White House Rules

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Sameera checked her watch again. Bobby should be making it through security right about now. They'd coordinated their home-for-the-holidays travel plans like spies on a mission, so that Bobby's flight to South Carolina departed ten minutes before Sameera's chartered flight to Ohio. They were hoping to have at least an hour or so together; he was supposed to call from right outside the Private V.I.P. lounge, where the Rightons were waiting.

Pacing past the goodie-laden table, Sameera popped a square of cheddar in her mouth. Then she wished she hadn't. Aged cheese might make her breath smell like one of her grandfather's sick cows. It wouldn't do to remind Bobby of ancient Holsteins when—if—their lips finally met for the first time. Quickly, she opened a soda and swished a sip around her mouth before swallowing.

Next, she took mental stock of her outer self—jeans and high-heeled boots that made her legs look longer, crisp white shirt, brown leather jacket that flared slightly at the waist, light dose of rose-geranium perfume, and a pair of copper earrings that he'd once complimented dangling against her shining black hair.
I'm ready on the outside,
she thought.
If only my adrenaline wasn't pumping like I've had five cappuccinos with extra shots.

It was time to shatter the strange barrier that had been keeping their friendship from shifting into romance. While they were dancing an inch away from each other on the bhangra floor, chemical undercurrents pulled every cell in her body his way. Couldn't he feel them, too? Or was he just being a kind “South Asian big brother,” helping out a “sister” who would have otherwise been totally lonely and bored in D.C. during her father's campaign?

He really isn't
that
much older than me,
Sameera thought. Even though he was a sophomore in college, Bobby had skipped a grade in elementary school, so he was eighteen. And, even though she was technically still a junior in high school, she'd be turning seventeen in just a few months.

“Share the protein, Sparrow,” her mother called from across the room. “I can't be responsible for what comes out of my mouth when I'm famished. Feed your dad first, though, will you?”

Sameera filled two small china plates and handed one to her father. President-elect James Righton was standing by the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the tarmac, talking to his campaign manager and two other staffers. He smiled his thanks as he accepted the plate and immediately passed it around to the others.

First-Lady-to-Be Elizabeth Campbell Righton was relaxing in a plush armchair, her tired feet propped up on a table. “Thanks, sweetheart,” she said, taking the plate. “I'm so glad your father and I are finally getting to meet Bobby.”

Her parents hadn't been around the few times Bobby had come over during the campaign. “Yeah, me too, Mom,” Sameera answered, trying to fake some enthusiasm.

She
was
glad to get the introduction over with, but she and Bobby would only get about an hour of privacy.
If you can call it that
, she thought glumly, glancing around. The crowded lounge was crammed with talkative campaign staffers still giddy from her father's win, most of them busily planning his inauguration and other festivities scheduled for January. A pair of Secret Ser vice agents, who had been guarding the candidate for weeks now, silently watched from a corner of the room.

Sameera's cell phone played Bobby's ring tone (the theme from
Casablanca
), and she fumbled to open it. “Hi, Bobby. You're here. Great. I'll buzz you in.”

Mom was sitting up and easing her shoes back on. “I'll lure your dad away from his groupies,” she promised.

Sameera had primed the security guard, so all she had to do was nod for the doors to slide open and make Bobby Ghosh appear like a genie. They'd seen each other a few days before at the Revolutionary Café, but she feasted her eyes yet again on that drop-dead combo of curly black hair, brown skin, white teeth, faded jeans, and oh, those silver bangles with their signature clinking.

“Sameera,” he said quietly, stepping into the room. She loved how he used her real name instead of Sparrow, the nickname that had clung to her since her adoption.

Instantly, Sameera was flanked by Secret Ser vice agents. “I'll have to take your bag, sir,” the younger one said.

“But he's already been through security,” Sameera answered.

“I'm sorry, miss,” the agent said. “It's protocol.”

Sameera frowned. This was one of those obey-the-rules kind of words she'd started hearing a lot since her father won the election—protocol, tradition, custom, convention,
modus operandi
, procedure.
First Daughter To-Do List,
she thought, as Bobby handed over his bag.
Item One. Figure out my own way to play by the rules.

She led Bobby to where her parents were waiting, watching a little anxiously as he smiled and shook their hands. At first, it was almost like the three of them were delivering lines from a script she'd written herself.

“We're certainly grateful for the way you and your friends welcomed Sparrow into that South Asian Republican Students' Association of yours,” Dad said, showing off his ability to remember details. “Especially since she's not even in college yet. Thanks for your support during the campaign.”

“It was our privilege, sir. Even though I'm not sure how much we accomplished with only four members. Sameera's got honorary status until she joins us at GW.”

Sameera shifted her weight from one boot to the other; she hadn't informed her parents that George Washington University had replaced Ohio State at the top of her list of college choices. Her father raised his eyebrows and glanced at her mother but didn't say anything.
Thanks, Dad,
Sameera thought gratefully. He had a stellar track record of not embarrassing his daughter in public.

Mom, though, was no trained diplomat. “So, Bobby, are you Hindu or Muslim?” she asked.

Sameera couldn't believe her ears. Her mother was still clutching her full plate of protein; obviously she hadn't gotten around to taking a bite.

“Er…my parents are Hindus,” Bobby answered. “But I'm still…seeking. On a spiritual journey, I guess.”

“Wonderful. We'll have to talk more about that,” Mom said.

Not right now you won't,
Sameera thought, folding her arms across her chest.

Elizabeth Campbell Righton caught sight of her daughter's expression, winced, and immediately stuffed a tiny sausage into her mouth. Followed by another.

Good. She gets the message.
“Is it okay if Bobby and I walk around the airport till it's time to board?” Sameera asked.

Dad shook his head doubtfully. “I don't know, Sparrow. Maybe we should stick together.”

“Come on, James,” Mom said, obviously trying to recover ground with her daughter. “What could happen? This is probably the last time we'll be in a public airport for years.”

“Well, as long as you stay in sight of your agent. It was good to meet you, Bobby.”

“Likewise, sir. We'll have that talk soon, Mrs. Righton.”

Bobby barely had time to grab his backpack before Sameera hurried him out of the lounge.