Читать книгу Election - Том Перротта - Страница 16

YOU WOULDN'T exactly call Lisa “cute.” She's sarcastic-looking and her hair's too short. She's almost totally flat-chested and hardly ever wears makeup. Until she became my unofficial campaign manager, it never even occurred to me to think of her as a potential girlfriend. She was more the sisterly type, someone to tease and goof around with. But something changed between us that day in the cafeteria, when she glanced up at me while signing the petition.

“Paul,” she said, “I think you'll make a great President.”

It was kind of informal at first. We chatted in the hallway, ate lunch together, discussed various strategies for defeating Tracy. Then she asked me to come home with her one afternoon.

On her own initiative, she'd designed five sample campaign posters, each one featuring a pastel portrait of me, along with a slogan she wanted me to consider.

—A WINNER FOR WINWOOD

—A CHOICE, FOR A CHANGE

—THE RIGHT MAN FOR THE JOB

—TRUE LEADERSHIP

—PAUL POWER

The portraits were all slightly different. In one I wore a shirt and tie, in another my football jersey. “PAUL POWER,” my personal favorite, was designed like a baseball card. Here I was grinning; there I seemed to be gazing into the distance. In every version, though, I had these deep violet eyes and a superhero jaw. Lisa saw me the way I saw myself in daydreams.

“Earth to Paul.” She waved a sheet of paper in front of my face.

“What's this?”

“A draft of your speech. The Assembly's only two weeks away.”

“Wow,” I said. It was embarrassing to realize that she'd spent more time thinking about my campaign than I had. “I wish I knew how to thank you.”

She touched two fingers to her mouth and gave it a moment's thought.