106. Miss. Americana And The Heartbreak Prince (10/9/20)

It was two minutes before the announcement.

Camilla stood amongst her friends and family in front of borough hall. It was Election Day, and anyone who was eligible could vote for who they wanted to represent the town. Camilla, fortunately, had recently turned eighteen, and had voted earlier that morning. Her stomach would not stop doing somersaults; she knew she was in the minority.

In front of borough hall was a projector screen, currently showing the two candidates' faces. Camilla had to hold back a sneer at the Republican candidate, Ted Bormann. Everything he stood for she despised. Unfortunately, it sounded like many people in town, including her parents, had voted for him. Next to his picture was Barbra Fisher, the Democratic candidate. Camilla was a bit biased because she had attended a social justice workshop with Mrs. Fisher two summers ago - without her parents' knowledge. Mrs. Fisher wanted to bring about change in the community, including spending more money on the arts at the schools and creating LGBTQ safe spaces for teens and young adults. Camilla had happily voted for the woman before first period, but a small part of her worried that Mrs. Fisher wouldn't win. She lived in a small town, filled with redneck Republicans who like Ted Bormann's traditional family values. Camilla had many arguments with her parents, who had supported Mr. Bormann ever since he announced his campaign.

"Do you really want him to represent the town?" Camilla had asked her parents at dinner a few months ago. "He has said multiple times on camera that women belong in the kitchen." Her parents had put the topic to rest as soon as she brought it up. Now, Camilla was anxiously standing between her parents, eyes trained on the projector. Mrs. Fisher's picture smiled back at her, her eyes full of hope.

Camilla watched as a secretary changed the picture on the projector screen. Both Mr. Bormann and Mrs. Fisher walked out into the square. Everyone held their breaths as the secretary announced who would represent the small town.

Mr. Bormann's picture filled the screen. The man chuckled, looking behind his shoulder to see the results. Before she could stop herself, Camilla screamed, "Are you fucking kidding me?"

The crowd gasped, and all eyes were on her. Mr. Bormann looked like he had seen a ghost, and even though Mrs. Fisher's face flooded with disappointment, Camilla believed that she saw a small smile on the woman's face.

"Camilla!" Her father hissed in her ear.

She had paled, her eyes wide as she stared at the screen. Had that just happened? The cameras were now flocking towards her. They were meant to capture the results, but now they seemed focused on her.

Camilla didn't see any other option but to run. She pushed her parents aside and dashed through the crowds, ignoring the whispers and camera flashes around her.

By the time she reached home, Camilla was flushed and out of breath. She sat down on the couch, swallowing the lump in her throat. She flicked on the television and turned to the local news channel. The screen showed what had just occurred, with a camera focused on her. A smaller version of herself screamed, "Are you fucking kidding me?" But the expletive was bleeped.

What followed were personal interviews with both candidates, winner and loser, and some members of the crowd, included her now uptight parents. They looked furious onscreen, even though they tried to hide it.

After her parents' interview, the camera cut to Mrs. Fisher, who seemed flabbergasted and a bit disappointed. But instead of asking her how she felt about losing - it didn't seem like an appropriate question anyway - the interviewer asked Mrs. Fisher what she thought of Camilla's outburst.

"I had the pleasure of meeting Camilla at a social justice workshop two summers ago," Mrs. Fisher said. "If I'm being completely honest, I'm proud of what she did today."

Camilla curled up on the couch, covering her mouth with her hand, either out of shock or embarrassment. Her shoulders shook as the tears bled down her face. When the interviews were over, the news anchor back at the studio commented on the whole affair.

"Quite bold, I'd say," the one man said, chuckling under his breath. "More on that story later."

More? Camilla thought. Were they planning on interviewing her?

Before her parents could get home, Camilla turned off the television, wiped her tears with her sleeve, and went upstairs. In her bedroom, she threw open the closet, examining everything inside. On the top shelf sat her homecoming crown, which she had earned about a month ago. In the back of her closet was her junior prom dress, the purple tulle now crushed against the other clothes. She pulled it out. All the rumors at school claimed she would win prom queen this year. Not anymore. Not after what she had done. If you live in a mainly Republican small town, you don't announce your opposing views in front of everyone.

Camilla could hear the front door opening downstairs. She sniffled, wiping away any loose tears. She returned the old prom dress to the closet and tried to brace herself for what was to come next.