Long May She Reign

  Maybe.

  People kept coming over—ostensibly to say hi to someone else at the table—but, somehow, conveniently, ended up getting introduced to her. Like, big god-damn deal, but there wasn’t much she could do about it.

  “Think you’re going to like our little school?” some guy asked, jocose enough for her to find him immediately off-putting.

  “It seems very nice,” Meg said, politely, not making eye contact. No point in encouraging him. Plus, everyone who approached the table stared at her bad hand, and she had to keep remembering to put it in her lap, out of sight.

  Throughout most of this, Jesslyn was telling a very patient Tammy all about some incomprehensible math theorem, which had captured her imagination during their week off, and Meg decided to assume that she was eccentric, rather than disturbed—and also, possibly, some kind of prodigy, given her obvious passion for the subject.

  An entire table of guys sitting nearby seemed to spend about ten minutes staring at her, then one of them said something, they all laughed, and a couple of high-fives were exchanged. Meg wanted to cringe, but she kept her face expressionless and made sure to display no reaction at all.

  “They’re a bunch of jerks,” Susan said, softly enough so that Meg was almost sure she was the only one who heard her. “Just ignore them.”

  Easy for her to say.

  “You know the Riemann Hypothesis, right?” Jesslyn said to Tammy, who bit her lip and shook her head—which Jesslyn seemed to find a shocking response.

  Mary Elizabeth looked across the table at her. “So. Uh, what are you majoring in?”

  Political science, in all likelihood, but she wasn’t about to admit it. “I don’t know,” Meg said. “What are you majoring in?”

  “I don’t know,” Mary Elizabeth said, somewhat defensive.

  Meg shrugged. “Okay, then.”

  A bright light—yes, that inimitable television klieg brightness—came beaming through the windows, and Tammy gasped.

  “Are they allowed to do that?” she asked, automatically reaching up to straighten her hair.

  “No,” Meg said, and frowned at her agents. Paula and Martin were already gone, and Kyle had jumped up to go after them. And Christ, now people were really staring. She was tempted to leave, and escape to the relative safety of the dorm, but then that, too, would be filmed for posterity. Or, at least, the next news cycle.

  “I suppose they are going to take over the whole campus for the rest of the semester?” Mary Elizabeth asked, sounding hostile.

  “I don’t know,” Meg said, resisting the urge to ask exactly how big the campus was. “I certainly hope not.”

  “I’m sure it’s just because it’s your first day,” Susan said, frowning so slightly at Mary Elizabeth that Meg almost missed it. “It’ll die down.”

  Unless, of course, someone tried to kill her, or something otherwise provocative.

  “Oh, come on, Susan,” Mary Elizabeth said. “Are you going to tell me that you don’t mind—”

  This time, Susan’s frown wasn’t subtle.

  When the rest of them had finally finished eating, and they all headed back to the dorm, she was surrounded again, at the edge of the quadrangle. Mary Elizabeth, Jesslyn, and Tammy immediately went into the building, and Susan hesitated, but then followed them.

  “How was dinner?” one of the reporters asked, as a lot of microphones came towards her face, and Garth scowled and lifted his hands, gesturing for all of them to move back.

  Oh, for God’s sakes. And where the hell was Ginette? Why hadn’t her father had Maureen stay behind, instead? Or better yet, Preston. Christ, it would be a treat to see Linda right about now. “The duck terrine was a little underdone,” Meg said.

  Which resulted in the exact reaction of mingled confusion and amusement she’d anticipated.

  “You’re saying the food is bad?” one of them pressed her.

  Typical. Jesus. No god-damn sense of humor. “Absolutely not,” Meg said. “The spinach timbales were on the money.”

  Ginette, who had finally forged her way through the crowd to stand next to her, cleared her throat.

  “What?” Meg said. “I mean, you know, they asked.”

  Ginette raised her voice. “Miss Powers has had a very long day, and she isn’t going to take any more questions.”

  “Good as it was,” Meg said quietly, “a meal really isn’t a meal without polenta.”

  The reporters who heard that laughed, and Ginette shot her a look.

  “Excuse me,” Meg said to the group in general. “I guess I’ll see you all later.”

  Or, preferably, not.

  “What are you going to be doing now?” someone called out.

  Brushing and flossing. “Unpacking,” Meg said. And writing them all “Bon Voyage” notes.

  “Why didn’t the President come here with you today?” one of them wanted to know.

  Because of the god-damn media. And because, just possibly, she was busy running the country. “Well, there’s our long-standing feud to consider,” Meg said, and Ginette glared at her.

  A noticeable flurry of excitement ran through the crowd, and they surged closer, with more questions, in an attempt to explore what too many of them were foolish enough to believe might be a scoop. Not a lot of big leaguers out there tonight, apparently.

  “Really, I have to go inside now. Good night,” Meg said, and ducked into the dorm, leaving Ginette to handle any further questions. Clean up the little mess she’d made.

  A gawky guy on his way down the stairs mumbled an indistinct hello, which she returned just as ineptly.

  She was just coming out of the bathroom, having, in fact, brushed her teeth, when she met Ginette in the hallway.

  “I’ll be here in town until the bulk of them leave,” she said, tight-lipped and somewhat out of breath, “and from now on, you can just refer all questions directly to me.”

  Meg moved her jaw. “I don’t need anyone to run interference.”

  “Well, yes,” Ginette said, taking off beige calfskin gloves one finger at a time, “I realize that, but—”

  But what? Meg looked down at her splint, considering—just considering—losing her temper.

  “Sometimes,” Ginette seemed to think that she was speaking with great tact, as opposed to being condescending, “people don’t realize that the things they say are going to look and sound very different in—”

  An Asian-American guy in a rugby shirt, and a much shorter, curly-haired Caucasian guy wearing a Seahawks cap came bursting out of the stairwell, laughing about something, although they stopped when they saw her, ducked their heads, and hurried past them into Sage D.

  “I’ve been doing this for a pretty long time,” Meg said, keeping her voice nice and calm. Since she was a damn toddler, in fact. “I think I’ve got it under control.”

  Ginette started to contradict her, but then nodded.

  “But, if you’d feel better,” Meg said, calm as can be, “you should run your concerns by Preston. We can go right in my room, and give him a call now, if you want.”

  Ginette didn’t say anything, but she was clearly insulted.

  Okay, okay, that was immature. Meg shifted her weight, slipped, and grabbed for the wall—and, to her horror, Ed pretty much lunged out of the security room to make sure she was okay. Meg nodded a polite thank you, but edged away so that she could stand on her own, without any support. “Look,” she said to Ginette. “I’m really tired, my knee hurts like hell, my hand hurts even more, and I’m feeling a little short-tempered. I know that you—” she glanced at Ed—“all of you—are just trying to help, but I kind of need to figure out a way to live my life, you know?”

  Which was going to include popping off to the press now and again.

  Ginette nodded.

  “Not that I don’t appreciate your input,” Meg said. No point in having her go back to Washington in a snit about what a bitch the President’s god-damned daughter was.

  Ginette nodded.
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  Duly quelled. But she shouldn’t have given into the temptation to pull out the “Preston trusts me” trump card. “Are you staying at the Inn?” she asked, trying to move the conversation onto more friendly ground. Which was just down the street.

  “For the next couple of days, yes,” Ginette said.

  “Okay,” Meg said. “I’m not going to be going out again tonight, and tomorrow, my classes start. Then, on Friday, I have to go to North Adams for physical therapy. Other than that, it’ll probably just be a couple of walks down to the dining hall.”

  All of which she was already dreading.

  Ginette nodded.

  Too quelled. “Do you think the ravening horde is going to want to come with me?” Meg asked. “To the hospital, I mean.”

  “Well—” Ginette looked unsure of herself. “I don’t know. The ones who are still up here, perhaps.”

  “Maybe you should ride along with me, just in case,” Meg said. Did that sound like an order, or an invitation? “I mean, if you want to, that is.”

  “Of course,” Ginette said, regaining a trace of the normal efficiency in her tone. “Just have someone call over with your schedule whenever it’s convenient.”

  “Okay,” Meg said, and limped towards her room. “Good night.”

  The only thing she felt like doing now, was going to bed, and staying there.

  14

  AS SHE UNLOCKED her door, she was surprised to hear her phone ring. Except, of course, it would be one of her parents, checking in to see how she was. She had a line to use for routine school-related matters, another one for casual friends and acquaintances, and a third extra-secure number to give out only to her closest friends, while the drop-line was reserved solely for her family, and maybe Preston and Dr. Brooks. This seemed to be the third line ringing, which meant that, other than Trudy, it could really only be one person.

  “So,” Beth said, when she picked up. “You were all over the news. And what pretty earrings you had on.”

  Meg laughed, lifting her leg onto the bed and moving a pillow underneath it from force of habit. Also, because it was throbbing like crazy. “Yeah, I figured you’d notice.”

  “Instantly,” Beth said.

  The angle of the pillow made her leg feel worse, and Meg adjusted it.

  “So, have you met people yet?” Beth asked. “Are they nice?”

  “Well, they seem okay.” Meg looked at the half-open door to make sure that no one was within earshot. “It’s kind of weird—there’s like, girl stuff in the bathroom. I mean—I don’t know, it seems strange. And it’s really loud, hearing voices all over the place.”

  “Have you told your doctors about these voices?” Beth asked.

  Meg decided she was too tired to find that funny. “You know what I mean. I mean, girls everywhere.”

  Beth sighed long-sufferingly. “No one’s given you the ‘now we’re in college, now we’re women’ speech?”

  “No,” Meg said. Thank God.

  “Besides,” Beth went on, “when you get right down to it, Meg, except for your mother and me, how many women do you actually know? I mean, like, to spend time with.”

  Not too many, now that she thought about it. Or even, any. These days. “Well, Trudy,” Meg said uncertainly.

  Beth sighed, more deeply.

  “Okay, I guess I’m used to mostly men being around,” Meg said. Or maybe it was because almost all of the women she knew were so unusually self-confident and overachieving.

  “It’ll probably do you good,” Beth said. “You know, being forced to deal with them for once in your life.”

  Something about the way that sounded made her want to shudder. “Yeah,” Meg said. Fun. “I guess.”

  Beth laughed. “The next thing you know, you’ll be transferring to Smith.”

  Never happen. “Well, I’ll keep you apprised,” Meg said. “Anyway, what’s going on with you?”

  “Well, gosh.” Beth paused to think. “The same constant stream of excitement and success.”

  “How nice for you,” Meg said.

  After they hung up, her parents called, too, but it made her too homesick to talk to them, so the conversation was rather abbreviated. Yes, they had a good flight home; yes, her dinner was fine; no, her knee was okay, in spite of the snow, and so forth.

  It was only nine-thirty.

  Maybe she should call Beth back.

  No, that would be dumb. Although dumb was something she did very well. Did the most, anyway.

  She could try lying down, maybe. Take out a couple of the advance-team-procured ice packs, and watch some ESPN or C-Span. Or, maybe—a girl wearing a bright, almost glowing, green Gore-tex jacket swung into the room, supporting her weight by hanging on to the doorjamb with one hand.

  “Hi!” she said, like Meg knew her or something. “I’m Juliana.”

  If she left her door very slightly cracked open, she couldn’t expect people to knock. Maybe. “Uh, hi,” Meg said.

  “I live next door,” Juliana said, tossing long blond hair back over her shoulders. “I’m very noisy. I never study.” She tugged a guy with rumpled brown hair and a sparse mustache into the room. “This is Mark.” She pushed him back out. “See you around!” she said, and they disappeared into the room next to hers, Mark giving her a vague wave. Within seconds, some kind of techno-rock came blaring out into the hall, competing with numerous other thumping bass lines—and someone’s mournful female folk singer drifting over from the Sage D entry.

  “Nice to have met you,” Meg said, even though Juliana had long since left. But, the encounter improved her mood, and she limped over to a box full of books and a few DVDs to continue unpacking.

  She was organizing the top drawer of her desk, with the astonishing plethora of stationary supplies she’d received for Christmas—and looking, wistfully, at her father’s Swiss Army knife, when there was a light knock on the door. Not, she was guessing, Juliana this time.

  “You busy?” Susan asked.

  Meg shook her head, and closed the drawer. “Not really.”

  Susan motioned towards the screeching music. “You meet Juliana?”

  Meg grinned. “Yeah.”

  Susan grinned, too. “Every dorm needs one.” Then, she tapped the orientation packet, which was still sitting on top of the desk, untouched. “You go through any of that stuff yet?”

  Date rate and bulimia. Also, condoms. Meg nodded, although, of course, she hadn’t.

  Susan shrugged. “Some of it’s worthwhile, some of it isn’t.”

  Which she had figured out already, without even opening it.

  “I’m guessing you’re extra-informed on the various—social ills,” Susan said.

  And had even gone on-the-record with a number of them. Meg nodded.

  Susan returned the nod, then put her hands in her pockets. “You’d be surprised by some of the things even smart people don’t know. I think the school just wants to be sure its bases are covered.”

  Litigiously speaking, no doubt.

  Susan, who seemed almost as uncomfortable as she was, leaned against the wall and folded her arms. “You’re all set for classes?”

  Thanks to the White House minions. They had even gone ahead and purchased all of the textbooks she was going to need. Without having been requested to do so, of course. Meg nodded.

  “Your advisor’s name is in your packet somewhere,” Susan said. “You should stop by to see him or her tomorrow, go over things. And you’ll have to take the Quantitative Studies exam, and maybe some of the placement exams, if you want.”

  Meg nodded—since it seemed to be the only thing she still remembered how to do. For the time being, the college had waived her mandatory swim test, at least. Her advisor was someone in the English department. A woman, which was unsurprising, considering her recent negative encounters with male medical personnel, about which one and all would have been briefed. “Does it matter if it’s not something I’m going to major in?”

  Susan shook her he
ad. “The assignments are pretty random. They figure everyone’s going to change majors a few times, before they settle down.”

  “Did you?” Meg asked.

  Susan nodded. “God, yes. Right now, I’m double-majoring in English and history, but I went through drama, political science, classics, and even psychology for a while.” She paused. “I still sometimes think about going back to drama.”

  “So, that’s normal?” Meg asked, tentatively.

  “If it isn’t, I’m in trouble,” Susan said. She started to unfold her arms, hesitated, and refolded them. “What are you going to be taking?”

  Which seemed awfully personal. “Do you have to approve it?” Meg asked.

  Susan laughed. “No, I was just curious. You don’t have to tell me.”

  Oh. Well, there wasn’t really any good reason to keep it a secret, since Ginette was probably going to release some of the details to the press tomorrow. “Well, intro things,” Meg said. Should she be more specific? Probably. “Uh, psychology, the political science one about democracy, Shakespeare, philosophy—you know. Basic stuff.”

  Susan nodded. “That sounds good. How early do you have to get up?”

  “Well, political science is at eight-thirty,” Meg said.

  Susan winced.

  She was having her own doubts about the wisdom of having signed up for a course about the three branches of government and policy-making, but she didn’t want someone else to share them. “Why, is that bad?” she asked, worried.

  “No,” Susan said. “It’s just—early.”

  Hard to argue with that, yeah.

  Susan nodded towards the remaining boxes. “You need help unpacking?”