“Can she make it?” she barks.
“They just hit the intro,” Trey tells me, rushing forward. “We’ve got three minutes.”
I pull Nora to her feet, but she’s still off-balance. Catching her, I let her take a second. She’s propped against my shoulder with her arms hooked around my neck. It takes her a moment, and she’s still leaning, but she quickly wins the battle to stand up straight.
At the same time, the First Lady fights her way past Trey, stepping forward until she’s face-to-face with her daughter. And me. Without a word, Mrs. Hartson licks her thumb and angrily spit-shines the last remnants of blood from Nora’s nose.
“Sorry, Mom,” Nora says. “I didn’t mean to-”
“Shut up. Not now.”
I feel Nora tense up. Within a breath, she’s standing on her own. She lifts her chin and looks her mother in the eye. “Ready to go, Mom.”
Following the acidic smell, the First Lady glares down at the vomit on my shirt, then, without moving her head, lifts her steady gaze to look me straight in the eyes. I’m not sure if she’s blaming me or just studying my face. Eventually, she blurts, “Think she can do it?”
“She’s been doing it for years,” I shoot back.
“Mrs. Hartson,” Trey jumps in, “we can still-”
“Tell them we’re on our way,” the First Lady says, her eyes never leaving me.
Trey darts for the exit. Turning back to her daughter, the First Lady grasps Nora’s arm and pulls her toward the door. There’s no time for goodbyes. Nora leaves first and Mrs. Hartson follows. I just stand there.
When they’re gone, I look over my shoulder and see Nora’s purse on the scorekeeper’s table. So damn stupid. Shoving the keys and tissues back inside, I notice the silver metal tube that looks like lipstick. If I leave it out, someone’ll find it. Good-maybe that’s the best way to help her. For a full minute, I don’t move, my mind playing through the consequences. This isn’t a rumor about a backseat in Princeton. This would be drugs in the White House. My eyes focus on the shiny metal tube, watching it gleam as the ceiling lights bounce off it. It’s so polished, so perfect-in its convex curve, I see a warped version of myself. Me. It’s all up to me. All I have to do is hurt her.
Right.
Like a little kid playing jacks, I scoop up Nora’s tube, grip it in my fist, and with a short prayer, shove it deep down in my pants pocket, praying this isn’t the moment I’ll forever look back on with regret.
A quick stop in the men’s room sends the rest of Nora’s Special K down the sink before I finally head back to my office. For the next hour, my eyes are glued to my small TV. Hartson’s schmoozing must’ve worked-Stulberg’s opening ran over by a solid two minutes, giving Nora just enough time to change into a new dress and put some blush on her cheeks.
As expected, most of the questions go to the President, but Stulberg’s no dummy. America loves the family-which is why the sixth question goes to Nora. And the seventh. And the tenth. And the eleventh. And the twelfth. With each one, I hold my breath. But whatever she’s asked, whether it’s about her indecisive post-graduation plans, or what it’s like moving back into the White House, Nora takes it in. Sometimes she stutters, sometimes she tucks her hair behind her ear, but for every answer, she’s all poise and smiles-never an argument. She even gets in a joke about being called the First Freeloader, a subtle moment of humility that’ll have the Sunday talk show pundits gushing over themselves with praise.
At nine o’clock it’s over, and I’m honestly amazed. Somehow, as always, Nora pulled it off-which means any minute now, someone’s going to…
“What kind of medal do I get?” Trey asks as my office door swings open. “Purple Heart? Medal of Honor? Red Badge of Courage?”
“What’s the one for when you take it in the gut?”
“Purple Heart’s for when you’re wounded.”
“Then that’s the one you get.”
“Fine. Thank you. You get one too.” Reaching my sofa, Trey collapses in it. We’re both deathly silent. Neither of us has to say a word.
Eventually, though, I give in. “Did the First Lady say anything to you?”
Trey shakes his head. “Like it never happened.”
“What about Nora?”
“She mouthed a thank you on the way out.” Sitting up straight, he adds, “Let me tell you something, my friend-that girl is Queen of the Psychos, know what I’m saying?”
“I don’t want to get into it.”
“Why? You’re suddenly so busy?”
There’s a loud knock on my door.
I glance over at Trey. “Who is it?” I call out.
The door opens and a familiar figure steps inside. My mouth goes dry.
Reading my expression, Trey looks over his shoulder. “Hey, Pam,” he says nonchalantly.
“Nice job on the interview,” she replies. “They’re still celebrating in the Dip Room. Even Hartson looked relaxed.”
Trey can’t help but beam. My eyes stay locked on Pam. I can read it in her smile. She has no idea what we’ve seen. Or what we know.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“Nothing,” she replies. “Meanwhile, did you see the online poll NBC did with the Herald? After the interview, they asked one hundred fifth-graders if they wanted to be Nora Hartson. Nineteen said yes because they could get away with whatever they wanted. Eighty-one said no because it wasn’t worth the headache. And they say our education policy is having no effect? Please-eighty-one of them are Einsteins.”
Avoiding a response, I keep it calm. “Trey, don’t you have to get Mrs. Hartson off to that fund-raiser?”
“No.” He’s hoping to stay and watch the show.
I give him a look. “Don’t you have a hobby or something you’re supposed to be working on?”
“Hobby?” he asks with a laugh. “I work here.”
I tighten the look.
“Fine, fine, I’m out of your way.” Heading to the door, he adds, “Nice seeing you, Pam.”
Cat’s out of the bag. She knows something’s up. “What was that about?” she asks.
I wait for Trey to shut the door. With a slam, he’s gone. Here we go.
CHAPTER 28
What’s going on?” Pam asks, standing in front of my desk.
I’m not sure where to begin. “Are you… Have you ever… ”
“Spit it out, Michael.”
“Have you been listening in on my phone line?”
She drops her briefcase, letting it sag to the floor. “Excuse me?”
“Tell me the truth, Pam-have you been listening in?”
Unlike Nora, Pam doesn’t detonate. Instead, she’s confused. “How could I possibly listen in?”
“I heard your phone-I saw how it works.”
“What’re you… What phone?”
“The phone in the anteroom!”
“What are you talking about?”
I push myself away from my desk and storm through the anteroom, into Pam’s office. Picking up the phone, I dial my extension. Two phones ring simultaneously. The one in my office and the one on the anteroom’s small desk. “They’re the same lines!” I shout. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice you had the ringer turned off?”
“Michael, I swear on my life, if those lines are the same, I never knew it. You’ve seen me when I sit out there-it’s just to use the phone.”
“That’s my point.”
“Wait a minute,” she says, finally getting annoyed. “You think I was faking those conversations? That that was some secret ploy to fool you?”
“You tell me. You’re the one who was on the line.”