“Lorenzo! How are you feeling?” I walk-jog over to my friend’s side as he walks towards the gym.

“Tired and ready to go home,” he replied solemnly.

I scoff. It was all too typical of him to hide his true emotions under a mask of sarcasm. He acted like the events soon to come did not phase him, but his trembling hands told a different story. I briefly thought about taking one of his latte-colored palms into my own, but quickly decided against it. Afterall, I didn't want to ruin our friendship.

As we pass by a group of mutual comrades, they point at us and scream “MEDINAAAAAA!” I laugh at the classic nickname and am just lucky enough to notice a slight, upward curve form at the left side of Lorenzo’s lips. Lately, it seems like that's all he is able to muster.

The past few weeks have been rough for Lorenzo, to say the least. Just two weeks into his senior year of high school, his eighth cousin passed away from an aggressive form of lung cancer. His hateful father did not lessen this hardship. Instead of consoling his son and focusing on the positives of their lives, he took out all of his anger on him instead. Adding this issue to a new baby in the house and his younger sister falling into the wrong crowd, the amount of stress present in Lorenzo’s household was well above average. As a result, his grades began to drop severely, and he was barely passing most of his classes. All things considering, Lorenzo was still mentally doing alright - until he was being kicked out of his house for days at a time.

When Lorenzo first confided in me about his frequent suicidal thoughts, I didn’t know what to say. At first, I was almost sure he was just trying to be funny. We were just hanging out at our local Noodles and Company, eating Pesto Cavatappi with parmesan-grilled chicken, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary. There were times when I would mention his favorite band and he wouldn’t be as intensely interested as usual, and other instances when he would get very upset with me for no clear reason, but I always just thought he was going through that whole “man period” thing. It was when I mentioned grades and the end of the school year that the atmosphere began to feel tense. Lorenzo began fiddling with his paper napkin, not allowing his eyes to look up from the table. I felt odd, not knowing what I said that caused him to act so disconnected.

“I’m not sure, that kind of stuff… with the future and everything… just… I don’t wanna be alive to see it all play out I guess.” Lorenzo fixed his gaze to the window on his right.

“Yeah, all these tests make me want to disappear too sometimes,” I half-heartedly joked.

“No, like I actually want to die,” He quickly muttered.

I caught myself admiring the sheets of paper adorned with graphics of yellow ribbons near the entrance to the gym - it was Suicide Awareness Month. After hearing about how somebody I truly admire hates themselves and their life, I was inspired to perform a benevolent act for once. I waved goodbye to Lorenzo as he had to sit with the other candidates and quickly found a group of close friends who aided me in the campaign. We spent the last few weeks plastering the school with pro-Medina propaganda in order for him to have a shot at winning the title of Homecoming King. The three of us also collectively ran a Twitter in his name, which ended up gaining more followers than his own personal account, and each of our own. When seeing me write “VOTE MEDINA FOR HOMECOMING KING 2K15” on classroom chalkboards, my fellow peers would always ask me why I’m trying so hard for something that truly, doesn’t actually matter. My answer is always the same: he deserves it more than anyone. It’s not just that I have a slight crush on him, or that his big, brown eyes are ridiculously mesmerizing, but it’s the fact that he is a genuinely kind person who cares about his friends and family more than anything. Many of my friends and I all believe in the mission to grant Medina the cheap plastic crown and sash he deserves. We reminisced on this thought as the lights dimmed, and music began to play. This was truly the moment we've all been waiting for.

I sat rigidly on the stone grey bleachers while apprehensive contemplations whizzed through my mind. My fingers became tangled within the shorter locks of hair near my temples. The soles of my old, black Converse made a pitter-patter sound against the gym floor as I absentmindedly shuffled my feet. I could sense my sympathetic nervous system stopping the production of saliva. My gaze shifted from a lone speck of dust on the hardwood to the monstrous crowd of hormonal teenagers which overflowed the gym. Their appearance was overwhelming. What if it was all just another popularity contest? I have known all my life that teenaged boys are not the most reliable subjects when it comes to making decent decisions, but at this moment, I was forced to hold a great deal of faith in them.

“Alexander’s gonna win.” A d*****bag’s arrogant voice floated above the hundreds of others. “It's so obvious. He’s the captain of the varsity soccer team, and nobody even knows the other people.”

“Nobody even knows who you are!” Screamed Julie, the most well-known girl in the 3rd grade. I’m not sure why I ever tried with the cool crowd. My short, chubby legs bolted back towards the school, tears blurring my vision. I caught my foot on a rock and fell against the wood-chips, whilst a group of heartless monsters erupted in laughter behind me.  I was never a very popular child, and this was the first time I truly realized it. But why did it matter anyway? I picked myself up and brushed the dirt off of my knees. At this point, I was only crying a little bit, and thought I was doing a swell job at hiding it. Instead of going straight back to the kids who made my life hell, I walked the perimeter of the playground and found a little boy with dark hair standing with a group of his friends. They were playing four square - my favorite game!

I gathered up all the courage I had left. “Can I please play with you guys?”

All three boys stopped their game and looked at me. The exchanged tentative looks and the dark-haired boy stepped towards me.

“Sure! We really do need another player. I’m Lorenzo Medina, what’s your name?”

“Mari! I have NEVER been this nervous!” One of my closest friends, Stephanie, was gripping my arm with a little too much force. I laughed at her, but was not about to admit that I was feeling the same emotions as her. As she teased me about how I might get a date to Homecoming out of this fiasco, I thought about everything that could go wrong in the next few minutes. What if the posters were ill-received? I knew that in the end, none of this would matter, but I worked too hard and Medina has been through too much for this to fail.

The dense echo of heels pounding towards the podium halted my rapid thoughts. I whipped my head to the side and caught sight of the student council president, shuffling a few papers. She tossed a few lengths of glossy, red hair over her shoulder, seemingly undisturbed by the frustration/anxiety of everyone else around her. I could barely hear her over my internal screaming. Time neared as if it were a thick, distant fog beginning to engulf my soul. My heart got caught in my throat the moment I witnessed her gently turn a paper over. My hands clenched the forearms of friends on either side of me. Finally, she spoke.

"And your 2015 Homecoming King is..."