Read The President's Daughter Online

Authors: Ellen Emerson White

The President's Daughter (7 page)

BOOK: The President's Daughter
5.62Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads
“How about a truce?” their father suggested. “At least until after dinner.”
“Oh, but we love each other.” Steven moved his chair closer to hers, putting his arm around her. “Don't we, Meggie?”
“Oh, yeah.” Meg kept eating.
Her father frowned at Dave's table. “I don't like it. He's too old to be staring at you.”
“He's only eighteen,” Meg said. She glanced up to see the whole family looking at her. “Oh. Guess I shouldn't know that.” She shrugged, picking up her knife to cut a piece of lettuce, deciding to start some trouble. “He's a pretty good kisser for an old guy.”
Without lifting her eyes, she could feel their heads turning in his direction.
“What's his name?” her mother asked casually.
“Why would I know his name?” Meg asked. “Hey, can I have a martini?”
THEY SKIED ALL day Sunday, had dinner at yet another reporter-crowded restaurant, then drove home, not getting in until pretty late. Meg was so tired that next morning that she fumbled her way through school, although she didn't actually fall asleep until her last official class, which was history, and always pretty boring. Her teacher, Mr. Bucknell, was a real pain, always talking about her mother—even though the American History part of the course was only supposed to go up to 1865—and trying to get Meg to drop campaign secrets. Not that she knew any. She wasn't even sure if there
were
any.
“Meghan?” a voice said.
“What?” She jerked awake, and saw Mr. Bucknell scowling nearsightedly, gripping his tie with one hand, which made her uncomfortably suspicious that he might have called on her more than once. The grins on the people sitting near her made her suspect that even more. “I mean, yes, sir?”
“I
do hope
,” he stretched the two words out, “that you don't mind my interrupting your little nap.”
Well, actually, now that he mentioned it … . “I'm awake,” she said.
A couple of people laughed.
“Well, I am,” she said to the class in general.
“She thinks, therefore she is,” Rick Hamilton said, and more people laughed.
Meg blushed, but returned the cocky grin he gave her, deciding that he was probably the sexiest—
“Meghan,” Mr. Bucknell said impatiently.
Meg focused towards the front of the room. “Uh, yes, sir?”
“We were discussing the Iowa Caucus, and I thought you might be able to give us some insights on the subject,” he said.
What did that have to do with early American history? Oh. Right. Nothing whatsoever. “Um, well.” She searched for something to say. “It's a week from tomorrow.”
“Does your mother have any specific campaign strategy?” he asked.
The man never quit. She looked at Beth, who scribbled a note that said “Tell him about the bribes.” Which wasn't much help.
Christ, this was the only class she had with Rick Hamilton all day, and her teacher seemed to go out of his way to embarrass her. If only he would just give her a break already, and not—Rick really
was
incredibly good-looking. Arrogant grin, wavy hair, really sexy eyebrows. She had a thing for guys with acrobatic eyebrows. Usually, the only way she could ever stay awake in this class was by trying to stare at him without getting caught. Beth and Sarah Weinberger almost always got caught. Meg figured she had about a .500 average. Not that he'd be interested in her, anyway; he always went for the tall, blond—
“Meghan ?” Mr. Bucknell sounded very testy, practically choking himself with his tie.
“I'm sorry,” Meg said. “I just really don't know anything.”
“Oh, come on, she must have mentioned something,” he said. “You spent the entire weekend with her.”
Nothing like having a private family life. Was every class for the rest of the year going to be like this? She looked at Rick, who obviously thought that—damn it. He caught her that time. Flushing, she looked down at her desk. Now, he would know that she liked him. God, what a day.
“What about the debate?” Mr. Bucknell asked. “Does she have any special strategies for the debate?”
Other than showing up on time? Meg shook her head.
Mr. Bucknell frowned. “Well, what about positions? Like gun control. How is she going to handle gun control?”
All he had to do was check her voting record on
that
one. “I'm kind of not supposed to comment on that,” she said quietly.
“What?” He took a step backwards, looking so theatrically stunned that most of the class laughed.
“That's telling him, Meg!” someone shouted.
“Well, class.” Mr. Bucknell's eyes made a slow sweep of the room. “What would this school be like if
all
of our students went around saying, ‘No comment'?”
The same people laughed again.
“The
next
thing you know, Meghan will be taking the Fifth,” he said.
Which was, of course, her right, as guaranteed by the Constitution.
In the meantime, a few people were laughing, but everyone else was giving her sympathetic looks, switching back to her side.
“Maybe you'd feel better having an attorney with you in class,” he said, and Meg made herself meet his gaze, not looking away until he did.
Then, she stared down at her books. Why couldn't her mother be a psychologist? Or a writer? Or a nurse? Or a professional tennis player? Only then, her gym teachers would be after her—she could hear it now: “Well, Wimbledon's coming up. Meg, do you think you can give us some insights?”
Would she have to be Catholic to join a convent?
The bell rang, and she gathered up her books, wanting to get out of the room as soon as possible.
“Don't forget,” Mr. Bucknell said. “I want the answers to the chapter seventeen questions handed in by tomorrow. And, Meghan, would you mind staying after for a minute?”
Yes. Meg paused, halfway to the door.
“Tell him yes,” Beth said, right behind her.
“
Meghan
.” Mr. Bucknell didn't sound as though he was in the mood for any smart answers.
Meg sighed and sat back down. When everyone else was gone, Mr. Bucknell leaned against the table near the front of the room, folding his arms.
“I don't think I asked you anything
too
terrible,” he said. “We just want to share the experience. I think we're very fortunate to have a major candidate's daughter in here, and I've been trying to get some good discussions going. We can all learn a lot from this.”
Meg moved her jaw. “I'm not supposed to go around talking about things.”
“No one is asking you to give away private campaign information,” he said mildly.
Yeah. Sure.
He smiled at her. “I was thinking that you might be able to get her to come in one day and speak to the class.”
Meg shrugged, wondering when, exactly, her mother would find time to do something like that, when she didn't even have time to come
home
.
“Meg, I really don't mean to put you under any pressure,” he said.
Then, how come he kept doing it? Meg didn't say anything.
“If you're having some difficulties with the idea of your mother being a candidate, you should share
that
,” he said.
She shrugged. “I'm not.”
“It would be perfectly natural,” he said.
“But I'm not.” She checked the clock. “I'm sorry, but I kind of have to get going.”
He sighed, unfolding his arms. “Maybe in the future, we can both try to be a little more cooperative.”
Meg nodded, standing up to leave.
“I was very impressed with your paper on the Louisiana Purchase,” he said. “You seem to have a real grasp of the material.”
Flattery would get him nowhere. “Thank you,” she said.
Beth and Sarah were waiting for her in the hall.
“So?” Beth asked.
Meg glanced over her shoulder to make sure she had closed the door on her way out. “He wants me to try and be a little more cooperative. I told him he'd have to speak to my attorney about that.”
“Wow.” Sarah's eyes widened. “What'd he say?”
Meg and Beth grinned.
“Well, I don't know.” Sarah shrugged self-consciously. “Meg might do that.”
“I bet you said, ‘yes, sir, anything you say, sir,'” Beth guessed.
“I told him I'd get back to him,” Meg said.
Beth made her hand into a microphone. “Tell me, Miss Powers. What's your mother's position on gun control?”
“Well.” Meg leaned back against a locker, assuming a pseudo-thoughtful, pseudo-intellectual stance—standing like any one of a number of her mother's aides. “The Senator is a little torn on this issue. She carries several guns in her purse, but she doesn't like the idea of just any old person being able to get one. Also, she's sponsored several bills on teacher executions, and—”
“Wow,” Sarah said. “Does she
really
carry a gun?”
 
HER FATHER GOT home later than usual that night, having had to appear at a couple of fund-raisers, in lieu of her mother. On Thursday, he was going to fly out to Iowa to be with her for the last few days before the caucus. Even though a relatively small percentage of eligible voters in the state participated in it, the whole thing was a big deal because it was the first
real
vote of any kind. Iowa was pretty conservative, but Meg figured her mother had a halfway decent chance since she was inclined to be a centrist on non-social issues, and her voting record had always had a distinct pro-agriculture bias. The general consensus seemed to be that a high turnout would be in her favor, because her campaign seemed to be bringing a lot of first-time voters into the process.
“Daddy!” Neal saw him first, as Meg, her brothers, and Trudy sat watching television after dinner. “We missed you!”
Their father bent to hug him. “Well, I missed you, too.”
“I've got your dinner warm in the oven, if you're hungry, Russell,” Trudy said.
“Thank you, that sounds great.” He straightened up, rubbing a tired hand across the back of his neck, and then loosening his tie. “But, don't worry, I can get it myself.”
“Don't be silly. It won't take but a minute.” She bustled out to the kitchen.
“How'd they go?” Meg asked, opening her math book to make it look as if she'd been doing homework.
“Not bad. Crowded.” He yawned, taking off his jacket, making Neal laugh by putting it on Kirby. “Your mother call? I kept getting her voice-mail.”
“Yeah.” Steven opened his science book, which had also been untouched all evening. “She said hi.”
“Don't be a jerk.” Meg reached across the couch to hit him. “She said for you to call her back around eleven, Dad.”
“Guess what?” Neal climbed onto their father's lap. “She said she had a meeting with the President today and everything!
He
called her up to talk to her!”
“
He
wants her support on that trade bill,” Meg said. Not that he was likely to get it.
Her father glanced over. “Been keeping up lately?”
Meg shrugged. At school, she worked just hard enough to get good grades—candidates' children were kind of supposed to, but C-Span and political websites and things like
Meet the Press
were different. She liked knowing what was going on. Sometimes, when Mr. Bucknell actually did manage to get the class into a political discussion, she would have to chew her pen or drum on her desk to keep from joining in. If she said anything, people would probably think she was showing off, or had asked her mother for the answer. Like,
instead of running for the school's Senate, she was just a class officer, and she and Beth would sit in the back during meetings, being attitude problems. They never volunteered for anything, although when they were assigned to committees, they did whatever needed to be done quickly and responsibly. Being an attitude problem was one thing; being ill-bred was quite another.
After watching television for a while, she went upstairs to check her email, and maybe even do some homework. Mostly, she got A minuses, with a few solid A's here and there—and, when she screwed up, an occasional A plus. The truth was, getting
straight
A's made people expect too much, and—well, she wasn't one to overachieve. Academically, anyway.
She did some French and chemistry, and then moved over to her bed to read, Vanessa joining her. Lately, she'd gotten pretty hooked on mysteries, and right now she was going through a long-running series about a Boston detective named Spenser.
Hearing her father laughing and talking downstairs, she glanced at the clock and saw that it was just past eleven. Well, so, he hadn't wasted any time calling her mother. The fact that he sounded so cheerful made her feel very warm and safe—her parents hadn't always gotten along so well.
The worst time that she could remember had been before Neal was born. It had been when she was six and seven, so parts of that whole period were kind of blurry, but she remembered the tension. She definitely remembered the tension.
It had started around the time her mother had been elected to the Senate, moving up from the House of Representatives. Her workload and constituency had gotten bigger, and suddenly, she was home even less often than before. Then, when she
was
home, her father did a lot of work at his office, while she and Steven spent most weekends with her mother. And they didn't eat dinner together. She remembered for sure that they all didn't eat dinner together.
BOOK: The President's Daughter
5.62Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

The 39 Clues Invasion by Riley Clifford
El círculo oscuro by Lincoln Child Douglas Preston
Crash & Burn by Jessica Coulter Smith
Operation Swift Mercy by Blakemore-Mowle, Karlene
Nothing Lasts Forever by Cyndi Raye
The Three Rs by Ashe Barker
A Killing in Zion by Andrew Hunt