“So you want to come over for dinner tomorrow night?” her brother asked him.
Emma stayed quiet but watched Walker for a reaction.
“I really can’t,” Walker said. “I have some applications to work on.”
“That’s what you said last week,” Remington said. “What did I do to you, man? You can be friends with my sister, but not with me? What the hell?”
“Relax,” Walker said. “Don’t be an idiot.”
“Do you think I’m being an idiot?” Remington erupted. “Is that what you think? That I’m being an idiot?”
Emma watched her brother step toward Walker in a threatening way. It looked like they might actually have a fight, and then Walker pushed past Remington into the library.
Remington stared at Walker, obviously fuming.
As more people trickled into the room behind her, Emma took a deep breath and sat down. They seemed to have avoided a fight. But whatever had happened between Remington and Walker, it seemed about to boil over.
chapter 24
“How’re you doing, Emma?” said a male campaign staffer with blond hair wearing a CONWAY FOR AMERICA T-shirt. “I’m Jeff, your point person. If you need anything, just let me know. I think we’re probably gonna start in about forty-five minutes.”
“Thanks,” Emma said, reaching for the bottle of water she’d gotten out of the cooler and turning back to her laptop.
As Jeff walked away, Lizzie nudged Emma in the side and said, “These campaign aides are kind of cute, I have to say.”
“Uh-huh,” Emma said, putting the finishing touches on her speech. “Will you read this for me? Tell me what you think?” She handed her laptop to Lizzie.
“You really like Radiohead, huh?” Lizzie said, checking out the stickers on the top.
“Just read it,” Emma said. “We don’t have a lot of time.”
“So you wrote this all by yourself?” Lizzie asked, placing the laptop on her knees.
“They let me,” Emma said, getting to her feet and stretching. “I know. I couldn’t believe it, either.” This time, she’d left out the stuff about not wanting her dad to run—she’d gathered from Shanks that that part had made them all a little nervous, despite the positive press reaction. Instead, she’d focused more on why she considered him a hero, and why kids her age desperately needed one. All the stuff that she’d said that day in Central Park. Shanks and Beckett had approved it in an e-mail, and by now she’d committed it to memory.
As she waited for Lizzie to finish, Emma walked back to the cooler to get another bottle of water. There was a palpable excitement in the backstage area of the main theater at the University of Pennsylvania. Conway mania had been steadily building in the press, and when Emma got the invitation to speak again from Shanks she jumped at the chance. This time her entire family was here, and she’d brought Lizzie for moral support. Tom and Shanks stayed close to her dad, prepping him in the corner as a makeup artist sponged makeup on him. Her mom and Remington hung out with Marcy, the stage manager, near the big closed-circuit television monitor. She stepped in front of one of the makeup mirrors and checked out her outfit: black-and-white-striped miniskirt, ankle-high Doc Martens, black tights, and a silk purple top with plenty of silver chains around her neck. She’d also replaced the blue Manic Panic dye with hot pink. To her amazement, nobody had said a word. True, it wasn’t much—just a few strands—but it had definitely been enough to get her grounded in the past. The pink was meant to get her in the mood for Halloween; later that night, she was going to go to Alex’s party as Gwen Stefani from her Return of Saturn days.
“I think this looks great,” Lizzie said, closing the laptop.
“Really? You sure? I mean, they all approved it already, but still…”
“I love that part about needing something besides the advertising on TV and on Google. You’re really good at this, you know that?”
“Who would have thought, right?” Emma said as she watched Tom Beckett coming toward her. His hairline seemed to have receded a bit since the beginning of the campaign, and his dark suits looked looser. But he still emanated a fidgety intensity. “Emma,” he said, “can you hold on a second?”
“Okay.”
“We just made a few changes to your speech. Here’s the new one.” He handed her the pages.
“The new one?”
“This is what we’d like you to say instead,” he said. “We just got it written.”
“But… you already approved my speech,” she said. “Why do I need this one?”
“A new poll came in last night,” Tom said. “Turns out that some people weren’t so bowled over by your last appearance. This is just to put everyone’s mind at ease.”
“Put their mind at ease,” she repeated. “About what?”
Tom twisted the band of his silver watch. “Some people were concerned about your outspokenness,” he said. “They thought what you said last time wasn’t as… supportive as it could have been. Now, people love the fact that Adam has a daughter who’s got stage presence and a good voice, and it’s something new. But your particular brand of honesty… Well, it’s rubbing some people the wrong way.”
Emma and Lizzie traded a suspicious glance. You mean it’s rubbing you the wrong way, she was tempted to say. And maybe a few weeks ago, she would have said it. But now things were different. She was officially part of Team Conway, and she had to at least try to toe the party line.
She looked down and skimmed the speech. As usual, some of the words were jumbled, but enough of it was clear.
“ ‘Today’s out-of-control and disconnected youth need someone to look up to’?” she read. “What is this?”
“Well, it’s what you’ve been saying all along. That teens are scared and confused and need a hero, right?”
“But you’re putting the blame on teens,” she said. “That’s not what I said. I wasn’t criticizing people my age.”
“Look, just trust us on this,” he said, smirking a little. “Also, we have something else for you to wear.”
“W-what?” she sputtered.
“Something a little more conservative,” Tom added.
“Are you kidding?” Emma eyed Lizzie again. “Where’s my dad?”
“He’s with us on this,” Beckett said coolly. “Now, just look that over. And I’ll get you a new dress. Also, Todd Piedmont: We’d appreciate it if he didn’t come with you to any more campaign functions. We can’t afford to have your father associated with criminals.” He walked away before she could say anything more.
“Oh my God,” Emma said. “Lizzie, I’m so sorry. I have no idea what that’s about.”
Lizzie had gone pale. “Where did that come from?” she asked. “What does Todd have to do with any of this?”
“He saw Todd at Central Park,” she said. “I don’t know what’s going on. Hold on, let me just think,” she said, trying to read the speech through her fury.
It was even worse than she thought. Today’s teens are in desperate need of some real substance in their lives, read one line. Glutted on reality television, obsessed with the latest labels, we need a leader who can make us appreciate something honest and true, read another.
She couldn’t go out there and give this speech. Her friends would never speak to her again. Nobody would.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Remington, off by himself, reading a campaign memo. He would know what to do. “I’ll be right back,” she said to Lizzie, who had gone oddly quiet.
“Fine,” Lizzie murmured.
Emma rushed over to Remington, almost bumping into a coffee urn on the way. “Rem?” she asked. “Can I talk to you about something?”
From the way he looked up from his memo she could tell he was in no mood to give advice. “What?” he asked, looking at her coolly.
“Look at this,” she said. “They just gave me this. It’s terrible. It’s nothing that I would ever say in real life. Or even that Dad would say.” She handed it to him. “Read it,?
?? she said.
He scanned it quietly. “I don’t really see what the big deal is,” he said when he finished.
“But look at what it says. This isn’t me. I would never say this,” she argued.
Remington sighed. “You’ve been pretty lucky so far,” he said. “Going out last weekend and giving a speech that you changed without anyone’s permission? About how much you didn’t want Dad to run? What did you think was going to happen?”
“But it went okay. People liked it.”
“The press liked it. The people didn’t. And Dad can’t afford to alienate potential voters,” Remington said.
“But this is ridiculous,” she said. “They like me because I’m outspoken, because I say what I think. Now they want me to change?”
“Welcome to politics, Emma.” He handed the speech back to her. “Sorry.”
“Then I’m going to go find Dad.”
“What do you think Dad’s going to do? He can’t go out there and just say whatever he wants. He has to listen to them, too. It’s called being part of a presidential campaign.”
“Right. I forgot you know everything,” she spat.
“About this? Yeah. I do.”
“Look, you’re the one who totally blew it in Washington, okay? Ever since this all started for me you’ve been a total jerk.”
She stormed off but Tom intercepted her, holding a plastic dry-cleaning bag, containing what looked like a plain navy dress on a hanger.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“What we’d like you to wear,” he said, giving her the plastic-covered dress. “It should be your size.”
She looked in horror at the dress. It was shapeless, with darts in the bust and princess-style cap sleeves.
“And shoes are in here,” he said, grabbing a shopping bag from beside the sofa. “You should probably get changed.”
“I’m not doing this.”
Tom gave her the same eerie, fake smile she’d seen at the Boathouse that night all those weeks ago. “Then you don’t have to speak, Emma,” he said. “The choice is yours.” He held out the shopping bag.
She stared at him, unwilling to believe this. But she took the shopping bag.
“And you might want to tone down that eyeliner, too,” he said. “You know, try the fresh-faced look. That’s what America wants to see.” He patted her shoulder. “Oh, and your hair…” He waved the makeup artist over. “Is there any way we can hide this?” he said, pointing to the colored strands.
The makeup artist tugged at her heavily pierced earlobes. “I think if we just pull it all back,” she said, taking Emma’s hair and pulling it into a severe bun.
“Perfect,” Tom said approvingly, as the woman twisted an elastic around Emma’s hair.
“That’s enough,” Emma said, stepping away. She was so angry that she was practically trembling.
“Emma?” Marcy said, coming up to her, her laminated ID bouncing. “Are you getting dressed? You’re running out of time.”
Emma went to the bathroom and shut the door. She was so angry that her vision was blurry. She grabbed a paper towel and put it under the faucet to wet it, then dabbed at her eyeliner until most of it was gone. With another paper towel she wiped off her lipstick. The dress slipped on easily, but when she zipped it up she realized that it was at least a size too big. Then she pulled the shoes out of her shopping bag: horribly clunky black heels. They fit, but she would much rather have gone barefoot.
Then she looked in the mirror. With her makeup gone, her hair pulled back into a Quaker-style bun, and her body obscured by this navy blue tent, she looked like a stranger.
When she walked out of the bathroom she found Lizzie in the hall, waiting for her. “Oh, Emma,” she said, with a stricken face. “Do you really want to do this?”
“I can’t say no,” she said. “I have to do it.”
“Why?” Lizzie asked, taking her arm.
Just then Emma saw her mother look over at her from where she sat in front of the monitor. She expected her mom to smile approvingly, to finally be happy at this kind of transformation. But instead she looked slightly appalled.
“Emma! It’s time!” Marcy called, trudging over to them. “Let’s go!” She grabbed Emma’s arm, wrenching her away from Lizzie.
“Bye,” Lizzie said.
Emma walked through the backstage area, feeling everyone’s eyes on her. If it was this embarrassing to be dressed like this in front of the campaign staff, then Emma could only imagine how she was going to feel onstage. And in front of the cameras.
This isn’t me, she thought as she walked to the stage. But there’s nothing I can do about it now.
chapter 25
On Monday morning, Emma knew things were off when Dori didn’t leap up from her chair in greeting.
“Hi, Emma,” Dori said, waving at her. Then she answered a call. “The Chadwick School,” she said brightly into the phone.
Emma walked up the stairs, unable to shake the bad feeling that had stayed with her since Saturday afternoon. The speech had technically gone fine—she hadn’t flubbed any of the words, and she’d been able to get the crowd sufficiently riled up for her dad. But afterward she’d sunk into a funk that hadn’t yet lifted. Lizzie had offered her a tepid smile when she came offstage and said “You did great!” Her mom had gently hugged her and mumbled that she was proud. Carina and Hudson had both texted her vague messages like “Good job!” and “Amazing!” but nothing else. Remington, naturally, had said nothing.
The only person who seemed truly happy with what she’d said had been her dad, who apologized for switching the speech on her at the last moment.
Lizzie had said little on the drive back to the city. Emma couldn’t figure out what was bothering her more: the comment Tom had made about Todd, or the way Emma had completely failed to protect her own dignity.
At dinner that night, Emma didn’t say much at the table. Remington and Carolyn chatted about Iowa precinct captains and campaign finance reform as Emma picked at her food. When it came time to get ready for Alex’s party, she felt so depressed that she decided not to go.
She went to bed early, and then tossed and turned, punching her pillow over and over. Anger bubbled up inside her, keeping her awake. But when she tried to put a face to the anger, the only one she could see was her own.
The next day she’d typed her name into the Google search bar. Seven thousand news articles came up. She clicked on the first one.
CONWAY KID HITS WRONG NOTE, read the headline. The piece accused her dad of “blatantly pandering” to the swing voters and trying to “muzzle” his “controversial, blue-haired” daughter. “Seems like Conway wants to have his cake and eat it too,” the writer said. “He uses his kid to get young people’s attention, and then wants to apologize for it at the same time.”
Emma shut her laptop. She put on “Cities in Dust” by Siouxsie and the Banshees and took Archie out of his terrarium and let him slither around on the floor, trying to lose herself in the music. That’s not me, she thought. I’m not really the girl who said those things.
So now, as she walked down the Upper School hallway and saw Hudson waiting for her at the lockers, she was relieved. Of her three friends, Hudson always seemed the least judgmental. “Hey,” she said, forcing herself to smile. “Sorry I didn’t text you back yesterday. I was kind of sick.”
“That’s okay,” Hudson said sweetly. “I just wanted to tell you how great you did. I saw a little bit of it on CNN.”
“Just so you know, that wasn’t the speech I wrote,” she said quietly. “They switched it at the last minute. It was kind of annoying.”
“So you don’t think that the Internet is ruining the fabric of American teenage life?” Hudson kidded.
“Uh, no,” Emma joked. “Definitely not.” She shut the locker and leaned her forehead against it. “I’m so embarrassed.”
“Don’t be,” Hudson said. “It wasn’t that bad. I mean, you really sold it up there. Technically
, you were perfect. Even my mom was impressed. She actually watched a little bit of it with me. I couldn’t believe it.”
“I don’t know what to do, H,” Emma said, using Hudson’s nickname for the first time. “My brother went off on me, saying that this isn’t about me, that even my dad can’t say what he wants, blah, blah, blah, but it just doesn’t feel right. It’s not what I believe. So I shouldn’t keep doing it, right?”
Hudson untangled the cluster of silver charm necklaces at her throat as she thought. “I don’t know, Emma. Maybe you should just take a break for a while. It’s been kind of a whirlwind. And you’ve done a lot for your dad, you really have. More than most kids could or would.”
Emma thought about this as they walked into homeroom. Maybe it was time to stop.
Carina and Lizzie had already sat down in the back. Lizzie looked even paler than usual, and she and Carina seemed to be in deep conversation.
“Hey guys, what’s going on?” Emma asked as they slid into their seats.
Lizzie flinched at the question. Carina looked somber. “Todd and I are taking a break,” Lizzie said quietly.
“Oh my God,” said Hudson.
“We talked about it last night. It just seemed the right thing to do. With everything that’s going on.” She paused. “It looks like his dad isn’t going to win this. And if he gets convicted, then they’re definitely going to send him to jail.”
“Oh my God, Lizbutt, I’m so sorry,” said Hudson. “That’s terrible. For both of you.”
“But you did the right thing,” Carina counseled in her best no-nonsense tone. “You’ve been dealing with his weirdness for forever. If Alex pulled all that stuff on me I would have totally moved on by now.”
“Where is he?” Hudson asked, looking around.
“He’s not going to be in this week. The case is probably going to the jury tomorrow. And if his dad gets convicted, then he’s going to want to just be with family.”
“I’m so sorry, Lizzie,” Emma said.
But Lizzie didn’t look at her. She just stared straight ahead as if Emma hadn’t said anything at all, curling a strand of hair around her finger.