When Audrey Met Alice (16 page)

When I booted up my laptop the next morning before school, an e-mail was waiting in my inbox from someone with a
Squawker
address:

Hi Audrey,

My name is Tina Pressler, and I’m an editor at Squawker. This is a great essay that you’ve written, and it’s admirable that you want to use your platform to advance this issue. We would love to run it, and since you are reaching out to us, we don’t consider this a violation of your privacy. Can you confirm that 1) posting this will not go against your parents’ wishes and 2) you are certain that you would like to publish an opinion piece like this. Once something goes online, there’s no going back!

Let me know (in writing) what you decide, and thanks for thinking of us.

Best,

Tina

That was a no-brainer—of course I wanted them to run it. I quickly replied back:

Hi Tina,

Thanks for e-mailing me. No overnight regrets here—I still want to use my platform or whatever for this issue. Please post it!

Thanks,

Audrey L. Rhodes

I couldn’t wait to see it online, and for people—including my mom—to realize that I had something to say.

In the middle of third-period science, Hendrix opened the classroom door and stepped inside. “Excuse the interruption, Dr. Powell, but I need Audrey for a few minutes.” Dr. Powell got the same mildly worried look on his face that every teacher got whenever I’m called out of class—like he’s wondering,
Is
the
president
okay? Is there a situation? What could it be?
Ironically, it’s almost always for something like me needing to be reminded to take antibiotics or an aide dropping off homework I forgot. (Now
that’s
a perk.)

I followed Hendrix out the door, slouching in the gaze of the rest of my class. Hendrix’s mouth was set in a stern frown, which broke as she asked, “Have you, by chance, contacted any media organizations lately, Audrey?”

That. A nervous chill crept up my back. “I might’ve,” I said tentatively.

Hendrix nodded. “Which?”

“
Squawker
,” I said. “I sent them an essay. A helpful one,” I added.

Hendrix exhaled sharply. “I see. I think you might need to head home to explain that to some other people right now. Hang on a minute,” she said, and listened to something on her earpiece. “Yes, we’re definitely going to take you back for a bit. Do you need to get your bag?”

I nodded, then opened the door and walked back into the room as the whole class turned to stare at me.

“Everything…okay?” Dr. Powell asked.

“Yeah, but I have to go.” I left it at that, picked up my bag, and hightailed it out of the classroom.

As soon as we got to 1600, Hendrix ushered me straight to the Oval Office. As we walked down the West Wing hallways, a few staffers glanced up at me from their monitors. A couple shook their heads at me, but one or two others looked…surprised, and maybe a little proud. Hendrix opened the door to the Oval Office and stepped aside for me to walk in. My mom wasn’t at her desk, but Denise stood to the side of it, speaking with a few staffers. She pulled her reading glasses down her nose to peer at me as she walked in. “I need a moment alone with Miss Rhodes, please.” The staffers nodded and filed out of the room. “Audrey, come over here. I have something I’d like for you to read.” Denise spoke very calmly, but that vein was already popping on her forehead. Silently, I walked over to join her next to the desk.

On the computer monitor was
Squawker’s
home page, of course. The top story, the one that always got a ridiculously huge red headline, was: TWEEN FIRST DAUGHTER MAKES BOLD POLITICAL STATEMENT. Two thousand comments already. I gulped.

“Let’s read this bold political statement, shall we?” Denise’s voice carried a sarcastic edge, which freaked me out. She scrolled the mouse down. The article was accompanied with a picture of me on the golf cart, in front of the marriage-equality protestors.
Oh, crap.
It read:

WHY I SUPPORT MARRIAGE EQUALITY, AND YOU SHOULD TOO

Squawker
received
this
exclusive
editorial
from
First
Daughter
Audrey
Lee
Rhodes. Formerly most known for Bikinigate and various gossip items about her alleged White House shenanigans, Miss Rhodes here takes a stand on a hot-button political issue: marriage equality. Her essay is reprinted here in its entirety and without editing:

First Daughter Alice Roosevelt carried a copy of the United States Constitution in her purse, and perhaps that’s why she described herself as a supporter of freedom. As the current First Daughter, I will keep a copy of the Constitution in my bag too. I recently read it in its entirety, and I think the most important ideas it talks about are equality and freedom. For everyone.

Being in this role has taught me a lot of things, but most of all it’s taught me to respect the principles on which this country was founded. The fact that people in America are treated equally and fairly is what makes our country great. But how can we say that we are respecting the Fourteenth Amendment if we don’t respect the civil rights of our LGBT citizens? Marriage is a civil right, and right now we’re denying it to a lot of US citizens.

I’m addressing this issue for personal reasons—because someone very close to me doesn’t have the right to marry his life partner. It’s not fair that their commitment can only be recognized informally. I might not have a lot (or any) power as First Daughter, but if I did, I would make sure that all Americans have the right to civil marriage, regardless of sexual orientation.

Even my personal hero, Alice Roosevelt, back when people were not as open-minded about sexuality as we are today, supported the rights of people of all orientations. She knew what I know: that the Constitution means freedom for
all
people, not just some.

“Well,” Denise said after a long pause. “This has made quite a day for us. And it’s barely noon.” She looked up at me, fidgeting to the left of her chair, and sighed. “All of the major news networks are reporting on this. As you can imagine, many groups have already weighed in on your comments. Unfortunately, we were hoping to announce the new climate-change initiative today, but that has to wait. All thanks to you.” Denise narrowed her eyes. “You’ve single-handedly shifted the focus of the entire media to two topics: same-sex marriage, and
you.
”

“You told me I could put my essay online! I even gave you a copy beforehand!” I pointed at the stack of pages on her desk. It was much taller than last night, with my essay probably buried somewhere in the middle.

“What?” She shook her head. Her voice rose as she continued, “You said it was for school. Anyway, right now I need to work with the press staff to figure out how to spin this PR kerfuffle, courtesy of one very irresponsible First Daughter.” She waved me toward the door, her manicured nails making angry swipes through the air. “Go up to your room and wait for your parents. And, for the love of God, stay off your e-mail, and the phone, and passenger pigeons or smoke signals or whatever else you’d use to hijack the conversation. How your mother puts up with you, I don’t know.”

Tears welled up in my eyes.
I
asked
for
permission
for
this. It was supposed to make my mom respect me. Not make her life harder
. But I knew it wasn’t the right time to say that—and I didn’t want to spend another minute around Denise, who clearly hated me again. I ran out of the room before anyone could see me break down and cry.

I hid out in my room for hours, curled up on my bed and clutching Alice’s diary.
My
mom
will
probably
read
my
essay
and
be
disappointed
in
me
like
Denise
was.
I only wanted my parents to give me independence the same way Teddy Roosevelt did for Alice—a little freedom to live my life and speak my mind. I wanted them to see me as a person and not their problem. I slammed the diary shut and buried my head under the pillows.

I still was hiding from the world like that when someone knocked. “Yeah,” I called, the pillows muffling my voice. “Come in.” I didn’t budge.

“Audrey?” It was my mom; I could hear her shoes clicking toward the bed. “Are you okay?”

I sat up, red-faced and static-haired. “Sure,” I said unconvincingly.

“I think we need to talk,” my mom said, sitting down next to me. She left a shopping bag leaning against the bed, then kicked off her low heels and tucked her feet underneath herself, leaning back into my pillows.

“You mean fight?” I snorted.

“No, I mean
talk,
actually.” I sat up as my mom cleared her throat. “I owe you an apology. For
a
lot
.”

My head tilted in line with my surprise. “You owe
me
an apology? For what?”

“First of all, Denise shouldn’t have confronted you about your essay. I’ve already spoken to her about that. She needs to focus on my office and not my family, even when they overlap.” My mother smiled and brushed a strand of hair off my cheek. “I think she misinterpreted your intent. I know you gave her a copy beforehand.” So Denise wasn’t totally evil—she’d told my mom the truth about that. Mom continued, “I read and reread your essay a few times this afternoon. I was surprised by how smart it was. I
shouldn’t
be surprised because I know my daughter is a bright girl.” To that, I smiled. “Why don’t you tell me why you wrote it, honey?”

“This is not a trick question? Like,
explain
yourself
?” I leaned away suspiciously.

“I promise not. I’m ready to listen to you.” She pressed the button on her phone to power it down. “No interruptions.”

“Okay.” I took a deep breath. “When Harrison visited, we talked about a lot of stuff, including marriage equality. It seems so unfair that he and Max can’t get married. I don’t think it should be that way in our country. Then I realized I have the ability to say that to people because I’m your kid. Or maybe I have a duty to speak out.” My mom was nodding like she got what I was saying so far. “I’d been trying to figure out how to make the best of this crappy situation—I mean, make being in the White House worthwhile. Debra once told me that helping other people is a good way to make yourself feel better.” I paused. “I wanted to help people by writing that. People like Harrison and Max.”

“That’s admirable. But why
has
it been so hard for you here? I know you’ve been hurting lately, and I’m sorry I haven’t done enough to figure out why.”

The words tumbled out. “I don’t get a lot of privacy or freedom at 1600. People don’t seem to want me to grow up. I don’t have many friends at school because it’s hard to be seen as
me
and not the First Kid. I can’t go on the class trip to New York or anything. You and Dad are so busy. I had Debra, but she had to go away. I’m lonely here, even when I’m surrounded by people. Nice people, like Hendrix and Simpkins.” I paused to catch my breath. “No one understands me, except—” I reached over to grab the diary. It was time to show it to her. “Except Alice.” I handed the journal to my mother, who carefully flipped it open.

“I can’t read this—who does this say it belonged to? Is that
Alice
Roosevelt
?” She gasped.

“Yeah. It was her journal.” I scooted closer to point out the inscription. “I found it in a closet, along with those old cigarettes and a few pictures of her. By the way, that’s why I had cigarettes on the roof. I found them with the diary. They were Alice’s.”

“All the more reason you shouldn’t touch them, if they are over a hundred years old,” my mother said, but she was chuckling.

“I know—I kept them safe, for the Smithsonian.” I waited while she paged through the journal. “I read the whole thing. And for the first time since we moved into 1600, I felt like someone understood how it feels to be here. To live in a house that’s not your home. When there’s so much attention on you but none of it is
for
you. Someone totally got me without me needing to say a word. It’s not like I’ve been talking to an inanimate journal.” My mother nodded, so I continued. “Alice was crazy. She danced on roofs and raced cars and sneaked in boys and scared visitors with her pet snake. She still fell in love and lived her life even if the fishbowl made it hard. She actually liked the attention. So I decided to try to do the same for myself. Alice was my guide.”

“So that’s why you wore the dress, drove the cart, took cigarettes up to the Promenade, sneaked in your friend…,” my mom said slowly, adding up the misdeeds on her fingers.

I blushed. “Yeah. Original, huh?”

My mother smiled. “You were, actually.” She pulled out the picture of Alice and ran her fingers over it. “Both of you. I wish I’d listened to you sooner.” She put the picture back and picked up the journal again. “I’m impressed and a little touched. It makes me happy that you care about people like Alice. I read a lot about Eleanor Roosevelt when I was your age.”

“She wrote about Eleanor in there a few times. You should read it!” I reached over and tried to find a page that mentioned Eleanor. “Alice was awesome. Not only because she did all kinds of wild stuff, but because she cared about people and freedom and fairness and her family.”

“This all makes so much more sense, Audrey.” My mom smiled sadly. “But you know, Alice was living in a very different time.”

“I guess,” I said.

“The press then wasn’t like it is now. There was no media cycle. There was privacy for the First Family in a way that no longer exists. The First Daughter making a political statement was received a lot differently then, and less widely. Alice had the benefit of being a First Daughter in the days before celebrity.”

“She
was
the first big celebrity,” I added. “Which is cool.”

“Very cool.” My mom pursed her lips, figuring out what she’d speechify next. “You have the power of being in the public eye now, Audrey. And with power comes responsibility, whether you asked for it or not. Now you have a great responsibility to use your visibility wisely and respectfully.”

“Mom,” I interrupted. “You just plagiarized
Spider-Man.
‘With great power comes great responsibility’ is a line from the movie.”

“Not the
p
-word!” my mom exclaimed, laughing. “Please don’t tell on me. Well, I guess you know that lesson already. My bad. That’s what you say, right?”

I suppressed the urge to groan. “Um, yeah. Do not use that in public.”

She smiled. “I’m sorry my career has made this responsibility necessary for you at such a young age. I hope you’ll forgive me for the burdens I know I’ve placed on our family. If I didn’t truly believe that I have a chance to do a whole lot of good in the world as president, I never would have put you in this situation.”

My throat felt tight, so I swallowed hard over the lump and nodded.

“I think we need to have better communication with each other. Let’s start with you telling me how you feel and what help you need from me. I’ll do the same. Dad and I will work on making things easier for you. We can try to give you more access to a ‘normal’ life. But while I want you to let your voice be heard, can we agree that we’ll at least talk about how you’ll use it, first? I promise I’ll give you that freedom, but I need to know beforehand what you’ll be saying.”

“That sounds good,” I said. “I’m sorry if my essay screwed anything up for you.”

“Nothing that can’t be fixed. This will blow over when the next story breaks, and you drew attention to an issue that I care about too. I always wanted to address it during my administration, and now you’ve brought it to the forefront.”

“Did Harrison say anything?”

“He told me I needed to listen to those within the White House a little more closely on that topic. One person in particular. I think he was very touched.” I smiled.

“One more thing,” she said, untucking her feet and reaching to lift the shopping bag. “It’s crazy how this is working out, what with you having Alice Roosevelt’s diary. Serendipity at work.” She pulled an old throw pillow out of the bag, holding it close to her chest. “I noticed in your essay how you mentioned Alice a few times. So as a little peace offering, and to show you that I’m listening now, I asked the museum if we could take something of hers back to the White House while we’re in residence.” She turned around the pillow and held it out to me. Embroidered across the front was: IF YOU CAN’T SAY SOMETHING GOOD ABOUT SOMEONE, SIT RIGHT HERE BY ME. “Alice Roosevelt made this and had it on display in the White House.”

“I know!” I grabbed the pillow and ran my fingertips over the embroidery. “I read about when she decided to make it!” I looked up at my mom, who was grinning. “This is awesome, Mom. Really awesome.”

“I’m glad. Take care of it—it’s a national treasure.”

“Oh, I will.” I gave her a huge hug.

“I’m going to go finish up some work, but you can come and get me whenever you want to eat dinner. Your dad’s on his way home too. We’ll be eating together tonight.”

“Sounds great.” After she left the room, I put the pillow on display in the armchair by my window. I couldn’t stop smiling whenever I looked at it.