Betrayed by the Girl I Loved in Secret

At the start of junior year, my best friend and I both ran for vice president of the student council.

He was the one who suggested that whoever lost had to dress up as a clown and run eight laps around the track.

In the end I won by ten votes.

But the next second, my girlfriend, Maureen Henson, put photos of the night I'd been molested at a bar up on the big screen.

Along with a pile of private photos.

She announced, cold and flat:

"I don't think a man who's this money-hungry, with a private life this messy, deserves to be in this race."