Justin steps closer then, pulling me into his arms. “Mmm, you smell like pig. Delicious.”
“Aww, see, Christy? This explains Justin’s forever obsession with bacon. They’re perfect for one another.”
I clasp a hand over my mouth, trying not to laugh. Justin reaches my love handle, tickling me until I crack.
“Welcome to our home,” Mrs. Marshall says as she gives me a sideways hug. “You fit in well here.”
“Hey,” a new voice adds to the mix. Tonya walks into the kitchen towards the ham juice.
“Be careful!” I say as she steps into the wetness. Her foot slides up, landing her butt-down in the puddle.
I rush to her side, sliding again, this time on my thigh, and ending up sloshing more ham juice toward her.
Tonya starts laughing, thank God.
“What is this stuff?” she says.
“Ham juice. Totally my fault.” I squirm to get up before helping her off the floor.
“Yuck.”
“I’m sorry. It’s nasty.”
“Yup,” Mr. Marshall says, throwing us towels. “You fit in well here. Nice choice, son.”
Chapter Ten
Justin
Jeff Marshall, 28%. Tim Montgomery, 36%. Not all precincts reporting.
My chest rattles as I glance at Dad. He nods at the screen before turning around to the crowd, offering a confident clap. “It’s okay, folks. The numbers are only beginning to roll in. We’re doing fine.” He clasps hands with a volunteer, still building relationships and caring about others’ views. He’s got to win. He’d be such a caring governor.
Mom sighs at me from across the room. In the next hour or two, our life will change completely. It doesn’t matter which way the vote falls. The bile in my stomach turns over. The thought of “living” at the governor’s mansion doesn’t seem fun. Dad reassured me I wasn’t expected to move in and that they’ll be splitting time between the houses. That relief was awesome. I love my basement bedroom. Plus, not living there will make it a bit easier to deal with all the watchers. People assume I’m used to it with all the attention from school. But here? On the political side? The closer Dad gets to his dream, the closer I’m being watched. It’s a bit too creepy for me.
I try to concentrate on my Psych textbook. I still have three chapters to read before tomorrow’s test, but all I can make out are blurry blocks which I imagine must be paragraphs. The more I concentrate, the worse it gets. I rub my eyes as someone pats my back while passing. “Just you wait, Justin,” they say. “Soon it’ll be your campaign!” Nausea takes over as I freeze, the room still moves in circles around me. The walls swell and beat with each humid breath I suck in. No. I’m never going to become a politician. I smile at the guy, which is enough for him so he moves on. Thank goodness. That’s not a conversation I’m ever planning to have with anyone. I try to refocus on the text but the room starts spinning again. Did I eat today? Pretty sure I grabbed a banana on the way out the door. But rarely do I go a few hours without a small bite of protein or super-carb to charge me until my next big meal. The room pulsates again. Dad sips a dark liquid from his tumbler while I rub my damp palms against my dress pants. How does he stay so calm? I’m a mess.
My phone vibrates. A text from Lucy. Finally!
Lucy: Game’s finished. You still want me to come?
Me: Heck yes. I’m going crazy without you here.
Lucy: I’ll be there as soon as I can. Got to shower first.
An image of Lucy bare in the shower flashes before me. I take a deep breath, pushing it aside. I’ve got to control those. I don’t know how I’m ever going to survive dating this girl.
“There you go.” Tonya pats my shoulder. “That’s the first smile I’ve seen in a while.”
My face heats so she peeks at my phone.
“No way. Private,” I say as I pull it from her view.
“Oh my gosh, are you sexting?” She snatches the phone, reading the text.
“Are you kidding me? I’m not an idiot. Just texting, normally, with Lucy.”
“Na-ha,” she laughs as she reads. “You were totally picturing her in the shower.” She hip-checks me lightly. “Don’t be such a guy.”
“Do you really think I’m like that?”
“I’d hope not.”
“I was just trying to figure out what to write back.”
“Sure,” Tonya says as she hands back the phone. “Well, go ahead.”
Me: You always look nice. Just come.
I hand it back to her. “See?”
“Yup…you ended your text with come.”
“And I’m the immature one?”
She tosses her hair over her shoulder as she walks away. It’s been a while since Tonya has played the annoying big sister. With her living in downtown Minneapolis, we usually get along fine. But tonight? The stress seems to be dominating, rubbing us both into a tween-like rawness.
Paul waves me over then. Fine. I owe him common decency as he’s brought Dad this far. But after he slipped me a letter he drafted this morning expressing my earnest interest in that reality show this morning, he’ll forever be a weasel to me. It’s insane that he thought I’d sign that thing.
Paul slicks his hair back. Correction. He’s a snake.
“Justin, it’s a good night. I can feel it,” he says, too upbeat, sloshing the drink in his hand. “Is Lucy here?”
I shake my head as I’m about to say “not yet,” but he holds up his hand, interrupting.
“Good, because Carl’s arriving in five. He told us to count on that fifty grand for advertising, but he hasn’t delivered on the promise yet. He says it’s coming tonight.”
“Wait, he hasn’t given it to you? I did that interview weeks ago. And you already spent it?” Is he kidding me?
“Yup. On that family ad series we ran a few weeks ago.”
My chest boils. “Paul, Dad has a policy that we don’t spend money unless it’s in the bank.”
“It was a signed pledge. Don’t worry so much. He’s on his way now with the check. It’s how things are usually done.”
I glance at Dad, who catches my look of disdain with a cocked eye.
“Don’t go running off to tell him.” Paul’s words slither. “It’ll just make him worry. It’s no matter. As long as Lucy’s not here, we’re good.”
“Why would Lucy being here matter?”
“You know you need to appear single and available. You’ve got to play the part.”
The doors of the ballroom swing open and, on cue, Carl struts through. Too tall, too round, and too bald.
“It’ll be fine, leave it to me. It’s not like you’re going to end up on that show.”
“Well, you better grab that check soon.”
“Oh, why is that, son?” Paul steps near me. Is he trying to be intimidating? I look down, towering over his five-seven frame.
“Because Lucy’s on her way. And I plan to kiss her the moment she walks through those doors.”
Paul’s face pales. “No. Tell her not to come.”
“I don’t live my life fakely, Paul. I did the interview. That was it.”
“Justin, come on. It’s only a bit more time.”
“Your time is up.” My gosh, I sound like such an entitled jerk, but I don’t care. “Go fix this mess. Right now.”
My phone vibrates.
Lucy: I’ll be there in twenty minutes.
“Is that Lucy?”
“Yup, she’s in the parking lot.”
“Justin, don’t screw everything up for Jeff. Starting his term as governor with a campaign in debt won’t look good. Think about it.” Paul steps away from me then, quickly maneuvering his way through the masses to greet Carl.
A tray of bruschetta appears before me. “Take it. You’ve got to eat, man.” Ian reaches out, clasping my hand in greeting.
“I appreciate it. I’m starved.” The coolness of the tomatoes pop against the cheese and salty bread. My stomach aches, pleading for more.
“You missed three tray passes that included bacon. What’s wrong with you? I know you’re nervous, but you need sustenance to get through tonight.”
I nod. “Right, right.”
Paul shakes Carl’s hand, leading him away from the main doors into the depths of the crowd. A bead of sweat drips down his sideburns. Good, let him suffer.
“What’s so entertaining?” Ian follows my glare. “The bald creep?”
“Pretty much, yup.”
“He’s weird. He once took every olive from a tray I was passing. Put them in his pockets and winked at me like people do it all the time. The guy is slime.”
I clasp Ian’s shoulder. “Exactly.” Ian’s got character judging down. “We should really hang out outside of Psych sometime.”
“Absolutely. I play at a coffee shop every Saturday morning. I’ll text you the address. Pop in to listen, then afterward we can do whatever.”
“Perfect.”
“Okay, I’ve got to keep passing.” He nods for me to take another bruschetta. “Eat.”
I do, then watch him pass through the crowd without even bumping an elbow, skillfully making his way toward the volunteers that are already too sloshed from the open bar.
Paul catches my eye as Carl hands him a credit card. He swipes the card through a small attachment on his iPad.
Good. He got it.
Paul grins back at me, a little too smug. He’s crazy if he thinks I’m not telling Dad the type of person he employs. I pull my hands through my hair. Paul’s got to go. But I’ll wait to tell Dad until morning. He doesn’t need to deal with that now.
Someone turns up the mega TV behind the bar. Another precinct report. My gut tightens.
Jeff Marshall 41%. Tim Montgomery 40%. Not all precincts yet reporting.
The room cheers and I swear the ceiling moves three feet higher. Dad responds minimally with that nod he does when one of my games is way too close. With the games, I have more control, the power to do something about it. But this? Nothing can be done in the final countdown.
Just then, the back French doors open, revealing Lucy in the white dress I bought her, her hair all wrapped up tight on top of her head. I grin, weaving my way through the crowd, loving that she didn’t waste our time together with a blow dryer or finding a new outfit. Smart girl.
“Hi, how’s everything going?” Lucy asks on tiptoes, trying to see the TV report over the crowd.
I step in front of her, blocking her view. “Great now that you’re here.” I scoop my hand around her waist, pulling her close.
A classic Paul throat-clear ensues. Sorry, Paul. I’m not playing your games anymore.
I lift Lucy up, bringing her to my lips for an intense kiss, before slowly lowering her to the ground. Someone whistles and Lucy blushes.
Okay, so I put on a bit of a show.
“That good, huh?” She laughs at my overreaction, slipping her hand in mine so I can lead her through the crowd. I don’t hesitate, leading her straight past Carl. His eyes bulge like an octopus about to devour itself.
Mom pulls Lucy into a hug. “Happy you could make it.”
“I barely did. The game went long.”
“I can’t believe they had a game on election night.” She shakes her head. “What type of values are they teaching you kids?”
“Don’t worry, everyone on the team who’s eighteen got a free pass from school to vote. Though,” she shrugs, “I can’t guarantee they didn’t use that time to go grab a coffee and browse Facebook.”
“Hmm, maybe if…no, when your father is in office, I’ll find a way to make sure schools can provide chaperones.”
I laugh. “To a bunch of eighteen-year-olds?”
“A woman can dream,” she says before taking a sip of her white wine. “Where’s Alex tonight?”
“A game.” The one against our ultimate rivals. The guys hated me when I said I’d have to bow out. Especially Alex. He wouldn’t let up. Coach understood. But, still. I hate letting people down. Mom nods while aimlessly looking through the crowd. Her ability to listen tonight is less than stellar. I won’t hold that against her though. Heck, I can barely keep a thought straight tonight.
The commercials finally end and the anchor chats about the end of duck migration while he waits for more precinct updates. The chatter in the banquet has turned into a low hum, as if the electricity in the air is snuffing the noise out. I let my hand find that lower place on Lucy’s back, rubbing it as I wait for the anchor to speak. I glance down at the hot way her back curves, allowing myself to momentarily blank out from this hell.
“And now,” the anchor bellows. My eyes snap back to the screen. “CNN, MSNBC, and FOX are reporting their predictions for Minnesota’s next Governor.”
My heart stops.
“Jeff Marshall with 49.5% of precinct report! Tim Montgomery, 43%.”
The room roars. Millions of pounds lift from my shoulder and for a moment, I’m free.
My heart flies as Lucy jumps up and down with cheers. Mom grabs my hand, gasping, before springing forward onto Dad’s arm. Dad gives his signature nod, then slowly his straight face cracks, hinting at a smile. He leans in towards Mom, giving her cheek a quick kiss.
“SPEECH, SPEECH!”
Dad holds up his hand. “Let’s wait until it’s official folks.”
The anchor bellows again, “This just in. All precincts reporting. Can’t wait to meet you on Capitol Hill, Mr. Marshall.” Below his statement, the scrolling bar highlights Dad’s name. 53% of the precinct vote. Then that millions of pounds missing from my shoulders detours, slamming me in the gut.
Change is coming.
“Okay,” Dad hollers, “now we can celebrate! Where’s my family?”
Lucy pushes me forward to join my parents and Tonya. Dad pulls us together. We hug in a huddle. Yeah, it’s lame, but I don’t care. Not tonight. Dad deserves this. A mess of words pour from us as we embrace. This new ache gets pushed aside. It’ll go away. Change is always hard. Right now, I’m focused on him. Finally, Dad takes a moment to make sure his eyes meet with each of ours individually. “I love you guys. I’d never be here without you.” With that said, he loosens his grasp of Tonya and me. We step back as he scoops in to give Mom a huge kiss. I bounce backward the moment I hear Mom calling Dad “Mr. Governor” under her breath. Okay, that’s enough.
But the crowd loves it and everyone catcalls and cheers. Only Carl and Paul stand stoic.
Lucy wraps her arm around my waist. “Congratulations! All your hard work was worth it. I’m so excited for your family!”
“Thanks,” I say as I take a deep breath. I smile back at her, even though my gut aches.
“What’s wrong?” she asks low so no one can hear. With everyone celebrating around us and patting my back, her eyes are the only ones that are sincere. She’s totally in-tune. “Justin?”
I pull her in close for a hug. “For some reason, I feel like we lost,” I whisper.
Chapter Eleven
Lucy
I slide my fingers into my woven, fingerless gloves, wrapping them around my water bottle. Forty-seven degrees is heavenly in Minnesota in mid-November. I know it’s horrible, but in this moment, I’m thankful for global warming. For once the sting of Minnesota’s winter isn’t infringing upon its fall.
“We went for caramel. Hope that’s cool,” Laura says as she slides a fresh pie in front of me. “Fork or spoon?” Laura digs in with her own spoon while Jennifer joins us at the table.
“Fork’s great.”
She hands me a wimpy plastic fork and shrugs. “It’s all they had.”
“No matter, it’ll do.” I dig in through the flaky crust, scooping up an apple slice covered in the caramel goo. The crusts melt the moment it touches my tongue. The apple’s tartness slices through the sugary caramel. Oh, man. Heavenly, hot, melty goo. “You two taking Family Consumer Science may be the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I hope this got an A.”
Jennifer sighs after her b
ite, angling her face up towards the sun. “A+. I’m like, the best cook.”
Laura clears her throat, biting her lip and holding back a grin.
“Umm,” I say, remembering how Jennifer managed to burn mac and cheese during our last girls’ night.
Jennifer rolls her eyes. “Okay, so Laura had some pointers to offer. But I measured the ingredients and stuff.”
“Right. That counts as cooking.”
The moment Jennifer closes her eyes and angles her face toward the sun, Laura mouths, “I re-measured.”
“I heard that,” Jennifer says.
“You hear everything,” Laura pouts.
“It’s my superpower.”
“I want a superpower.”
“Oh hush up, you can cook.” Jennifer loops her hair up into a high messy bun. The football and lacrosse players sitting across the quad all ogle her. I purposely make my eyes skip over Zach. The sight of him still makes my skin crawl.
“Seriously, Jennifer. You’ve got to stop doing that.” Laura throws a piece of crust at her. “It’s not fair to all the chicks that actually want to get with dicks, ya know?”
I nearly choke on an apple slice. Crap, Laura. She loves to run away with words. Thankfully, Jennifer laughs. I’m still surprised that Jennifer dared to tell Laura about Trish, especially with Laura being from the south. I have no idea how that conversation went but, clearly, Laura’s embraced it.
Jennifer nods back towards the table. “If you want a piece of them, I’m not stopping you.”
“No need,” Laura sits up straighter, emphasizing her southern accent. “I’m a lady, thank you.” Now I’m laughing. Laura is the opposite of ladylike. She’s already downed over half the pie.
“Well, then do you mind sharing more than a quarter of the pie with Jen and me?” I ask, scooping up a huge bite. She shoos my hand away.
“Excuse me? Did you make this pie?”
Jennifer opens her mouth to fight for me.
“Oh, don’t even try to make a case for you cooking this, Jen.”
Jen falls silent. I reach across with my fork, trying to slide past Laura’s guard. Fail.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Laura says teasingly. She scoops up the pie tin as she stands. “My pie.”
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