eyes before she hurriedly focused back on the crowd.
"Subtle, isn't it?" Leo drawled at Lottie's side, appearing like a shadow peeled from the wall. He leaned in, the scent of leather and something sharp—peppermint, maybe—cutting through the sugary air. "I'm surprised they didn't slap her face on the cafeteria trays."
Lottie tilted her head, surveying a cluster of students snapping selfies under an Evelyn banner. "They're fighting a war of noise," she murmured, "but noise doesn't win wars."
His mouth curved in a slow grin, teeth glinting in the pale morning sun. "Tell that to the Romans."
A teacher emerged from the crowd, her eyes trailing over the decorations with a faintly pinched expression. She gave Lottie a small nod before turning to pull down a banner that had been hung illegally across the emergency exit. Lottie caught the flicker of approval in her gaze—small, but telling. The smallest crack in the wall Evelyn had built, but Lottie knew how much could slip through a crack.
Inside, the hallways buzzed with speculation. "Did you see Evelyn's new video?"
"She's basically a celebrity at this point."
"Yeah, but have you noticed Lottie? She's… different lately."
Lottie let the words brush past her, quiet embers feeding something deeper inside. She paused at her locker, fingers grazing the cool metal as she pulled out her notebook. Her fingertips smoothed over the cover absently as she listened, her mind sifting through the noise for what mattered. She could feel the pulse of expectation, the pressure Evelyn was pumping into every corner, and underneath it, the whispers of cracks forming.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She slid it out, thumb hovering over the screen.
Unknown Number: Ready to flip the script?
Her pulse skipped. A flicker of a smile curved her mouth—not enough to reach her eyes, but enough to tighten something low in her chest. She slipped the phone away, her mind already sketching possibilities, heartbeat threading faster beneath the calm surface.
By noon, the school felt like a theater teetering on the edge of opening night. Evelyn's team had commandeered the main courtyard, erecting a stage framed by gauzy banners. "Tonight," the signs promised in delicate gold script. "A Vision for the Future." Students clustered at the edges, snapping pictures, gossiping about who would be speaking, what Evelyn would wear, their voices a chaotic harmony of anticipation and envy.
"She's planning to crown herself before the votes even come in," Leo muttered, falling into step beside Lottie as they crossed the quad. His hand brushed hers briefly, almost a touch and almost not, as he stole a glance at her face. "You're awfully quiet, Hayes."
"I'm watching," Lottie said softly. Her gaze swept the setup, noting the microphones, the lighting rigs, the over-eager student volunteers adjusting floral arrangements. The banners rippled in the breeze, gold threads catching the sunlight like strands of a web. "Sometimes the best way to speak is to wait until the room is tired of listening."
Leo huffed a laugh, raking a hand through his hair. "You're terrifying when you get like this."
A ripple of motion caught Lottie's eye. Evelyn herself swept into view, sunlight catching the shimmer of her earrings, her hair perfectly coiffed. Amy trailed at her side, murmuring updates into her ear, fingers nervously twisting a pen. Evelyn's laugh floated on the air, effortless as a songbird's call—but the angle of her jaw when she glanced across the courtyard was sharp, blade-like.
Their eyes met. Evelyn's smile froze for a fraction of a second, then softened, honeyed and brittle. She leaned close to a group of classmates, laughing at something whispered, her hand brushing lightly over one girl's shoulder. But her gaze darted back—twice. The faintest pinch tightened at the corner of her mouth before smoothing again.
"See?" Leo murmured, his voice a thread of amusement as he leaned in closer, breath grazing Lottie's ear. "She knows."
Lottie turned slightly, the corner of her mouth lifting. "Good."
In the staff room, teachers leaned in over their coffee cups, voices low. "Impressive campaign," one mused, swirling a spoon in her mug, "but the flash is starting to wear thin." Another sighed, tapping her pen against a lesson plan. "It's nice to see someone like Lottie not play the game."
Lottie's composure remained intact as the day pressed on, but inside, a quiet excitement sparked. Not adrenaline—not the rush Evelyn thrived on—but something steadier. Determination. This wasn't about spectacle. This was about the cracks, the quiet shifts. The way students' conversations drifted toward her without being forced. The way teachers' glances lingered with approval.
The air outside turned crisp as the afternoon deepened, shadows lengthening across the pavement. Evelyn moved through the courtyard like a queen on parade, every movement calculated, every word pitched for maximum effect. Lottie watched from a quiet bench near the edge of the quad, legs crossed, a book balanced on her knee though her eyes rarely dropped to the pages.
Leo sprawled beside her, one foot tapping idly against the stone, eyes half-lidded as he watched the crowd. "They're eating it up," he muttered, a wry smile tugging at his mouth. "But you… you're the one they're looking at when they think no one's watching."
Lottie exhaled, a soft, almost inaudible breath. She could feel it too—the shift in the air, the way laughter faltered slightly when she passed, the way conversations veered toward her when backs were turned. Her fingers curled slightly against the book cover, tension coiling low in her belly, a pulse of anticipation she refused to show.
By late afternoon, as the sun slanted long shadows across the lockers, Lottie slipped into an empty classroom. The windows hummed faintly with the music of setup outside. She pressed her fingers to the cool glass, watching the stage as Evelyn rehearsed, hair and smile immaculate, gestures practiced to perfection. Amy hovered at her side, tablet in hand, eyes darting nervously toward the sound crew.
"Funny thing about a stage," Leo said softly behind her, arms folded as he leaned against the doorframe, "is it makes you look ten feet tall—until the lights go off."
Lottie turned, the light catching the curve of her cheek, and gave the smallest tilt of her head. Her fingers brushed the window frame, cool and smooth beneath her skin. Outside, Evelyn laughed, high and clear, one hand brushing lightly over Amy's arm as if anchoring her in place.
The sound carried faintly through the glass, and Lottie felt the vibration through her fingertips. Her pulse matched it, a low, steady drumbeat that thudded against her ribs.
Sliding her phone from her pocket again, she glanced at the screen. The message was still there, waiting like a held breath.
Her fingers hovered, a whisper of movement, before slipping the device away. A grin flickered at the corner of her mouth, small but sharp.
The pressure was building, the atmosphere electric, but she felt—oddly—light. Ready.
Outside, Evelyn's laughter pealed once more, thin and high over the gathering crowd. But in the hush of the empty room, Lottie's silence felt heavier, fuller, a force unto itself.
She drew in a breath, slow and sure, the cold air sliding down her throat like a blade. Her hands clenched briefly at her sides before relaxing, the tension bleeding away into something quieter, more controlled. She turned back to the window, eyes glinting with the sharp, quiet promise of what was to come.
Leo's reflection moved in the glass beside hers, a faint smirk curving his mouth. "Whatever you're plotting," he murmured, voice a low rumble in the silence, "I almost feel sorry for her."
Lottie's eyes didn't leave the stage. "Don't."
A laugh, soft and edged, slipped from Leo's throat as he pushed off the doorframe. He moved toward her, each step slow, deliberate, the brush of his jacket against the air sending the faintest shiver down her spine.
"Charlotte Hayes," he murmured, just behind her shoulder now, "you are dangerously good at this."
Lottie's lips parted, the barest whisper of breath escaping, before the smile returned—cool, sharp, unyielding.
Outside, the golden light softened, casting long streaks of amber across the quad. The banners fluttered, the music swelled, the crowd grew restless.
But in the quiet hush of the classroom, Lottie waited, pulse steady, breath smooth, eyes glinting like a blade drawn just below the surface.
The game was still Evelyn's—for now. But the script?
That was already slipping through her fingers.