Confessions of a First Daughter (6 page)

She gave Max, who was standing just behind me, the once-over. “So this is the new man in black?” she murmured admiringly.

“Huh? Oh yeah, that’s Agent Jackson.”

“He looks pretty fine for a government-issued boy. Why didn’t you tell me?” Hannah indiscreetly checked Max out over the rim of her sunglasses.

“Is he? I didn’t notice.”

Hannah laughed. “How could you not notice a smokin’ bod like that?”

“Don’t get too excited. He’s not into fun.” I glanced over my shoulder to see if Agent Jackson heard the last bit. But his face revealed nothing. “Come on, maybe we can hand out some more buttons before first period.”

Hannah and I headed through the school’s main hallway.

“Hi, Stacy!” I called cheerily to a girl trying to shove a massive backpack into her locker. “How did the algebra test go yesterday?”

Stacy paused midshove. Then she erupted into a fit of giggling.

Weird.

“Hey Carl.” I gave a head-nod to AOP’s star freestyle swimmer cruising by in a sweatsuit. “Practice go okay?”

Carl halted. Then he turned beet red and hurried past Hannah and me.

That’s when I noticed students clustered in knots, giggling and whispering.

I turned to Hannah. “What’s going on?”

Hannah looked confused, too. “I’ll find out.”

The bell rang. So much for last-minute campaigning.

I stepped into homeroom and the room immediately fell silent. Then I noticed Max had followed me inside.

“You don’t have to attend the class,” I snapped. “Denny always waited out in the hall.”

“I need to keep you in visual contact at all times,” he answered.

“If kidnappers somehow breached school property with the perimeter detail on the scene, they’d be bored into submission by Mr. Franken before they could reach me,” I whispered. “Honestly, I’m super safe. Plus you’re making everyone nervous. It’s hard to concentrate with a Secret Service agent breathing down your neck.”

Max’s eyes shifted around the room. The entire class had fallen silent, watching him. Even Mr. Franken.

“Okay. You win this one, Morgan. I’ll be right outside.”

Round one to Morgan Abbott.

It wasn’t until the end of second period, as we walked to our chemistry class, that Hannah was able to dial me in to what was going on with my bizarre reception at AOP this morning. She waited until Max had gone ahead to sweep the next classroom.

“Check this out,” Hannah said grimly. She handed me a copy of the
D.C. Gadfly
, a tabloid gossip rag that regularly took shots at Mom and her administration.

“Oh god,” I breathed.

Splashed on the cover in a grainy photo that looked like it was taken with a cell phone was me in my
Rent
costume. My boobs looked huge popping out of the bustier, and in the crazy theater makeup I could double as a pop star right before entering rehab. The headline read:
PRESIDENT ABBOTT’S WILD CHILD
—
FALLING GRADES, TRASHY FASHION: CAN MORGAN ABBOTT BE SAVED
?

And I thought yesterday was about as bad as a day could get.

Wrong again.

Chapter Eight

How could this have happened?

My mind raced. Only a few people even saw me wearing the
Rent
costume before the dress rehearsal was canceled: Konner, Jeong, Hannah, Brit—

Brittany Whittaker.

Hannah tried to take the paper out of my hands, but I snatched it back and opened to the center spread.

Administrators for the tony Academy of the Potomac have been increasingly concerned about the bizarre behavior of President Abbott’s eighteen-year-old daughter. “She’s been called to the office, like, seventeen times over the semester,” says a pal. “Any other student would have been expelled by now. But since Morgan is an Abbott, she gets away with everything. She’s stuck-up, too. Everyone’s really sick of it.”

Hannah eased the paper out of my numb hands. “C’mon, Morgan, don’t read any more of this trash. Let’s go to class.”

I couldn’t find the words to answer Hannah. I was in shock that someone would think I was stuck-up. Also, I’d never had to deal with negative publicity before. As soon as she was sworn into office, Mom issued an edict to the press corps to leave me alone so I could try to have as normal a life as possible. Amazingly, the press respected the request. Until now.

With Hannah’s protective arm around me, I walked to chemistry class, head down. I couldn’t bear the staring. Titters and whispers followed me in the halls. Could things get any worse?

Uh, yeah.

Just before we reached the classroom door, Hannah paused. “Morgan, hold up a sec.”

I looked up to see Max ripping down a blown-up image of my front-page exposé taped to the door. I caught a glimpse of hand-drawn arrows pointing to my boobs with the words
Hail to the Jugs
.

Max crumpled the paper with one hand while he spoke into his com. I caught the words
investigation, track down instigators, constitute harassment of the First Family
…

“Don’t worry,” he said to me. “We’ll find the perpetrators and put an end to this.”

“It’s okay,” I told him. “Just drop it. You’ll only make things worse. Mom says ignoring bad press makes it go away in three days. If we make a huge stink, the story lives on. It’s no big deal.”

I thought I glimpsed admiration flitting across Max’s face before the iron curtain of Secret Service training came down.

“Plus, there are ways of getting back at people,” Hannah said. “Unofficially, of course.”

Did I mention how much I loved Hannah?

The bell rang, and Hannah and I went into the chemistry lab. Max stayed outside without me having to remind him. For the next forty-five minutes I stared unseeingly at my chem textbook. The
Gadfly
article insinuated that I used my mom’s position to get special treatment. That was so untrue. I’d bent over backward
not
to get preferential treatment at school. And being called stuck-up really hurt. I thought I’d done a pretty good job of being friendly to everyone and anyone who’d let me. I hated stuck-up snobs like Brittany Whittaker. Though I couldn’t prove it, I was sure Brittany was behind this.

Zombielike, I plugged away through the rest of the morning and even managed to cast my class-president vote. By lunchtime, my balance returned. Or at least I got better at hiding my humiliation. Even though I had little appetite, I met up with Konner in the cafeteria, as promised.

I toyed with a limp fishwich and fries. “Konner, I’m really sorry if that awful picture of me in the paper embarrassed you.”

Konner, who’d just inhaled half a double-patty burger, swallowed. “Embarrassed? I think it rules! You’re on the front page of the
Gadfly
, and you look hot. I’ve got the page pinned up in my locker.”

“But Konner—”

“It’s gonna be the top download on Celebricity.com for sure, Morgan. Probably for weeks, too. Man, you can’t buy publicity like that.”

Horror burst over me. “Oh my god, really? Weeks?”

“Hell, yeah! Dudes around the world will be lovin’ all over your killer curves.” He chomped another bite of his burger.

Reeling, I pushed away my tray. This was way worse than I expected.

I caught sight of Max standing nearby. He rolled his eyes at Konner’s words. It ticked me off that someone like Max would judge my boyfriend. Sure, Konner wasn’t the most sensitive guy on the planet, but Max didn’t get how lucky I was to have the hottest, most popular guy at AOP as my boyfriend.

I snuggled closer to Konner, who grunted through his burger and put his arm around my shoulders. Konner swallowed. “Hey, babe,” he whispered, nuzzling my neck. “Wanna sneak off to the prop room again?”

I drew away a little. “After yesterday’s fiasco? No way!”

“C’mon. I know you’re upset about the newspaper. But I’ll get your mind off your problems.”

Konner raised his brow and smiled in a way that could curl the toes of nuns.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” I said, mind racing. I knew what he was asking for. “My new Secret Service agent is…uh, more by the book than Denny was.”

“Oh yeah. That Jackson dude.” Konner shot Max a cold glare that had been known to freeze lesser mortals dead, like freshmen who didn’t know better than to cut in front of Konner in the lunchroom line. “Well, I hope we’ll find some ‘alone time’ tonight. If you know what I mean?” He followed it up with his devastating grin.

Oh, I knew what he meant, all right.

Another glare at Max, then Konner planted a passionate kiss on my lips. I got a good taste of the burger he’d just eaten.

After the kiss ended, Konner pinned me with a significant look. “See you tonight, babe.”

I smiled back and hoped I didn’t look as nervous as I felt. No way was I ready to go as far as Konner was. Why did he have to pressure me now, especially after the cruddy few days I’d had?

Barely aware of Max on my heels, I made my way to psych class, where a brutal test awaited. The morning had shot my confidence to smithereens, so I turned over the test with a feeling of doom. Then I perked up. Questions on Erikson’s eight stages of psychosocial development filled the first half of the test. Yes!

Feeling like I’d managed at least a B on the test thanks to Max and his Gestapo drilling methods, I met Hannah by our lockers.

“Morgan, hurry up,” she said. “Hsu is posting the election results in the cafeteria right now.”

This was it! Excitement surged through me, but there were nerves as well. The
Gadfly
’s article could not have come out at a worse time.

Hannah gave me a hug. “You’re gonna be our new class president. I just know it.”

Good thing I didn’t count on Hannah’s ESP for reliable information. Because one look at Brittany Whittaker’s triumphant smirk as she stood outside the cafeteria told me that she’d been elected the senior class president.

Wearing variations on the same short skirt/tight blouse combo Brittany always sported, her minions fawned around her while she graciously acknowledged their congratulations.

“Morgan, there you are,” Brittany cooed when she caught sight of me. “Sorry, sweetie. But Abbotts don’t win
all
elections, do they?”

“Considering your ‘platform’”—I signed air quotes—“was clearly the best, it’s no surprise.”

Brittany’s plastic smile turned into a snarl.

Hannah stalked forward, and Brittany’s posse flinched. “But you better watch out, Brits, honey, because Morgan and I will make sure you keep your campaign promises.”

Brittany dismissed Hannah’s words. “You know how politics is. Winning comes first. Keeping promises is”—she waved her hand airily—“as needed. Excuse me, please. I’m late for a meeting with Mrs. Hsu. Oh, and a bit of advice, Morgan. You may be the daughter of the president, but you should know that not all publicity is good publicity.”

She laughed, and her posse dutifully echoed as they trailed her on her way to the school’s administration wing.

Hannah snorted in disgust. “So now we have to live a whole year under Brittany’s despotic rule? Maybe we could stage a coup.”

“Worked for Napoleon. Or was it Hitler?” I answered sourly.

“Cheer up, Morgan. Karma’s a bitch. It’ll bite Brittany on the butt one day—hard.”

“I don’t believe in karma. If I did, I’d have to believe that karma’s taken a huge bite out of me. What did I do to deserve all this trouble right now?”

For once, Hannah didn’t have an answer.

Chapter Nine

Somehow I got through the rest of the afternoon,
though I was still in shock that I lost the election…to Brittany Whittaker! Ugh! Mom always said that in politics, integrity would be rewarded, but no one could argue that Brittany’s underhanded ways paid off for her big-time. And her crack about not all publicity being good publicity let me know beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was behind that insane newspaper photo of me.

I was pulling books out of my locker when Max approached. “We’re going to bring the Baby Beast up the drive,” he told me. “You can wait on the front steps for us.”

I slammed the locker door shut. “Don’t bring the car inside the gate. I hate that. Besides, I have rehearsal.”

“There’s press outside school grounds. And a camera crew. I think it’s best to get you out of here.”

Oh craaaaaap.

Max’s face betrayed a trace of sympathy, which I totally didn’t want at the moment. “Unless you want to be on the six o’clock news, bringing the car onto private property where the press isn’t allowed is the only way to avoid them.”

I heaved a sigh. “All right. I’ll be out there in ten minutes.”

As usual, the sight of the heavily armored black limo with the presidential seal on the door caused a stir. Gawky freshmen crowded on the sidewalk to get a closer look at the car and to take photos with their cell phones.

“Maybe Abbott does think she’s hot shit,” someone muttered audibly. “Glad I voted for Whittaker,” someone else answered.

I hurried down the front steps to the waiting car, pushing my way through the crowd. Just as I reached the door, a mic was thrust in my face.

“How does it feel to be an Abbott and lose an election?”

Surprised, I stopped. A young woman, clearly a Georgetown undergrad, complete with skullcap and nose ring, had breached school property with her dreadlocked cameraman.

Before I could blink, Max was between us. “This is private property,” Max said. His voice was just a little scary. “You’re breaking the law.”

He nodded to an agent from the perimeter detail, who moved in on the cameraman.

The color drained out of the young woman’s face. “I…I didn’t know….”

“It’s okay, Agent Jackson.” I knew what it was like to break the rules and screw something up. “I’ll take the question.”

I thought of my mother the day after she lost her very first campaign, running for a seat in the House of Representatives.
Always stay classy in victory
, she’d said,
but most especially in defeat. The voters will remember it next time
.