“Nobody gets kidnapped on the spur of the moment, Ran. Give me some credit, will you? I’ve been walking around the streets of big cities by myself for years. You don’t think an American ambassador’s kid was a vulnerable target? I knew how to stay safe then, and I know how to stay safe now. Besides, I’ll be in disguise from head to toe. Please, Ran. All you have to do is hold on to my locator while you have a wonderful, relaxing spa treatment.”
“How are you going to ditch the Cougars?”
“Leave that part to me. Just…don’t blow my cover, okay? And give me two hours. I have to see him, Ran.”
Her cousin sighed. “I’m an idiot. I’ll do it, but you owe me big-time, Sparrow.”
Sameera threw her arms around Miranda. “Thanks, Ran. You won’t regret it.”
chapter 7
During a tough physics session the next afternoon, Sameera almost wished she was getting the lime and Dead Sea–salt scrub she’d reserved. Finally, Westfield left, and it was time to head out.
When the armored black limousine dropped them off in front of the spa, a two-man Cougar team was already there, ready and waiting. Sameera was relieved to see that they had an all-male detail to night, including the driver. The Cougarette who was sometimes assigned to cover Peanut and Peach could easily have followed the girls into the ladies’ locker area. There was no way Sameera wanted close surveillance today.
The driver stayed in the limo, but the youngish agent who’d trailed Sameera and Bobby at the airport (the girls had dubbed him Young Cougar until they got better at names) and his colleague, a middle-aged dude with flecks of gray in his hair (aka Mature Cougar), had to wait in the richly scented reception area, where even the combo of flickering candlelight and soft Peruvian flutes failed to relax them. Tall, vigilant, and stiff, they stood on either side of the front entrance like black pillars.
“My bag is huge,” Sameera whispered to Miranda as they stood behind a stressed-out-looking client checking in for a treatment. “Do you think someone will notice?”
“You could be bringing in your own robe or something,” Miranda hissed back. She was fumbling in her purse for money.
The only awkwardness between the cousins arose when they had to pay for something. Sameera wasn’t an extravagant shopper, but she’d always bought what ever she needed without stopping to think. Miranda’s allowance, while perfectly adequate by Maryfield, Ohio, standards, was nothing compared to the generous expense account the Rightons always provided for their daughter.
“Don’t be crazy, Ran,” Sameera said, pulling out her credit card. “This was my idea.”
As her cousin watched, frowning, Sameera added a generous tip for the ser vices she wasn’t going to have.
They gathered up their waffle-weave white robes and waterproof slippers and headed for the ladies-only locker room. Just before they left the reception area, Miranda turned to wave at the Cougars. “Have fun,” the younger agent called, and Sameera felt a pang of guilt. Here they’d take a bullet on her behalf, and she was planning to trick them. She’d have to make sure she was back in two hours—without getting caught.
Thankfully, inside the locker room were only a few exhausted women who didn’t want to connect with strangers or recognize familiar faces, even famous ones. Nobody paid the slightest attention to anybody else, which was perfect for Sameera’s purposes. She stuffed her robe and slippers into a locker, took her bag, and ducked into one of the private dressing rooms.
Miranda’s mouth fell open when she came out. “Wow, Sparrow. I’ve never actually seen you in one of those things. You were right—nobody’s going to recognize you.”
“It’s a good thing it’s cold outside. I’m sweating up a storm already. And I hope there’s a rear ser vice exit from the locker room.”
“Be careful, please, Sparrow. I’ll leave my cell phone on—call me if you run into trouble.”
“You might not be able to answer it while you’re getting that wrap. They pretty much swaddle you, I think.”
“Well, that’ll make two of us, then,” Miranda said, fingering the cloth of her cousin’s thick head covering.
“Here’s my locator.” Sameera handed Miranda the small electronic box that a First Daughter was supposed to carry with her at all times.
“I still can’t believe you’re doing this,” Miranda said. She took the locator reluctantly and tucked it into the pocket of her robe.
Sameera leaned forward and kissed her cousin’s cheek through the gauzy fabric of her veil. “Thanks, Ran,” she said. “Have fun.”
“Yeah, right. I’m going to be in agony till you get back.
Here I am at a spa and I’m so not relaxed it’s not even funny. Stay safe, Sparrow.”
Sameera made her way toward the sound of whirling washers and dryers at the far end of the locker room. Thankfully, no one but her cousin was keeping track of her progress. She slipped out of the back laundry into a ser vice alley and through a door that led to the sidewalk.
Once she was out, Sameera headed quickly away from where the limo was parked. She tried to walk with a middle-aged demure gait. If the Cougar in the driver’s seat glanced in his rearview mirror, she wanted him to see the back of a Muslim woman. It was twilight now, and she made sure to stay out of the streetlights, keeping close to the shadows of the buildings.
When she finally turned the corner, she exhaled in relief. She’d done it, thanks to the wonderful burka that she’d bought last August. Well, that she’d been given by the shop owner and his family, actually, during the campaign. I’ll have to visit Uncle Muhammad’s shop and actually BUY something this time, she thought, hurrying toward the Revolutionary Café. And see Mariam again.
The SARSA meeting was taking place at a table right by the door. As soon as she walked in, Sameera recognized her friend Sangi’s voice booming out as confidently as ever. Sangi’s best buddy, George, must have gotten contacts because his glasses were gone. Beside him was the ever-gorgeous Nadia, fiddling with a silken strand of her long, shining hair.
And there he was, with his back to her. Quietly, she approached their table, trying to keep her heart from beating visibly through the thick black wool.
“Sparrow?! Is that you?” Sangi asked, and Sameera was grateful that she’d lowered her voice.
Bobby jumped off his chair as though he’d received an intense electric shock. One look into his brown eyes, and the flickers of attraction Sameera had been missing with Wilhelm spontaneously combusted into a raging inferno. But why had he grabbed his backpack as though he were about to make a run for it? And was that an expression of relief on his face as his eyes traveled across her burka?
“She came! You were right, Sangi,” George said. “She was just telling us that she e-mailed you, Sparrow.”
“I didn’t think you would,” said Nadia. “Can you be here alone?”
Bobby didn’t say anything, but he sat down again and put his bag on the ground beside him.
“I snuck out,” Sameera said. “I had to see…you guys. Keep it quiet, will you?”
“Here,” George said, pulling up another chair. “I’ll get your coffee. Cream, no sugar, right?”
“Right. Thanks.” She sat down.
“We weren’t sure if they let you mingle with the masses like this on your own,” Sangi said. “Aren’t you supposed to have agents protecting you at all times?”
“Yep. I ditched them.”
“For us?” Bobby asked, and even though his voice was so low, she could hear the intensity in it.
Courage, Sameera thought. “For you,” she said simply, looking him straight in the eyes.
Sangi and Nadia stood up just as George got back with Sameera’s coffee. “Here it is,” he announced cheerfully, sitting down again on his stool. “So, how have you been, Sparrow? Hey…wait a minute…I’m not going anywhere. What is wrong with you two? We haven’t seen Sparrow since…”
His voice trailed off as Sangi and Nadia hauled him to the other side of the coffee house
. Bobby and Sameera were alone.
“I’m so glad you came, Sameera,” Bobby said. “I know I need to explain why I haven’t answered your phone messages. Or called.”
“That’s why I’m here,” she said, taking a sip of coffee in a superhuman effort to remain calm.
“It’s just that when I opened that Vote for Righton T-shirt you gave me, Ma and Baba started asking questions…about us.”
“What’s the problem? Are they Democrats or something? Do they hate my dad?”
“No. They’re not even citizens yet. It’s something else.”
“What? What is it, Bobby? You’ve got to tell me; we don’t have much time.”
“All right, Sameera. I’m doing my best. I told you my grandfather’s really sick back in India, right?”
She nodded.
He took a huge sip of coffee as though trying to steady his nerves with the caffeine. “Well, that’s why my parents made me promise not to contact you. They don’t want me to be photographed with you in public, because they’re afraid he’ll see it. And get stressed out.”
“But why? He doesn’t even know me. Does he hate Americans or something?”
Another enormous chug of coffee. “No, no, not that. It’s because…because you’re Muslim.”
She was flabbergasted. “I don’t practice Islam.”
“Doesn’t matter. You’re Muslim by birth. And like I told your mom, my family’s Hindu.”
“And…?”
“So—one of my great-uncles was killed by Muslims during the war. And we lost our jute farm when our village was taken over by Muslims.”
“But that was ages ago, Bobby. What does that have to do with me? Or us?”
He frowned into his cup, shifting uncomfortably in his chair, and she finally realized that he was battling immense amounts of embarrassment.
Quickly, she purged any hint of the frustration she was feeling out of her voice. “I’ve had friends from lots of cultures and traditions, Bobby. Nothing you say is going to sound strange or weird to me, I promise.”
He stopped squirming and sat up a little straighter. “Dadu’s got this grudge against the Muslims because of his brother’s death, and the jute farm, and with his illness and all…well, Ma and Baba think it might kill him if he knew I was seeing you. Or if we were ever photographed together. So they told me not to call or e-mail you.”
Sameera thought of her Turkish crew teammate and his Armenian love, whose parents had forbidden them to date. But the two of them had met on the sly. “And you promised?” she asked. “Just like that?”
“I had to. They asked me on the way to the airport. Baba was so upset by the latest update on Dadu’s health, and Ma was crying. What else could I do?”
You could have said, “No way, this is the twenty-first century and you guys are nuts.” “So this is it, then,” she said flatly. “You’re saying good-bye.”
“This is not good-bye, Sparrow. At least not from me. I’ve been calling home nonstop trying to change their minds. I think Ma’s close to admitting that they made a bad move, but Baba’s still worried sick, and she won’t even let me talk to him.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“I’m going home next weekend to convince them that they’re wrong. The whole thing’s crazy, anyway. What I really want to do is have an honest conversation with Dadu. I mean you had nothing to do with stealing the family jute farm—why should you be on his blacklist?”
Some of my ancestors might have been involved, Sameera thought. “Do they…does he…expect your parents to arrange your marriage, too?” she asked hesitantly.
“You mean pick out a wife for me? Er…yes.” His voice was so low now she could hardly hear it. “I know it sounds crazy for an eighteen-year-old guy to say that he’s never had a girlfriend or even gone on a date, but it’s true, Sparrow. You’re the first girl that ever made me want to—” He stopped.
She leaned closer, and lowered her voice, too. “To what, Bobby?”
He reached for her hand, pulled it across the table, and kissed it. “To break the rules,” he said.
The kiss was quick and light, but she could still feel it on her skin when he let go. Sameera wondered if all the clientele inside the Revolutionary Café could feel the heat of it.
“I’ve never had a boyfriend or dated anyone before either, Bobby,” she said. “Crushes, of course, but nothing serious. Until you came along.”
“I was pretty sure how you felt that day in the airport, when you looked at me…”
“You mean before we got attacked by the pack of Girl Scouts?”
He grinned. “Yeah. Before they descended. Listen, Sparrow, I’m so sorry I haven’t been able to call you. I’m going to figure out a way for this to work, but in the meantime I have to keep my word—I won’t lie to my parents.”
“What happens if you can’t convince them?”
“I’m not coming back to D.C. until I do. I bought my ticket to Charleston already—I leave a week from today,” he said.
“I hope they understand, Bobby. I’ve been missing you so much.”
“Me too, Sparrow. Thanks for taking a risk and coming here. For listening. For understanding. It’s going to work out, I promise. I have to go now—I’m tutoring in the writing lab and I’ve got an appointment.”
“Okay, Bobby. Let me know what happens.”
“I’ll call as soon as they change their minds.” He stood up, leaned over, kissed her again, this time on the cheek through her veil, and walked out the door.
chapter 8
Sameera sat in a daze, feeling like her internal temperature had just spiked to 104 degrees. So many emotions were roiling inside of her, she hardly noticed when the rest of the SARSA club members rejoined her.
Nadia plopped down in Bobby’s seat. “So did he give you that spiel about his parents being old-fashioned? I think he uses the family unit as an excuse to get out of relationships. He’s so charming; he hates to be the bad guy and cause any pain.”
Her voice had an icy been-there-felt-that edge to it that made Sameera’s fever plummet. Information from a rejected girlfriend wannabe wasn’t something she could trust. Or was it? Was the stuff about his parents a line? Had he kissed Nadia, too?
But Sangi set things straight right away: “His parents are megastrict, Nadia. Unlike yours. Besides, you two were never a couple. Bobby really likes Sameera, and you know it.”
Nadia shrugged. “I’m a bit too hot for him to handle, I think. He needs someone sweet and old-fashioned like you, Sparrow. I hope it works out for you guys. If you need a friend to lean on, give me a call.”
Sameera’s girl hackles rose at the condescension. Besides, the only friend she wanted to talk this whole thing over with was her cousin. Pulling up the sleeve of her burka, she glanced at her watch. “Oh no! I’m going to have to run!”
“Okay, Sparrow,” said Sangi. “Thanks for coming.”
“You guys will have to visit me at the White House. I want you to meet my cousin. Why don’t you plan on having your SARSA meeting there next Friday night?”
“Ooooooh! I’d love that!” Nadia’s air of superiority vanished; she sounded as excited as one of the airport Girl Scouts.
“That would be amazing, Sparrow,” Sangi said.
“Can I bring my Speedo and do laps in the pool?” That was George, of course.
“You can, but you might freeze a body part or two. The pool’s outdoors. They built a press room over the indoor one during the Nixon years. I’ll call you, Sangi, and set it up. Don’t say anything to anybody about my visit, okay?”
“Of course not,” said Sangi. “We’re Team Sameera, remember?”
It was dark when Sameera made it back to the spa. She’d stuck a piece of folded paper into the back door to wedge it open before she left, and she got back into the locker room just as her cousin emerged from the treatment room.
“That was the most unrelaxing experience of my life,” said Miranda, wrapping her lime-and
-salt-smelling arms around her cousin. “I’m so glad to see you, Sparrow. I was imagining all kinds of horrible things.”
“Ran! I’m in love!”
“You are? So it was worth it, after all.”
“Yes, but we can’t see each other.”
“What? Why not?”
“It’s a long story, Ran.”
“Well, take your locator back right now, get out of that burka before the Cougars catch you, and let’s go straight home so you can tell me everything.”
Once they were safely back inside the Residence, Sameera recounted what Bobby had said and done, not everything, but almost everything. She skipped over the kiss part—that still felt too tender and private even to share with Ran.
Her cousin was sitting cross-legged on a chair and Sameera was sprawled on her bed, her head resting on Jingle’s flank. Both girls were in their red-white-and-blue jammies again. “Wait, let me figure this out,” Miranda said. “He likes you, right?”
“Yes! Isn’t that incredible?”
“Not to me, Sparrow. I know you, remember? He’d be nuts not to fall for you. But I don’t get it. He didn’t call because his parents told him not to? How old is this guy again?”
“Eighteen. But it’s really important for him to respect his mom and dad.”
Her cousin shook her head doubtfully. “I don’t want you to get involved with a Peter Panner, Sparrow.”
“What’s a Peter Panner?” For some reason she felt defensive—she’d expected Miranda to champion Bobby, not criticize him.
“You know—a guy that’s stuck permanently in childhood,” Miranda said. “Thirty-something dudes still living with their parents?”
“Bobby’s not like that, Ran.” Although some Indian thirty-somethings do still live with their parents, she thought. And what’s wrong with that?
“Well, what’s up with this big Hindi-Muslim divide, then? I hate to say this, Sparrow, but are you sure it’s not the world’s hugest excuse to avoid a relationship?”
When Nadia had said basically the same thing, doubts had swarmed into Sameera’s mind like a horde of small, yipping dogs. Did her cousin really have to rile them up again? Couldn’t anyone focus on the amazing news that the guy she liked felt the same way about her?
White House Rules Page 4
