I’m currently sitting in the backseat of my dad’s truck. So far, we’ve driven from the Jersey Shore to Trenton. Trenton has never felt like New Jersey to me. It’s filled with factories, bridges, and people from Pennsylvania. Is this what people think of when they think of New Jersey? Or do they think of that tv show starring a family from New York?

Neither of these places are what I consider to be home. Yes I grew up at “The Shore,” but it’s so much different than what is showcased. The correct beaches, MY beaches, are calm and beautiful. There is absolutely nothing in this world that compares to a spontaneous drive to a shore town with friends in the middle of the night, leaving your shoes on the boardwalk, and sprinting all along the sand to the water.

Because of the pandemic, people from New York and Pennsylvania are moving into their “shore houses,” previously only used in the summer, full-time. I get a little bit defensive about this. Why should you get to enjoy the local privileges? You clog up the roads, litter all over the beaches, and take advantage of the off-season prices of local businesses.

I just realized how misleading this could be. I’m not necessarily a “beach person.” While I love the shore towns, and the beach at night is such an amazing experience, the actual summer beach days with all of the tourists there is definitely not for me. Sand gets everywhere. Sunburn is unavoidable. People are loud and messy.

I feel like my opinion would change if I knew how to surf. I’ve taken a few lessons, but I’ve never really done it with natural waves in the ocean alone. I really should learn; everyone around me seems to know how to.

Oh, we’re arriving at our destination! I hope you enjoyed my thoughts on this car ride.

The bell rings, directing the rest of the children to come into the auditorium. I’ve been here for the last half hour, pacing back and forth as my nerves flow through me. This is the most important moment of my life so far; I might cry or vomit or faint or run away. Am I prepared enough for this? Will I embarrass myself?

“Are you ready to go on?” It takes me a moment before realizing that my principal was talking, however, I couldn’t seem to get any words out, so I gave him a nod. The bright red curtains begin to squeak open and I quickly run my hands across my blue dress.

“Hello everyone, I’m Lacey Berks, and I’m running to be your eighth grade class president”

After successfully completing my speech (with only a few stutters), another girl who I haven’t seen before confidently strutted across the stage bearing a purple dress, blonde hair, and glasses. I didn’t pay much attention to her speech, given that I was in almost every school club and she was unheard of. Instead, I thought of my winning speech and imagined my name on the board at the front of the school.

But now, from backstage I could hear  the crowd cheering horrifyingly loudly, to the point where it made my shoe buckles rattle. Since when were thirteen year olds this enthusiastic about school government? With curiosity I peeked through the curtain as she reached for the principal's hand, who was coincidentally wearing a tie that matched the color of her dress.

A few days later I was crushed to find out that the mystery candidate won, but she had invited me to the student council meeting that afternoon. My hopes and expectations skyrocketed, while the logical side of me knew that no sane person would ever give up the power that comes with being student body president.

With that being said, the meeting held many surprises. I walked into the student council room to her just standing there, now in jeans and a hoodie, with her back to the door. She turned around as if I had scared her, and for a split second her eyes were wild with huge pupils that revealed no color.

“Oh, hello Lacey! Great speech the other day!” Her voice struck me as odd; as if she were a teacher or parent talking to a child. The teenager instincts in me wanted to run to my friends and explain that she was trying to belittle me.

But I’m not one to judge. “Um, hi,” once again I failed to suppress my stuttering. “I haven’t really seen you in school. Do you—are you in any clubs?” I’m trying to be polite, but I have thousands of questions.

“Speaking of clubs,” her smooth voice hit me again, “you seem to be in quite a lot of them. You must know this school very well, which is why I would like to elect you as vice president.”

I don’t really think she can do that, but who cares? I have a high position and input and just everything a successful student could need! She reaches out for a handshake that I happily give her, and I notice her bright purple nail polish. Suddenly an anxious feeling rises in me, and my stomach tells me that I’ve made a mistake. I look up at my student body president, who once again has violently wild eyes. I watched her pupils grow larger and larger; are her eyes even that big?

“Well,” I say, letting go, “my mom is waiting in the parking lot and I need to go to the bathroom. See you at the meeting next week?”

She snaps back like she had been zoned out, then smiles at me. “Yes! I’m so excited to be working with you!”

I smile back, then try (and fail) to casually walk away quickly. On my trip to the restroom, the school was different. The garden that could be seen from the window now grew lilacs instead of the bright sunflowers, the blue lettering on the school banner had been replaced with violet lettering, and the rainbow notes that had once hung outside the music room were a deep plum. Nothing major had been changed, so I wasn’t going to make a big deal of it. Besides, purple was obviously this girl’s favorite color, and she has the right as president to do some small redecorating.

Finally, I pushed open the bathroom door. I know it’s impossible, but I felt a breeze when I walked in. Soft humming echoed off of the tile. I walked in a little further, and the humming swelled into a chant. It shocked me that all three stalls were actually being used, given that not many students stay after. I looked under the stalls to see if it was true, and my heart stopped. Three pairs of bright purple heels were standing there. My stomach filled with a sick feeling and I ran all the way to the front door of the school. A devilish female laugh came over the loudspeaker, followed by the same chant I heard in the bathroom. I run out I make sure to close the door in a desperate attempt to prevent any followers.

A car pulled to the front, and immediately recognized the license plate as my mother’s. Just as I let out a sigh of relief, I come to the realization that this cannot be her; my mother did not have a purple car.

I have to contemplate what I should do. What options did I have?

The door swung open on its own, and the student body president was standing about twenty feet inside. She began to laugh, then shouted “A practicing witch of a thousand years, and you think you can escape?”

My “mother” rolled down her window just a crack to reveal that she is listening to the chant on full blast.

I’m standing here completely frozen and on the verge of tears. Please help me before the purple surrounds me.