The Daughters Join the Party

by Joanna Philbin

  “Hey,” she said to her brother.

  “You’re wearing that?” Remington asked.

  Emma looked down at her purple jeggings, black studded T-shirt, and Doc Martens. “Yeah. So?”

  “You know we have to be onstage, right?” he asked. She could tell that he was sweating under his gray-and-blue-striped button-down and tie.

  “It’s just going to be for two seconds, though.”

  “Let’s ask Shanks,” Remington said.

  By the time they walked up to their mom, a woman with short, curly hair and a clipboard had joined them. “How’s everyone doing?” Shanks asked benevolently. “You guys staying cool?”

  “How is he?” Carolyn asked. “I hope you’re not talking him to death over there. He does best when he doesn’t overthink everything.”

  “He’s just fine, Carolyn,” Shanks said. “Don’t worry. This here is Marcy. She’s the stage manager. She’s going to tell you where to be for when you go out onstage with him.”

  The girl named Marcy checked the clipboard in her hand. “So, at approximately minute twenty-two, Carolyn’s going to go out, as soon as he’s done speaking, and both Adam and Carolyn will wave for a few minutes, then we’ll send out Remington and Emma after that for a quick wave to the crowd,” she said.

  “All right, that sounds fine,” Carolyn said. “When does he go on?”

  “In about four minutes,” Marcy said, checking her clipboard again.

  “Where’s Dad?” Emma asked.

  “Over there.” Carolyn pointed to Adam and Tom, who were in close conversation. A PA hovered over her dad, helping to put the clear plastic earpiece in his ear. Someone had sponged his face with orange pancake makeup, which made him look a little alien. Suddenly, music came from the stage.

  “Would you like to watch the speech in here, on the closed-circuit TV?” Marcy asked. “Or in the wings, so you can see the crowd?”

  “In the wings,” her mother said. “No, wait. If I do that I’ll get nervous. Maybe just back here.”

  “I want to watch it in the wings,” said Emma. “Let me get my friends. They want to see the crowd, too.”

  On the way back to her friends she stopped at her dad’s chair and inserted herself between him and the PA.

  “I just wanted to wish you luck,” she said. “I’m really proud of you.”

  “Thanks, honey,” he said, squeezing her hand. “How’ve you been? School good?”

  “It’s okay.” She shrugged. She knew that now wasn’t the time to have a heart-to-heart with her dad about her life.

  “Listen, Tom and I just had a thought.” He turned to Tom. “Tell Emma the idea.”

  Emma noticed that Tom’s forehead shone with sweat, and for the first time she got a look at his flabby, lily-white arms, exposed by a dark green polo shirt.

  “We want you to go out there with your dad alone,” Tom said. “Just at the very beginning. Just go out and wave to the crowd.”

  “So, before my mom and brother?” she asked, glancing over at Carolyn, who was being powdered by the makeup woman.

  “I’m going to talk for a minute about what happened in Washington,” her father said, grinning. His orange face made his eyes look strange. “It’s just for a laugh. Sound good to you?”

  “Uh… okay,” she said.

  “It’s just going to be a quick wave,” Tom said. “Marcy’ll tell you when to walk out. You got it?”

  So I guess that night at the Boathouse is just a faint memory, she wanted to say, but instead she just nodded and said, “No problem.”

  A male campaign staffer wearing a laminated ID appeared at her father’s side. “Senator, you’ve got one minute. I can take you to the spot.”

  Her dad handed him the speech. “Teleprompter’s turned on, right?” he joked with a wink. He patted Emma’s shoulder. “See you out there,” he said, getting up.

  “Good luck, Dad.” She watched him slip on his suit jacket and wave to her mother and brother as he followed the staffer to the stage. She couldn’t believe this. She was about to walk out there by herself, in front of twenty thousand people. It didn’t seem real.

  When she walked into the other tent, Lizzie, Carina, Todd, and Hudson were milling around, taking pictures with their iPhones.

  “Hey! He’s about to go on!” she called to them. “We have a spot where we can watch from the wings.”

  They followed her through the tent and into the VIP area. By now the music had gotten louder, and outside the crowd sent up a roar. It only grew in volume as Marcy led them closer to the stage.

  “Oh my God, they’re so loud,” Lizzie said.

  “It feels like the stage is gonna fall down,” Carina said. “It’s shaking.”

  Marcy led them up a short flight of iron stairs to a small landing. Emma grabbed the railing—Carina was right. The stage was actually shaking from all the applause.

  “Stand over here,” she said, pointing her friends to a small spot where they’d have a good a view of the crowd.

  There was a clear shot of the Great Lawn through the flaps of the tent, and Emma peeked out at the crowd. It was a sea of banners and flags. From where she stood it looked like every person in New York City was waving something with her last name on it. It was so strange. She wished that she were with her brother to watch this. But he’d seemed like he was in a terrible mood, which didn’t make any sense.

  When her dad walked out onto the stage, the crowd roared and applauded so loudly that the four girls held one another to steady themselves.

  “Even my mom doesn’t get this!” Hudson yelled in Emma’s ear over the noise.

  Emma’s dad came to stand behind a podium draped with a navy blue banner that read ADAM CONWAY FOR A NEW AMERICA. The sun shone directly over him, as if it were his own personal spotlight. Three teleprompters stood like tall sentries over the crowd, reflecting the words of his speech in their screens. But the crowd refused to quiet down. He had to wave them down several times before they would let him start speaking.

  “Thank you, everyone, for coming out here today, though I understand this might be old news to some of you.” He paused for what seemed like laughter, but the crowd was so large it just felt like a big rumble. “About two weeks ago my fifteen-year-old daughter told a crowd of my colleagues and friends of my decision to run. Some of you may have heard of it. Today I’d like to tell you all myself. But first, let’s bring my daughter out here to say hi to all of you.” He called to her offstage. “Emma, honey? Would you please come out here and just say hello to the crowd?”

  Suddenly she felt someone grab her arm, and a moment later a staffer was pulling her toward the stage.

  “What do I do?” she said.

  “Go!” he yelled, almost pushing her onto the iron catwalk.

  When she reached the stage the crowd roared so loudly that her heart almost stopped.

  “My daughter told a crowd of senators and congressmen that she needed someone to look up to,” he said. “She told them that her generation is scared, that they’re tired of bad news, that they need a reason to look forward to the future.”

  Emma stood there, not knowing quite what to do. She looked out at one of the banners being held aloft in the crowd; it read WE NEED YOU ADAM.

  “And I, for one, think she’s right. America needs a future for our children, and for our grandchildren. We need an end to the patterns of foreign debt and useless war that have plagued this country for the past decade. We need to give my daughter a reason to hope.”

  The crowd roared again.

  “My fifteen-year-old daughter represents all of you out there,” her father went on, his voice ringing through the park. “And I’m running for president so I can ensure that all of you have a future!”

  The applause came at them in waves, over and over. “Okay,” her dad whispered. “You can say something if you want to.” He stepped aside and gestured for her to take his place behind the podium.

  Really? she mouthed.

&nb
sp; He nodded.

  For a split second she was scared, but then the same sense of duty she’d felt that night in Washington propelled her to move. She slipped behind the podium and leaned into the mic.

  “How many of you out there are scared?” she yelled.

  There was a howl from the crowd.

  “How many of you out there feel confused?” she yelled.

  The crowd roared in agreement.

  “How many of you need someone to look up to?” she asked.

  The crowd waved its banners and stomped its feet.

  “I’m just as confused and scared and freaked out as all of you,” she said into the mic. “But knowing my dad is entering this race is giving me hope! And it will give you hope, too!”

  As the crowd screamed and roared and clapped in agreement, her dad squeezed her shoulder. He was happy, she knew. He was proud of her.

  “Thank you, everyone!” she yelled, and then she stepped back from the podium, waving her arm in long, sweeping movements as she made her way off the stage.

  She walked into the wings, shaking from the adrenaline. The first person to reach her was Lizzie. “Oh my God,” she whispered, hugging her. “Emma, that was incredible. You were incredible.”

  “I have to sit down,” she said, her legs starting to buckle.

  They led her down the rickety iron steps to the VIP room in back. Her mother and brother stood watching the closed-circuit monitor, but as soon as they saw her come in, they were by her side in an instant.

  “Oh, honey, you were fantastic,” her mom said, throwing her arms around her. “You were just fantastic.”

  “Thanks,” she said.

  But her brother didn’t move. He just stood there looking at her. She could tell from his eyes that he was dazed by what had just happened, and maybe just a little annoyed.

  Her father was still giving his speech so they quickly turned their attention back to the screen. Emma could barely listen to it. I just spoke to twenty thousand people, she thought. Off the top of my head. It was surreal. She couldn’t believe it. It didn’t make any sense. She’d had no warning, no preparation. And yet, the entire Great Lawn had gone crazy for her words.

  When Adam’s speech was coming to a close, Marcy came by their table and led them out to the stage again. This time Emma made sure that she was the last one to walk out, and as they gathered on the stage around her dad, she stepped partially behind her brother’s shoulder. The same U2 song started again, drowning out the crowd’s roars and screams and making the stage jump with the bass. After waving for what felt like an eternity, they again made their way backstage. She’d never been so adrenalized, so full of emotion before. It was as if she’d just parachuted or bungee-jumped, and she was still tumbling through midair, her heart racing as she neared the ground.

  When they reached backstage Tom and Shanks cheered.

  “I think that went okay, right?” her father joked.

  “That was amazing!” Remington said, shaking his head. “Dad, that was amazing!”

  Adam hugged Remington, but quickly broke loose to turn toward Emma. “There you are!” he said, scooping her up in his arms. “You were terrific!” He spun her around and around in his arms as all of the staff gathered to watch. “She’s a better politician than I am!” He put her down, and everyone patted her on the back and gave her hugs.

  “I think we should have her go to the event next weekend,” Tom said.

  “What’s next weekend?” Emma asked.

  “He’s giving a speech at SUNY Binghamton,” said Shanks.

  “Emma could introduce him,” Tom said. “It makes sense for the college audience, especially considering how this crowd connected with her.”

  “Let’s do it,” her father said, still out of breath. “Honey, that okay with you?” he asked Carolyn.

  “If Emma wants to do it,” her mom said, pride shining in her face.

  “I’ll be right back,” her father said as a staffer pulled him away by the arm to talk to the press.

  “So, what do you think, honey?” her mom asked. “Do you want to introduce him next weekend?”

  Emma’s mind reeled. She looked at her mom, the staff, and her friends waiting to talk to her a few feet away. “Of course!” Emma said.

  “Great! We’ll prepare something for you to say,” Tom said. “It won’t be much. Just a few words. It’ll be a big audience, though. And it’s going to be televised.”

  Suddenly Emma was aware of Remington standing next to her, studying the ground. He hadn’t said a word. In fact, he was being so quiet that she’d almost forgotten that he was standing nearby. “What about Remington?” she asked. “Can he say something, too?”

  “Well, I don’t know if there’ll be enough time on the schedule,” Shanks said, glancing at Tom. “But sure, if you want to, pal, that would be great.”

  “That’s okay,” Remington said. “Don’t worry about it.” He walked away toward the iced tea.

  “Looks like your friends want to talk to you,” Tom said, pointing to Carina, Lizzie, Todd, and Hudson waiting nearby. “Who’s the boy? He looks familiar.”

  “That’s Todd Piedmont.”

  “Jack Piedmont’s son? The one whose picture I just saw in the paper?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  Emma thought she saw a frown pass over Tom’s face, but then it was gone. “We’ll be in touch with you this week,” he said, slapping her on the back. “Good job.”

  As her friends circled her, Emma started telling them all that had just happened. But all the while, only one thought kept going through her mind: Finally, I’m a Conway after all.

  chapter 21

  “Emma? You look over your speech? You good to go?”

  Emma looked up from her laptop to see Shanks standing over her with a Styrofoam cup of what she knew was terrible coffee. Behind him she could see a row of blue lockers and a poster listing the SUNY Binghamton hockey team’s last few championships. She would never have guessed how much time presidential candidates spent in college locker rooms before.

  “Actually, I’m wondering if I can change a few things,” she said, pointing to the screen with her pen. “Like when I say that my dad is a hero for a new time. Could I say that he’s a hero for our time? You know, connect with the audience a little bit more?” It had been easier for her to memorize the speech, instead of taking her chances with the teleprompter and possibly having a dyslexia moment.

  Shanks scratched his thatch of scruffy gray hair. “Okay,” he said. “Just tell Gary, so he can put in the change.”

  “I will,” she said. There were many other changes that she’d made and memorized, but she figured it was best to keep quiet about them.

  “And you’re okay with the teleprompter?” he asked. “There’ll be three of them, so wherever you look, you’ll see your speech on the screen.”

  “That’s okay,” she said. “I have it memorized.”

  “But you don’t need to do that,” Shanks said gently.

  “Yeah, I do. I have dyslexia.”

  “Oh.” Shanks looked surprised. “Okay.”

  “And is this really going to be streamed live to CNN?”

  Shanks nodded. “It’ll air pretty much all over the world.”

  Emma felt her stomach turn over. “Great. That’s all I wanted to know.”

  He lumbered off, drinking his coffee, and she quickly dropped the speech into her e-mail. “Gary? I’m sending this to you!” she yelled, pressing Send on her laptop screen.

  Her dad’s head speechwriter—a twenty-three-year-old Columbia grad with amazing arms—waved at her. “Got it!”

  She grabbed her bag and headed to the bathroom, past the table of campaign staffers double-checking her dad’s speech on a series of laptops. Her eyes felt gritty, and she stifled a yawn. She’d woken at five that morning for the four-hour bus trip up to Binghamton, and already it felt like it was midnight instead of noon.

  In the bathroom she reapplied her purple kohl eyeline
r, her extra-black mascara, and her light pink lip-gloss. Amazingly, nobody had commented on the streak of blue she’d painted into her hair the night before with some Manic Panic. Nor had they commented on her makeup, her Doc Martens, or her toothpick jeans with the distressed knees. It was as if she finally had a free pass to be herself, especially at home. Ever since her dad’s announcement speech, she could do no wrong. Her mom finally stopped asking her if she was really wearing what she was wearing. She didn’t comment when she played her music too loud. And she could do no wrong with the media, either. The blogs and cable news networks talked about her “spontaneous stumping” for her dad for days. “Emma Conway” had been trending on Twitter for two days, and her Facebook page was so flooded with friend requests that she had to shut it down. People were calling her the “freshest face to come into politics in years,” and the clip of her addressing the crowd in Central Park was getting all kinds of repeat airplay. She would overhear her mom on the phone with her friends at night, proudly telling them how much Emma had taken them all by surprise.

  And if she’d thought her teachers had made a big deal about her speech in Washington, then their reaction to her speech in Central Park had stunned her. Everyone congratulated her on Monday morning (especially Dori). Chadwick built an assembly around it—Mr. Weatherly aired the clip and then brought Emma up in front of the entire Upper School to ask her some questions. Kids who’d never spoken to her before, like that cute guy Carter McLean, were inviting her to parties and asking her to go to the diner—not that she was about to ditch her real friends, but still, it was pretty exciting.

  When she walked back into the locker room, her dad had returned from makeup and was getting some last-minute prepping from Tom and Shanks on the couch. This time she walked right over to him, sat down, and quietly listened.

  “So remember,” Tom told him, “even though this is a college, kids are still worried about getting jobs when they graduate.”