Down in the lobby she spotted her brother in one of the leather armchairs, reading the New York Times. His hair was still wet from the shower and he wore a crisp-looking white button-down shirt. Yesterday’s green tint had left his face. “Hey,” she said, letting her book bag—stuffed with schoolbooks she hadn’t yet opened—drop to the floor at her feet. “You look a lot better.”
“Yeah, I am,” he said, looking at her with clear eyes. “Guess I just needed to ride it out. So. Looks like I missed a big night last night.” He folded the Times over and held it up to show her the headline: CONWAY ANNOUNCES CANDIDACY VIA DAUGHTER. A picture of her dad waving outside the Dupont Hotel accompanied the piece.
“Oh my God,” she said. “It’s the cover of the New York Times?”
He gave her the newspaper. “Did you and Dad plan that, or was it a mistake?”
“What do you think?” she asked, scanning the article.
“I’m going with mistake?” he said, cracking a smile.
“Kind of. They didn’t know you were sick so I kind of rushed up to the stage.”
“Well, pretty impressive,” he said.
Emma thought he sounded a little hurt, but she was too busy scanning the article for her name. “Oh my God,” she said. “They’re saying I’m fourteen. How annoying.” She looked over at him, and saw that he was giving her a funny look. “How was Georgetown?”
“Fine,” he said, as if she’d just asked him how he’d slept.
“Just fine?”
“Yeah. Fine. Let’s go to the café.”
As he got up, she got the same feeling she’d gotten on the train the other day, when she’d asked about Walker, as if Remington wasn’t giving her the whole story. But she shrugged it off as they walked into the hotel café to meet their parents for breakfast.
“Let me just tell you, it was phenomenal,” her father said once they’d ordered, as a waiter poured him coffee. “I couldn’t believe she got up and spoke. And then, listening to what she had to say… I couldn’t believe it. No offense, Emma, but compared to the last time I saw you speak in front of a crowd—”
“I got it,” she said, spreading some butter on her toast.
“But then when you said—”
“ ‘I’m glad my dad is running for president,’ ” her mom interrupted. She stirred her coffee, smiling. “My heart stopped. I’ll admit it. But then it was just perfect.”
Emma studied her orange juice. She wasn’t sure why she felt so embarrassed, but suddenly she couldn’t look at her brother.
“So when are you going to announce this formally?” Remington asked, sounding oddly uncomfortable.
“Next week or the week after, at the latest,” Adam said, wolfing down his eggs. “Tom thinks any later than that and we’re going to lose momentum.”
“Honey, are you feeling okay?” Carolyn asked Remington. “Maybe you should just have dry toast.”
Remington looked down at his barely touched Denver omelet. “Oh. Yeah. I think I’m fine.” He took another bite. “Where are you going to make the announcement?”
“New York,” Adam said. “Tom’s working on the best location.”
“What about at the nine-eleven memorial?” her brother said.
“Too political,” Adam said.
“Or the Statue of Liberty?” Remington asked.
Adam shook his head. “Not easy enough to get to.”
“What about the Great Lawn in Central Park?” Emma suggested. “It’ll look really pretty with all the leaves changing. Plus, you’ll have the shot of the skyline in the background.”
“Great idea.” Adam fished his BlackBerry out of his pocket and typed with his thumbs. “But you kids would need to be there, too, you know. All of us, as a family.” His BlackBerry chimed and he looked at the screen. “Tom loves the Central Park angle,” he said.
Remington drank his orange juice, a smile stretched tightly across his face.
Emma fiddled with a crust of toast. As nice as it was to finally be taken seriously in this family, it also felt bizarre.
For most of the train ride back to New York Emma ignored her homework and stared out the window. It had been just twenty hours since her speech, and already everything felt different. She almost wished she had her brother beside her to discuss it, but instead he sat in front of her with a pair of Bose headphones clamped around his head, almost as if he didn’t want to be bothered. Maybe he still felt sick, she thought. Or maybe he was a little annoyed that she’d suddenly moved into his Perfect Child territory.
When the train finally pulled in to Penn Station Emma lugged her bags up the aisle, still listening to her iPod. Her mom and Remington waited for her on the platform.
“Get some work done?” her mom asked her, with a glance at her backpack.
“A little,” she said.
They walked up the stairs to the terminal among a sea of exiting passengers. She couldn’t wait to be back in her own room.
“Carolyn! Carolyn!”
Emma looked up. At first all she saw were camera flashes.
“Emma! Look over here! Emma!”
The passengers parted and Emma froze. A thick crowd of paparazzi formed a wall in the center of the Amtrak terminal and were shooting so fast she could barely blink.
“Carolyn! Over here!”
“Emma! Emma! Look this way!”
Carolyn grabbed Emma’s arm. “Let’s go!” she said, pulling Emma and Remington past them.
“Emma! When did you decide to announce your father’s campaign?” a voice shouted.
“Did you write the speech yourself?” another one called out.
“Whose idea was it? Did your dad put you up to it?”
Emma felt her mother pull her forward, and suddenly they were running quickly toward the stairs up to the street. The photographers ran after them, shouting all the way.
Somehow they reached the stairs up to Eighth Avenue, and they ran out onto the street. A driver with a sign that read CONWAY stood outside a town car.
“Hey!” Remington called out to him. “Hey, we’re here!”
The driver opened the door to the backseat just in time. The three of them jumped inside, still carrying their bags.
“Emma! Carolyn!” The photographers circled the car, blocking it, until the driver almost hit one of them trying to pull away from the curb.
“Oh my God,” Carolyn said, panting heavily with her coat on her lap. “I had no idea.”
“You okay?” Remington asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” said Carolyn. “Emma? You okay?”
“I’m okay. So are we celebrities now or something?” she asked.
“It seems like you are,” her mother said.
Her brother didn’t say anything, but it was the loudest silence Emma had ever heard.
“One twenty-two East Eighty-ninth Street,” Carolyn said to the driver.
Rem? You okay? she wanted to ask. But she knew that she wouldn’t get an honest answer.
chapter 19
“Emma!”
Emma stopped on her way into the lobby of Chadwick, half expecting to see another photographer. But it was just Dori, the receptionist.
“I just wanted to say congratulations! What an exciting turn of events! I’m so happy for you!”
Emma unbuttoned her coat. “Uh, thanks, Dori. How was your weekend?”
“Who cares how my weekend was? It was fine, just fine!” She waved her off. “Now you go and have a good day!”
Okay, that was weird, she thought. She and Dori had never exchanged more than a few words, and now she was a getting a hero’s welcome.
Emma went straight up the limestone stairs, keeping an eye out for Lizzie, Carina, and Hudson. She still hadn’t spoken to any of them about this. The only person she really wanted to talk to was her brother, but he’d left for school by the time Emma emerged from her room that morning.
She pulled open the door to the Upper School and came face-to-face with Hillary Crumple, who sto
pped in her tracks and held up her hands.
“Oh my God!” Hillary said. “Can I get a photo with you?” she asked, taking out a disposable camera. “Hey!” she yelled at a girl walking by. “Could you take my picture with her, please?”
“Uh… sure,” Emma said.
The girl snapped the photo.
“Oh my God!” Hillary yelled. “This is amazing! You are awesome, you know that?”
“Thanks,” Emma said, edging away down the hall. She found Lizzie at the lockers by herself.
“Hey!” she said, taking Emma by the arm. “Are you handling this okay? This wasn’t planned, was it?”
“Please,” Emma said. “I was just talking off the top of my head. And now everyone thinks I’m, like, the mastermind behind my dad’s campaign.”
“Just stay calm and know that it’ll all blow over in the next couple days. As soon as your dad makes his formal announcement they’ll forget all about this.”
“I just hope he makes it soon,” Emma said.
Carina and Hudson rushed over and took turns hugging her. Carina pushed her blond hair out of her eyes and said, “So, was that planned? My dad said that it was a brillz PR move.”
“No, it wasn’t at all,” Emma said. “I wasn’t even supposed to make a speech, but Remington couldn’t do it because he was sick.”
“It looked like you did a great job,” Hudson said.
“Thanks, but I kind of wish I hadn’t said a word.”
On her way into homeroom she heard a familiar voice say, “It was awesome, dude—you should have seen him!” She looked over and saw Chris and Steven standing with Remington at the lockers. Chris was talking to Steven but Remington was focused on his books. “He was a total maniac,” Chris went on. “They almost pulled him from the stands. It was ridiculous.”
“No way, really, man?” Steven asked. “They had to pull you?”
Emma wanted to hear more but she followed her friends into homeroom. Mr. Weatherly beamed at Emma as she sat down. “Everyone?” he said, standing up to his full six-foot-five height. “Your classmate Emma Conway did something truly historic this weekend. She became the first daughter of a presidential candidate to announce her father’s run.”
Most of the class just continued passing notes to one another and whispering, but Mr. Weatherly wasn’t deterred. “Well done, Emma. What was going through your mind as you made this announcement? Can you share with us?”
“Um, nothing was going through my head, really,” Emma said, playing with her rope bracelets.
“What about before you did it?” he asked, sitting on the edge of his desk. “How did you decide this? Did you talk with your dad? His team?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Not at all.”
Mr. Weatherly’s smile faded. “Huh,” he said. “Well, in any event, congratulations.”
Emma got the distinct feeling she’d disappointed Mr. Weatherly, but she wasn’t sure how.
After homeroom she was on her way to Mrs. Bateman’s class when Mr. Barlow came up to her. “So?” he said. “First you spill coffee, then you spill the news of your father’s campaign to the world? Is this carelessness or genius?”
Emma had to smile. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Mr. Barlow.”
But Mrs. Bateman had a decidedly less enthusiastic reaction to Emma’s news. She barely flicked her eyes in Emma’s direction, behaving just as she had the week before. “So, let’s talk about the filibuster,” she said, already sounding annoyed. “Who wants to demonstrate to me how little they know about it?”
Emma knew all about the filibuster—her dad had explained how a senator could hold up voting on legislation by basically talking about nothing for hours. But she stayed quiet. She wasn’t going to say anything in Mrs. Bateman’s class, ever again.
At the end of class, she was packing her bag when Mrs. Bateman said, “Emma? Could I speak to you, please?”
Emma walked over to her. “Yes?”
Mrs. Bateman blinked her beady eyes. “I heard about what happened this weekend. With your father. Congratulations.”
“Well, my speech didn’t have any supporting research,” said Emma. “And it was all based on personal anecdotes. You probably would have given me an F.”
“Precisely,” Mrs. Bateman replied with a tight smile.
“And you still thought it was good?”
“Good enough to ask you to rejoin the team.”
Emma paused. “If I’m going to come back, I want to be able to be myself doing this. At least just a little bit.”
Mrs. Bateman didn’t say a word. “Practice is today at three thirty,” she said. “Here’s the topic everyone prepared.” She pulled out a stapled handout and gave it to Emma.
Emma took the handout. She could see that this was as good an agreement as she was going to strike with Mrs. Bateman. “Okay.”
Mrs. Bateman gave a curt nod. “Good,” she said. “And if you ever have an outburst like the one a couple weeks ago, that’s the end of your speech career at this school.”
“Fine,” Emma said. She walked away feeling scolded. But she also felt a flush of triumph. Mrs. Bateman hadn’t written her off yet. She’d been impressed with her speech, despite all its flaws. Maybe Emma was better at this than she thought. Even when she was being personal.
At three thirty Emma headed to the library, where she found Walker unpacking his book bag. “So, I changed my mind,” she said.
“Good,” he said and smiled. “And I see you got some real-life experience this weekend.”
“I did,” she said. “Even though I kind of forgot about the rule of three.”
“You did a great job anyway,” he said. “One that even Mrs. Hateman would be proud of.”
Just then her brother walked into the library.
“Hey,” he said to Walker. “What’s up?”
“Not much,” Walker said, looking down. Emma could tell that he was uncomfortable.
She turned to her brother. “I’m back, Rem. I changed my mind.”
“Yeah, I heard,” he said coolly. He sat down and didn’t say anything more.
“Well, I think it’s cool you’re back,” Walker whispered to her, giving her a smile that made her stomach turn to jelly.
She smiled at him and got out her speech binder. He likes me, she thought. He definitely likes me. But she wondered if he was ever going to do anything about it. And if whatever had happened between him and her brother was the reason he never would.
chapter 20
Emma had never seen so many people camped out on the Great Lawn before. The crowd for her dad’s formal announcement speech seemed to stretch as wide as the park itself, and almost as far back as Belvedere Castle.
“How many people do you think are here?” Carina asked her as they followed an armada of security guards toward the makeshift greenroom behind the stage.
“Ten thousand,” Emma said. “Maybe more.”
“I think it’s twenty,” Lizzie said.
“It’s twenty for sure,” Hudson said. Emma realized that Hudson probably had experience sizing up that kind of crowd from her mom’s shows.
“Maybe even more than that,” Todd said, shading his eyes with his hand. Todd had come back to school only a few days earlier, and Emma still thought he looked pale.
They passed by row upon row of people sitting on towels and blankets. Almost everyone had some kind of sign or banner, a cooler, and, occasionally, a sun umbrella. Even though it was the first week in October, it was unusually warm. The sun beat down on them as they walked and Emma squinted in the brightness. As usual, she’d forgotten to wear her sunglasses. Carolyn and Remington had come earlier, in an SUV that practically drove them up to the stage from behind, but Emma had wanted to walk in with her friends.
“Are they selling T-shirts yet?” Hudson asked, slipping on her gold-framed aviator shades.
“I don’t think they’ve figured that out yet. Wait—I take it back,” Emma said as she passed by w
hat looked like fifty college students, all wearing navy blue T-shirts emblazoned with the words CONWAY FOR AMERICA. “I guess they have figured it out.”
“This is crazy,” Lizzie said, her red curls blowing in front of her eyes as she looked over her shoulder. “Can you believe this? All these people are here for your dad! How weird is that?”
“It’s like they’re all here for a huge concert,” Carina said.
They reached the front of the crowd and a wall of police horses. “You kids all have bracelets?” the head security guard asked as they came to a cordoned-off area near the front of the stage.
They nodded and held up their right wrists to show him.
“Then go on in through here,” he said, handing them off to another burly guard, who walked them out of the sun and behind the stage. Staffers, most of them in their twenties, scurried around with big laminated IDs that read TEAM CONWAY strung around their necks. Her dad’s staff appeared to have doubled in size.
“Look at all these people,” she said to Lizzie. “There are so many of them.”
“It’s only gonna get bigger,” Lizzie said. “At least, that’s what my dad says.”
They walked into an air-conditioned tented area and grabbed bottles of water from the ice-packed coolers set up on folding tables. “You guys hang here; I’m gonna go try to find my mom and my brother,” Emma said.
“Where do you think they are?” Carina asked as they claimed an empty circular table.
Emma craned her head to scan the room. “I have no idea,” she said. “I’ll be right back.” She elbowed her way through the crowd to another room. She wondered if anyone here knew that she was Adam Conway’s daughter. She still felt fairly anonymous, but that probably wasn’t going to last.
“Hi there,” she said to a security guard. “I’m Emma Conway. I’m looking for my dad?”
The security guard waved her into another tented room, where she spotted her mom talking to Shanks. Remington stood off by himself, drinking iced tea. Her mom looked pretty in a peach-colored silk sundress, but her heavy foundation, eyeliner, and lipstick made her look like a child playing dress-up. And the gold chandelier earrings she wore also looked strange.