“Oh. Sorry.” The person clicked off.
“Sounds like you have to hang up,” Beth said.
Meg nodded. “Yeah. I should probably get downstairs, anyway. My father’s heavily into us doing togetherness.”
“Sounds fun,” Beth said.
Yeah, so far it had been a complete blast.
Back downstairs, she found her family watching some dumb space movie involving lasers and jet-packs and what seemed like a very complicated battle sequence. The Candidate’s Family being devil-may-care and embracing pop culture.
Actually, they did look somewhat more relaxed.
“You know,” her mother said, as one of the characters skillfully blew up several enemy fighters, and then swooped off deeper into the galaxy. “If I could do that, I would have won. People would have been afraid not to vote for me.”
“You haven’t lost yet,” Meg’s father said, putting a calming hand on hers.
“You mean, you think I’m going to?” She jerked her hand free. “Thanks a lot. I bet you didn’t even vote for me.”
“Sorry.” He took her hand back. “I probably should have.”
Neal was completely mesmerized by the movie, his mouth literally hanging open, but Meg and Steven laughed, and her mother actually cracked a smile.
The mood in the room was sort of happy for a minute, but then Glen stuck his head in.
“Kate, New York’s official,” he said.
Her mother instantly flicked over to CNN, which made Neal leap out of his chair and shout, “Hey!”
“—and New Jersey also seems to be going with the Senator,” one of the anchors was saying, as the huge map graphic on screen added another blue state to the tally.
Meg grinned. “I thought they hated you in Trenton.”
Her mother just looked nervous. “I did, too.”
As more and more votes came in—and more state polling places closed—her mother started to pull ahead.
“You’re winning, Mommy!” Neal bounced delightedly in his chair, no longer upset about missing the end of the space movie. “Look, you’re winning!”
She shook her head. “We haven’t heard Texas. Texas is going to be big. And California. We won’t hear California for hours, and—”
“Improbably,” a pundit was saying, “Georgia still seems to be in play. Certainly, none of us ever imagined—”
Her parents exchanged quick nervous looks, and Meg felt her stomach start churning around. Good thing she hadn’t eaten dinner. A few more states like Georgia, and her mother might—Meg drank some of her Coke, which was now flat, as well as warm.
There was a knock on the door, and Glen came back in, sitting down next to her mother.
“The internals were right,” he said quietly. “You’ve got Missouri.”
Missouri, the notorious bellwether state.
Her mother gulped coffee. “I know, I was watching.”
“No way should you have taken Missouri,” he said.
Meg had to swallow, hard. This was starting to get serious.
“And the word we’re getting is that they’re about to call Florida,” Glen said.
Florida? Christ almighty.
“Texas is going to be bad,” her mother said, a visible shudder jerking through her body. “He’ll get me three-to-one in Texas.”
Glen just looked at her.
And the electoral map on the television was surprisingly blue. Shockingly blue.
Alarmingly blue.
“It’s early,” her mother said finally, nervously. “It doesn’t mean anything.”
Except that the overall trend was in her favor. Strongly in her favor.
“—and preliminary returns from Illinois are giving Powers an overwhelming majority of the votes,” one of the anchors said. “It’s still too early to project a winner, but we’re getting closer to—”
Her mother sat down, trembling. “Maybe—maybe running wasn’t such a great idea. Maybe,” she was watching her hands shake, “maybe I don’t want to be—”
Glen changed the channel and they heard “we’re now ready to call Wisconsin for Senator Powers, and we’re also expecting—”
“Maybe,” her mother got up, heading for the door, “maybe I’ll just go upstairs for a while.”
Glen switched to another station, where someone was saying, “At this point, I think we’re just waiting for the polls on the West Coast to close before we—”
Her mother came back and then sat down, hands tight in her lap.
“—truly an unprecedented—” yet another pundit was saying.
Her mother was going to win. She was actually going to win. Meg watched more numbers go up, feeling dizzy.
Glen moved to the door. “I’ll let you all have some time alone together. Then, we can head downtown.”
Meg concentrated on not listening—to anything. Her mother was going to be President. The thing that had never seemed plausible, that she had always dreaded, was now going to—or about to—or had already—
“—tentatively prepared to put Texas in Representative Griffin’s column,” an anchorperson said, “but Powers continues to run very strongly in urban—”
Her mother clicked channels, stopping at a soccer game. “Ah. My favorite.”
Yeah, right. Her mother often seemed to enjoy baseball, and could be convinced to root for the Patriots now and again, but on the whole, she had never particularly been inclined to watch sports.
Gradually, the tentatively relaxed feeling came back as they watched the game, Meg almost able to convince herself that this was any old evening—despite the fact that she could hear almost non-stop shouts of excitement coming from the part of the house where Glen and the others had gathered.
She looked around the room, seeing that none of them were really focused on the soccer game. Her father was holding Neal on his lap, being told some long, involved story. Steven was lying on the floor, patting Kirby. Her mother was the only one who seemed to be paying attention to the television, leaning back in her chair, almost—not quite—slouching. Her shoulders were shaking, and Meg realized, horrified, that she was crying.
“Mom?” she asked, not sure what to do.
Her mother looked over, and Meg saw that she was laughing so hard that tears were coming out of her eyes. “Is this possibly the funniest thing ever?” she asked.
Meg stared at her. “Funny?”
“I mean, I’ve been horrible all day, and now we’re watching little men in shorts, and—” Her mother broke up completely, covering her eyes with her hand.
Worried, Meg glanced at her father.
“Katharine,” he said, smiling.
“Don’t call me that,” she said, laughing almost too hard to speak. “I hate that name.”
“She’s flipped,” Steven said to Meg. “She’s really flipped.”
Their mother just laughed, changing the channel back to one of the news stations.
“The trend is obvious now,” the commentator was saying, “and it’s only a matter of an hour or so before—”
Their mother clicked the television off.
“Well,” she said, her voice weak from laughing. She looked at all of them, her expression softening. “I guess—I mean, it looks as though—”
There was a knock on the door and Meg held her breath, knowing that this was it.
“Kate,” Glen said. “You have a telephone call.”
Griffin, calling to concede. Meg gulped, feeling her stomach tighten with incredible fear. President. Her mother was the President of the country. Her mother. Jesus Christ.
“Mr. Griffin,” her mother said, sounding stiff and formal.
Glen nodded.
“Well, then,” she said, automatically raising her hands to straighten her hair. “I guess I’d better take it.”
Her father stood up too, his grin huge. “Think I might come for the walk,” he said. Then, his grin widened. “Madam President.”
13
MEG NOTICED ONE big change a
fter the election—boys were breaking their backs to ask her out, quite a few of whom she barely knew. It was flattering, in a way. It was tempting, in a big way. But, how could she say yes to a guy she knew was only asking her because she was the President-elect’s daughter? Talk about demoralizing. She had a feeling they were going to go out with her, see how far they could get, and then run to the tabloids with the news.
Two days after the election, Linda came over when she knew Meg’s mother wasn’t home and sat Meg down for a Talk.
“We need to set some ground rules for you,” she said. “First of all, is anything I don’t know about going to surface?”
What, like the media hadn’t already completely invaded their lives? And Linda—or one of her little acolytes—had asked her some version of that question at least twice a week since the New Hampshire primary. “You mean like, topless photos, me holding a loaded gun, and smoking pot at a party?” Meg asked.
In her cool and collected way, Linda looked a little bit terrified
“I don’t think any of that is going to come out,” Meg said. “I’ve been pretty careful.”
“It may seem terribly funny to you,” Linda said, after a pause, “but the reality is that you have to be more cautious. And that definitely includes the shoot-from-the-lip habit. Anything you do from now on, no matter how innocent it may seem at the time, is going to reflect on your mother, more than ever. We can’t have you running around with a lot of boys, or coming home drunk. And, as far as sex is concerned—” She closed her eyes.
“Well, you don’t have to worry about boys,” Meg said, “because I’m very, very gay.”
Linda pursed her lips.
“Toujours gay,” Meg said.
Linda looked down at her coffee cup—one of Trudy’s special blends; Trudy was very particular, when it came to coffee—and slowly and delicately stirred one-third of a teaspoon of sugar into it. “Well, be that as it may, I have some concerns, and I think it’s important for us to address them now, as opposed to down the road.”
Yeah, because she was such a total rebel and miscreant, without a single political instinct anywhere in her body. “Shouldn’t my mother be the one doing this?” Meg asked stiffly.
“She trusts you,” Linda said.
Meg nodded. “But you’re expecting me to come home pregnant.”
“You’re sixteen years old, you’re moving into a national spotlight, and I think we need to discuss it,” Linda said.
Oh, really? Meg resisted the urge to grit her teeth. Clench her fist. All that good stuff. “I didn’t know we were discussing. I thought you were telling.”
“Meg, come on.” Linda made an impatient gesture. “We have to work together on this.”
“Then, how come you tell me, instead of discussing?” Meg asked.
Linda sucked in a hard breath.
“Well, you are,” Meg said defensively.
“Look,” Linda said. “I know you’re pretty well politicized—”
That word again.
“—no conception of what it’s going to be like,” Linda went on. “People are going to be watching every move you make. So, your image—”
Meg grinned. Linda just couldn’t say “politicized” without saying “image.”
“—very important.” Linda frowned at her. “Are you listening to me?”
Meg nodded.
“All right, then. On another subject,” Linda said, “you also need to stop posting on the Internet from now on.”
Yeah, like that was going to happen. Meg shook her head.
“We’re aware that you don’t use your real name,” Linda said, “but if my people can trace your footprints without any trouble, so can anyone else with a little initiative.”
Whoa, wasn’t that against the law? Had they been going behind her back for months now? “You’re tracking me?” Meg said. “Who the hell gave you permission to do that?” If it turned out to be her mother, she was going to be really pissed off.
Linda hesitated. “Well, I don’t mean to suggest that we—that is, it isn’t our intent to interfere with—”
Yeah, right. “It’s no one’s damn business what I say on the Internet—or anywhere else,” Meg said.
Linda sighed. “No, but your screen name isn’t exactly a state secret, and I’m concerned that you may not be sufficiently restrained, and we’re now on a much bigger playing field than you seem to realize.”
Make that, her former screen name. Besides, it wasn’t as though the world was waiting with bated breath to find out what she thought about various television shows, and the Red Sox, and so forth. Just Linda and her cohorts, apparently.
“I’m sorry if you’re offended by any of this, but I’m much more worried about you than I am about your brothers,” Linda said. “You’re sixteen—it’s going to be very difficult for you. You have to be prepared for—”
“Is my mother honest?” Meg asked suddenly.
Linda blinked. “What?”
Meg felt her cheeks reddening, but decided that now that she had asked, she really wanted to know. “Is my mother honest?”
Linda looked at her as if she were an extremely odd specimen. “Are you putting me on?”
“I was just—curious,” Meg said.
“Shouldn’t you and your mother be having this talk?” Linda asked.
Meg laughed. Unexpected humor from the Ice Queen. “I just wondered. What’s your opinion?”
“That she is, to a rather ridiculous degree.” Linda shook her head. “A difficult woman to work for, your mother.”
“You’re not just”—Meg put on a serious expression—“fabricating this for the sake of her image, are you?”
“Are you kidding?” Linda obviously wasn’t sure. “I’ll tell you, honesty isn’t as easy to package as you might think. That kind of image, when it’s genuine, requires—”
Meg sat back, grinning, knowing that Linda, despite all of her huffing and puffing, would have given her a straight answer.
“—listening to me?” Linda asked.
Meg nodded.
“Well, I hope you’re convinced. Now,” she looked down at her clipboard, “insofar as you’re concerned—”
“Hey,” Meg said. “A man from the Post asked me what kind of birth control I used, and I told him I was on the Pill, but was thinking about getting one of those implants, instead. Was that okay?”
Linda looked at her with the same expression she’d had at the top of the mountain at Stowe.
“I mean, I figured in the interests of honesty—” Meg let her voice trail off.
“I do not find your humor amusing,” Linda said, half-smiling.
Meg grinned.
PEOPLE KEPT ASKING her out. Knowing that Linda was right, albeit something of an alarmist, Meg said no to almost all of them, giving in only to Rick Hamilton, because she still had a wild crush on him and didn’t care what his motives were.
She was on her way to her biology class one day when Carl Lehman, a guy she knew from the Ski Club, but almost never saw otherwise, stopped her, wanting to know if she’d go to the movies with him.
She didn’t want to be rude to him—necessarily—but—“I’m sorry, I can’t. I promised I’d—”
“Yeah, sure.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his sneakers. Carl was pretty good-looking, in a scruffy way, but was the kind of guy who took pride in underachieving—and also made a point of abusing the school’s already fairly liberal open campus policy. “Heard you went snob on us.”
“I didn’t,” Meg said. “I just—”
“Yeah, sure.” He opened a piece of gum, putting it in his mouth and crumpling the piece of paper. “Well, see ya.”
“Wait a minute,” she said after him.
He turned.
She looked him straight in the eye. “How come you never asked me out before my mother won the election?”
“Don’t know.” He had the grace to blush. “Guess I never thought of it.”
“Oh, please, you flatter me,” Meg said.
He smiled a little. “You sound like her. A lot like her.”
“I do not,” Meg said. “I sound like me.”
“Yeah, sure.” He opened another piece of gum.
Christ, she was sick of this. Meg scowled at him. “If you want to go out with my mother, don’t ask me, okay? And tell your stupid friends! I don’t go out with people who don’t ask me.”
“How come you said yes to Rick?” he wanted to know.
“It’s none of your business,” she said.
Carl shrugged. “Why you think he asked you out?”
She held tightly to her biology book, not looking at him.
“You’re in AP everything, and you can’t figure it out?” he said.
There was really no way to respond to that, so she just hunched her shoulders and headed down the hall.
He caught up to her, putting his hand on her arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. ’Sides, it’s not why I asked you out.”
“Yeah,” she said. “Sure.”
“Well, think what you want,” he said. “Only, I asked you out, ’cause I always thought you were kinda—I don’t know—quiet and stuff. Only, you got up and made that speech, and looked really beautiful and everything—you were kinda something else.”
Well, at least it was a creative attempt to dig himself out. “I was being my mother,” she said.
He shook his head. “Naw, you were just wearing her blazer.” He tossed his crumpled ball of gum paper and foil at a wastebasket farther up the hall. “F’you don’t want to go out with me, don’t go out with me.”
“What if you were only telling me that so I’d go?” she asked.
“Hey, think what you want.” He went down the hall. “Maybe I’ll try again sometime.”
“Maybe I’ll say yes,” she said.
“Hey, don’t flatter me.” He flipped her back a piece of gum. “See ya.”
She was late for class. And when she walked in, everyone stopped working on their experiments and stared at her.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said to her teacher, Mr. Collinsworth.
“Uh, no problem,” he said, blinking several times. “No problem at all.”
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