I dreaded the day shadowing an intern. Following someone around all day, watching them work, seemed ultra-boring. I hoped that whatever happened at eleven would excuse me from the rest of the day with my intern.
I couldn’t have imagined having a worse intern. He had a pinched face, light blonde hair and muddy brown eyes. He never spoke to or acknowledged me. I learned quickly to keep a safe distance from him; in a half an hour he had already backed up into me three times and my toes ached. I had to stay so far back or to the side of him, that I couldn’t even hear what he said to people. It was going to be a very long two hours with him, so I started watching everyone else and ignoring what he did. Time passed quickly once I did. With everything so new and interesting, I couldn’t help but soak it all in.
Amazed at the amount of work that needed to be done for a senator, I focused on the most interesting. The mass of cubicles buzzed with telephone calls, conversations, research, flying papers, and note taking. It was a bit chaotic in my mind, and I wanted to set it in order. Shocked at some of the inefficiencies, I wanted to fix them, but knew I couldn’t.
Before I realized it, eleven o’clock rolled around. My heart skipped a beat as I wondered what crazy thing was about to happen. Nothing did. Fifteen minutes later, I started to wonder if the note had meant eleven at night, when a man came and shuttled my intern away. Before he left, he introduced me to Ryan, a bulky, handsome man, whose dark eyes were lightly framed by almost invisible glasses.
Ryan appeared to be just like the FBI men on TV. But, was he FBI? I decided he couldn’t be when he told me what I would be doing. He took me into a room made of glass that looked out on everything going on in the large room surrounding it. Ryan had me start researching immigration and taking “brief, concise” notes on what I found on one of the computers that lined the glass walls. I sighed and resigned myself to the fact that the note from the FBI must have meant eleven p.m. Ryan couldn’t be FBI. Bummer.
He sat at one of the four computers in the room and worked furiously. If it weren’t for the fact that the room was made out of glass, I would have felt trapped in a small claustrophobic box.
The good thing about working with Ryan was that I loved to research. At first, however, all I could think about was my kiss with Rick and what I could possibly say to such a good guy. Why wasn’t there the same spark with him that I always felt for Alex? When I forced myself to look at the computer screen, though, I immediately immersed myself in another world. Buzzing through my third website, Ryan asked to see my work. I handed him my notes, and he read for several minutes.
“Wow, this is great work,” he said, handing them back to me with a smile.
That, I already knew, but it was nice to have it verified from someone “in the know.” I glanced at my stack of papers and saw someone else’s handwriting. I reached for it and started to hand it back to Ryan saying, “I think you…,” when I noticed it was meant for me. A note from the FBI. He was FBI after all.
The note said that I had to pretend to keep researching, but instead of taking notes, I needed to answer the questions on the papers he’d given me. I pretended to read the monitor and take notes, when I was really just answering his written questions. My heart pounded and it was hard not to act suspicious in that room. Anyone could have walked by our glass enclosure and seen what we were doing if they’d only wanted to. I had to work hard not to freak out. A bit sad to think that I wouldn’t be talking to Jeremy, all the pain and fear I’d released with my bawling session the night before, stared me in the face once again.
Most of the questions were very specific and about Iceman and what happened after the ballroom and at the Memorial. The easy questions didn’t take me long to answer. But it would have been faster if I didn’t have to play like I was researching. Some questions had nothing to do with Iceman, though. They addressed my tour group and how we were holding up.
I only wrote one question,
Why haven’t the terrorists killed us yet?
I really wanted an answer. It seemed it would all be so much easier if they did just that.
“Could I take a look at your work again?” Ryan asked. It had only been a few minutes since I’d finished, and I wondered how he’d known to ask me for it.
“Great again,” he said with enthusiasm after reading through my responses. “Maybe we could change just a few things.” He wrote some follow-up questions, which he handed me to answer. He also added a few comments, his writing plain and easy to read.
They had located Iceman, who gave me the photo. He only worked for the head guy that had ordered the kill of the senator’s aide. I shouldn’t fear him; he was a little guy in the scheme of things.
I would anyway. He scared me.
Also, they’d gathered some blood evidence from the ballroom and had rescued the pictures from Alex’s toilet phone and were building a strong case against the leader of the terrorists and the senator. The FBI would wait until we left D.C. to take them all into custody. Everything was going along as planned. They knew what they were doing. I should forget about the photo, and go about the rest of the trip like nothing had happened. I was being protected.
The note ended. He hadn’t answered my question. I turned and looked at him until he turned to me. I raised my eyebrows and said, “What about this one right here.” I pointed at my question.
“Hmm,” he said, taking the paper from me. He wrote a simple sentence.
We don’t know.
Great. Just great. They didn’t know why they kept us alive.
I also couldn’t forget the photo. Its personal nature felt like a serious warning to all eight in my group, not only Marybeth and me. The danger loomed over us all.
I wished I could have talked to Jeremy to calm my fears. He made me feel safe somehow.
Time flew by. I worked hard and did the best I could, but after answering the FBI’s questions, I had a harder time losing myself in my work. My mind wandered. I wondered who would read through my notes and what would happen to them. I looked at Ryan. He must have felt me look, and he turned and asked, “Did you have a question?” Could he read my mind?
“Yeah, I was wondering who’d be looking over my research.”
“Staffers do that. It slowly works its way up through the chain of power if it is any good.”
“Really?” I asked, not convinced. I wondered if I had been wasting my time. I mean, while interesting, I didn’t want to know all about immigration.
He looked me straight in the eye and said, “Really.”
I guess I’d have to accept his answer.
My intern, who will remain unnamed because I couldn’t remember his name, came at five and whisked me away to the daily question and answer session, with the interns this time. It seemed to go on forever. I wanted to get back to the hotel, and I’d just realized how famished I felt. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast because Ryan hadn’t thought to give me a lunch break. The FBI had dealt me another raw deal.
The question and answer period went long, so instead of leaving at five-thirty, we left closer to six. I hurried onto the bus and plopped onto a seat, looking out the window, when I felt someone sit next to me. My heart about failed me when I found Rick staring back at me.
I had been so distracted by my growling stomach that I hadn’t taken any precautions against him sitting next to me. My heart thundered at first, and then I looked into his big, sad, blue eyes, and my heart melted.
He took my hands in his and said, “Can we talk later?”
I’d never been so scared in this same way in all my life. This was painful-scary. I had hurt someone. My soul ached. I knew how it felt to be on his side of the fence and be hurt, I had hurt like crazy the last three months at high school, but I’d never been the one doing the hurting. I held my breath and nodded.
“I’ll come by your room and get you after dinner, okay?”
I nodded again and seeing Alex coming down the aisle, couldn’t help but panic. What if he saw Rick holding my hand?
My heart pounded thinking about Rick’s hand holding mine. I liked it. Maybe I should just let things happen with him. Then another problem walked down the aisle. Kira.
She would freak out just seeing Rick sit next to me, let alone seeing him holding my hand. She got closer. He got closer. I felt sick. I looked around in hopes of finding something I could set on top of our hands. There was nothing. A few more feet and they would be here. I breathed deeply. I had to look at Alex.
Alex looked at us and then said, “Riiickk,” his eyes resting on mine while he raised his hand to high five Rick. Rick let go of my hand and slapped Alex’s while he smirked. I pulled my hand quickly into my lap and breathed deeply, staring at Alex, hoping he hadn’t seen my hand in Rick’s. Had he? Did he care? Then, I felt even a deeper guilt for hoping Alex hadn’t seen. I had to treat Rick better.
Kira pushed Alex forward, laughing and flirting.
“Keep it moving, Alex,” she said.
She didn’t even notice us. I remembered what Rick had said about Alex being a bigger fish in Kira’s eyes than he. What Rick had said was true. The sad part was that I felt the same as Kira. My face grew hot; and I felt a bit sad, like I’d lost something. I watched Alex and Kira head for the last bench and sit down. My heart burned with jealousy, while my soul ached.
Rick grabbed my hand again. I turned, and we looked at each other for a few seconds, and then I looked away, my heart speeding along. How could I make this right? He didn’t release my hand until we reached the hotel. This time it had been my hand that was sweating, and I was exhausted. Why didn’t I feel the same way about Rick that I did about Alex? This guy really liked me—the first guy ever. If there were no Alex, would I feel differently about Rick? Would my heart be pounding out of my chest because a great guy was holding my hand?
Herded into a conference room back at the hotel, we sat around big round tables for dinner and apparently, another question and answer period with Mrs. J. Our mini-group barely fit around the one we chose. The tables were set for seven, but Josh, the last one to arrive, grabbed a chair from the table adjacent to ours and crammed it between Summer and Alex’s, which forced us all to sit a bit further away from the table than normal.
“As you eat your dinner,” Mrs. J. said, “we’ll be discussing the issues you heard about as you shadowed your intern. We’ll start as soon as everyone has their food.”
A bunch of waiters and waitresses brought the food out impressively fast. Food at last.
“You all have paper and a pen on your tables for notes,” Mrs. J. continued. “As you know, we’ll be debating the same issues on Friday and Saturday with other groups, so pay attention. We’ll start with this table over here. Each table has a mic for you to use.”
I tried to pay attention to the speakers. It was the polite thing to do, right? But when the fourth person almost bored me to tears, I decided the polite thing was meant for good speakers, and I tuned out. I had better things to do, like concentrating on eating and watching Alex, who conveniently sat directly across from me. I was hyper-aware of Rick, who sat next to me, but who didn’t seem as sad now as he had been. I kept picturing Alex walking up to Rick and me on the bus and seeing us holding hands, wishing I could go back in time and change it. Shame burned my cheeks. I had to get a grip.
At last, everyone’s attention fell on our table. I looked at the clock. Eight. It seemed like the waiters had cleared our tables hours ago.
Josh started to tell us about the issues he’d heard about, and was about as interesting as a blade of grass, so I turned off again. I felt a nudge on my arm and looked at Marybeth. “You’re up, Christy,” she said.
Caught off guard, “Uh, uh…,”escaped my lips.
Alex smiled at me, raising his eyebrows.
Mrs. J., who stood at the front of the room, behind Alex, caught my attention, too, giving me a stern look that knocked me back into reality. My natural desire to “please the teacher” took over, and I spoke about immigration and what I’d learned for a full five minutes. When I took my eyes off Mrs. J., it looked like everyone was staring at me, mouths ajar and eyes wide. I felt my face go hot, sure it was cherry red by now.
I swallowed hard and bent my head down.
What had I said that made them all stare?
“Wow, Christy!” Mrs. J. exclaimed. “That was amazing. Everyone, was that not amazing?”
I heard people clapping, and I looked up. Almost everyone clapped and looked at me, except for some at my table. I shouldn’t have been surprised. My speeches always received roaring reviews from crowds—but I didn’t want that here. I didn’t want anyone to know how good I was.
“Christy is a born politician,” Mrs. J. continued. “Didn’t you all want to stand up and support her?”
I heard a lot of “yeahs,” Rick squeezed my knee, and Alex mouthed, “born politician?” and he chuckled. Born politician? I sure hope not.
I felt the red deepen in my face as Marybeth whispered in my ear, “Smarty pants,” and then grunted.
It did feel good to get all the positive attention, but the negative sat like a rock and it seemed to drown out the positive. I wished I’d done a boring presentation like everyone else. No one would have noticed me and everything would have been normal. Why did I have to be such a great speaker? I didn’t want everyone to know I was smart—I just couldn’t help myself—a horrible habit.
“If we would’ve known she’d be so excellent, we would’ve had her go first,” Mrs. J. said, putting the final nail in my coffin. Marybeth huffed this time and turned her body away from me.
It seemed like the past few days I had been on an emotional rollercoaster that took me soaring, only to drop me crashing below where I had begun. I had no time to relish the good, because the bad lurked only seconds behind, ready to pounce if I felt any happiness at all.
Rick’s hand still sat on my knee, and he pressed it again. I turned and gave him a weak smile. His returned smile genuinely comforted me. Maybe he understood what I was going through. A part of me really wanted to like him and let him make me tingle again with another kiss.
The rest of the table finished their presentations, and they weren’t half-bad. Of course, Alex’s was the best, but everyone was anxious to get out of there by the time we were done. Three hours dissecting political issues with this crowd dragged on too long.
“Tomorrow, you’ll be with the lobbyists,” Mrs. J. said. “You’re dismissed to go get some rest….uh, Christy, could I see you a minute?” I was already out of my chair and heading for the door when she called me.
“Teacher’s pet,” Josh snickered.
I felt so stupid, like I was back home and a total dork. I walked as slow as molasses to meet her.
“I repeat, wow!” Mrs. J. said. “You truly are a natural. You packed so much feeling and information into your presentation. Enthralling. I think I’ll put you with someone special tomorrow, if that’s okay.”
I figured it really wasn’t a question and just nodded.
“Great. Go get some rest. Tomorrow will be an amazing day for you.”
In no hurry, I walked down the hall toward the lobby, but felt a hand on my arm before making it out of the hall and into the lobby.
“Christy,” Alex said. Apparently he had been down the hall in the opposite direction of the lobby. Great. Now he could ridicule me some more.
I met his stare. He looked excited. My heart pounded.
“A bunch of us are going to a club tonight. You wanna come?”
I expelled a puff of air that showed how unbelievable his offer sounded to me. “A club? Don’t you have to be twenty-one to get into clubs?” I asked before thinking. I let my goody-goody side talk.
“Usually,” he said with a smile, “but a guy in another mini-group has a connection and can get us all in to a club in Georgetown. What do ya think?”
His look was intense and his brown eyes melted into mine. My whole body felt like it shook, but I don’t think it did. How could I refuse? Alex asked m
e out. I stood there staring, still in shock.
He reached out and took one of my hands in his, which gave me goose bumps all over, and said, “You have to come.” I wanted to die. Was this really happening?
“’Kay,” I finally sputtered, while a voice in my head screamed for me to refuse. I did need my sleep and I knew bad things could happen at clubs, but I would be with Alex, and he would protect me, and everything would be okay. I couldn’t refuse.
“Cool. Sneak out front at eleven,” he said. “It’ll be fun. You won’t regret it.” He paused, his eyes amazingly soft, then he shouted out, “Race you to the elevator.” He flew down the hall.
After a second of pulling it together, I took off and almost caught him.
“You can run. You almost beat me,” he seemed to complain, although his eyes shone.
I laughed, trying to catch my breath as we walked into the elevator.
It was only nine when I got to my room and it hit me. He said to sneak out. I took a deep breath, wondering if I could work up the courage. Was Alex worth it? What if something bad happened again? That little voice in my head told me to forget about it and go to bed, when I heard a slight rap on my door.
Crap! Rick! I’d forgotten.
I pulled the door open a crack, hiding my body behind the door. “I’ll be right out.”
He nodded, and I shut the door with a soft click, trying not to disturb Marybeth. I couldn’t even hear her breathe. Already steaming mad at me for getting the scholarship and Mrs. J.’s praise, I didn’t want to make it worse by waking her. I got dressed and slipped through the door.
The moment I saw him, the feelings of the kiss under the spray of the fountain took over my entire mind, and I stood there gawking. His face looked so soft and flawless. He grabbed my hand and led me down the hall, his blue eyes piercing my soul.
Watched (The Watched Trilogy) Page 15
