When Audrey Met Alice (13 page)

To cheer myself up, I think I will scrounge up some friends for a day at the races. Maggie will surely be game. Technically, there’s no harm in us attending Benning racetrack; it’s the betting that rankles the fuddy-duddies. I must ensure that no one (particularly those wily reporters) sees me exchanging money for a bet. The racetrack will be good medicine for my melancholy. Nothing lifts my spirits like earning some greenbacks through gambling.

To Thine Own Self Be True,

Alice

My mom’s a firm believer in never going to bed angry: at her spouse, at her kid, at her constituents, probably. Getting to the White House upended that rule. By Sunday night, my parents and I still weren’t speaking. I hid out in my room, not wanting to be the one to break the standoff with my parents; I felt too right to apologize but too jerkish to act like I hadn’t said horrible things to them. Even though my stomach was being scarily vocal, no way was I going to venture out.
They
were going to have to come to
me
and extend the olive branch. Thank goodness for the cookies I kept stashed in my desk drawer, otherwise I would’ve starved.

My trusty First Friend laptop kept me company. I opened chat and saw my list was sparsely populated, except for one name with a bright green dot next to it: Quint. Instinctively I smoothed my hair and sat up straighter. Which was silly because: 1) video chat doesn’t work with the firewall, and 2) we weren’t exactly speaking, either. I was on a roll—the only people not currently pissed at me were Kim and Harrison. Both oh-so-conveniently located 1,098 and 847 miles away, respectively.

I stared at Quint’s name, willing him to IM me. I tapped out a pithy status (“Me, myself, and I—won’t you join us?”), then decided it was stupid and deleted it. I changed my icon from available-green to busy-red. I scrolled through my photos and uploaded a cuter one (of me laughing in a nonfake way) for my profile image. I switched back to available-green. I opened another tab for my e-mail, but kept checking back to see if Quint was still there. He was. I wondered if he was busy talking to Madeline. That made me feel a little sick.

Only when I got distracted by finally starting an e-mail to Debra did I hear the ping of a new message. I clicked back, crossing my left-hand fingers that it was Quint. And it was.

DrummerBoy
: You there, Audrey?

tinydancer
: Yeah.

DrummerBoy
: What’s up?

tinydancer
: Not much. What’s up w/ you?

DrummerBoy
: Studying. I don’t get this mitochondria stuff.

tinydancer
: What’s not to get? It’s in cells, and it makes energy.

DrummerBoy
: Says the MacArthur Genius’s kid.

tinydancer
: He doesn’t have a MacArthur.

DrummerBoy
: Touché.

tinydancer
: Anyway, I don’t think he’ll be helping me with my homework anytime soon.

DrummerBoy
: ????

tinydancer
: Big fight.

DrummerBoy
: Pourquoi?

tinydancer
: Well…it’s a long story. I got caught doing something I shouldn’t have been doing.

DrummerBoy
: I do read the news, ya know.

tinydancer
: Oh. Yeah. That stuff.

DrummerBoy
: South Lawn joyride? That’s so bada$$, Audrey.

tinydancer
: There was more to it than that. I mean, I had permission to use the cart, and the crash was an accident. And what do people expect me to do with my time, anyway? I’m stuck in the WH and usually alone.

tinydancer
: Anyway, I am in deep shizz.

DrummerBoy
: Sorry to hear it. You okay? Re: parents?

tinydancer
: It’s never fun to be told how disappointing you are.

DrummerBoy
: I’m sure they don’t mean it like that. It’d be impossible for you to be a disappointment.

tinydancer
: Thanks.

tinydancer
: I kind of needed to hear that from someone tonight.

DrummerBoy
: My pleasure.

DrummerBoy
: If it makes you feel better, mine are always on me about spending too much time practicing drumming and too little studying history or foreign languages.

tinydancer
: Oh, the struggles of a diplomat’s kid.

Dru
mmerBoy
: Or the president’s kid.

tinydancer
: Maybe just of being a kid with Very Important Parents.

DrummerBoy
: You got it.

tinydancer
: Totes.

tinydancer
: I should probably go get ready for bed. School night.

DrummerBoy
: Ditto. Maybe I’ll see you around this week?

tinydancer
: Yeah, sure.

DrummerBoy
: G’night.

tinydancer
: Night.

I was smiling so hard that I took a picture with my webcam. I wanted to document how superhappy I looked.

My crush on Quint was growing exponentially, like those Fibonacci bunnies. I was about 96.4 percent sure that he had a crush on me too—at least he flirted with me a lot.
What
does
it
mean, though, if Quint is already in the middle of something with Madeline?
It was confusing.
And
how
could
a
girl
living
in
1600
today
ever
have
a
boyfriend?
Alice had Carpenter and Arthur and all those guys fawning all over her at fancy dinners. But she also got to ride her bike on the streets of Washington and travel and basically
live
. I wanted something to happen with Quint, but I was afraid that trying to go from being friends with him to
more-than-friends
could lead only to more loneliness. I looked down at my
WWAD
bracelet. Even though I got the impression
any
guy could fall in love with Alice, her dating successes gave me a smidgen of hope. Maybe I needed to fill what was empty. To mine own self be true, and mine own self was pining for Quint. Maybe, if I wanted something to happen with him, I would have to make 1600 work for me, instead of against me, for once. The White House worked for Alice, anyway.

• • •

Eventually I reached a détente with my parents, and we started talking again. As mad as they had been with me, I think they’d actually been angrier at the paper that ran the item. At the Sunday press briefing, the Press Secretary skewered reporters for ignoring the long tradition of the media leaving the private lives of presidential offspring out of the news. He even handed out copies of the Letter to the Editor former First Daughter Margaret Truman Daniel wrote the
New
York
Times
in 1993, in which she begged reporters to leave Chelsea Clinton alone. I stood in the wings, watching him do his soapbox thing. “I’ll read part of the late Mrs. Daniel’s letter aloud, for emphasis.” The Secretary cleared his throat. “The reporter, quote, ‘made a list of all the circumstances that would be embarrassing to a shy, thirteen-year-old girl thrust into the Washington limelight, and used them as his framework. His article bordered on child abuse. My sympathy is with Chelsea, since I too was hauled off to Washington—at the age of eleven, when my father was elected to the Senate, and incarcerated in the White House when he became president.’ End quote.” The Secretary dropped his sheet of paper on the podium and glared into the corps. “Any further questions?” He was met with silence and swiftly moved on to release news of a shiny new clean-energy initiative. Validated, I happily scooted back to my room.

Before dinner Monday night, my mom showed up at my door. She looked rested and presidential, once again. “Audrey, can we talk for a minute?”

“Sure.” I swung the door wide. My mother filed in and took a seat on my desk chair, and I hopped onto my bed, hugging a pillow.

Mom started with a tense smile. “What you did wasn’t okay for a bunch of reasons. But I’m sorry for losing my cool on Sunday. It might’ve been the morning, but it was the end of a long day for me.”

“Apology accepted. I
am
sorry for creating problems.”

My mom studied my face. “It’s not like you to act out. Is everything okay?”

I had so much to say in response that I didn’t know where to start. Debra leaving. Fighting with Quint and falling for him too. Being treated like a little kid. Not having any privacy or space. Missing my Minnesota friends and my normal life. Madeline being mean and everyone else at Friends being suck-ups. And lingering hurt feelings from being shipped off to live with Harrison because my parents had better things to do. I had lost almost all the things that made my life mine, and I was clinging to what was left.

I decided to start telling her about all this. “Well…not really. Things haven’t been the greatest at Friends.” I hugged my pillow a little tighter as I opened up. “There’s this girl, Madeline, and—”

“Oh, Madeline. I believe I’m well acquainted with her grandfather.” Mom smiled wryly and sank back into the chair. “I’ll bet
she’s
been welcoming.”

I nodded and rolled my eyes. “Totally.” I paused to think of what I wanted to say next, but then Mom’s phone started buzzing. She picked it up from her lap and stared at the screen.

“Then my only friend transferred to Hogwarts,” I said, testing to see if she was still listening.

My mom actually nodded, her index finger scrolling something on screen. I sighed.

“Sorry,” she said, turning off the screen and looking up at me. I was about to start talking again when her phone buzzed again. Her hand reached for it.

“That’s it, really,” I said, disappointed.

Mom glanced up from the phone to smile at me. “I’m sure she’s just jealous, honey. Try to ignore her.”
Really
helpful, Mom.
“Anything else?”

Might
as
well
throw
this
in, before the phone interrupts me again.
“I am super upset that I can’t go on the class trip.”

Now she sighed. “Do we really have to get into that again? I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

I shrugged. “Fine.” What was the point of trying to talk to her?

Mom stood up from the desk chair and ruffled my hair. “Well, I’m glad we talked.”
Not
really—more like you read your e-mails and selectively listened.
“I think it’s time for family dinner. Sound good?” I nodded and followed her downstairs. The olive branch of a family dinner was nice, but part of me was disappointed that she didn’t try a little harder to talk to me. Were my feelings really such a pain for her to think about? Maybe on the surface things were back to normal, but underneath I still was simmering with anger and hurt.

• • •

On Tuesday, Madeline started blabbing about another party she was going to have over the weekend. She made a big point of listing who to invite, including Quint but not including me.
Great.
But then Quint randomly showed up during my lunch, turning around my day. “How come you’re at early lunch?” I asked as he sat down at my loner, I mean V.I.P., table.

“My fourth period got turned into a study hall today because Dr. Swanson is out sick. I sneaked out to say hi.” That made me blush.

As I took a bite of my sandwich, one of the cafeteria chefs, Estelle, walked past. That reminded me of Alice’s friend Thomas transforming into “Estella” for a sneaky visit. From that, the idea randomly popped into my head.
Brilliant.
Once I finished chewing, I asked Quint, “Why didn’t you come to the party I had when I first started at Friends?”

“Party?” Quint furrowed his brow. “What part—oh, I remember.”

“Yeah, there’s only been one
successfully
,” I interrupted, rolling my eyes.

“I had to visit my grandfather that weekend. He broke his hip. Why?”

“Well,” I said, drawing out my words. “It occurs to me that you’ve never seen 1600.”

“Of course I’ve seen it.” He grinned.

“You know what I mean. Inside.”

“Noooo,” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “What are you getting at?”

“Maybe it’s time you visit.” I smiled at him, in what I hoped was a flirty way.

“Are you serious?”

“Totally. I can make it happen.”
Maybe
I
should
have
him
over
before
he
spends
the
weekend
hanging
out
with
Madeline.
“Tomorrow,” I added.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? Don’t you need to ask your parents?” Quint adjusted his shirt collar.

“Sure, I’ll ask tonight,” I lied. “They won’t care, I promise.”
They
won’t care because they won’t know.
I knew it was risky, especially after the fight with my parents last weekend. Technically, I still was grounded—whatever that meant for a person who rarely socialized. But a little voice in my head was telling me to fill what was empty—and I couldn’t say no. “So are you game?” I pressed.

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “I’ve always wanted to see the inside.”

“Okay, so plan on it tomorrow.” Lunch was almost over, so I started packing up my bag. “I’ll e-mail you tonight?”

“Sounds good.” Quint stepped aside as I walked to the recycling can. I tossed my juice bottle in with a satisfying smash. “See you tomorrow!” I waved brightly at him, and hurried inside.

I sat in the last row of my math class and pulled out my tablet, hiding it on my lap under the desk. I opened e-mail and scrolled through my archives, looking for an updated contact list. People constantly are joining and leaving the White House staff, so contact sheets are updated weekly. I found the list, and jackpot: one of the Visitor’s Office names, Melanie Pinter, was highlighted in blue, which signaled a new employee. I clicked on her e-mail hyperlink and composed a message, flagged status urgent:

Hi Melanie,

I am writing because I need to meet with a classmate after school tomorrow. We have a very important assignment due for our music-history class. I feel it would be easiest for me to do so at the White House. Could you please enter his name in the security system: Quintus Roberts. You should have his info on file from my movie party. Also, my mother approved this message.