I push the exit door open, and the oppressive summer heat hits me in the face. The small alley is lit by street lamps and passing headlights. There’s no one out here. It smells a little like garbage, but it’s quiet and private, and that’s all I need right now.
“Where are we going, Squeaky?” Emily asks, clearly unsure if following me was the right choice. “What is this?”
“Can you give us some privacy, please?” I ask Jennifer and Sandeep.
They exchange one of their “looks,” in which they hold an entire discussion with no words at all, then turn back to me in unison.
“This is not a secure location, Squeaky,” Jennifer says. “We can’t leave you alone here.”
“This is way more of a secure location than inside that hall with all those people!” I counter. “Or in the car, which we’d have to go back through the crowds to get to, broadcasting to everyone exactly where I am.” I never argue with my agents, but the past two days have been a lot, and I’ve had it with being the good girl.
Sandeep is shaking his head, but before they can say anything else, I say, “You guys know I could just give you the slip, right? The Bush twins did it to their agents all the time. It’s not that hard, especially in a room full of hundreds of people. Let’s see you explain that to my father.” I cross my arms and let the threat sit there. Emily’s wide eyes dart back and forth between the three of us.
Jennifer and Sandeep exchange another look.
“Fine,” Sandeep ultimately says. “We’ll be stationed at either end of the alley. Don’t do anything stupid,” he warns. And they stalk off in disparate directions.
When they reach their posts, I can still see them, but they’re far enough away that I know they can’t hear us.
I turn to face Emily. “Thank you for coming with me. I know all of this is weird, and it doesn’t smell great out here, but I thought we should talk in private.”
“Go ahead.” She nods.
“I promise you, Em. I don’t believe any of that stuff.” My voice suddenly sounds way too loud, in the relative quiet of the alley, but I keep going. “I don’t support the bill.”
She grimaces. “Then why would you say you did?”
“Because that reporter had me on the spot and I had to say something. But the details of the bill were released on my birthday when I was hanging out with Hudson, so I hadn’t read it yet. And everything I knew about it—which, okay, in retrospect wasn’t very much—was from my dad and his team, and of course they’d made it sound like it was a good thing.
“As long as I can remember, my job has been to support my father. When I gave my response to the reporter, I thought I was doing that. But I also thought I was being neutral. Which is obviously my fault. I just... I wish it had all gone differently. I wish I’d been more informed, or that I didn’t answer the question at all, or...”
I drift off as Emily blinks, assessing me. My body is so tense my knees are locked; I’m starting to get light-headed. I lean against the brick wall for support, watching emotions flicker over Emily’s face.
Believe me. Please.
What the rest of the world thinks of me doesn’t matter. There are always going to be people who think my family and I are the worst. But I can’t just go home, knowing Emily Bautista, the epitome of everything good and beautiful and strong, hates me.
“I swear,” I say.
When she opens her mouth to speak, I brace myself.
“Um, yeah...” she says slowly. “You were not being neutral.”
I give a wry smile. “So I’ve learned.”
We stand there for another suspended beat or so, and then Emily starts to laugh. A real laugh, filled with the entirety of this ridiculous situation. I start laughing too. The lingering tension breaks, and just like that we’re back to being us. Emily and Savannah. Two girls who come from very different places but who have a remarkable amount in common.
It’s so nice to hear Emily’s voice and not just be looking at her texted words. To see her smile without it being filtered through a TV or computer screen.
When our laughter subsides, Emily says, “I should have heard you out. I’ve seen how the press has twisted my mom’s words at times too. I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions.”
I shake my head. “No more apologies, okay?”
She smiles—big. My tummy gets warm and molten, in the best way. “Okay.”
Emily holds her arms out for a hug. I fall into them a little too willingly and hold on a little too long. She’s taller than I am, so I’m at the perfect angle to breathe in the perfume she’d dabbed on her neck before the party. She smells even better than I’d imagined. If I had to go through all of that to get to this, it was worth it.
“I guess we should go back in,” she says when we part, shrugging toward the door.
I nod. “After you.”
* * *
I lie on top of my bed, unable to muster the energy to get under the covers, staring at a ceiling that Chelsea Clinton and Sasha Obama once slept under. In a building built by enslaved people, as a supposed symbol of freedom and liberty.
Why does everything have to be so complicated?
I’ve been glued to the news since I got home from the banquet. There’s a lot of talk about the bill moving on to the Senate, and how it’s expected to pass there as well. The rash of attention sent my way yesterday has died down a bit, but only a bit. There’s one tweet thread in particular, from a well-known, left-leaning pundit, that I can’t get out of my mind.
* * *
@The_Real_Max_Mitchell:
Imagine if Squeaky Chamberlain had a backbone.
Think about it: Have we ever seen a teen or adult First Child who used their platform to support the direct opposite of their president parent’s position—while the parent was in office?
No. We haven’t. There’ve been children of presidents who didn’t agree with their parents’ politics, sure, but they’ve at best stayed in the shadows, and at worst stood up next to the president with a smile on their face anyway.
Squeaky is eighteen now. She has every right to let her opinions be known, ESPECIALLY if they’re more progressive than her father’s.
I, for one, would love to see her go out and fight for what’s right. To campaign for the other side, even. To be a role model for her generation. What an impact that would make.
Of course, that would require that she CARES about what’s right and good. And we’ve seen no evidence of that.
But a boy can dream, can’t he?
* * *
He’s right. This random person I’ve never met, whose show I’ve never watched, has me pegged. I do care about what’s right and good, but it’s true that he’s never seen evidence of it.
I roll onto my side and call Emily. It’s after ten p.m., but I don’t want to go back to texting. It feels, oddly, like going backward.
She picks up on the third ring. “Hey! Everything okay?”
Good question. “Yes? No? I don’t know.”
There’s someone talking in the background. I think I hear “Is that her?” But it’s muffled, and Emily shushes whoever it is. “Tess says hi.”
“Hi, Tess.”
“So, what’s up?” Emily asks.
“I wanted to run something by you.” My idea is still only partially formed, but I’m hoping Emily will tell me if it’s completely bonkers. “I’m thinking about...maybe...calling a press conference.”
“About what?”
“About the First Amendment Reinforcement Act. Specifically, about how I don’t actually support it. And how I’m very pro-LGBTQ rights. And how I think it’s important to stand up for what you believe in, regardless of who your parents are.”
There’s pure silence on the other end of the line. No response from Emily, no Tess in the background. I check the screen to make sure the call was
n’t dropped.
“Em?”
“Sorry, I’m here. I’m just...surprised.”
“Well, I’m still thinking about it. I haven’t made any decisions yet.”
“Will you come out as bi? If you do the press conference, I mean.”
That thought is terrifying. “No... I mean, someday, maybe. But...baby steps?”
“That makes sense.”
“So, what do you think?” I ask. “About the press conference idea.” Tell me what to do.
She lets out a wistful little sigh. “I think it would be so brave. Important. And would mean so much to so many people. But...”
“But?” I press.
“I can’t tell you to just go ahead and do it, no big deal. I would love it if you did, but it also needs to be completely your decision. I don’t want you to hate me if things go badly.”
“I could never hate you, Em.” My voice is soft.
“I could never hate you either, Savannah.” Her voice is even softer.
“You called me Savannah,” I whisper. If I wasn’t far enough gone before, that just clinched it.
“Yeah. Sorry, was that weird?”
“No! I love it.”
“Okay. Savannah.” I can hear the smile in her voice.
“Okay. Emily.” My own grin is unstoppable.
There’s a pause, and then, in a rush, she asks, “Are you dating anyone?”
As if. I haven’t even kissed anyone since Jacob Schwartz at summer camp when I was thirteen. Hudson had a crush on me in the early days of our friendship in ninth grade, but as much as I would have liked a boyfriend at the time, I didn’t feel that way about him. Which turned out for the best, because he and I are much better as friends.
“You still there?” Emily says, and I realize I haven’t actually responded.
“No. I mean, yes, I’m still here. No, I’m not dating anyone.”
Emily clears her throat, and when she speaks again, her tone is almost businesslike. “Okay, I have no idea how to say this, so I’m just going to say it. I like you. I’ve liked you for a long time. I can’t stop thinking about you.”
Oh my god.
My heart starts pounding. Hard. It’s the only part of my body I can feel.
Oh my god oh my god.
Somehow my legs find their way to standing, on the bed, and I pace in a little circle, the mattress giving beneath my socks.
“Savannah? Squeaky? Say something. Please.” Emily sounds worried. Maybe even embarrassed.
I want to say something, tell her everything. But I’ve forgotten how to form words.
“It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way,” she says quickly. “I get it. Just forget—”
“Is this real?” I whisper.
“What?”
“Did Emily Bautista just tell me she feels the same way about me as I do about her?”
She inhales audibly. “You do?”
“Of course I do!” I’ve gone from mute to whisper to shout in no time.
“I wanted to dance with you tonight,” she confesses, relief and happiness flooding her voice.
“I would have loved that,” I confess back.
I want to ask her to go on a date with me, just her and me and no security detail or paparazzi or prying eyes. I want to ask her to come over for dinner with my family. I want so many things that are probably impossible.
But Emily Bautista likes me. And that’s enough for now.
“So...this press conference,” she says after a minute. “Are you going to do it?”
“Yes.” I’ve made up my mind. And not only because it will make Emily happy, though that’s a small part of it. I’m doing it because I do have a backbone. And conviction. And apparently people do care what I have to say. Who knew.
“Really?” she says. “When?”
“Tomorrow.” I put her on speakerphone and open a new text window. “I’m texting Meryl right now to ask her to set it up.” I leave the details out, simply letting Meryl know I’d like to speak to the press again. I hit send on the text. “Done.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah.” My stomach goes a little queasy. I probably won’t sleep tonight. But I’m not going to change my mind. “Will you watch?” I ask.
Emily laughs. “Of course I’ll be watching! I’ll make sure my whole family does too. My mom is going to be so proud of you.”
At least someone’s parents will be.
“Okay, then.” I nod, determined. My whole life, I’ve been in front of cameras and crowds, representing something big, something I didn’t choose. This moment is new. Scary. But I’ve never felt more myself. “Let’s do this.”
* * *
FLOATING
by
Tanya Boteju
She floated. That’s what she did. She floated from one place to the next, from one group to the next, from one idea to the next. She didn’t know why she did it. Some days she wished she could just land. Two feet. Solid. But instead, she drifted—a dandelion gone to seed, looking for its next spot of soil but never finding it.
At lunchtime, she would float toward whichever area in the school was empty. Sometimes this was the computer lab—cool and whirring. Sometimes the stairwell behind the cafeteria gave her a few moments to herself. Once in a while, the lounging chair in the library would open up to her like a small oasis, but this was rare. Mostly, she floated from floor to floor, moving on as others slipped into her space.
When she was forced to land—when she was in class, for instance—she let her mind float instead. Through the windows, into the clouds. Beneath the teacher’s desk amongst the dust bunnies. Sometimes along the books lining the back shelf—dropping into the Signets and Penguins. Never resting. Just tiptoeing in and out of the pages.
She’d get caught, often.
“Shanti. Where are you?”
“Shanti, please join us.”
“Shanti, eyes up, please!”
Her floating self would seep back into her body, but not for long.
This morning, she arrived to school early, as usual. One of her parents would drop her off before heading to work each day, so early only the cafeteria staff and a security guard occupied the building with her. She loved this time though. So many places to roam, undisturbed.
Today, as she made her second round of the first floor—circling the ninth-grade lockers, dipping into the bathroom to ignore herself in the mirror, tightrope walking along the benches lining the entryway—she came to one of her favorite spots.
At the end of a long hallway, a window had been decorated with swirls of paper, each ribbon of color tightly wound and tucked in against the next. A mass of the spirals bunched at the bottom and gradually sloped upwards along one side of the windowpane, as though climbing each other to escape through the top corner but never quite making it.
The swirls reminded Shanti of whirlpools and she allowed herself to pause here, to dip into the curls and out again. She wished she had been the one to create the maze of looping paper, but that would have required staying in one place for far too long. She couldn’t imagine winding each long strip, one by one, then building the creeping pattern in front of her. But someone had been able to. She envied them.
“Like them?” a girl asked. She sat with her legs folded beneath her, on a bench Shanti had been balancing on only minutes before. Where had she come from?
Shanti recognized her, of course. The school wasn’t that big. The girl was in the tenth grade. Shanti was in the ninth. The girl played sports, made pottery, had friends. These few things Shanti knew. What she didn’t know, was why she was here, so early, so close, in the middle of her floating path.
And her name. She didn’t know her name.
Shanti looked back at the swirling art, feeling mildly irritated but also like she owed the art something. “I
like...where my mind goes when I’m here.”
“Where does it go?”
Shanti looked back at the girl, whose face was serious. A slight frown. No hint of a smile.
“It goes...into the curves.” How dumb she must sound. How weird. “I mean...it slips in for a rest,” she said, making it worse.
The girl’s frown remained, but she smiled now. “Come sit here. Tell me more.”
This was troubling. How could she sit? Here? With this girl?
But the girl shuffled her bum back a bit, making room for Shanti.
“I can’t. I have to...”
After a few seconds, the girl asked, “Have to what?”
“Have to...keep moving.”
“Oh.” She cocked her head like she was going to ask the question everyone asked. But why? Why can’t you just stay still? But then she said, “Can I come with you?”
No one had asked this before. Shanti wasn’t sure she wanted to be asked this. How could she wander with someone else so close to her? Where could her thoughts go if she was thinking about this other person?
“I...no.” Shanti could feel her feet wriggling in her shoes, her fingers twitching at her sides.
“Oh,” the girl said again. Her lips squished to the left. She was thinking. Shanti wanted to move. But she wanted to know what the girl was thinking. Her mind curled up behind the girl’s ear.
“Who are you?” she asked, before she could stop herself.
The girl laughed. “Essie. You’re Shanti, right?”
Essie knew her name? Shanti’s mind trembled with delight from its soft spot against the girl’s neck. “Yes...yes.” Shanti’s knees started to ache. They weren’t used to standing in one spot for this long, locked into place.
“Okay, well, Shanti—don’t let me keep you. Maybe the next time you travel this way, there’ll be more swirls for you to wander into.” She smiled broadly.
Shanti attempted a smile in return, but wasn’t sure she succeeded. As she unlocked her knees and gathered her thoughts back into her head, a mixture of relief and disappointment trickled through her.
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