Willem and Murven followed the crowd of students into the gym and up the bleechers. “What’s all this for anyway?” Murven asked.

Willem walked sideways to squeeze past the students sitting at the end of the row and twisted his head back towards Murven. “Terry Bristol’s coming to talk to us,” he said. “He’s runnin’ for mayor or county commissioner or sumpin’.”

“Why’s he talkin’ to us?” Murven said.

“Hell if I know. I heard somebody say he wants to talk to us because we’re future voters. He wants to git to us young.” Willem sat down next to CJ, who was holding his guitar between his legs, and gave him a nod.

Terry Bristol strolled into the gym, adjusting his tie and patting down his blond hair as it bounced out of place. He shook hands with the principal, checked his watch, and glanced up at the students.

“Damn, that boy’s pale.” Murven pointed to Terry. “I think I can almost see through his skin.”

“Might as well be a vampire or sumpin’,” Willem said, pulling his blue handle comb from his back pocket.

CJ strummed his guitar and leaned towards Willem and Murven. “I don’t know what the hell he’s thinkin’. He oughta know teenagers ain’t into pale ass vampires and shit like that. We like Baywatch and David Hasselhoff, not the undead.”

“You damn skippy,” Murven agreed. “I might vote for him if he had a better tan.”

Willem combed his mullet, chuckled and said, “Dang.”