The Chosen One (3 page)

“Right.” The woman stared off to my right as if she thought I was the type to have imaginary friends. I didn’t, of course, just imaginary sex flings, but it was probably best to keep that to myself.

Luckily, Fiona, who lived a few blocks from the restaurant, rushed in at that point. “Ainsley, darling!” she squealed as if it had been years since we’d seen each other. In actuality, it had only been a couple of days, and we had spent the entire summer together at the Cape. Fiona wrapped her arms around me. “I’ve missed you.” She planted a sloppy kiss on each cheek.

We looked like lovers, not cousins. It was the first time she had ever greeted me in this fashion, and talk about awful timing‌—‌worse than awful.

It dawned on me that my mouth was open in shock. “I-I missed you too,” I stammered.

Not noticing my discomfort, Fiona spun around to order. This couldn’t have gone any worse if I had planned it. Maya was still waiting for her order with an expression that was hard to read: amusement or disgust? Maybe both.

Shit! Do something, Ainsley.

“Uh, you’re in my class, aren’t you?”

“Your class?” Maya quirked an eyebrow. Her sultry voice matched my Rosario Dawson
Rent
imaginings. Va-va-voom!

“History of Massachusetts,” I clarified, trying to ignore the sensation zipping through my body while worrying I was grinning like a fool.

“Yes, I’m in that class.” Her eyes pulled me in.

I put a hand out. “I’m Ainsley.”

“Maya.” Several rough calluses pressed into my palm. After one resolute up-and-down motion she broke contact, leaving me wanting more.

Fiona draped an arm around my shoulders. “So, do you feel like a woman now?”

I nearly dropped my coffee cup. “W-what?”

Maya the Gray tilted her head ever so slightly, as if curious, but it was hard to read her thoughts. She’d give Dr. Gingas a run for her money in the poker-face department.

“Now that you’re officially a college student, of course. What did you think I meant?” Fiona’s towering, broad-shouldered frame stepped in front of me, and she bent her head over mine, as if she couldn’t hear little me standing there at five three. “Did you finally pop‌—‌?”

I cut her off. “No! Of course not!”

Feet shuffled behind us, and I was absolutely mortified that Maya had overheard Fee asking whether I was still a virgin. How could I explain my countless imaginary conquests?

Fiona laughed her boisterous laugh, which always reminded me of Teddy Roosevelt, and I half-expected her to belt out, “Dee-lighted!”

Gray Eyes finally received her savory crepe. It smelled of cheese and ham, and she moved to the back of the shop to sit at a secluded table mostly hidden by a column covered in vintage French movie posters. Thank God for her need for privacy; who knew what calamity would strike next?

“Your drink.” Pierced-girl half-heartedly motioned to Fee’s latte. We took a seat near the counter. My eyes searched for Maya, but the column kept her out of sight, although obviously not out of mind. What was wrong with me today?

“So tell me. How was your day?” Fiona asked.

“Fine,” I muttered, sipping at my lackluster coffee. I hated to admit it, but I was the type who needed coffee with frills or an abundance of flavor‌—‌preferably both.

Fiona eyed me over her hazelnut latte. “What’s up your bum?”

“Nothing. Why?” I stared intently at the place where Maya’s head would be, even though all I could see was a poster of Audrey Hepburn and Fred Astaire in
Drôle de Frimousse
.

“Because you’re acting like a spoiled brat. What gives?”

“Guess who’s in my Mass history class?”

“Roughly forty Massholes.”

“True. But also the biggest Masshole: Susie Quillian.”

“Really?” Fee’s voice was operatic. “How is Bottlenose?” Fiona’s nickname for Susie referred to bottlenose dolphins, one of the cutest but deadliest of animals. It wasn’t unusual for them to kill another porpoise just to play with the lifeless body.

“She accused me of cheating on today’s pop quiz.”

Fee smiled. “So, just as deadly.” She tapped her cell phone. “Or not. No story about you on her blog today, just another condemnation of Obamacare.”

“Oh please! Susie wouldn’t know the truth if it bit her in that perfectly round caboose.”

“Ainsley Carmichael!” Fee slapped the top of the table. “Do you have the hots for Susie Q?” She waggled her strawberry blonde eyebrows and leaned closer. “Scandalous! You two could be like the married Democratic commentator James Carville and Republican consultant Mary Matalin. Grandmother would blow her stack!”

“What? No. Not a chance in hell!” I sat back in my chair.

“Methinks the lady doth protest too much. And I wouldn’t fault you. I’d sleep with her.” Fiona waved a hand.

“Oh my God! Oh my God!” I rubbed my face with a palm. “Must erase that image from my mind!”

She laughed. “Seriously, what’s bugging you? I don’t believe Susie Q is the source, unless she really does get you all hot and bothered. There’s a first time for everything, my dear cousin.”

“What does that mean?”

“Google ‘uptight asexual girl excessively focused on her future political career’ and your pic pops up.”

“That’s not true.” Fee knew me better than most, but even she didn’t know about the racy lesbian romance novels I devoured nightly.

“Yeah?” Fiona punched some keys on her phone before handing it over to me.

Right there on Susie Q’s blog was an article about me titled “The Sexless Ice Princess.”

“When did she publish this?”

“Right before your high school graduation.”

“That bitch! And after the Cassidy situation‌—‌how could she?” I continued to scrutinize Fee’s phone as if I was expecting the truth to magically appear.

“Please. You aren’t suggesting Susie is rational or sticks to one narrative, are you? Ains, you know better than most that media hacks will write anything and everything to keep their name in the who’s who. Besides, scandals are short-lived for most involved.”

“Not for Grandmother. She never forgets.” I set the phone, screen side down, on the tabletop. Out of sight but not out of mind.

“True.”

“What else has she said about my sex life?”

Fee crossed her arms. “I wasn’t aware you had one.”

I glared as she mimed fanning flames.

“So sensitive!” Fee said. “She also claims you’re a repressed lesbian.”

“I am not!”

“Lesbian or repressed?” Fiona cackled.

“I’m out and proud! Marched in the parade last year.” I thumped the table. When I was fifteen, I’d come out to my mother and grandmother. The news was treated like every other milestone in the family. A conference of the Carmichael brain trust was called to determine whether I should stay in the closet or announce it to all the world. Grandmother’s minions polled millennials to determine my lesbian fate: be out and proud or keep it under wraps. Turned out, people my age didn’t care about sexuality, so we decided to embrace it from the outset, otherwise I would risk being viewed as a flip-flopper‌—‌deadly for politicians, just ask failed presidential wannabe Mitt Romney.

“Prove it! Kiss a girl. One measly kiss. Come on, baby, step your way out of the sexually repressed darkness and into the mind-blowing light that only happens via fornication.” Fee nearly glowed.

“Via fornication.” I had to chuckle. She was so passionate about
it
that I feared I’d blab about the stirrings Gray Eyes caused. “I… oh, I don’t know what to say.”

“Not all experiences will end up like‌—‌”

I cleared my throat. “Let’s not talk about her. She’s dead to me.”

“Not true. Cassidy is alive and well on Susie’s
Tattler
. I love that Susie has die-hard goons dedicated to her cause. Look out Roger Ailes and Rupert Murdoch.” Fiona’s smile dared me to take the bait.

In my junior year, I had momentarily let my guard down and attempted to date a lesbian named Cassidy, who also happened to be on Susie Q’s payroll. I was still reeling from the fallout. The humiliation solidified one thing: my desire to become president. It seemed a more obtainable goal than finding someone I could trust completely. The Cassidy Incident made it even more obvious that we Carmichaels had a target on our backs in today’s media environment.

“Wait.” I remembered the weird quote, pulled it out of my bag, and flattened the crumpled flyer. “Read this.”

Fee scanned it, scrunching her face. “Where’d you get this?”

“Some lunatic handed it to me on my way here.”

“The crazies keep on getting crazier. Such a random quote to hand out.” She set the crinkled paper on the table.

I tapped it with my forefinger. “Here’s the thing. I didn’t see her with a stack of papers. She only handed this to me.”

Fee scratched the tip of her nose. “Susie accused you of cheating today?”

“Yeah, but how does that relate to this?” I wasn’t liking where this was heading.

“How does she think you cheated?” Fee sipped her drink.

“Knowing the questions to a pop quiz ahead of time.”

“It kinda fits. You navigated your way to an A.” Fiona’s squished face implied it was a stretch at best.

“I didn’t cheat!” I slapped the tabletop.

“Doesn’t matter. That’s how it’s been framed. Maybe Susie, if she was even involved, is trying to freak you out more than normal. Did you recognize the person?” She narrowed her eyes.

“No. She looked like a drugged-out homeless person.” I shrugged.

“Cambridge isn’t short on those types. But why?”

“Why what?”

Fee straightened in her chair. “Bottlenose has always been after you, but what’s triggering the full court press? Paying someone to give you a random quote, which is ambiguous at best, what’s the reasoning for that?”

“Good God, I don’t even want to contemplate that. Besides, trying to figure out Susie’s motives is useless. She changes direction every time a new scandal erupts.”

“That could be the meaning. She’ll out-navigate you.” Fiona reread the quote, shook her head, and shoved the paper to the corner of the table. Fee hoisted a shoulder, giving up on figuring out the vindictive motive. “Honestly, I don’t think the two are connected. You”‌—‌she extended a finger, aiming at my chest‌—‌“have watched too many episodes of
Scandal
.”

“Me? You’re the one who got me into the show. And
House of Cards
‌—‌even the British version.”

“How was I supposed to know watching those shows would turn you into a paranoid loon who craved even more attention?”

“Craving attention! I try to stay under the radar.”

While I aspired to be president, Fiona wanted to be a presidential scholar along the lines of Doris Kearns Goodwin, the historian who won the Pulitzer for
No Ordinary Time: Franklin and Eleanor Roosevelt
. Fiona already dressed like a professor. Her purple blazer and white scoop-necked shirt were accented with a floral silk scarf. She added a twist by wearing jeans with a tear, not that she bought them that way; no Carmichael would buy torn jeans. Fee had ripped hers during our attempt to break into Susie Q’s house, after I learned Cassidy had recorded me. I still couldn’t think of that day without experiencing mind-numbing vertigo. That clip had destroyed my hopes of ever finding love. We failed to locate any trace of the video, and Fee had fallen out of a tree, breaking her wrist and tearing her jeans.

I patted Fee’s hand. Time to change the subject. “How’s Hahvard?” I drawled.

“Smashing. Just smashing,” Fiona answered.

I burst into giggles, relieved to shove the Susie weirdness out of my mind momentarily.

My cousin bent forward conspiratorially. “Did you meet any gorgeous women today?”

I couldn’t control myself. I glanced toward Maya and nearly toppled out of my chair when she approached the counter, wearing an apron. She worked here? That made my poor first impression earlier a hundred times worse. Oh, and what would she think of Fiona and her airs?

I wanted to die.

“Uh,” was all I could say.

Fiona eyed Maya and smiled surreptitiously‌—‌not because she knew my secret but because that was how she always smiled. Gray Eyes glanced at me and then at Fiona, her expression frozen, and then took up her station behind the register, going out of her way to keep me out of her direct line of sight.

“You have to jump back on the horse, Ains. Don’t let the Cassidy incident keep you out of the game. That’s not how Carmichaels do it.”

“Puh-lease. Carmichaels are doing it too much. I’m not going to fall victim to unnecessary scandal. I have one goal in life.” I stabbed the air with a finger.

Fee sighed dramatically. “Here it comes.”

“Here
what
comes?” I stiffened in my seat.

“How you are Grandmother’s ‘Chosen One’ to become the first Carmichael to win the White House.” She rolled her eyes and made air quotes.

“Whatever.” I laughed. “You’re just jealous I’m the Chosen One.” I stuck my tongue out.

“That’ll be the day. I plan on having as many lovers as possible. Besides, being Grandmother’s little Mini-Me is creepy.”

“I’m not her Mini-Me!”

“No? You receive daily debriefing e-mails from her political goons, and you both use the same makeup artists, hair peeps, and personal shoppers‌—‌even if I’m certain you picked out today’s outfit.” She eyed my pink dress with a smirk and continued listing our similarities, ending with the coup de grace, “She even gave you her name, Ains.” Fiona slurped the rest of her coffee. “I’m famished. Let’s scram.” She pointed to the coffee I’d barely touched. “Clearly you aren’t impressed with this joint. Too bad. I’d love to come back for the praline and Cointreau crepe I’ve heard about.”

Luckily, I had turned back around in my chair and couldn’t see Gray Eyes. I didn’t have the guts to rubberneck over my shoulder to assess the damage either. Of course, Maya would have had to be deaf to have missed my earlier insult, and Fiona was anything but a quiet talker, so she probably also caught the tail end of our conversation. Considering my luck so far, her ears had eaten up everything, word for word, and a simple web search would unearth the dreaded video on Susie Q’s blog as soon as I was out of sight.