Don't Vote for Me Read Free

face. “And look where that got you.”
    I chucked my sandwich back into my lunch box. I wasn’t hungry anymore. “So I whined about the Pritchard-Pratt. I whine about everyone .”
    Spencer smacked his forehead. “You can’t whine about Veronica. She’s Veronica, for Pasteur’s sake! Do you have any idea what kinds of repercussions this will have on the greater geek community?”
    I arched an eyebrow. “Repercussions?”
    â€œYou know, bad stuff,” Riley said.
    I rolled my eyes. “I know .”
    â€œDo you?” Spencer asked, aiming a French fry at my chest. “Or have you already forgotten Arthur’s horrible dance-off?”
    â€œOf course I haven’t,” I replied, and for once, it was true. Everyone remembered Arthur’s dance-off (but that wasn’t necessarily a good thing). No sooner had he challenged Brady to a duel than Brady had busted a sweet move and knocked Arthur off his feet. He’d literally fallen on his face and broken his nose in three places, and that was just a dancing duel. This was ten thousand times more serious.
    Spencer motioned toward the populars. “You’ve got to fix this, David. You've got to go over there and tell her you didn’t really mean it.”
    â€œBut what if I did mean it?” I asked.
    â€œYou didn’t,” they replied.
    Still, I wasn’t convinced. I hadn’t meant to take potshots at Veronica, but words had to come from somewhere. And the thought of walking over there, of mumbling, “I’m sorry,” while the other populars looked on, was almost more than I could bear. When I glanced over my shoulder, I saw that Hector was dismantling the remnants of his chicken wing, tearing off strips of meat with methodical precision. Meanwhile, Samantha was massaging each of her knuckles in turn and shooting threatening looks my way. I had zero doubt that they were going to kill me.
    Hector and Samantha were the most brutal kids in the sixth grade (and had been for some time). They’d long since mastered wedgies—in fact, they’d probably invented them—and rumor had it that Samantha had spent most of winter break studying ancient bamboo torture in some temple in Shanghai. Also, Hector and Samantha swore like late-night cartoon characters. Riley thought they swore because their vocabularies wouldn’t fill the front and back of a Post-it Note, but I thought they swore because they were the populars, and as we all knew, populars could get away with anything.
    But I refused to let them get away with me.
    â€œNo,” I finally said. “I’m not gonna apologize.”
    Spencer smacked his forehead again. We kept telling him he’d lose brain cells if he kept smacking his forehead, but so far, that hadn’t stopped him. “What are you, insane?”
    â€œNo,” Riley said darkly, “he’s just suicidal.”
    â€œI’m not suicidal,” I said, flicking one of Spencer’s French fries at him. “And I’m not insane, either. I just don’t think we should have to bow down to these bozos.” Or at least I’d thought that this morning. “I mean, who died and made them popular?”
    â€œWe did,” Spencer said. “We talk about what clothes they wear, what songs they listen to, and what movies and TV shows they watch. They’re popular because we say they are, but do they ever repay us?” He stuffed a French fry in his mouth. “Don’t they know that all we want is a seat on student council?”
    â€œI don’t,” Riley said.
    â€œMe neither,” I admitted.
    Spencer’s eyes bulged. “ What? I’d swear off trans fats for a year if someone would give me a seat!”
    I flicked a thumb over my shoulder. “Well, you’re never gonna get one if Veronica keeps deciding. She doesn’t even know your name.”
    Two of the many perks of winning the