The Daughters Join the Party

by Joanna Philbin

Emma snorted. “I don’t think there will be a next time,” she said. “Tom Beckett’s probably out right now looking for a muzzle for me to wear.”

  For a moment Vanessa seemed to flinch, as if she were offended. But then she smoothed a piece of poker-straight hair and said, “All I’m saying is that you could actually help your dad on this campaign. Because you’re different. But you can’t do that until you’re a little more confident. Which is where the speech class comes in.”

  Emma looked at Lizzie. “I think you’d be great at it,” Lizzie pointed out.

  Emma turned back to Vanessa. “So that’s your advice? Muscle in on one of the two teams that my brother is captain of?”

  “You don’t have to join,” Vanessa said, tapping her French-manicured nails on the conference table. “Just go to a couple of practices. Try it out.” She leaned forward. “You need to believe in yourself, Emma. If you don’t, no one else will.”

  Emma glanced at Lizzie, ready to break into giggles, but Lizzie looked back at her with a straight face—apparently she agreed with Vanessa. “Well, thanks for the advice,” Emma said, pushing herself back from the table. She picked up her book bag. “I’ll give it a go.”

  “Check in with me next week to let me know how it goes,” said Vanessa. She stood up and shook Emma’s and Lizzie’s hands once more. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Lizzie.”

  “You, too,” Lizzie said.

  Emma nodded and stepped back toward the door. “See you later,” she mumbled, and soon she and Lizzie were out in the lobby, walking past the receptionist.

  “So what’d you think?” Lizzie asked.

  Emma pushed open the heavy glass door. “Total waste of time. Join my brother’s speech and debate team? Is she serious?”

  “I think you’d be really good,” Lizzie said as they stepped out onto Fifth Avenue. “She was right. People pay attention to you. I don’t know if it’s your voice or the way you say things, but I’ve seen it. Even the teachers pay attention.”

  “Not like the way they pay attention to Remington,” Emma said.

  “But whatever about Remington,” Lizzie said. “You’re you, Emma.” The wind lifted the ends of Lizzie’s curls and blew them up around her face as she looked down Fifth. “You and Carina are so brave. I wish I could be like that sometimes.”

  “You are brave. You got suspended for modeling.”

  “It’s not the same thing,” Lizzie said. “You’re, like, fearless.”

  Emma thought about Lizzie’s words. In the past two months, she’d gotten expelled, started a new school, and embarrassed herself in front of the wealthiest people in America. Maybe she was brave.

  “Oh. Hold on.” Lizzie pulled out her cell phone. “Todd just texted me again. I think I should probably go.”

  “Tell him I said… well, tell him I said hi,” Emma said.

  Lizzie smiled and shook her curls out of her face. “I will,” she said. “And hey. Never underestimate the power of being underestimated.”

  “What?” Emma asked, laughing.

  “I don’t know. I got it in a fortune cookie once,” she said, smiling. “It always sounded kind of cool.”

  “Yeah, it kind of is,” Emma said, thinking about it. “Bye, Lizzie.”

  “Bye, Em.”

  Emma watched Lizzie set off down Fifth Avenue. Across the street the silken exhibition banners attached to the front of the Met made a faint snapping sound, and then, lost in thought, Emma turned back uptown.

  chapter 11

  That night, Emma picked at her kung pao chicken and snow peas as Remington sat across from her in silence, flicking through a brochure for Georgetown. Emma looked down at the same page of The Scarlet Letter that she’d been reading for half an hour. Her brother was still giving her the silent treatment, two full days after the party.

  “When did Mom say she was going to be home?” she asked.

  “Around nine,” he said, turning a page.

  “I didn’t know that you were applying to Georgetown,” she said, spearing one of her snow peas.

  “It’s my safety,” he replied, not looking up.

  His safety, she thought. Of course it is.

  “You know we’re going down to D.C. in a couple weeks for Dad’s birthday, right?” he asked.

  “No,” she said. “I’m not exactly getting family bulletins these days.”

  “Well, we are.” He finally looked up at her, and she could see a weariness in his eyes. She wondered if this was a new thing, or if he’d been like this last year while she was gone.

  “Look, Rem, I’m sorry,” she said. “Please don’t be mad.”

  “I’m not mad,” he muttered.

  “You haven’t talked to me in over two days,” she said. “I’m counting.”

  “Sorry, it’s just…” His voice trailed off as he put his head in his hands. “Maybe it’s all these AP classes and the applications, plus the swim team and speech team, but it’s all just a grind.”

  “Speaking of the speech team… I was wondering if I could sit in on a practice.”

  He looked up at her. “O-kay,” he said, digging into his rice. “Why?”

  “I need an extracurricular.”

  He gave her a searching look, as if he didn’t quite buy her story. “Well, it’s tomorrow at four. In the library.”

  “You don’t mind or anything?” she asked.

  “Why would I mind?”

  “Because it’s sort of your thing,” she said.

  Remington shrugged his broad shoulders. “It’s not just my thing,” he said. “And Walker asked you to join last week, anyway.”

  “Is he mad at me, too?” she asked.

  Remington looked at her over his glass of soda. “Since when do you care if other people are mad at you?” he asked.

  “I don’t,” she said, burying her face in her Hawthorne.

  The next morning at the diner near school Emma slipped into a booth across from Lizzie. “So, I’m gonna sit in on speech practice today,” she said.

  “Awesome!” Lizzie said, putting away her math homework.

  “You know, why not? I don’t think it’s going to change my life, but it’s a good idea.”

  “What’s a good idea?” Carina asked, sliding into the booth. They’d all decided to do a weekly breakfast together before school. Carina had gotten her hair cut to just below her jawbone, and it looked incredibly chic and very blond.

  “Wow, you look gorgeous,” said Lizzie.

  “Oh, thanks,” Carina said, running her hand over her new ’do. “Alex doesn’t love it, but I do. And I’m thinking of running a story on short haircuts in the next issue of Princess. If Barb is into it.” She wrinkled her nose. “Is it bizarre that I’m really starting to like working with her?”

  “No, I saw this coming a mile away,” said Lizzie. She turned to Emma. “Carina’s dad owns Princess, and a bunch of other magazines.”

  “And he’s sort of gotten me interested in working there,” Carina said, opening her menu.

  “Yeah, Princess has gotten a lot cooler lately,” said Emma.

  “You can thank Alex’s sister for that,” Carina said. “She’s got the best style of anyone I know. Except for Hudson,” she said, glancing at the door.

  “Hey, everyone,” Hudson said as she dropped her book bag and climbed into the booth next to Emma. “What are we talking about?”

  “Your amazing style,” Lizzie said. “Like right now.” She gestured to Hudson’s fake-fur vest and headband dotted with faux diamonds. “What’s going on with the album?”

  “The photo shoot for the cover came out really well,” Hudson said. “The label wants it to be just me, but I’m fighting hard to get the rest of the band on it, too.”

  “And what’s going on with you and Ben?” Carina asked.

  Hudson blushed and bit her pouty bottom lip. “Nothing,” she said.

  “Who’s Ben?” asked Emma.

  “He’s the guitarist,” Hudson explained. “And I think the
re’s chemistry there, but—”

  “Someone’s too scared to do anything about it,” Carina interrupted.

  “What am I supposed to do? Jump him?” Hudson asked, pulling at the cluster of silver coins dangling from her ear.

  “Why don’t you just tell him how you feel?” Emma asked. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

  “Um… he could say that he’s not interested and then feel weird around me for the rest of his life?” Hudson offered.

  “But at least you’ll know, right?” Emma asked. “That’s got to be better than constantly wondering.”

  “So you’ve done that with a guy?” Hudson asked. “You’ve told him how you felt?”

  Emma rolled her eyes. “Guys are never into me enough for me to do that with them.”

  “What?” Hudson asked. “Do you see the way guys look at you at this school? Are you blind?”

  “What? No,” Emma scoffed.

  “I’ve seen it, too,” Carina said.

  “Yeah, especially one guy,” Lizzie said. “Walker Lloyd.”

  “What?” Emma exclaimed.

  “Yup,” Carina said. “Every time he passes you in the hall, he totally checks you out.”

  He does? Emma wanted to squeal, but she didn’t say anything.

  “I know!” said Hudson. “I’ve seen that!”

  “Don’t get too excited, you guys. He’s my brother’s best friend. He, like, grew up at my house. He was around when I had clear braces and no boobs.”

  “So what? He obviously doesn’t think you’re awkward anymore,” Carina said.

  “And even if he was maybe a little into me, somehow,” Emma said, “he definitely isn’t now.”

  Just then the diner’s only good-looking waiter stopped at their table. “Ready to order?” he asked, peering at them from under his tousled hair.

  “We’ll have four OJs and two fried-egg sandwiches,” said Emma. “And on another note, I’d love to cut your hair sometime. I’m really good at it. And I wouldn’t charge you a lot.”

  The waiter looked like he wasn’t sure he’d completely understood her. “Uh, okay,” he said. “Be right back with your drinks.”

  The four of them giggled as he walked away. “You are insane, you know that?” Carina asked with a devilish grin.

  Emma shrugged. “Just trying to help someone in need,” she said, chuckling.

  “Okay, so why wouldn’t Walker be into you anymore?” asked Hudson, her sea-green eyes full of concern.

  Emma poked at the piece of lemon in her water glass with a fork. She was going to have to tell Hudson and Carina everything after all. “I need to tell you guys something,” she said, knitting her brow. “It’s sort of a secret.”

  “Go ahead,” said Carina.

  Emma paused. “My dad is going to be running for president.”

  “Holy shnit!” Carina yelled at the top of her lungs.

  “Carina,” Lizzie said under her breath.

  “I can’t believe it!” She slammed her palm down on the table and the silverware jumped. “Oh my God!”

  “Wow,” Hudson said softly, twisting an opal ring on her finger.

  “C, you have to calm down,” Lizzie added.

  “I already told Lizzie this past weekend, when we went shopping,” Emma said. “But I had to tell you guys. It felt weird that you didn’t know.”

  “So are you gonna get Secret Service guards?” Carina asked breathlessly. “Are you gonna have to go on the campaign trail? Are you going to get free clothes?”

  “I have no idea,” said Emma, trying not to laugh.

  “When are they going to announce it?” asked Hudson.

  “January, February? I’m not sure.”

  “We won’t tell anyone,” said Carina. “Not a soul. They’d have to kill me first.”

  Hudson shook her head solemnly. “But what does this have to do with Walker not liking you anymore? Sorry, I’m still confused.”

  Emma had almost forgotten what they were talking about. “Last weekend my dad had a party for these rich people he knows—hoping to get them to give him money for the campaign. And Walker was there with my brother. And my dad wanted Rem and me to go up and give some speech about the plight of teenagers today or something.”

  “Oh, no,” Carina muttered sympathetically. “I would die.”

  “And I just made a dumb joke about hoping Jen and Brad get back together,” she said. “It was kind of a huge deal. My brother freaked out on me.”

  Her friends looked somber as they considered this.

  “Well, I would have laughed,” offered Carina.

  “Thanks, C,” said Emma. “Anyway, ever since then Walker has kind of… well, I can only imagine what he thinks. Which is where the image consultant comes in.”

  “I’ve heard of those,” Hudson said. “A lot of people use them when they’re trying to make a comeback or something.”

  “Or when they’re running for president and they think their daughter’s a freak,” Emma explained.

  “So did you actually see one?” Carina said.

  “Yep,” Emma answered.

  “What was she like?” Carina asked.

  “Kind of a cross between a shrink and a woman who does the weather on channel five,” Emma said.

  “Right,” Hudson nodded.

  “So she suggested that I sit in on a speech team meeting. So I don’t totally embarrass myself when my dad asks me to speak in front of a crowd.”

  “I can kind of relate,” Hudson said thoughtfully. “I got stage fright last year. I thought I’d never get past it.”

  “Believe me, you’d be the best thing to happen to the White House if your dad got in there,” Carina said. “And we could come visit, right?”

  “Absolutely,” she said. “But it’s still a little too early to talk about that.”

  The waiter brought them their fried-egg sandwiches, still unable to look at them.

  “Sir? I’m sorry if I offended you,” Emma said to him. “I actually think your hair looks fine just the way it is.”

  The waiter put down the plates and hurried away. Carina kicked her under the table, and they burst into giggles again.

  chapter 12

  Later that day, Emma made her way down to the library after her last class. For a moment she was tempted to just go home—her motivation to show up at speech team practice had waned a little after lunch—but when she saw Walker at one of the library tables, unpacking his book bag in the empty room, she changed her mind.

  “Hey,” she said, walking into the room. “Guess who changed her mind about speech team?”

  He looked over his shoulder. “Hey,” he said. For just an instant his eyes seemed to light up. “What’s up?”

  “Not much. Still thinking about Jen and Brad.” She put her book bag on the seat next to his as he gave her a skeptical look. “I’m kidding.”

  “Yeah, what was that about?” he asked, taking out a thick binder.

  “I had, like, five minutes’ notice,” she said. “And you saw who I had to follow. Sorry if I couldn’t come up with anything better.”

  He shrugged. “Hey, I know you were on the spot, but you could have said something. Remington’s a good speaker, but you still have stuff worth saying. You could have rocked it up there.”

  Then why didn’t you throw out a topic? she wanted to ask as she played with the edge of her notebook. “Okay,” she said. “Thanks?”

  “Sorry,” he said. “Forget it. I’m sure you were under a lot of pressure.”

  Her arm brushed up against his as she opened her notebook. Her heart did a somersault. “Whatever,” she said. “Live and learn, right?”

  He turned to a blank page in his notebook and started scribbling. She wasn’t quite sure what he thought of her anymore. All she knew was that she wanted him to touch her arm again, but the moment was over.

  As people started to trickle into the room, Emma recognized a few of them, particularly one junior girl named Laetitia with long
blond hair and jaded blue eyes. Another girl marched in wearing a square pink and blue backpack strapped to both shoulders. She had an intensely focused expression, as if she were mentally rehearsing the State of the Union address she was going to give later that night. Her Chadwick kilt hung well below her knees, and her legs were painfully pale.

  “This seat taken?” she asked Emma as she pulled out the chair on Emma’s other side.

  “Nope,” Emma said, slightly intimidated.

  The girl sat down and plunked her backpack on the table. “I’m Hillary Crumple,” she said, offering her tiny hand.

  Emma submitted to a bone-crushing handshake.

  “I’ve got plenty of index cards and highlighters,” she said, all business. “Just ask.”

  “Thanks, I will.”

  Out of the corner of her eye Emma noticed Ava Elting sashay into the room on her kitten heels. She sat across from Emma and threw a look of disdain at Hillary. “Are you joining us?” she asked.

  “I just thought I’d sit in,” Emma said.

  “Oh, good,” Ava said distractedly.

  Emma turned to see her brother walk into the library.

  Ava arched one of her perfectly tweezed eyebrows. “Hey, Rem,” she called out in an unmistakably saccharine voice.

  “Hey, Ava,” he said, barely acknowledging her, much to Emma’s relief. He carried his blazer over his arm and his tie was loosened. He looked tired, but it was probably because he’d gotten up at dawn for his daily run around the reservoir.

  He waved to Emma and took a seat at the end of the table. Not next to Walker, Emma noticed.

  “All right, let’s get started!” said a familiar, strident voice, and Emma turned to see Mrs. Bateman walking into the room in her orthopedic shoes. “We’ve got a lot of ground to cover, and we’re already behind on our research assignments,” she said, dragging out a whiteboard on wheels from the corner.

  Emma eyed the door. Maybe it wasn’t too late to leave. Mrs. Bateman was the coach!

  “But first let’s do a little exercise.” Mrs. Bateman lurched around the table, passing out some xeroxed pages. “Miss Conway,” she said when she reached Emma’s seat. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m just sitting in,” Emma said, eyeing her brother for support.