AllFreeNovel
Share Us
1
YOU AGAIN
POPPY
When it came to things I never thought I’d do, running for mayor was tops.
I didn’t own a single pantsuit. I’d never so much as taken a debate class in high school. I nearly flunked political science, and I was the absolute worst bullshitter on the face of the planet.
But there I was with my family in tow, heading to Lindenbach’s city hall to file my application to run for mayor of the small Texas town where I’d grown up.
If our previous mayor hadn’t landed himself in prison, I’d probably never have considered it, but things being what they were, it seemed I was the ideal candidate. The stars had aligned in an eerie sort of way. I’d climbed on a soapbox as an advocate for our town in opposition of Mayor Mitchell just before his ship went down in flames, and since the only person I knew who’d be running was Doug Windley, local jerkass extraordinaire, I figured anybody’d be better than him.
I did have a little experience under my belt—I could argue the paint off a wall thanks to years of practice with my sisters. I possessed an oftentimes annoying need to be right, especially about what was right. I’d gone toe to toe with the disagreeable half of our town fearlessly and sometimes carelessly, but there wasn’t a soul who would argue my devotion to Lindenbach and its wellbeing. Not even chronic dickheads like Doug Windbag.
We caravanned into town, Mama in the passenger seat, Jo and Grant in his teeny tiny Audi behind us, and Daisy and Keaton in his truck behind them. A handful of our family friends were set to meet us there in what Daisy swore would be a very casual show of support.
When we pulled up to city hall, I realized I should have known she was full of it.
I put the truck in park and sighed, my pulse ticking up when I saw a knot of proud, familiar faces holding signs that read Poppy for Mayor! and Vote Blum! and Poppy is the bee's knees!
“I’m gonna kill Daisy,” I said with a smile out the window, waving before gathering my things.
Mama laughed. Traitor.
“How do you know it was Daisy?”
“Because she can’t help herself from doing what she thinks is nice for somebody else, whether they want it or not.”
“Well, for your information, it was my idea. Jo implemented. Daisy just ran interference.”
I rolled my eyes and checked my reflection in the rearview, doing my best to button up my nerves. “The more people here, the more nervous I get.”
Again, she laughed. “Poppy June, you have never been nervous a day in your life.”
“You’ve got me confused with Jo, Mama.”
She watched me dig around in my bag for a second while our family exited their vehicles on either side of us. “Last chance to back out. Are you sure you want to do this?”
My hands paused, and I met her eyes. “If it’s not me, then who? I don’t know if I trust many people to run the town, not as it stands.” I looked out over the little crowd and shook my head. “Things used to seem so simple, or maybe I was just too young to know better. Maybe it was always this awful.” I sighed, mourning the loss of my naivety. “Either way, I took on Mayor Mitchell more than once—I know what I’m up against. Who knows if I’ll be any good at it. But I think I’ve got to try, don’t you?”
“I think that if you’re called to do it, you should do it.”
“Well then, we’d better get in there and turn my papers in to Verna before I talk myself out of it.”
With a smile more confident than I felt, I popped open my door and climbed out into the Texas heat. In the shade of the ancient oaks it wasn’t so bad, but the second we stepped into the sun, a delicate sweat broke out along my hairline and down the valley of my spine. Only a smidge of that had to do with the temperature.
Though I didn’t own the aforementioned pantsuit and hoped to God I’d never have to wear one, I’d dressed up for the occasion. Other than the occasional sundress, I lived in jeans and shorts and leggings. Jo might have been considered a tomboy, but I owned decidedly fewer dresses, had less of an inclination for mascara, and was absolutely terrible with a curling iron. I had the still-stinging burn on my forearm to prove it. Because I was so bad, I’d managed to burn my forearm curling my hair.
My outfit was Daisy’s, and she’d also helped with my makeup on finding me swearing at my mirror and trying to blink mascara off my poor innocent cornea. The white tailored shirt I’d borrowed was matte and silky and light in the heat. The pencil skirt was less comfortable, but the pointy-toed flats weren’t the worst. I twisted my long, dark hair into a rope and let my neck breathe for a moment. Oh, the things I’d have done for a ponytail. But we were being adults today, and adults supposedly had the willpower to wear their hair down in the dead heat of summer in the hill country.
