Tamal stretched his arms over his head and yawned. “You’re kinda scary,” he said to Mindy.
“Thank you.”
Then to me, he said, “I’m ready to crash.”
I was so grateful to Tamal right then. Mindy wanted to stick around for a while, and I figured my mom wouldn’t mind as long as she stayed out of the way. Tamal and I had a room down the hall.
“That Mindy’s a freak,” Tamal said when we were alone.
“She’s definitely different.”
“The way she flips from Cheery Chelsea Church girl to Princess Anarchy is creepy. Is it weird that I kind of like her? Not like I like Astrid, but like I bet she’d be cool to bowl with.”
“I doubt Mindy bowls.”
“Or scare children or whatever.”
“I think she’s only like that because of her parents,” I said. “She has to act a specific way for them, and she can only be herself when she feels safe. I kind of get it.”
Tamal brushed his teeth and changed into his pajamas before getting into bed. “Seems like a rough way to live. Always having to pretend. Never knowing who you can be yourself around.”
“Yeah,” I said. “It’s not great.” I grabbed clean clothes and my phone and headed for the bathroom. “I’m going to shower before bed. See you tomorrow.”
“Night, dude.”
I shut the bathroom door behind me, finally alone. I turned on the shower, sat on the edge of the tub, and opened my phone. Nineteen notifications. I held my thumb over the Promethean app, scared to tap it. But it wasn’t a bomb. No matter what Dre said, all I had to do was tell him the truth. Explain that my mother had invited Mindy, that she’d sprung it on me, that I’d been about to tell him when he’d had to leave. Once I explained, he would understand.
Yet, I still couldn’t bring myself to open the app. I knew I was being silly. This thing with Mindy was just a misunderstanding, but I was still scared. I’d known Tamal longer, but Dre was the only person I could fully be myself around, and I was scared of losing him. I was scared of losing more than the boy I cared about; I was scared of losing my friend.
Procrastinating wouldn’t change the messages, though. It would only give Dre more time to wind himself up. So, I finally tapped the icon.
DreOfTheDead: wild debate huh
DreOfTheDead: so who was your date???
DreOfTheDead: was the guy your friend tamal you told me about
DreOfTheDead: youre not dating that girl right?
DreOfTheDead: of course youre not
DreOfTheDead: unless you are
DreOfTheDead: dont worry about me being upset
DreOfTheDead: i never expected anything from you
DreOfTheDead: okay?!?
DreOfTheDead: dean
DreOfTheDead: dean
DreOfTheDead: dean
DreOfTheDead: you already know I like you
DreOfTheDead: i like talking to you
DreOfTheDead: i like kissing you
DreOfTheDead: but i like being your friend most of all
DreOfTheDead: so whatever else we’ll always be friends
DreOfTheDead: pinkie promise
DreOfTheDead: sweet dreams
Below the last message was a picture of Dre lying with his head on the pillow. His hair spread out and his eyes half-closed. Beautiful.
DreOfTheDead: ps, she was pretty but i’m prettier
DreOfTheDead: xoxo
Dre didn’t hate me. My hands were trembling and my heart was racing as my anxiety turned into joy. The bathroom was filled with steam and I’d been in there so long Tamal was going to wonder what I was doing, but I had to take a moment to calm myself before I could compose a reply.
PrezMamasBoy: Hi, Dre. It’s Dean.
PrezMamasBoy: Mindy doesn’t hold a candle to you.
PrezMamasBoy: Also, I’m not her type.
PrezMamasBoy: My dreams will be sweet because they will be of you.
PrezMamasBoy: See you there.
PrezMamasBoy: ~Dean
Dre
DAD LOOKED LIKE a beaked goblin that had been living in the irradiated wastelands of Chernobyl. Or, at least, he was starting to. He sat quietly in the garage, in a battered leather recliner that Mel and I had stolen from the neighbor’s trash in the middle of the night to use for Dreadful Dressup because my mom would’ve murdered me, raised me from the dead, and then murdered me again if I’d ruined any of her furniture.
I’d been itching to do something for Dreadful Dressup, but I needed someone to put makeup on, and without Mel my choices were limited. Dad had offered himself up without me even needing to ask. He’d been subdued since the debates, defeated in a way I hadn’t seen him since he lost the Iowa caucus during the primary. That’d been a rough fight, and he’d taken the early loss pretty hard. This was different, though. It wasn’t like he was nursing his wounds; it was a bone-deep exhaustion that he couldn’t seem to shake.
“Thanks for letting me stay on with the campaign.” It was still a touchy subject with Dad, but Mom had convinced him to let me keep traveling with them until the election.
“You weren’t thrilled about leaving school during your senior year in the first place. Why do you seem so reluctant to go back now?”
“Try not to move your lips so much when you talk.” I was working on Dad’s cheeks, and I didn’t want him messing up the work I’d already done. Painting him as a post-apocalyptic bird goblin was not easy.
“Is it the same reason I’m sitting in this chair instead of Mel?”
“Yeah. We’re kinda not talking.”
“What did you do?”
“Me? Nothing!” Blending the face prosthesis was delicate work. I stood back to judge what I’d done so far. Not too bad.
Dad was watching me with that skeptical Don’t even think about lying to me look that I usually attributed to Mom. “You must’ve done something, Dre.”
I sighed. “She was pissed because I messed up some plans we’d made and she changed D and D from Sundays to Saturdays without telling me, and then she had the nerve to yell at me because I’d hung out with Dean Arnault and didn’t think he was a monster. It’s like I have no idea who she even is anymore.”
Dad was quiet for a little while, and I couldn’t read his expression under all the makeup. Finally, he said, “I feel like this is my fault.”
“What? No. It’s Mel’s fault for being such a shit.”
“Dre, how can you be upset with Mel for missing you when you’ve spent the last few months angry with me for the same reason?”
“I . . .” I wanted to tell him it was different, but it wasn’t and I knew it. I’d always known.
“You can’t expect Mel to rearrange her life to suit you any more than I could expect it of you.” Dad motioned for me to stop with the makeup and sit for a second. I pulled a stool over. “When I clinched the Democratic nomination, you were the first person I wanted to tell. Your mom barely tolerates all of this, and I know she thinks I’m going to lose even though she pretends otherwise and thinks I don’t know.
“But I thought how great it would be to have my son by my side. Not because I hoped you’d help me appeal to younger voters or because Jose thought you’d poll well, but because I love you, Dre, and I’m proud of you, and I wanted to make you proud of me too.”
It was hard taking Dad seriously when he was looking like a freaky bird goblin that’d been dunked in toxic sludge, but it was the first time in months that I wasn’t angry with him. “I am proud of you, Dad. I always have been.”
“I know,” he said. “But it hurt when you didn’t want to leave school, and your mom had to remind me that I had no right to be upset with you for wanting to live your life.”
“Just like I can’t be mad at Mel for living hers while I’m off doing my own thing?”
“Exactly.”
“Even though she changed the D and D game day?”
“If you want to play on Saturdays, we’ll work out how to get you there.” D
ad’s smile slipped a notch. “Once you’re done being grounded.”
“Of course.” I chuckled and got back to work because Dad had to be hot under all that makeup and I didn’t want him suffering too much. “What about her shitting on me for not hating Dean, though? That’s kind of messed up, right?”
“Mel has always been passionate about her beliefs. I’m surprised she hasn’t protested any of my campaign events.”
She had, but this wasn’t the time to tell Dad that. “Am I wrong not holding Dean responsible for all the shit his mom believes?”
“I don’t think you are.”
“What if he actually does believe some of that stuff?” I asked. “Would I be wrong to still be friends with him?”
Dad couldn’t answer right away because I was working on his lips, but when I finished, he said, “When I was your age, I read Ayn Rand. I thought her philosophy, objectivism, was the pinnacle of rational thought and political theory.”
I’d never heard of her and I said so.
“Don’t worry about it. Her philosophy’s garbage. The point is that being young is about exploring ideas. Some of the ideas we explore turn out to be trash, and we hopefully grow out of them.”
“So I’m right and Mel’s wrong.”
Dad held up his hands. “That’s not what I said.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“Mel’s not wrong for holding people to a higher standard, and you’re not wrong for giving them the benefit of the doubt. You’re not always going to agree on whether someone is worthy of spending time with, and that’s okay. But don’t let it get in the way of your friendship.”
Dad paused for a second, looking at me like he was searching for something. “I think it’s fine that you and Dean have found some common ground, and I’ve always admired your ability to look past a person’s faults. Just be certain that he deserves it.”
My dad could be pretty perceptive, and my relationship with Dean was something I didn’t need him thinking about too much or he might put it together that there was more between us than I was letting on. I had to change the subject. Fast.
“You’re not worried about McMann winning, are you?”
“More worried than I should be.”
“Why?” I asked. “He can’t win, can he? I mean, even if he splits the vote, Democrats control the House, so they’d choose you as the winner, right?” I didn’t live for politics the way Dean did, but that didn’t mean I hadn’t fallen down a few late-night clickholes trying to figure out how all this stuff worked.
Even under the layers of makeup, I could see Dad’s worry. “Democrats barely control the House, and McMann has deep pockets. There are a lot of representatives on both sides of the aisle who owe him their careers.”
“Sure, maybe he could flip a few votes, but he couldn’t flip enough to win.”
“Jose has been running scenarios, and there are a couple where, yes, it’s possible he could win. If I lose enough votes to him to give Arnault the advantage, more might throw their support behind him just to keep her out of the White House. Whoever wins is probably going to get to nominate a couple of justices to the Supreme Court. There’s a lot at stake, Dre.”
Until that moment, McMann winning seemed like an impossibility. The kind of hypothetical that people talked about but that they all knew could never really happen, but now it was starting to feel like a reality, and it was kind of terrifying.
“I’ve been thinking of withdrawing.”
I wasn’t fully paying attention to my dad, so it was a couple of seconds before I processed what he’d said. My head whipped around. “Wait, what? You can’t do that!”
But Dad looked resigned, like he’d already made up his mind. “If I drop out of the race now, Janice can focus her attacks on McMann without me as a distraction.”
“She’s just as bad as McMann!”
“Not even close, Dre,” he said. “I don’t agree with her on just about anything, and she’s not the leader we need right now, but Jackson McMann cannot be allowed to win. He would tear this country apart and destroy the relationships we have with our foreign allies. I would rather see Governor Arnault win than him.”
“Then why doesn’t she drop out so you can win?”
Dad rested his hand on my shoulder. “Because, in her heart, she’s a soldier, and I don’t think she’s capable of surrendering.”
“Sounds like you admire her.”
“It’s been tough being the first Mexican American to have a real shot at becoming president. It’s been an uphill battle through hordes of vile racists and people who see me as nothing but the color of my skin. But Janice has also put up with her share of vitriol. The misogyny, the constant and unrelenting commentary on her appearance, the way so many people tack on ‘for a woman’ to the end of their compliments of her.” He nodded to himself. “She’s also had it rough. So, yes, I do admire her. I admire her tenacity and her strength, and you should too.”
Life would’ve been so much easier if Dad were to drop out of the race. No more worrying about the election, no more late nights and missed dinners. I’d get my dad back and we could go to Europe after graduation like we’d planned. Everything would go back to the way it’d been. Only, nothing ever goes back to the way it was. We’d all been changed by the last few months. We were different people. I was a different person. Might as well try to unbake cookies and separate the dough into its original components.
But most of all, even though I fully believed Dad was willing to sacrifice what he wanted for the greater good, he also really wanted to be president. Not for the power, not for the glory, but so he could help people.
“You can’t quit,” I said.
“I haven’t made any decisions yet—”
“Then don’t. Stop thinking about giving up and start focusing on winning. Get out there and kick McMann’s ass. Then kick Arnault’s ass. Kick anyone’s ass who gets in your way.”
“This isn’t going to get any easier, you know that, right, Dre?” I started to answer, but Dad held up his hand to let me know he wasn’t finished. “I can promise you that I’ll do my best to be there for you, but if I keep at this and I win, times are going to come when my best won’t be good enough. Situations will arise when I’m going to disappoint you. When some emergency is going to pull me away from you and ruin our plans. If this is going to work, Dre, we have to be honest with each other.”
The last time Dad and I’d had this talk, I hadn’t thought it through, but this time I did. This time, when I answered, I was sure. “I’m not saying I’m gonna like it, and I’m not saying I’m not ever gonna be pissed about it, but I get it and I understand, and I still want you to keep going. I want you to win.”
For the first time since the second debate, my dad smiled. “You really think I can?”
“Yes,” I said. “And I’ll be with you all the way. If you want me there.”
“You know I do.”
“Good,” I said. “Now, let’s get your beak and hooves on so we can take some pictures.”
Dean
MY MOTHER WAS standing at the bottom of the stairs, holding a glass of whiskey in one hand and her tablet in the other. She loved whiskey, but only drank it on rare occasions, so either Jackson McMann and Tomás Rosario had both dropped out of the race or the world was coming to an end.
“What the hell were you thinking, Dean?”
So McMann and Rosario were still in the race.
“What do you mean?” I stood at the top of the stairs, unsure whether it was safe to come down.
My mother held up the tablet. “You allowed yourself to be goaded into debating Andre Rosario?” Her tone was acid. “Come down here. I’m not going to give myself a muscle spasm in my neck looking up at you.”
Life in the days since the debate had been more interesting than anyone had asked for. McMann was polling only a few points behind my mom and Rosario, which was unheard of for an independent, and he was taking every opportunity he could
to give interviews or hold rallies. Analysts were talking about him like he could honestly win, and Mom had been doing everything she could to combat his offensive, including working with the Rosario campaign to schedule a third debate, one where she would be ready for McMann.
But Dre was the thing I looked forward to more than any other, and I was willing to do whatever it took to see him.
I descended the stairs until I was face-to-face with my mother.
“Why would you do something so foolish?”
“I let Astrid interview me for the school paper,” I said. “She asked me about the challenge Andre had thrown down in Teen Vogue and whether I would debate him. I didn’t see the harm in saying yes. I figured the Rosarios would never allow it to happen.” I left out the part where I planted the suggestion that I’d be willing to do an interview with Astrid in Tamal’s mind, and then let him suggest it to her like it was his idea.
“Of course they’re going to let it happen! They’re overjoyed because every time they trot their son out, it takes the press’s attention off Rosario’s ailing campaign!”
“I still don’t understand why you’re upset,” I said. “Dre has no formal debate training whereas I’m a state-ranked debater who’s been invited to numerous national debates all over the country. I’m certain I can beat him.” I watched my mother’s reaction closely, looking to see if my argument was working. “And it will be held at my school. I’ll have the home field advantage.”
My mother sipped her drink but kept her eyes firmly on me. “I don’t like this, Dean. With McMann making a mockery of this election, I don’t have time to chaperone while you play at debating with that child.”
“Why do you talk about him like that?” I asked without thinking. “Maybe he’s not a debater, but he’s quite talented in his own right. Funny too. You might even like him if you got to know him.”
“I don’t know what has gotten into you, Dean, but enough is enough.”
The State of Us Page 20