Page 18 of Beautiful Beginning

Lauren’s eyes were on me as I walked away. She said, “Okay. Perfect. Sign me up.” She hardly ever paid attention to the lesson.

I laughed and walked to a group of middle-aged women. They were trying to budget for their households—growing children, after-school activities, and unexpected events. I stressed, “Although I can’t relate. The key to any budget is to expect the unexpected. And you can do that by allotting money for savings. That could mean, decreasing other areas. Eating out less or finding grocery store coupons.”

Heads were nodding, and the look of fear started to fade away. I walked around the room and helped other groups with similar questions. When our time was up, as people gathered their stuff to leave, Chaz stood beside me.

“What’s next?” he asked.

Lauren boasted, “We take our asses home and enjoy the rest of our Saturday.”

“Not mad at that.” Chaz looked down to me. “You have plans tonight?”

“Journey, Lauren…” the instructor stood in front of us. “And?”

I offered, “Ms. Deluca, this is Chaz Brown, a senior political science major at Hillside.”

She outstretched her hand to him. “Thank you all for being here. I know it isn’t the easiest way to start your weekend, but I’m glad you can help.”

Lauren smacked her lips. “You got that right.” Then she softened. “But it is nice to see how much this is helping them. How it’ll impact their families. The community in general.”

Ms. Deluca pointed. “Exactly.”

After she walked away, we walked outside. In front of my car, I wrapped my arms around Chaz’s waist. “I know this wasn’t your thing, but thanks for coming out.”

“It wasn’t that bad actually.” He pulled me closer, wrapped his arms a little tighter around me. “You know, you’d be a good first lady.” He laughed. “That introduction was superb.”

I looked up at him and asked, “Think so? Does that mean you want me by your side?”

He leaned down and whispered, “More than I want to campaign next week.”

I pulled away and said, “That’s not hard to beat.”

ChapterEight

Chaz

The arms of the blazer fit a little snug around my arms. The tie around my neck irritated my throat. And the slacks were nowhere as comfortable as my sweats. My dick needed space to roam and had none.

I stood in the mirror and stared at myself. Knowing it was me staring back, I still didn’t recognize me. The fresh fade, and edged beard were a nice touch. But rubbing my hand down the sleeves of the blazer reminded me how uncomfortable it was to be buttoned up.

“Shit.” The day of baggie clothes and comfortability would be behind me if I won the election. Like Journey said, I couldn’t operate SGA from the apartment. Although I would have done everything in my power to make that a thing. I knew I had to get out on campus and represent the position well. I knew that much from years of studying politics. There was a level of expectation put on politicians that wasn’t associated with a regular ass person likeme.

The entire night before I went back and forth about the decision. I completed the online application but wouldn’t hit submit. Couldn’t hit submit until the last possible minute. There was something about giving upmethat didn’t sit right. The enthusiasm Journey had for the events, the campaigning,all you are going to do for Hillside,was admirable. But I couldn’t match it.

My running mate, a woman from Dr. Martin’s class would have been a good fit for the office. And helping her win appealed to me more. Like me, she didn’t want the main position either. She never wanted to campaign or help anyone else. She wanted to be an analyst. Talk about the odds of someone winning, the breakdowns of the voter block. But holding a seat wasn’t something she wanted.

For our ticket, she predicted a twenty-five percent chance we’d win. And that’s without knowing for sure who was running against us.

“What?” Marcus’ voice boomed behind me. “A suit?” He laughed. “What’s the occasion?”

I turned from the mirror and said, “Time to campaign.” Tension clenched my jaw. “I guess.”

I tugged on the side of the blazer and said, “This is for shaking hands in the cafeteria after convocation. Getting out to meet the underclassmen.”

The blank look on his face solidified everything I felt on the inside. “I’d never thought I’d see the day.” He reminisced on freshman year. “Remember when we had to wear suits that first week of school?”

I sighed. “And what was the point in that?” If I was a petty political type, I’d announce I was going to work with the administration to scrap that.

“And here you are four years later, in a suit, not complaining.” He snickered. “My how things change.”

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