The Daughters Join the Party

  “There’s my dad, working the room,” Carina said. She pointed to a tall man with a strong jaw and salt-and-pepper hair moving through the room with palpable authority, shaking people’s hands and clapping them on the back.

  “He looks like he does this a lot,” Emma said.

  “He does,” Carina replied.

  “This is gorgeous,” Hudson said, staring at the room. “This is where I want to get married. I just decided.”

  “Um, shouldn’t you figure out who you want to get married to first?” Carina asked her, helping herself to one of the tuna tartare–covered wontons being passed by a waiter.

  “Well, maybe I have decided,” Hudson said coyly. “Ben and I… almost kissed the other day,” Hudson said, staring directly at her toes.

  “You did?” Emma said, grabbing Hudson’s arm. “That’s awesome!” Some of the guests turned around and gave her a look, but she didn’t care. “I told you to just go for it.”

  Hudson rolled her eyes. “I said we almost kissed. Not the real deal. Not yet. We were alone in the elevator after the photo shoot for the album, and there was this moment when he was looking at me and he kind of forgot what to say. And then he kind of stepped closer and I stepped closer, and we were, like, tilting our heads up, and then we hit our floor and the door opened, and we had to get out.” Hudson looked dreamily into her glass of ginger ale. “So, yeah. It almost happened.”

  “Considering nothing really happens in that story,” said Carina, “I kind of really got into that.”

  Emma thought of Walker for a moment. She had no idea what he thought of her after their fight, but she guessed it wasn’t good. They must have passed each other fifty times in the halls without looking at each other or saying hi.

  A sound of excitement in the crowd made her look up. Her parents were entering the room, with much waving and shaking of hands. Her mom almost looked unrecognizable with her hair curled in waves and her eyes heavily lined. So my mom has to put on makeup and I have to take it off, she thought.

  “Emma, are you okay?” Carina asked. “You look a little pale.”

  “Yeah,” said Hudson. “Are you sick?”

  “I wish,” Emma cracked. “Carina, don’t take this the wrong way or anything, but I really don’t want to do this.”

  “O-kay,” Carina said.

  Just then the Jurg strode over to them and put his hand on Carina’s shoulder. “Emma, I’m Karl Jurgensen,” he said, offering his hand. “I’m so pleased that you could be a part of tonight’s program.”

  “Me, too,” she said, shaking his hand. She gave Carina a quick look that said Don’t say anything.

  “I’m going to go up and say a few quick words and then introduce you, all right?”

  “All right,” she said, a smile frozen on her face.

  “Your parents are over there,” he said, pointing. “Would you like to go over and greet them first?”

  “No, that’s okay,” she said with a tight smile. “Whenever you’re ready. I’m cool.”

  “All right, then,” he said. “See you in a few minutes.”

  As soon as he walked away, Carina said, “Okay, say that last bit again. You really don’t want to do this?”

  “It’s not because of your dad, it’s because of the speech,” she said. She pulled it out of her purse. “It’s ridiculous. Just like the last one. It makes people our age sound like morons.”

  Carina grabbed it and read it. “Yeesh,” she said. “You’re right.”

  “Let me see it,” Hudson said, taking it from Carina.

  Emma watched her dad. He had the same look on his face that she’d seen that night with the donors at their apartment—the same fake smile, the same nervous expression. But there was something harder about his expression now, something more permanent, as if it were a mask that had finally sealed itself to his face. Her dad wasn’t her dad anymore. He was any other politician, glad-handing his way through a rich crowd, morphing himself into the person voters expected him to be. Wanting her to morph along with him.

  She felt someone tap her on the shoulder. “Emma, are you ready to speak now?” asked a man in a charcoal suit and gray tie. “I think Mr. Jurgensen would like to get started.”

  Emma eyed Carina. She knew it was too late. “Sure.”

  “Follow me.”

  She could feel Carina’s and Hudson’s concern as she walked away. And she felt something else—something she’d felt in the computer lab during her fight with Lizzie, something she hadn’t really felt before. She felt like a fake. She wasn’t the girl who went along with things, who did what everyone else wanted, who didn’t make waves. She wasn’t the girl who stayed quiet when someone asked her to disregard one of her friends.

  “Okay, stand just here, and Mr. Jurgensen is going to introduce you in a moment.”

  Emma watched the crowd part for Carina’s dad as he made his way over to her. People seemed to respect—or fear—him in a way that they didn’t respect her own dad. Instead of rushing over to him to shake his hand and say hello, they parted and gave Karl Jurgensen a healthy amount of space.

  She watched him step up onto the stage and tap the mic. “Everyone, first of all, thank you so much for coming tonight,” he said in a velvety-smooth voice. “It’s my pleasure to host this little get-together for Senator Conway, who I’m lucky to be able to call a close, personal friend. And with that said, if he wins next year, then you better believe I’m gonna be first in line for movie night at the White House.”

  Appreciative laughter bubbled up from the crowd. Emma pretended to smile. Adults always say the same corny things, she thought.

  “Before we sit down to what I hope will be a marvelous meal, I’d like to have him say a few words to you. But first, I’ve invited his daughter, Emma, who some of you may have already seen stumping for her dad on the campaign trail, to speak.” He pointed to her, standing off to the side. “She has become one of her father’s most vocal supporters and an astute critic of her generation. She also happens to be my daughter’s very good friend. Please welcome Emma Conway.”

  As the applause began, Carina’s dad walked off the platform and gave her a hand up the steps. When she got up there, she faced the lone teleprompter, where the words of her speech were reflected on the plastic screen. For the first time all night, she didn’t feel dread anymore.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” she said into the microphone. “Thank you for having me. I’m fifteen, as some of you might know, and being fifteen, I’d like to say a few words to you about America’s youth.”

  The words on the teleprompter moved up, and the next line stared out at her: America’s youth is our future, and right now that future needs serious help.

  She swallowed. “But I can’t,” she said, looking away. “Because the words I’m supposed to say to you—the words that were written for me by my dad’s campaign staff—just aren’t true. America’s youth isn’t in trouble. We haven’t been brainwashed by the Internet or reality TV. We aren’t slackers who just want to play with our Wiis and our iPhones all day long. This country isn’t going down the tubes because of us. We’re the best thing this country has. We’re smart, we’re spirited, and we know bullshit when we see it.”

  The crowd was absolutely still and silent. She felt like Remington must have that night he spoke in their living room.

  “I’m supposed to talk about how America’s young people need to get serious and buckle down and develop a work ethic. But what we really need is to go to college without having to deal with massive student loans for the rest of our lives. And some of us need jobs that just don’t exist when we get out of school,” she went on. “And some of us need parents who listen to us when we have fears and concerns about our futures. We’re not the problem. No matter what my dad’s campaign manager wants me to say,” she said. “Or how they want to water me down.”

  Out in the crowd, she saw her father grimace. Tom Beckett’s face seemed to be almost completely drained of color.

&
nbsp; “So, I think this will be my last speech for a while,” she said. “Oh, yeah, and vote for my dad. But I guess you guys were going to do that anyway.”

  She turned to step off the stage. There was no sound except for that of the waiters carrying the salad course to all the tables.

  At the bottom of the steps, Hudson and Carina waited for her.

  I’m sorry, Emma mouthed to Carina, just as Tom Beckett approached her.

  “What the hell was that?” Tom snapped.

  And then someone elbowed Tom aside. It was her dad. His mouth had become a thin white line, and he looked the closest that Emma had ever seen him to devastated. “It’s over, Emma,” he said curtly. “You’re done with this.”

  She felt her friends come to her side, closing ranks.

  “No problem,” she said. She turned to Carina. “I have to go. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” Carina whispered.

  As Emma walked out, trying not to look at the staring faces surrounding her, she grabbed her phone out of her clutch and typed in a text.

  Need to see you. Can I come over? 911 situation.

  Lizzie wrote back one minute later: Yes

  chapter 28

  Lizzie opened the door for her. Emma stepped into the marble-floored foyer of Lizzie’s apartment, too much in shock to even give Lizzie a hug.

  “What happened?” Lizzie asked. She was wearing a pair of sweatpants and an old purple sweater, and she still had toilet paper wrapped around her toes from a home pedicure.

  “It was another speech just like the one at UPenn,” Emma said, taking off her coat. “The same crazy stuff. So I told them all what I really thought. I told them it was bullshit.”

  Lizzie put her hand to her mouth. “No. You didn’t.”

  “It actually felt really good.”

  “Oh, Emma, you didn’t.” Lizzie sighed. “Come into the kitchen. Let me make you some tea.”

  Emma followed Lizzie into her kitchen and sat down on one of the stools. “I thought you’d be proud of me or something,” she said. “I spoke up. I told them all the truth. I was myself again. Isn’t that what you were mad at me about with Todd? Not speaking up?”

  Lizzie put the kettle on the burner. “Yes, I know I said all those things. But this is a little bit different.” She sat on the stool next to her. “Why didn’t you just say you couldn’t give the speech at all? Don’t you think that that would have been the better thing to do?”

  Emma listened to the water in the kettle boil. She knew that Lizzie was probably right, as much as she didn’t want to admit it.

  “I think it’s great that you’re so outspoken, but sometimes you have to measure the consequences,” Lizzie said. “It doesn’t always have to be so extreme. You could have just said no, even right before you went on.”

  The kettle started to whistle. Lizzie got up and turned off the gas. Emma tapped her fingers on the counter as tears came into her eyes. “I guess so,” she said. “Maybe it wasn’t the smartest thing to do.”

  Lizzie carried a mug of tea over to Emma. “And I’m sorry I blew up at you about the Todd thing. I’m just going through a hard time, and I took it out on you. I know that there wasn’t much you could do about that.” She nudged the mug of peppermint tea toward Emma. “I’m sorry. You’re an amazing friend. I didn’t mean it.”

  Emma tried to blink the tears away but it didn’t work. A big one rolled down her cheek. “That’s okay,” she said, and then she leaned over and gave Lizzie a hug.

  She spent another hour at Lizzie’s, and then she finally got in a cab. As it carried her across the park, she saw that the mist had turned into fog. They drove past the Met and Emma looked over at it, wondering just what the fallout of the evening would be for her. She knew now that she hadn’t made the most responsible move. Carina’s dad would probably never speak to her again, not to mention what her own parents were going to say.

  At home she stood in the shower for a long time, letting the hot water run over her face as she thought about each word she’d said. Not one had been negative about her dad. So in the rare event that he ever decided to speak to her again, at least she could defend herself with that.

  She turned off the faucet. As she dried herself with a fluffy white towel, she heard the front door open and close. Heavy footsteps moved through the foyer and into the hall. It was her brother.

  She walked into her bedroom and put on some pajamas. If she went to speak to him, they would probably have a fight, especially in light of his recent moods. But if she didn’t go speak to him, then she would wake up the next morning feeling even worse than she did now. After all, he was the only person who could possibly relate to what she’d been through tonight.

  She got out of bed and padded over to his door. “Hey,” she said, knocking softly. “Can I talk to you?”

  He opened the door. Now she recognized the smell that wafted off him and out into the hall: It was beer. His eyes had the same glassy, unfocused look she’d seen that night a few weeks ago. He was drunk. “What do you want, Emma?” he asked in the same, almost-slurred way.

  “Are you okay?” she asked him. “Where’ve you been?”

  He rolled his eyes. “What is it you want?”

  “I… I quit tonight,” she said. “I’m no longer going to have any part of Dad’s campaign. I’m done.”

  “I’m impressed,” he said sarcastically. “I thought you were the political expert.”

  “I just wanted to say congratulations,” she said. “You win. You’re still the chosen one, Rem. And you probably will be until the end of time.” She backed away from the door. “Unless you’d rather just get wasted. Which seems to be your thing these days.”

  “You don’t know anything about my life,” he said thickly.

  “You’re right,” she said. “I don’t.”

  She walked back to her room. Suddenly Emma remembered what Walker had said: He’s in a scene that I really don’t want to be a part of. This was why they were no longer friends. Her brother was turning into a different person. And none of it, she knew now, had been Walker’s fault.

  chapter 29

  The next few days at school drifted by like a movie on a screen. Emma went from class to class, not listening, not participating, just barely able to take notes. Fortunately there were no tests or pop quizzes—she would have almost certainly failed them. Her mind felt foggy, like she was getting over the flu, and the weather had turned chilly and overcast.

  Word of her disastrous remarks at the Met hadn’t gotten out to the press, which was one thing she felt grateful for. But her mom still hadn’t really spoken to her. She floated through the apartment, only speaking to Emma when she absolutely had to. Her dad had flown to Florida right after Karl Jurgensen’s party, and he hadn’t been back to New York since. Emma knew that in their eyes, what she’d done was irreparable. Fortunately her friends stuck by her, even Carina, who admitted that her dad was “less than thrilled” about her opening remarks.

  And there was really no need to continue going to speech club. The first Monday after the Met event, she sailed past the door to the library on her way out of the building, and she never went back again. Mrs. Bateman didn’t press her for an explanation. She didn’t even mention it. Emma almost got the impression that she’d been waiting for her to drop out all along. Her brother didn’t mention it, either, but then again, they weren’t speaking. When she passed him in the hall, they didn’t make eye contact. At home they ate at different times. Remington had started swim practice, and now came home after six most nights anyway.

  One morning she was putting on her coat in the lobby, getting ready to run to the deli for a bagel, when she saw Walker come down the steps. He was alone and dressed to go out, and as he walked toward her she felt the same shiver she had that first morning she’d started Chadwick.

  “Hi,” she said, standing in front of him.

  “Hey,” he said. “What are you doing?”

  “Getting ready to go to th
e deli. Do you want to go with me?”

  He looked at her for a few moments. “Okay,” he said tentatively, as if she’d just asked him to go bungee-jumping with her.

  She knotted her scarf around her neck and led the way out onto the street. It was the coldest day of the fall so far, so cold that Emma thought it smelled like snow.

  “So, you finally dropped speech team once and for all,” he said as they turned into the wind.

  “I’m taking a break from public speaking,” she said. “I’m sure you heard about what happened at the Met.”

  “Just a little,” he said. “But we miss you. It’s not really the same without you there.”

  Emma felt something inside her leap up at his words. But she let it go. “Look, I owe you an apology,” she said. “What I said to you about Remington. I’m sorry.” She stopped walking and faced him. Just behind him was the diner, and through the windows Emma saw the floppy-haired waiter hanging out by the cash register, talking with the manager. “I think I know what you were talking about,” she said carefully. “He’s kind of turning into a different person, isn’t he?”

  Walker sighed and looked down the street. “I didn’t want to tell you,” he said. “But yeah, things have gotten pretty bad with him.”

  “He drinks a lot now, huh?” she asked.

  Walker nodded. “It started last year.”

  “Last year?” she asked.

  “That’s when he started hanging out with Steven and Chris,” he said. “Because of swim team. They’re pretty big partiers.”

  “But last year? Really?”

  “Emma, you haven’t been here,” Walker said. “You’ve been at boarding school.”

  “But… what about you two? I thought you guys were friends at the start of the year.”

  Walker shrugged. “My cousin goes to Georgetown,” he said. “When I heard how wasted Rem got on the day he visited, I knew I couldn’t really hang with him anymore.”

  “Wait,” Emma said. “He was wasted at Georgetown?”