White House Rules (15 page)

The next time Sameera visited the press room, John Malone cornered her after she was done chatting with a couple of bloggers. “It's got to be a book,” he said.

“What?”

“Everybody's buzzing about your enrollment in public school, Sparrow.”

“They are? But we haven't made our formal announcement yet. How do people know?”

“Come on, sweetheart. It's our job to ferret out a good story. The real mystery is
why
you're doing it.”

“You're supposed to be the best in the business, Mr. Malone,” she answered, smiling. “I'm sure it won't take you long to figure that one out.”
Because I like to mix the old with the new. Because this First Daughter makes her own rules.

John Malone shrugged. “Well, other motivations aside, I know you want to be a writer, love. I'm thinking a bestselling book about her year in a public high school, by Sameera Righton. And it would come out just when her dad's up for re-election.”

“That's not a bad idea, Mr. Malone. Got any tips?”

“Only one. Write it like Pearl would. Listen, respect the people who've been there for generations, ask the right questions, and learn to speak their language.”

Suddenly, Sameera felt like she was participating in a solemn commissioning ceremony. “I'll do my best,” she promised.

Back upstairs, she collapsed into the recliner that had become unofficially hers. It wouldn't hurt to keep a journal of her year at Jacob Lawrence. Book or no book, it would be a great way to capture the excitement she was already feeling about the place.

“Ready to see my first movie, Sparrow?” Miranda called from the adjoining room.

“Right now? Are you sure
you're
ready?”

“Yes. It's not perfect yet, but I was telling Tommy how worried I am that you might not like it, and he said I needed to trust myself. And you.”

Sameera got up and joined her cousin. “You've sure been talking to him a lot, Ran. Are you obeying his every command now?”

“Stop it, Sparrow. No, of course not. He asks me for advice, too.”

“Really? Has he…said anything about going out?”

“You mean with me? No way. He treats me like a little sister. For now, at least. But I turn eighteen in less than a year, and I made sure to tell him that. Now, are you ready to see this?”

“Of course. I'm so excited, Ran.”

The girls sat side by side in front of the computer and Miranda clicked the
PLAY
button. The film was titled simply:
January: The Rightons Move In.
She'd figured out how to switch color footage into black and white, and had paired it first with music that sounded like it had been lifted out of an old Charlie Chaplin film. Brief scenes faded in and out—a funny one of Sameera feigning delight at opening a big box and seeing Jingle leap out (she'd really hammed that one up for the camera). Mom and Dad dancing cheek to cheek in the empty State Dining Room as decorators re-painted the walls. Sameera and Mom arguing over which wall in the family library should bear a big framed picture of the Maryfield clan. The mob of Rhinos who'd chased their limo down the street after they left church, shrinking and then disappearing into the distance. Sameera remembered how Miranda had turned to capture them with her camera that day.

The music changed in the last scene, shifting to an instrumental version of “Amazing Grace.” And there was Dad, walking by himself in the State Room. He seemed lost in thought as he studied the paintings on the walls, stopping to gaze up at the enormous portrait of Abraham Lincoln. Somehow, Miranda had manipulated the lighting until the quiet figure in front of the big painting dimmed and became a silhouette. And that's when the credits rolled, announcing in small letters that the film had been
DIRECTED AND PRODUCED BY MIRANDA JANE CAMPBELL.

“Oh my,” Sameera managed. “I want to see it again.”

“Are you sure?” Miranda said, studying her cousin's expression anxiously. “You don't have to pretend for my sake, Sparrow. It's not totally finished yet.”

“Shut up and let me watch it again.”

After playing the three-minute film all the way through, Sameera turned to her cousin. “This. Is. Amazing,” she said.

“Really? You really like it, Sparrow? You're not just saying that?”

“It's…beautiful. Hey, I've got a great idea. Let me post it on my blog.”

“I thought of that. But what if we violate some kind of security rule, or the press office has a fit?”

“I don't think they'll mind. Oh no. They won't mind at all. If this film doesn't do wonders to raise President Righton's approval ratings, I don't know what will. It's so…us. It's real. It's not staged at all, and people will
get
that.”

“All right, Sparrow,” said Miranda. “If
you
think it's good enough. But let's get it cleared, okay? Where should we go first?”

“Dad, definitely. And then the press secretary's office and the Secret Ser vice. Once those people give the green light, the First Lady's office won't have any objections. Besides, I already know Mom's going to love it. We'll use my laptop as a porta-theater. Let's go.”

Dad was in a meeting with his Cabinet, so his secretary asked the girls to wait in the small study adjacent to the Oval Office. A few minutes later, the president came in, glancing at his watch.

“What's up, girls?”

“Give us five minutes, will you, Dad?” Once they got her father's permission to show the film publicly, nobody could stop them.

“Five minutes exactly. They'll start to get tense if I don't come back soon.”

But once the film started playing, he watched it intently. “Miranda, you have a gift,” he said. “I give it two thumbs-up. Now if you'll excuse me, girls—”

And he was off, leaving the cousins to fist punch each other and move on to their next destination—the press office.

The press secretary smiled her greeting. “Your blog's terrific,” she told Sparrow. “Keep up the great work. Love the honesty. You're really connecting your father to the next generation.”

“Thanks. We came down to ask you to take a look at my cousin's film. I'd like to post it on my blog, but we wanted to get your clearance first.”

The press secretary was as delighted with Miranda's film as Sameera's father. “It's a go for me, girls,” she said.

“Next stop, Secret Ser vice,” said Miranda. “I think I can handle that on my own, Sameera. And then I'll have to show the film to Tara and your mom. Why don't you take Jingle on a walk before he stains one of those antique rugs? We've completely neglected the poor pooch lately.”

Sameera dashed upstairs to get Jingle before his bladder exploded and took him out to President's Park. When she stopped to throw a tennis ball for him on the South Lawn, JB came over to join them, and she couldn't help noticing that he was wearing a big grin. In fact, he was bubbling over with as much joy as the retriever.
If he had a tail, he'd be wagging it,
Sameera thought.

“Well, JB, you've obviously got some news. What's up?”

“It's all good, Peanut,” he announced. “I told her everything—about the divorce, the kids, everything. And she wants to meet them.”

“That's wonderful, JB,” Sameera said, throwing the ball so that Jingle could retrieve it and feel great about himself. “What made you change your mind?”

He picked up the tennis ball and threw it far, far, far, and Jingle went roaring off into the distance. “It felt like we were meant for each other the first time we went out. And then I read your post on Sparrowblog, and—”

She interrupted. “You did?”

Maybe she should stop being surprised that people over the age of twenty-five were reading her posts.

“Yep. It's sort of addicting to read the comments. Anyway, I started thinking a lot about my own three treasures, and it hit me that Tara has all of them—she's strong, she's smart, and she's…” His voice trailed off, and Sameera could tell he was momentarily embarrassed.

Clearing his throat, he continued, “Anyway, she has the three bottom-line qualities I'm looking for, so I thought I'd better lay it all out with her. I mean I've got nothing to lose, do I? She's meeting the twins this weekend.”

“And lots to gain. Let me know how it goes, okay? I'll be thinking of you.”

Miranda was still downstairs hammering out the details of her film's release on Sparrowblog. What was taking her so long? Was somebody objecting to something in the movie? Sameera couldn't think of anything—she was still overwhelmed by how good her cousin's work was.

While she was waiting, she decided to end the discussion about nonnegotiables so that the blog was ready for a new post. She scrolled through the comments again and added up the most popular treasures mentioned, feeling great that her lighthearted post had spurred JB to action. Now it was time to confess her own three nonnegotiables. If only Bobby had gotten a chance to post so she could see his before she revealed hers. But what was this? Yes! Another e-mail from [email protected] zinged into her in-box as though it had been summoned by her subconscious. She opened it quickly; she wanted to read it in private, especially if it was bad news about his grandfather.

(
You did? What does that mean in twenty-first century-speak?
Sameera thought.)

Sameera read the whole thing again. And then again. She got up, got a box of tissues, and read it through one more time.

That's when she realized that in his postscript, he'd named his nonnegotiables, and that two of them exactly matched the ones she'd chosen. What was it that Senator Banforth had said? Something like “If your short list mirrors his, that's when you know he's a keeper. Even two out of three would be a good sign.” And there they were in black and white—a soft heart, which obviously meant tenderness, and honesty.
And understanding?
she thought.
That's cake. I've got reams of that!

She reread the entire e-mail over and over, and each time she fell a little more in love with the author. He was the guy of her dreams, and it was terrible not to be able to write him back and tell him how much she missed him. Maybe she could commandeer Air Force One and head straight to Kolkata to see him
right now
.

Things could have taken a different turn,
she told herself, trying to keep such insane, passion-driven plans in check.
His grandfather could have said no to our relationship.
Well, that didn't matter now, did it? Happy endings did happen, and she wasn't going to second-guess this one.
Sorry, Romeo and Juliet. This pair of lovers won't have to choose between love, life, and family. Some of us get to have all three.

She pulled herself out of her haze of romance to write the post.

Her cousin came back, beaming. “I've got the green light,” she said. “You were right, Sparrow. Everybody loved my movie. Your mom especially.”

Sameera closed her laptop; she didn't intend to share this particular note from Bobby with anyone. She'd summarize it later for her cousin. “What took so long if they loved it?” she asked.

“Oh, Tara sat me down and drilled me about little kids. What they were like, how you got them to connect with you, stuff like that. She'd heard that I taught Sunday school for a couple of years. She must be planning an elementary school visit for Aunt Liz or something like that.”

“Nope, that's not it at all. She's about to meet JB's kids.”

“She is? Oh, that's wonderful! Seems like she's a bit nervous about it. I hope those kids like her, for his sake.
And
hers.”

“Not to mention theirs. Now let's get busy posting that film, Ran.”