“She couldn’t come to night,” Sameera answered. “But she definitely plans to. She so appreciates the way you guys have reached out to her. Which reminds me—my parents gave me the go-ahead to join her in public school.”
“That’s fantastic,” George said.
“Wow, Sparrow, you’re going to get all kinds of kudos in the press for this move,” added Nadia. “I know that’s not why you’re doing it, but still.”
“I’ll be starting next fall, so get ready to read about it on Sparrowblog.”
“Why next fall?” Sangi asked. “Why not right now?”
“My cousin’s with me now,” Sameera answered, startled by the question. “I wouldn’t want to leave her in the lurch.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to start now? Then the other kids might have a chance to get used to you. And by next year, you’d feel much more at home.”
“Your cousin sounds really busy, anyway,” Nadia added, a hint of jealousy in her voice. “Her film was great. She’s got that cookie-making business, and I read somewhere that she and that gorgeous Tommy Banforth were caught having a romantic coffee somewhere in Georgetown.”
“Oh, that. He was meeting with her to share some legal advice about setting up the cookie-making business. And copyright stuff about her film.”
“Yeah, right,” George said. “I think I’ll go to law school.”
“Maybe you guys are right about starting now,” Sameera said thoughtfully. “I’ll ask Ran what she thinks, and if she’s okay with it, my parents just might give me the green light.”
“Never hurts to try when it comes to the parental units,” said Sangi.
The flashes were going off so fast now, she felt like they were merging into a single strobe-light effect. It’s the Revolutionary Café and Disco, she thought.
“I’d better go before we get headaches,” she said, getting up. “Thanks for the idea, guys. I’ll let you know what happens.”
“Oh, Sparrow, I almost forgot,” said George. “Here’s a card from Bobby.”
“You almost forgot?” Sangi and Nadia said it simultaneously.
George shrugged. “Yeah. He told me he didn’t want to mail it to the White House because it would take too long to get through to Sparrow, so he sent it to me in another envelope instead. Express mail, I might add.”
Sameera opened the sealed envelope the moment she was alone in her room, but she already guessed what it would say.
Dear Sameera,
I couldn’t get to a cybercafé, but I wanted you to know that he’s gone. I miss him, but something changed after we had that talk about you, and about forgiveness. He laughed more after that. He even cried once, telling me a story about his childhood and how his mother had sacrificed so much for him. I’d never seen him cry before, and neither had my Baba. It was a wonderful last few days with him. So thanks, Sameera. Thanks for that. I’ll be home the last week of March after the ceremonies are over. Keep us in your thoughts and prayers.
Love,
Bobby
The card was one that he’d obviously made before leaving the States. It bore a photo of a soaring sparrow that had just taken off from the ledge of a skyscraper’s window. The angle was from a higher window, so you could glimpse the bird’s destination—a cozy nest tucked into an elaborate carving on the Gothic church below. Once again, the tiny initials BG in the lower right-hand corner revealed the identity of the photographer.
Sameera gazed for a long time at the sparrow soaring from a high, high building toward what was obviously home, and then she tucked the card in her desk along with the small stash of notes and keepsakes she knew she’d never throw away.
chapter 31
Miranda’s movie became an instant hit. On Sparrowblog itself, which was getting more traffic than ever, comment after comment raved about it. Even Sparrowhawk admitted that she was glad to see such intelligent, personal coverage of the First Family. The film was getting a ton of buzz on the rest of the Web, too. It was quickly picked up by ifilmeditmyself.com and downloaded over and over again on different sites and blogs. It seemed like everybody who saw it was enjoying her intimate peek into life in the White House.
Maryfield folks, of course, were beside themselves with pride, and Miranda basked in the lavish praise she got from her parents and grandparents. The success of her first movie made her even more berserk for the camera. She was constantly filming, downloading megabytes of movie, and editing the footage as if she were on assignment for a major motion picture studio. How the First Family Eats, her second film, was scheduled to be finished in a few weeks, and she’d asked Sameera to announce the release date on Sparrowblog.
“This film has to be ten times better than the first, Sparrow,” Miranda said. “People expect sequels to stink, so I’m trying to blow everybody away with mine. I’ve been researching info about film schools, and I’ll want the admissions committees to see my best work.”
“I’ll post every film you make if you let me do something I’ve been wanting to do for a while now,” Sameera told her cousin.
“Of course, Sparrow. Anything. Do you want to send Bobby’s family some scotchies along with a sympathy card?”
“That would be great. But what I also want is Gaithers’s card—the plea sure of shredding it.”
Miranda looked sheepish. “I flushed it the day after you posted my film. The guy was a jerk, Sparrow.”
“Definitely,” Sameera said. Then she lowered her voice to make it sound like a reporter’s: “This Academy Award winning movie was directed by Miranda Jane Campbell, who also owns the successful Merry Dude Dairy Farm Fresh Cookies business.” She threw her arms around her cousin, kissed her, and then shifted back to her own voice. “I tell you girl, you’re good at so much stuff, you’re going to have to choose which talent will make you famous. I’m so proud of you.”
“Thanks, Sparrow. It’s been an amazing year so far, hasn’t it?”
“It certainly has. Which reminds me, Ran. How would you feel if I enrolled in school right now?”
“Now? Why would you want to do that?”
“I figure it’s going to take a while for them to get used to me, so the sooner the better. But I don’t want to leave you here alone. I mean you came all the way to D.C. to be with me, and—”
“Listen, Sparrow. You’ve helped me follow my dreams this year. I’d be a bad cousin if I didn’t let you follow yours. Maybe we can move my tutoring session with Westfield to the morning so that we can have the afternoons together. But you still have to talk Aunt Liz and Uncle James into an early start.”
Sameera kissed her cousin on the cheek. “You’re the best, Ran.”
“I sure hope Tommy Banforth agrees with you.”
“How about you and Tommy, Ran? Are you guys…falling for each other?”
“Nah. We’re friends for now, but I’m working hard so that can change in a couple of years—like when I’m nineteen and he’s twenty-three.”
“I need to get to know him better then. He seems nice, but if he might be my future cousin-in-law…”
“Oh, you’ll love him. He’s got heaps of the three Fs—he’s so much fun to be with, he’s got a strong faith and loves to go to church, and he’s totally connected to his mom, grandparents, and cousins. We’re a match made in heaven, Sparrow.”
“Speaking of matchmaking, did you ever find out how it went with Tara and JB’s kids?”
“No, but I’m so curious to see if she’s still interested after meeting them.”
As if on cue, a loud, demanding knock sounded at the door. RAP! RAP! RAP! “Some things never change,” Sameera muttered, opening the door for her mother’s right-hand woman.
Tara strode in as dynamically as ever, but Sameera thought she glimpsed something new in her face.
“I just wanted to tell you girls that Miranda’s film might be featured on a major network soon,” Tara said.
“Oh my gosh!” Miranda said. “I can’t believe it!”
“It’s a
n amazing PR tool,” Tara added.
“You should probably start charging money for it, Ran. Pay per view or something,” Sameera said.
“No way,” said Miranda quickly. “These films are my thanks to you and your parents for having me here. I’m so glad to be helping in any way.”
“Okay, then. I’ll be heading home now,” Tara said.
Sameera grinned and looked at her watch. “Already? It’s only six o’clock.”
That now-familiar pink flush came into Tara’s cheeks. “I’ve got a date, girls,” she said.
“With JB?”
“And the twins.” She smiled at the expressions on the cousins’ faces. “Oh, his kids are adorable. I love the way JB handles them—he’s the world’s best dad, that’s for sure. He puts their needs first, which is how it should be.”
“Sounds a lot different than Marcus Wilder,” said Sameera, referring to Tara’s old marketing geek boyfriend—the type who’d always put himself first.
“You can say that again. JB has all three of the treasures I’m looking for—he’s strong, smart, and…” She stopped short, as though she’d already said too much, and Sameera noticed that her cheeks were fiery red now.
“Did you know that you and JB picked the exact same things?” she asked.
“I’m not surprised. ‘If three nonnegotiables match, consider the other person a keeper.’” It was a quote from Sparrowblog, and after delivering it, Tara smiled again at the girls and left.
chapter 32
Listen up, Sparrowbloggers. For those of you who didn’t catch the press conference on television, the big news is that I’m about to start school NOW—at Jacob Lawrence High School in D.C. I’m looking forward to it, but I’ve got the jitters, too. I know everybody worries about starting a new school, especially if you’re doing it in the middle of your junior year when all the other kids know each other, but…well, this is different. I don’t want special treatment and I don’t want to stick out, but I’ll have my agents with me and I’m sure reporters will be swarming the school on Monday. If that’s not special treatment I don’t know what is. Are you ready for me, Jacob Lawrence? Comments? Remember, keep them short, clean, and to the point. Peace be with you. Sparrow.
She didn’t mention in her post that the school was public, but the first person to post a comment was Sparrowhawk. Good for you, bird-girl, was all it said, but it meant the world to Sameera.
The morning of her first day of school reminded her eerily of the first day of kindergarten. Miranda tucked a homemade sack lunch and a bag of cookies into her backpack, Mom got teary-eyed when she thought nobody was looking, but Dad was the worst—just as he had been all those years ago. He came upstairs and stalked around while Sameera ate breakfast, offering nervous, useless advice like, “You’ve got to stand up to bullies,” and, “Call me on your cell if you need anything.” She almost expected him to tie her shoes for her.
Miranda helped her get dressed, pulling her hair back in a ponytail and choosing a pair of big gold hoop earrings, tight jeans, a black T-shirt with a dog outlined in pink sequins, and a white down parka. The three of them—and Jingle, of course—accompanied Sameera all the way to the East Entrance, where JB and Sandra were waiting by the armored car that would take her to school every day.
“Are you sure you don’t want one of us to go with you?” Mom asked.
“I’ll be fine, Mom. I’ll stop by and see you after school and let you know how things went.”
“I’ll be around, too, Sparrow,” Dad said. “Come have a coffee in the West Wing when you’re done in the East Wing.”
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay, Ran?” Sameera asked, while Jingle circled the group as though trying to herd them back into the White House.
“I’ll be fine,” Miranda answered. “Westfield’s coming, and then I have to fill three new orders for scotchies and work some more on that second movie. It’ll be three o’clock before I blink.”
A herd of Rhinos tracked the limo from the White House all the way to the stairway leading into the school. It was still early, but a few students were starting to push through the pack of paparazzi to climb the stairs. Even though she was fielding questions of her own, Sameera overheard a few other Q&A exchanges as she made her way up.
“How do you guys feel about the First Daughter coming to Jacob Lawrence?”
“Excited.”
“Sort of scared. What if our school gets bombed by terrorists or something?”
“The first who?”
Just before entering the building, Sameera turned and waved and a barrage of flashes detonated around the semi-circle of paparazzi.
The school looked cleaner, with fresh coats of paint everywhere. A huge banner hung over the door that read WELCOME, SAMEERA RIGHTON, and Mr. Richards was waiting to greet her.
This was the moment Sameera had been dreading, because she and Mom agreed that she needed to confess their burka disguise plan.
“You mean that was your mother?” he asked, dumb-founded. “Why didn’t Mariam tell me? I would have done something special, I would have—”
“That’s exactly why we didn’t let Mariam tell you,” Sameera said. “Mom wanted to see the school as is. And she must have liked it because she sent me back, right? But please, let’s keep that secret visit just between you and me.”
“Of course. We certainly don’t want to stir up any more excitement around here. It’s going to be hard enough to get any learning done over the next few days.”
He was right. A constant stream of kids came up to Sameera to introduce themselves or to ask questions about life in the White House. Most of them didn’t read her blog, she realized. She could always identify regular Sparrowblog readers because they didn’t seem overawed by her presence or flustered by their brush with fame. Maybe the blog readers already felt connected to the First Daughter through the cyberconversations that progressed from week to week. But a lot of Jacob Lawrence students treated Sameera like a celebrity, asking for autographs, following her as she walked to class, badgering the agents with questions about their jobs, weapons, and training, and taking pictures with cell phones and cameras.
I’m glad I jumped into the deep end now, thought Sameera, signing yet another autograph in the hallway. Probably by next fall, I’ll be old news. Still, even this first day would be interesting to describe later on her blog. And maybe, as she got to know some Jacob Lawrence students, she could ask them to share their stories with Sparrowbloggers.
The cafeteria was a prime location for informal photo shoots. Both of the agents brought in their own lunches, and Mariam had halal food from home. She offered roti and lentils to Sameera, and Sameera, in turn, shared her cousin’s White-House-made scotchies all around.
“Doesn’t anyone at your school surf the Web?” she asked Mariam as kids came and went, asking if they could have their picture taken with Sameera or with one of the agents. “I’d love for these guys to read my blog. That would save me a lot of explanation.”
“Some of us don’t have computers at home,” Mariam reminded her gently. “I read your blog at the public library.”
“What about here at school?”
“We’ve got some computers set up but they’re only for the teachers, and we don’t have room for a computer lab. You saw those unopened boxes sitting in the hallway, right?”
“What about putting them in the library? I know it’s small, but I think at least half a dozen computers could be squeezed around one of those tables.”
“None of our teachers have time to set that up, and our librarian’s only here two days a week.”
“Why don’t you and I help her, Mariam? I know something about setting up computers, and you’re so smart, you’ll figure it out in no time.”
Mariam shrugged. “We could try, I guess. We can ask Mr. Richards. And the librarian’s here tomorrow, so we can talk with her about it then.”
The principal distractedly gave his permission, and the librarian agreed.
The school closed at three, but opened at seven in the morning to serve the kids who came in for a hot breakfast. Miriam and Sameera decided to work before classes started.
“We’re going to need some help,” Mariam said. “I’ll get Rashida and Tahera to ask their linebacker boyfriends to come in early and lug the boxes over to the library.”
She’d introduced Sameera to her two Pakistani friends, who spent most of their time attached to their boyfriends. The guys were neither Muslim nor Pakistani; somehow, Sameera couldn’t imagine Rashida’s and Tahera’s parents ecstatically welcoming these boys into the family as potential husbands for their sixteen-year-old daughters. But maybe she was wrong. Nadia’s parents were Pakistanis, too, and she was planning on taking a Filipino guy home with her for spring break.
“Do Tahera’s and Rashida’s parents let them date?” she asked Mariam curiously.
“No way,” Mariam answered. “But they do it anyway, secretly. I could never go behind my parents’ backs like that, could you?”
“I don’t think so,” Sameera admitted. And thankfully, neither could the guy I love.
Thanks to JB’s and the boyfriends’ muscles, the cartons of computers were moved to the library and the girls unpacked them. Setting up a network of eight terminals and printers on one small table was more complicated than Sameera had anticipated, but Sandra, who started as a technology specialist in the Ser vice, helped out. A lot. Thanks to her (and a couple of extra items that Sameera paid for and smuggled in without anybody noticing), the new Jacob Lawrence network was soon up and humming.
chapter 33
The agents would have been a popular addition to the school even without Sandra’s techno-skills. Girls flirted all the time with JB, despite the fact that he was twice their age. “It’s that sexy earpiece,” Tahera said, sighing as she watched him from afar. “And those dimples.”
White House Rules Page 15