The Daughters Join the Party

by Joanna Philbin

  “Hey, Todd,” she said, as brightly as she could. “What’s up?”

  “Not much,” he said, trying to smile as he sat down next to them.

  Lizzie took his hand. “Are you feeling okay?” she asked. “You look a little sick.”

  “I’m fine,” he said, pulling his hand away.

  Emma gave Lizzie an encouraging shrug. But Lizzie barely smiled back. She just looked down at her History homework and let her red curls fall over her face. Emma didn’t know Lizzie very well yet, but she figured that this meant that Lizzie wanted a little privacy.

  At lunch Emma walked down to the lobby to wait for Walker. She’d checked herself in the mirror before coming downstairs, and even pulled her dark-brown hair back into a ponytail, but now she was sure that a large zit was starting to pop out of her forehead. But what did it really matter? she thought. Walker had seen her with plenty of zits before. So many that there was probably no way that he was into her.

  “Tell your brother I tried that power shake he told me about,” said Dori, the receptionist, from behind the desk. “So far I’ve lost three pounds!”

  “I will,” Emma said, feigning a smile.

  “He’s always got the best nutrition advice,” Dori said adoringly.

  Emma said nothing.

  Suddenly the front door opened and Hillary Crumple trudged into the lobby. “Um, excuse me,” Hillary announced. “But there are photographers out there.” She pointed to the street. “Just thought you guys should know.”

  The security guard ran to the door and slipped past Hillary, out onto the sidewalk.

  “Did they say anything to you?” Dori asked, picking up the phone. “What did they want?”

  “I think they’re looking for Todd Piedmont,” Hillary said.

  Emma whipped out her phone and sent Lizzie a text:

  Photogs out front. Looking for Todd. Don’t leave the bldg.

  The security guard stomped back in through the doors. “Call the police,” he said to Dori. “They’re not gonna budge.”

  “What a shame,” Dori said, picking up the phone. “He’s such a nice boy.” She dialed. “Yes, I’m calling from the Chadwick School,” she said into the phone. “We have a situation here.”

  Just then Walker came down the stairs. “What’s going on?” he asked, seeing the commotion in the lobby.

  “Paparazzi are out front,” Hillary informed him. “They’re looking for Todd.”

  “Who?” Walker asked, confused. “Oh, right, the guy with the dad on trial.”

  “Let’s go give them dirty looks.” Emma grabbed Walker’s hand and led him out of the lobby. Outside it was a soft, mild, late-summer day, spoiled only by the sight of a cluster of burly men with cargo vests and shorts across the street, aiming their zoom lenses at Chadwick’s doors. “You guys should really get a life!” Emma called out to them.

  “Shhh!” Walker said, pulling her down the block. “What are you doing?”

  “Telling them what I think,” she said.

  “Well, what do you want them to do? Come after us?”

  “So what?” she said. “I’d love for them to.”

  “Right,” he said, laughing. “Like you’d really teach them a lesson.”

  “I just don’t think it’s fair what they’re doing,” she said. “Why are they stalking Todd Piedmont? It’s totally lame. What does he have to do with any of it?”

  “That’s just the way the world works,” he said. “Todd can probably handle it. You can’t save everyone, Emma.”

  “At least I tried.”

  They walked into the crowded diner and grabbed a table near the back. Fortunately nobody in her class was there. Emma knew that it looked a little strange for her to be having lunch with a senior boy, even though Walker was practically her brother.

  “So,” she asked, when they were settled, “you’re going to have to share all of your speech secrets. How did you learn to speak like that? It couldn’t have been from Mrs. Bateman. Every time she opens her mouth it’s like hearing a machine gun.”

  “Years and years of practice,” Walker said. “And you know I have an older brother, right?”

  “Oh, yeah. Wesley, right?” Emma suddenly remembered that she’d never met Walker’s much-older brother.

  “Yeah. He was the captain of the debate team at Chadwick years ago. I used to watch him practice when I was a kid. I think I wanted to be him so badly that I picked some of it up.”

  A busboy came by with two glasses of water and menus.

  “What did he end up doing with it?” she asked, taking a sip of water.

  “He’s a lawyer at Skadden,” said Walker. “But in law school he was on the moot court team. Argued in front of the seventh circuit once. He’s a genius,” he said, shaking his head.

  Emma noted the resigned way he said this, as if he didn’t want to admit it. “So you know how it feels, then, to have a perfect brother,” she ventured.

  “Yeah, I do,” he said, with a rueful smile. “But I think I like it. If I hadn’t had a brother like that, I would have turned out very different.”

  “How would you have turned out?” she teased. “Like me?”

  “Emma,” he said. “Stop. You’re smart, okay? As much as you try to play it off.”

  “Play it off?” she asked, startled.

  “Yeah. I’ve seen it since you were ten. You’re really bright. You could memorize anything. I think you once memorized half of the M volume of Encyclopedia Britannica.” He opened his menu. “I just don’t get why you have to hide it all the time.”

  “I’m not hiding it,” she said. “You know I have dyslexia.”

  “So because of that you can’t be yourself?”

  “What is it with you and the left-handed compliments?” Emma groused, opening her menu. “And if I hide it all the time, then how do you know I’m so bright?”

  “Because I just do,” he said, in a way that made a knot form in the back of her throat. Suddenly the floppy-haired waiter she’d teased the day before stopped at the table to take their order.

  Emma discreetly looked away. “I’ll have a grilled cheese,” she said to the wall.

  “Two grilled cheeses,” Walker said, and the waiter grabbed their menus and left.

  “Okay, I have all this research I printed out,” she said, leaning down to pull the articles out of her backpack. “And I know I’m supposed to take the pro side of things. And have a three-part shape?”

  Walker blinked for a moment, as if he was surprised that she wanted to change the subject so fast. She noticed for the first time how long his eyelashes were. “Okay, you start with an introduction,” he said. “That’s where you summarize the issue—like with standardized tests, you mention that there’s some controversy over whether they’re good or bad. Then you say which argument you’re going to make, and you give three points that support that argument. Then, in the body of the speech, you explain each point and give a reason why it’s valid, with some facts based on your research. And in the conclusion, you basically repeat what you’ve just said in a very quick way.” He shrugged as if this were a piece of cake. “That’s it.”

  “That’s it?” Emma asked. “I’m supposed to know how to do that by next week?”

  “Since I can’t help you with the speech you have to give,” he said, pushing up his sleeves, “let’s just figure out a different speech together. Pick a topic.”

  Emma smiled. “Should my dad run for president?” she asked with a grin.

  “Okay,” he said, not missing a beat. “I’m assuming you’d take the pro position on that?”

  Emma hesitated, then nodded.

  “So… what do you think are the three best reasons for him to run?”

  The waiter brought their sandwiches and placed them on the table. The long spear of pickle that came with everything at the diner looked unbelievably gross.

  “Emma? You there?” Walker asked. His brown eyes searched her face.

  “I’m thinking,” sh
e said. “Hold on.”

  “I can think of a few reasons,” he said. “First, his record in Congress shows that he can work successfully with Republicans,” he said, counting on his fingers. “Second, he’s committed to finally pulling troops out of Afghanistan. And third, his youth and optimism are what the Democratic party needs to recapture voters under forty-five.”

  “That’s what you would say,” she said. “That’s not what I would say.”

  “So, spill it,” Walker said, reaching for a napkin. “What would you say?”

  “He really cares about doing the right thing,” she said, picking off a piece of crust. “Even when it’s not the popular thing. Or the thing that you’d want to do. Like, in fourth grade, there was a girl in my class who was really mean to me. She had a big party for her birthday at Dylan’s Candy Bar and didn’t invite me. And then when it was my birthday, I wasn’t going to invite her at all. But my dad made me. He even gave her the biggest slice of cake and let her sit at the head of the table.”

  Walker nodded as he chewed. “Sounds like your dad.”

  “He’s always been like that,” she said. “It’s not just a turn-the-other-cheek kind of thing. It’s a make-sure-and-be-super-nice-and-understanding-to-people-even-when-they’re-jerks kind of thing.” She took a bite. “And he’s the smartest person I’ve ever met. And he doesn’t go to extremes about things. And he’s fair. And he always expects a lot from people.” Which is why I’m always disappointing him, she wanted to say.

  “Those all sound like pretty good reasons,” Walker agreed.

  “But those are all personal, right?” she asked, smiling.

  “Yup,” he said. “But I think in this case you’re allowed,” he told her, crinkling his napkin. “Too bad your speech won’t be about that. You’d probably nail it.”

  “And too bad I don’t really want him to run,” she said.

  Walker stopped chewing. “What?”

  She put her sandwich down. “Would you be excited about something that was going to change your entire life? About being trailed by Secret Service and being this weird freak when you went to college? About never being able to get in trouble again?”

  Walker frowned. “Huh?”

  “What if you knew that you’d have to be perfect all the time because your dad was supposed to be perfect all the time?” she said. “What if you were supposed to be this straight arrow who never wore green nail polish or got a tattoo and people were always watching you? And don’t tell me that I’m totally selfish and shouldn’t be thinking about myself. That’s what Remington lays on me all the time, and it’s really annoying.”

  “You really think this isn’t going to let you be yourself?”

  She nodded. “Wouldn’t you be freaked out?”

  He thought for a moment. “You know, maybe you won’t have to change as much as you think. Yeah, it’s going to be invasive and a little annoying, and maybe it’s going to cramp your personal style once in a while. But this is really important, Emma. Your dad could change the world. Have you thought about that?”

  She traced a finger around her water glass. “Sure I have.”

  “And do you really think it’s going to change you, Emma Conway? I don’t think so.” His large brown eyes zeroed in on her face. “I mean, I hope it doesn’t.”

  She felt herself blush. She reached for her water glass and knocked over the saltshaker by mistake. Salt spilled all over the table. “Oops,” she said.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Uh-huh,” she said, aware of her heart starting to pound. “So, is that bad luck?”

  “I think we’re supposed to do this,” he said, pinching some salt between his fingers and throwing it over his shoulder. “Right?”

  “Um, I don’t know, but I like how serious you look when you do that.”

  He laughed. “Are you all set? Or do you want to meet again?” he asked.

  She was tempted to say yes, but instead she just said, “No, I think I’m good.”

  He stood up and repacked his book bag. “Just remember, it’s all about threes,” he said. “The introduction, the body, and the conclusion. And three main points. That’s it. Once you have that, you’re golden.” He grabbed his wallet and pulled out a couple of bills.

  “Here, let me split it with you,” she said.

  He shook his head. “My treat.”

  “You sure?”

  “Glad I could help,” he said as they walked out. “And why didn’t you want to have your brother help you with this, again?”

  “You know why—he’s my brother and he thinks he knows everything.” They stepped out onto the street, and for a moment her shoulder touched his arm. “You know what I was just thinking of the other day? That day you and Rem had a fight. When I threw the lemonade all over you? I was secretly rooting for you, by the way.”

  “You were?” he asked, suddenly serious.

  “Oh, sure. ’Cause I think sometimes I wanted to do the same thing to him. But I guess you guys grew out of all that, huh?”

  “I don’t know,” he mumbled. He suddenly came to a stop, as if he’d forgotten something.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Actually, I need to run to the deli for a second.” He looked over his shoulder. “But I’ll see you at practice. ’Kay?”

  Without a word he turned around and left, weaving his way past a group of juniors walking back to school. Emma watched him go, wondering if she’d suddenly gotten bad breath from the grilled cheese. But something told her that it was the lake house story that had made Walker do a literal about-face. She kept her eyes on the back of his blazer as he walked down Madison and into the deli. Something was up between him and Remington, she thought. Something that had made him scurry out of the library the day before as soon as Remington had approached them.

  When she walked back up the block the photographers were gone. And so was Todd, Emma learned, when she got back to the Upper School. He’d gone home.

  “But is everything okay?” Emma asked.

  “With me or with Todd?” Lizzie looked off into the distance at the lockers, her hazel eyes seemingly far away.

  “With both of you.”

  Lizzie blew a curl out of her face. “He doesn’t want me to come over tonight,” she said. “That’s all I know.”

  “Don’t worry, he’s just going through a hard time,” Emma offered.

  Lizzie shrugged but Emma could see a lost look in her eyes. “I hope you’re right,” she said.

  chapter 14

  Over the next few days, whenever Emma passed Remington in the halls, she noticed Walker wasn’t with him. Instead, her brother now seemed to be spending lots of time with two senior guys she barely knew—Steven Hall and Chris Flagg. Steven and Chris were swimmers and straight-A students, just like Remington, but there was something about them that she didn’t like. One day she heard Steven whispering numbers to Chris as certain girls walked by them in the hallway. And whenever she walked past them when her brother wasn’t around they leered at her.

  She understood why Walker wouldn’t want to be around them. He was way too classy for that kind of stuff. But she wondered why Remington did, even if it was just during school. He’d never been into hanging out with people like that. He didn’t drink, he didn’t party, and he was the last guy to call out numbers as girls walked by. The only thing she could figure was that they’d gotten to be friends during Remington’s preseason swim team training and on runs around the reservoir. She made a mental note to say something to Remington about this. Preferably the next time he did something to annoy her.

  But when she wasn’t picking apart her brother’s choice of friends, Emma concentrated on her speech. She finally read through all the articles she’d printed and picked out her three main points. She tried to remember what Walker had said about the introduction, the body, and the conclusion, and spent the weekend writing it all out. Over and over, she practiced speaking it out loud to Archie in his tank, trying to make it sho
rter each time. Mrs. Bateman hadn’t given her a time limit, but Emma was guessing that she liked things on the shorter side.

  On Sunday night, the night before speech team practice, Emma was delivering her speech to Archie, who was quietly slithering around on her bedspread, when there was a knock on her door. “Honey?” her mom called out. “Can I come in?”

  “Yeah.”

  The door opened and Emma’s mom walked in carrying a zip-up clothing bag over her arm. “Honey, do you mind if I get your opinion on a couple things?” she asked. “These are some dresses that I might wear to Dad’s birthday party this weekend in D.C.” She laid the bag on Emma’s bed.

  “Mom, watch out for Archie!” Emma said, snatching him up out of harm’s way and depositing him in his tank.

  “Oh, honey,” Carolyn said with a sigh. “I always forget you have that thing.” She laid the bag down again and unzipped it. “So, there are three choices,” she said, and Emma saw silk ruffles and sequined hems spilling out of the bag. “I don’t know if any of them are me, but there’s going to be press there… Of course.” She pulled out the first dress, which was a midnight blue sheath with only one sleeve and a ruffled hem. “What do you think?”

  “Definitely not,” Emma decided.

  “Okay,” Carolyn said, tossing it. “Tell me how you really feel. What about this one?” She pulled out a fire-engine red sleeveless dress with a deep V-neck.

  “Oh, God, no.” Emma pulled out the last one, a teal green dress with a dramatic petal-shape pouf at the neck and sleeves. “Who picked these out? None of these look like you.”

  “These are the dresses that Tom sent me. He has very definite opinions, it turns out. And don’t even get me started on what he said about my Kelly bag. He thinks I should lock them all in my closet.” She sat on the edge of her bed and clutched her stomach. “Eighteen years of practicing law and I’ve never felt this much anxiety.”

  “Mom,” Emma said, touching her mom’s shoulder. There was no cushion—only bone. “Don’t listen to Tom. What does he know about fashion? Nothing. Just wear something that you already have and that you know looks good on you.”

  Carolyn smoothed her black hair and attempted to smile. “I know,” she said, standing up. “I’m just trying to listen to these people. Even though they’ve got your poor father running around this country as if he were already in the middle of a campaign.”