White House Rules (9 page)

Sameera handed Tara's private cell phone number to JB the next day. “She wants you to call,” she announced triumphantly.

The agent seemed taken aback, just as Tara had been. “
She
wants to go out with
me
?” he asked.

Oh no,
Sameera thought.
It's the race thing again.
But she was wrong.

“Does she know about the kids?” he asked.

Sameera gulped. “Uh—no. How many kids do you have, JB?”

“Twins. They're in kindergarten. And I've got full custody.”

“You do? What about their mother?”

He sighed. “Now that's a long, sad story. Too long for right now.”

“Well, you don't have to bring the twins along on a date, do you? Get a babysitter, take Tara out for dinner, and talk. I'm sure she won't care that you have kids.”

But JB looked skeptical, and Sameera didn't blame him. She couldn't imagine Tara Colby interacting with anybody under the age of twelve, let alone greeting a couple of kids after school with a batch of homemade chocolate chip cookies.
But then again, she'd whip the PTA into shape in no time,
Sameera thought.
Those other parents wouldn't know what hit them.

“Tara's biological clock is ticking,” she said encouragingly. “She might love the idea of kids. Besides, you'll never know unless you talk about it. Ask her out this weekend.”

Sameera herself was waiting eagerly for the weekend. How could seven days crawl by so slowly? Bobby was flying out of Dulles airport on Friday afternoon. How soon was he going to be able to call her?

All that week, when the girls weren't studying or brainstorming ideas and ordering furniture for the rooms they were redecorating, Miranda was on Sameera's laptop, editing movie footage and adding music and other sound effects. Sameera tried peering over her cousin's shoulder a couple of times, but Miranda obviously didn't want an audience—at least, not yet.

“You can have your laptop back in an hour,” she said, sounding annoyed. “I want to show you this when I'm done—not while it's in process. You're too much of a movie buff to see an unfinished product.”

“Okay, okay! Wow, I'd heard that creative types get irritable when they're working, but this is ridiculous.”

Miranda was also getting ready for her big appointment with Jerry Gaithers, Hollywood agent. “I just want to get a bit part in a movie or even a commercial,” she said. “At least to start with. I wonder if Mom and Dad will let me move to California by myself.”

“I'll go with you,” Sameera offered. “We can get an apartment together. Me, you, and a couple of Cougars. Oh, and Jingle, of course.” She reached down to ruffle his fur as he looked up at her adoringly.

“Sparrow! That would be wonderful. I'm so glad things are getting started
right now
while I'm still seventeen. Making it in Hollywood is all about
timing
. And connections, of course. And finally I've got both.”

“Mom and Tara are still trying to figure out a way for you to earn some money inside the White House, too.”

“That's fine, but I won't need a part-time job if Gaithers gets me a gig right away.
I'll
pay for Mrs. Mathews's salary next year; your parents have done more than enough already.”

It was “Gaithers” this and “Gaithers” that. Sameera was getting a little nervous about Miranda's expectations. She hated to watch celebrity wannabes crying buckets when they were cut from shows like
American Rock Star
, but this was Miranda's dream, so she didn't say anything to dampen her cousin's anticipation.

Both girls were looking forward to hosting the SARSA meeting on Friday night. Mariam had accepted the invitation with plea sure, somehow managing to talk her father into letting her come. Sameera couldn't wait to introduce Mariam to Miranda, and Sangi, George, and Nadia to Mariam and to her cousin, but she was hoping that none of them would ask questions about Bobby. She wasn't expecting to hear anything from him until late Friday night or Saturday, and she didn't want to explain why.

When Mom, Miranda, Tara, and Sameera headed out to visit St. Matthew's school on Thursday, JB was one of the agents assigned to accompany them. Sameera and Miranda sandwiched him while they were waiting for Mom and Tara in the East Colonnade.

“Did you ask her out yet?” Miranda asked.

“Not yet.”

“JB! Ask her today! Or else we'll say something ourselves.”

“Okay, okay, I'll try. I've been out of circulation for so long, I'm sort of nervous.”

“I'll bet she does the hair thing,” said Miranda.

“What hair thing?” asked the Secret Ser vice agent.

“You know, when a girl likes a guy, she'll fiddle with her hair while he's talking to her,” Miranda explained. “It's a dead giveaway.”

“Classic nonverbal,” Sameera added.

JB laughed. “Sixteen-year-old girls are so sophisticated these days. Poor teenage guys don't have a hope.”

“I'm seventeen, JB,” Miranda reminded him.

“Oh, that explains everything.”

Tara and Mom came out of the First Lady's office, and the cousins kept a sharp eye on Tara's reaction when she saw JB standing with them.

“Is the school ready for our visit?” Mom asked the agent.

“Yes, ma'am,” JB answered. “Our team's already been there, and a couple of agents are waiting on-site. As it's an all-girl facility, I'll wait in the car, but two female agents will be present the whole time.”

Tara looked up at him. “Oh. You're not coming inside with us?”

Sameera and Miranda both held their breath as one manicured fingertip reached for a strand of hair and started twisting it around a knuckle. “Yesss!” Miranda hissed into her cousin's ear. “He's good to go.”

JB, too, seemed mesmerized by Tara's twirling finger, because he wasn't answering her question. Sameera nudged him gently with her elbow, and he cleared his throat. “Uhhh…What? Oh no, Ms. Colby, I don't want to invade female territory, now do I?”

“I'm sure the girls wouldn't mind,” Tara said, almost purring. “And call me Tara, please.”

Mom watched the whole interchange with growing interest. She had a knowing look as they settled into the back of the armored limo. “Nice work, girls,” she whispered to Sameera and Miranda. “Definitely a step up from her last boyfriend.”

“I hope you like my alma mater, Sparrow,” Tara said, sliding in beside Sameera and closing the door. “It's the perfect school for a First Daughter.”

“It's no place for the First Niece, that's for sure,” said Miranda. “No guys? How did you stand that?”

Tara smiled. “Oh, we found our way around it, of course. There's a boys' academy around the corner, and I'll bet the same meeting places are fully operational—Jake's Grill and the Totem Tea house.”

The school was obviously in a state of excitement over the First Family's visit. Bouquets of flowers were everywhere, wood floors and desks gleamed with fresh polish, chandeliers sparkled as though they had no idea that cobwebs existed elsewhere on the planet. Sameera felt like she'd entered a movie about a girls' school in the 1950s—students in identical crisp white blouses and knee-length plaid skirts, teachers garbed in long, black robes, classrooms filled with rows of wooden desks facing clean black chalk-boards, a pristine chapel that glowed with antique stained-glass windows. Everyone they met said exactly the right things, sounding eerily like they were reciting lines from a script.

“
The Stepford School,
” Miranda whispered in her cousin's ear, referring to a remake of the old horror film about robotic human substitutes. “The headmistress even looks like Nicole Kidman.” She'd brought her video camera, of course, and had secured permission to film the tour.

An impeccably courteous senator's daughter served as their guide. “Our school has a two-hundred-year history,” she said as a bell rang and students moved to their next destination in orderly, single-file lines. “We receive a first-rate classical education, just as rigorous as in British schools.”

First-rate? Rigorous?
Sameera thought, fighting an irrational desire to bhangra wildly down the hall.
What girl our age actually talks like that?

They passed a window that overlooked the school's tidy, walled-in front garden, and she glimpsed Tara and JB standing beside a stone fountain. She nudged her cousin and pointed. “Looks like he might be making his move,” she whispered.

The PE teacher greeted them in the gym. “We heard you used to cox, Miss Righton,” she said. “We'd love to have you join the team. Our autumn regatta is a longstanding tradition.”

Sameera fingered the state-of-the-art cox box that the woman handed her; it would be great to be part of a team again. Why, then, wasn't she getting excited about the school?

They moved to the English department. “I see your cousin likes filmmaking,” said a teacher, smiling into Miranda's camera. “We offer a class on editing and screenwriting, and a couple of students have won prizes at national youth film festivals with their final projects. We also have an award-winning newspaper, which I understand is one of your passions, Sparrow.”

Sameera smiled and nodded, trying to cover her lack of enthusiasm. She'd been craving the excitement of being on a newspaper staff again. What was wrong with her now?

Their perpetually polite guide led them into the cafeteria, still reciting her memorized speech. The airy room, lit by sunshine pouring in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, was full of the savory aroma of oregano, melted cheese, sausage, and sautéed onions. While Miranda filmed one of the chefs chopping fresh fruit, Sameera drank in the lovely buzz of conversation as groups of girls laughed, argued, gossiped, and even sang in various corners.

Now this was more like it. Maybe this place had possibilities after all.

“Sparrow!” A student ran over with arms outstretched, a big smile of welcome on her face.

“Great to see you,” Sameera said, trying to conceal that she had no idea who in the world she was hugging.

“Remember me? Brianna Farnsworth? From the father-daughter dance during the campaign? My friend and I met you in the ladies' room.”

The light dawned. “You guys were the best that night. I ended up having a ton of fun.”

They chatted until the bell rang. “I hope you decide to come here in the fall,” Brianna said. “But I'm sure we'll run into each other before then. All the political kids our age go to the same events and parties—you end up seeing each other over and over again.”

Miranda grinned. “Sounds like a small town.”

“Feels like it sometimes,” Brianna said ruefully. “Especially when there's something juicy to gossip about.”

After the rest of the tour, the tall, elegant, Nicole-

Kidmanish headmistress served Sameera, Miranda, and Elizabeth Campbell Righton coffee in her office. “‘Timeless and traditional,' that's our motto,” she said. “We'll do what it takes to keep your daughter safe, Mrs. Righton. Many senators and members of Congress entrust their girls to our care.”

I've already got plenty of “timeless and traditional,” thank you very much,
Sameera thought.
I definitely don't need it 24/7.

She could tell by the expression on her mother's face that a big question was coming, and she was right. “Do you teach many low-income students at St. Matthew's?” Mom asked.

“We have a few scholarship students, and we're always trying to increase our endowment for those purposes.”

They stood up to leave, and Mom told the headmistress that they'd be in touch.

“So, what did you think?” Tara asked, meeting them outside in the garden. Sameera noticed that she was smiling like she'd just won an award for being the ultimate First Lady's first lady.

“This school is amazing!” said Mom overenthusiastically.

“The girls seemed really friendly!” said Sameera brightly.

“Seems like they've been doing the same thing the same way for years and years,” Miranda said. Then she must have caught sight of Tara's smile dimming, because she quickly added, “Nothing wrong with tradition, though, as Gran likes to remind us. Right, Sparrow?”

I'm all for tradition,
Sameera thought.
As long as it doesn't get in the way of changing things that need to be changed.
“I'm not sure it's the place for me,” she said out loud. “But we don't have to decide right now. Let me check out a couple of other schools first, okay?”

“That's fine, Sparrow,” Tara said, her grin returning to full wattage as though she couldn't stop it. “Hey, guess what I'm doing Saturday night?”

“Going out with JB!” Sameera and Miranda said it in unison, exchanging fist punches with each other, Mom, and even Tara herself.