At one point I caught him looking longingly at me. Then he did that magic Secret Service thing where he blended into the crowd and disappeared. I wished he could be right by my side as my boyfriend tonight—no secrets, no hiding.
I surveyed the guests again, eager to distract myself from the strange loneliness I was feeling in a room full of people. Cin’Qua started to play. Jonas, the horndog captain of the tennis squad, was hitting on Mya while she ignored Konner, my ex, who was checking himself out in the antique mirror hanging over the unlit fireplace. The buffet table was already a wreck. Jeong and Carl were hanging there, scraping up mango salsa with Nigel’s homemade tortilla chips. “This party’s the bomb, Morgan,” Carl said, mouth full.
“Yeah, and your mom’s tour was so cool,” Jeong added. “Whodathunk the president of the United States was so funny? She showed us your dad’s nunchuk collection in the gym, and I couldn’t stop cracking up when she said she had to borrow them every so often to break a Congressional filibuster.”
“That was classic!” Carl busted up.
“Ha ha.” I scanned the room again. I couldn’t put my finger on it but something was wrong. “Hey, have you guys seen Brittany?”
They shook their heads. “And that’s a bad thing because…?” Jeong asked.
“It’s better to see the snake than wonder where it is,” I said.
“Good luck with that.” Carl gave a sympathetic shrug and went back to his chips.
I headed to the balcony, which was jammed with a White House–style mosh pit. Hannah was out there, her normally pulled-together outfit seriously messed up from her spazzing out in the front row of Cin’Qua’s concert.
A sick feeling was developing in my stomach. If someone wanted to see me fail, it would be Brittany. She was up to something. I just knew it.
I searched the Red Room, the Map Room, and the other rooms the White House security team had authorized access to. No dice.
In the family residence hallway, that suspicious feeling persisted, and on a hunch, I headed to my bedroom.
“What. The. Hell?” I yelled.
Brittany Whittaker was in my bedroom.
Blind fury gripped me and I didn’t care if I would get arrested for assault, I wanted to rip her flat-ironed hair out of her skull by the fistful. “You’ve got two seconds to explain what you think you’re doing in here. Then I’m calling Secret Service to have them remove an intruder, and send your ass back to the D.C. jail.”
“Chill, Abbott. Chill.” Brittany kept a good game face, but her cheeks turned pink when I mentioned jail time. “I got lost, that’s all. Trying to find the bathroom. It’s confusing here, you know.”
“Gimme a break. You’re snooping.”
“Pfft. You’re high on your own ego, First Daughter.” She spat the last two words. “Living in the White House has turned you into a spoiled brat.”
My hands curled into fists. No one called me a spoiled brat and got away with it. “Oh yeah? I don’t need any Special Forces to throw you out of my room. This brat can take out her own trash.”
“I’m going, I’m going,” she said hurriedly. Maybe the manic gleam of anger in my eye had finally penetrated her pea brain.
“And if you go outside the perimeter again, I’m having the Secret Service haul you off. Good luck explaining to your dad how you wound up on the Watch List again. He must get sick of having to bail you out.”
She opened her mouth to say something but thought better of it and left.
It took me a few minutes to calm down. God! My room felt polluted. Her floral perfume stank up the joint.
I went to my dresser to make sure she hadn’t rifled through my things. The surface seemed unchanged. Earrings and necklaces jumbled across the top. A notebook of recipes that I’d cribbed from the White House kitchens lay open to the same page I’d left it. Hmm. Something still didn’t feel right.
I went to my closet and threw the door open. My shoes were piled up on the floor as usual and didn’t seem disturbed. Nor did my clothes.
Hold up.
On the floor of my closet, buried in a corner, was a plastic storage box of photos. The plastic clip sealing the box was open.
The sick feeling in my stomach intensified.
I opened the lid. On top of a pile of photos lay a snapshot of Max and me from when we’d stolen an afternoon to walk around Constitution Gardens. Cheeks pressed together, we’d smiled cheesily into my cell-phone camera. I’d printed it because I loved the image so much, but I was afraid to leave it on my phone in case someone found it.
But someone did anyway.
I tried not to run as I slipped down the grand staircase to the security checkpoint on the first floor. The hallway was deserted except for Max, who sat at the desk and fiddled with the dials of a security camera, clearly bored.
“Max!” I hissed, beckoning him to the shadow of the staircase. “I think Brittany knows about us.”
“What? How?”
I told him about finding her in my room and how the photo box in my closet had been rummaged through.
“But you have no proof of that, Morg. You could have forgotten to close the box yourself.”
“Hey! Whose side are you on?”
“Yours, you know that.” He shifted closer and I could smell his aftershave. “Always.”
Guh. When Max looked at me like that, I forgot about everything but the way his lips felt against mine.
His attention locked on my mouth. I bit my lower lip. “This is driving me nuts.”
“What is?” Rarely had I seen Max forget his surroundings, and it jolted me to think that I was making him as crazy as he was making me.
“Seeing you looking so beautiful. Missing you.”
“I miss you, too.” I leaned closer, expecting him to pull back and be the rational one.
Instead, he swept in for an intense kiss.
A flash of light arced between us. We jumped apart.
“Tsk, tsk.” Brittany Whittaker glanced at the cell phone in her hand. The image of Max and me kissing filled the screen. “I bet Mommy Dearest would be thrilled to find out her daughter is a sleazy skank. Don’t you think, Morgan?”
Chapter Nine
I lunged for the cell phone, but Brittany jerked it away. “Don’t do that,” she warned. “I might accidentally hit the Send key and who knows where this photo might go. The D.C. Gadfly, or maybe the Washington Post’s gossip page. Or perhaps to my father’s home computer. I’m sure he’d like to discuss this display of unprofessionalism with the head of the Secret Service division. Imagine, the president’s daughter making out with the hired help—”
“Hired help?” I squeaked, so angry I felt my blood boiling. But Max pressured my foot with his to warn me not to say anything stupid.
He cut to the chase. “What do you want, Brittany? I mean, I assume you want something since you’ve gone through all the trouble of breaking into Morgan’s room and stalking us.”
“You make it sound so ugly.” Brittany pouted.
“Blackmail is ugly,” he said, stone-cold sober without an ounce of emotion.
Yikes, Max was a little scary when he got into Secret Service mode. Even soulless Brittany seemed intimidated. But it lasted only a sec. “I want my class presidency back.”
“What?!” I screeched.
Max frowned warningly at me. “Morgan—let’s hear her out.”
“The presidency in exchange for my…discretion. I want you to make the announcement now while the whole class is upstairs.”
I was appalled. “But I can’t give you back the position. Only AOP’s administration can do that.”
Brittany airily waved the phone under my nose. “We can sort out the details later. Deal?”
“Max?” I turned to him, hoping for something, anything that could get us out of this mess.
But Max said nothing. His controlled expression meant she worried him more than he was letting on.
My stomach bottomed out. I knew she’d pull so
mething like this. I should’ve been watching her. My fault, my fault, my fault…
I heaved a huge sigh. “Agreed.”
“Wait a minute—” Max began, but Brittany interrupted him.
“You’d better be convincing when you make the announcement, Abbott.”
“Don’t worry.” I started to push past her. “I’m a great actress.”
Max caught my arm. “You don’t have to do this, Morgan.”
“Yes I do.” I softened when I looked into his blue eyes, full of concern for me. “I want to. Who cares about being class president? It takes up all my free time anyway.”
“Morgan—”
“It’s okay.” I shook him off. “C’mon, Whittaker. Let’s go.”
In the Yellow Oval Room, the party was still in full swing. The aroma of Mexican chocolate from Nigel’s flan filled the air. An embarrassingly large group of girls had trapped Cin’Qua by the thoroughly destroyed buffet table and were begging him to sign autographs on napkin scraps.
Hannah caught sight of me in the doorway. She pulled herself away from Cin’Qua and hurried over. “Where have you been?” she asked. “Everyone’s waiting for your speech….” Her voice trailed off when she saw Brittany behind me.
“It’s okay, Hans. I’m ready to make my speech now.”
I headed out to the balcony and made my way onto the mini stage. Luckily no one had cut the sound to the microphone yet. “Attention! Hey, everyone! I have an announcement to make.”
My classmates filed out onto the balcony.
“Let’s give it up to Morgan for saving our senior class,” Carl yelled, and began clapping and hollering. Whoops filled the air.
Wow. It felt so great to be appreciated by my peers like that. This must’ve been how Mom felt giving her acceptance speech—minus the feeling of impending doom from a blackmail threat, of course.
They cheered for so long, I had to hold up my hands. Finally, Jeong’s whistle cut over the noise. “Let her speak,” he yelled. “Go on, Class President.”
“Thank you all for coming,” I began. Then the reality of what I was about to say caught up with me. I swallowed hard. “It’s been a true honor to be your class president, even if it was only for a short time.”
Everyone got really quiet.
“What are you talking about, Morgan?” Carl demanded.
“I’ve decided to relinquish my presidency. The, um, time commitment is too, uh, much for me. I need to concentrate, um, on getting my grades up. Therefore, Brittany Whittaker will assume the office.”
Gasps. I caught sight of Mom’s shocked face.
Brittany floated gracefully up to the stage and stood modestly to the side. Tears threatened, but I kept it together. “I believe Brittany will be a good steward of our class resources—”
“She almost screwed us out of our graduation party,” someone yelled into the shocked silence.
“—and I hope everyone will support her. Thank you.”
I stepped down. Brittany stopped me. “You should have asked me to say a few words,” she hissed.
“Knock yourself out.”
The deafening quiet was starting to dissipate, and an angry murmur was morphing into a full-on roar. Brittany’s expression became uneasy. “You’d better say something to calm everyone down.”
“You’re the class president now, Brits.”
I kept my head held high as I walked out of the Yellow Oval Room and down the hallway to the West Sitting Hall. I needed a minute to mellow out and gather myself together. I didn’t want to start bawling in front of everyone.
I stared out the Tiffany half-moon window at the end of the room. I took a few deep gulps of air. Giving up my presidency to Brittany Whittaker not once but twice sucked.
But losing Max would suck more.
No contest.
“Morgan, what’s going on?”
I turned. Hannah had followed me, as I knew she would. “You can’t give your presidency back to Brit the Twit,” she said. “She’s already screwed everything up once. Prom and graduation will be horrible with her in charge.”
“Long story, Hans.”
“I’ve got time.”
I explained about Brittany’s blackmail. “What else could I do?”
“You could have decked her,” Hannah said darkly.
“Then she would have sued me and published the photo. No, this was the best way. This party did take a lot of time and at least I’m leaving the senior bank account flush.”
“What about the rest of the year? You’ve made a big difference in a short amount of time. Folks are going to be majorly pissed off at you for walking away from the office and letting Brittany mess everything up all over again.”
“I thought you were supposed to make me feel better.”
Hannah wrapped me in a tight hug. I ignored her bangles pressing into me and hugged her back. Hard.
“Someday you’re going to have to stand up to her,” she said. “You can’t let her control you.”
“If it was only me, I would. But her blackmail affects Max, too. I can’t risk it.”
The fiery light in Hannah’s eyes dimmed. “I guess not.”
I took a deep breath. “Guess we’d better get back. This is still my party.”
In the Yellow Oval Room, most of the guests had already left. Brittany Whittaker equaled major buzzkill.
Mom and Dad were chatting with Humberto and Cin’Qua. Mom caught sight of me and hurried over. “Everything okay, sweetie?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“What’s this business about you giving up your presidency?”
“I, uh, wanted to get my grades up.”
“But—”
“Sara, I think you should drop it.” Dad had come up and put a hand on my mom’s shoulder. “We need to respect Morgan’s decisions.”
“But—”
“Why don’t you finish saying good-bye to the rest of the guests, Puddin’ Pop?” Dad suggested firmly.
I took his hint to escape before my mom weaseled the real reason out of me.
While I was saying good-bye to the remaining guests, Brittany approached me. She had wrapped a butter-yellow pashmina around her bony shoulders.
“A very satisfactory evening, Morgan.” Brittany snuggled into her wrap. “Loved the big surprise at the end.”
“Glad you had a good time,” I said tonelessly. “Now that you have what you want, give me what I want. Delete the photo from your cell phone right now.”
“I don’t think so.”
“What do you mean? You have your presidency back. What more do you want from me?”
“Well, that’s just it. The possibilities are endless.”
She leaned into me and whispered, “I’ll let you know when I need another favor.”
That’s why my mom didn’t negotiate with terrorists. Once you give in you never stop giving.
Chapter Ten
The weather turned nippy and the trees along the Tidal Basin sported the gorgeous autumn colors of late October. Fall break loomed right around the corner, and with it, the upcoming trip to London. Thank god, because Brittany Whittaker was working overtime to wear out my last nerve.
Since the disastrous evening when she blackmailed me into giving up my class presidency, she’d become a mini despot over me. I dealt with her outrageous demands the best I could. Letting her cut in front of me in the lunch line, fine. Allowing her spoiled baby cousin to bowl in the White House bowling alley, no prob. Season tickets to the “President’s Own” band concerts for her grandparents, sure thing. About the only thing she didn’t do was ask to copy my homework—which, if we were honest, had taken a turn southward since I’d gotten so stressed out about her maniacal control over me. I regretted ever wasting an ounce of sympathy on her.
She’d gotten so bad about squeezing me for favors, I stopped telling Max about them. I knew it would make him angry, and there was nothing he could do…well, except tap her phone or freeze her bank account or some othe
r Secret Service mojo that still wouldn’t solve my problem. Brittany had evidence that a Secret Service agent was dating the First Daughter, which would either end Max’s career or get him shipped off to Timbuktu. I could live with Brittany’s tyranny. I couldn’t live without Max.
After chem class, I walked to my locker. Hannah was pulling out her civics book for next period. She took one look at my face. “What does Brits want now?”
“She wants me to ask my mom if she can have a ride on Marine One. I’m like, are you serious? You want me to bug my mom—the freaking president of the United States—so you can take a helicopter ride and land on the White House lawn?”
Hannah shook her head. “You gotta do something about her, Morg.”
“Yeah, but what? I can’t risk her blabbing about Max and me to the gossip columns. Mom’s having a hard enough time as it is keeping the press off my back.” I slammed the door to my locker.
“Have the CIA kidnap her and put her in some cy-ops brainwashing program. Implant someone else’s memories in her head. Maybe then she’d turn into, like, a human being instead of a snake?”
“I like the way you think.” I sighed. “I’ll figure out some way to deal with her. She can’t keep being a bitch forever.”
“I dunno, hasn’t she been one since we’ve known her?”
Hannah had a point. Brits’s bitch factor was legendary and showed no signs of stopping.
After school, per the plan, I met Max in the White House basement near the boiler room. I’d been dreaming about being in his arms practically all day, another reason why my grade point average was trending lower. I couldn’t stop thinking about him!
As soon as he wrapped his arms around me, I melted. Seriously. Just melted.
“C’mere, you,” he murmured.
After a long moment of sheer bliss, he pulled away. “Something bothering you? You seem…distracted.”
Wow, Max was good. But I didn’t want to waste valuable Max time talking about Brittany.
“I’m bummed that I’ll be in London for a whole week without you. Can’t you get assigned to the security entourage?”
Secrets of a First Daughter Page 5