Читать книгу Election - Том Перротта - Страница 11

ALL RIGHT, so I slept with my English teacher and ruined his marriage. Crucify me. Send me to bad girl prison with Amy Fisher and make TV movies about my pathetic life.

(If I'd been on better terms with Mr. M., I could have explained to him that my punishment for sleeping with Jack was having to sleep with Jack. It pretty much cured me of the older-man fantasy, let me tell you that).

Until Paul entered the race, I was running unopposed. People understood that I deserved to win. They didn't necessarily like me, but they respected my qualifications: President of the Junior Class, Treasurer of the SG A, Assistant Editor of The Watchdog, statistician for the basketball team, and star of last year's musical (Oklahoma!, in case you're wondering). And I did all of it while conducting a fairly torrid affair with a married man, even if he did turn out to be as big a baby as any sixteen-year-old.

One of these days before I graduate and begin what I hope will be a brilliant career at Georgetown University, I'm going to get dressed up in high heels and a short skirt and head down to that Chevy dealership on the Boulevard. I'm going to ask for Mr. M. by name and make him show me all the shiny cars, the Camaros, Berettas, and Corvettes.

“What about gas mileage?” I'll ask him. “Tell me again about the antilock brakes.”

I swear to God, I'll make him suffer.