White House Rules (18 page)

Mariam and Sameera were walking by the computer lab, where a constant buzz of students and teachers could be heard from the hall.

“So, when can I meet Bobby?” Mariam asked. “You're glowing so brightly we might as well turn off the lights.”

“Come home with me after school on Friday. Miranda and I are going to plan my seventeenth birthday party, and we want you to help. He's coming that night with the rest of the SARSA gang.”

“I'll ask my father. He lets me go to the meetings because he thinks it will help me get into the university. It's my only after-school activity.”

“I've got a great idea for another extracurricular, Mariam,” Sameera said. “You can be cofounder and editor-in-chief of the
Jacob Lawrence News
.”

“What? I told you, we don't have a newspaper here, Sameera.”

“We're going to start one. An online one that won't cost the school anything more than the price of the domain name, which is crazy cheap. This school needs a paper—kids love reading about themselves, trust me. It builds school spirit.”

“Hmm…you might be right. I'll talk it over with Mr. Richards.”

On Friday afternoon, Miranda, Sameera, and Mariam gathered in the Lincoln Sitting Room, accompanied, of course, by the faithful Jingle. “We're going to throw a great party for you, Sparrow,” Ran said. “You don't turn seventeen every day, you know.”

“I missed your party because of the campaign,” said Sameera. “What makes me so special?”

“Besides being the best First Daughter ever?” Miranda asked.

“Yeah, besides that.”

Miranda planted a big kiss on her cousin's cheek. “Because you're so cute, you idiot.”

“We've got to plan this carefully,” Mariam said. “People everywhere are going to find out about it. First things first. Who's on your guest list, Sameera?”

“The three of us. And the SARSA gang. And Tommy…”

“What about some of the other students from school?” Mariam asked. “They've all been dropping hints left and right to come and see this place.”

“That's it!” said Sameera.

“How are you going to choose who gets to come?” Miranda asked. “Isn't it a huge school?”

“We'll invite the entire junior class,” said Sameera. “That way nobody gets left out.”

“I'm up for that,” said Miranda. “Okay, we've got to (a) convince your parents—which means another good Sunday night family dinner; (b) tell the security dudes; and (c) plan the fun. Let's get going on task C, girls. Tommy's best friend from high school is a DJ, and Tommy says he can get this whole building shaking.”

“I'm a little scared about this party,” Mariam confessed.

“Why? Think your dad won't let you come?” asked Miranda.

“No. It's that…I've never danced before.”

“Don't worry, Mariam, you can go out to the dance floor with George. He's so extra-uninhibited that just being in his aura is relaxing.”

“Yeah,” said Miranda. “And then you'll be laughing so hard that everybody will
think
you're dancing.”

When the SARSA crew arrived, it took all of Sameera's self-control to stay focused on the task of hosting, because Bobby was
definitely
“courting” her. He was holding her hand, pulling out her chair at dinner, brushing her hair out of her eyes, and sitting extra close on the antique sofa. He seemed oblivious to the fact that everybody else was stiffly and carefully avoiding staring at them, but Sameera and Miranda exchanged a look of desperation as the conversation struggled to move along.

“Okay,” Sameera said. “Let's talk about the elephant in the room.”

“Finally,” George said. “When did you guys…become a thing?”

Sameera and Bobby took turns explaining the story, and more than one person in the room reached for a tissue as he shared about his grandfather letting go of old bitterness.

After that, the air cleared, the elephant disappeared, and they ended the evening ensconced in the red velvet chairs of the theater watching a hilarious Bollywood flick that Sangi had brought along.

Spending time with Bobby wasn't the only thing keeping Sameera busy that spring. The
Jacob Lawrence News
got the green light from Mr. Richards, and he even allocated money to provide a top-notch camera. Mariam invited a couple of excellent artists in the school to help with design, and two computer-savvy kids, tutored by Sandra, used their artwork to set up the template. Three good writers joined the team, one to cover sports, one to feature entertainment reviews, and another investigative-journalist type who didn't mind tackling controversy.

When the first issue went live, students and teachers logged in throughout the week, leaving comments on the many interactive areas the staff had created in the paper. Mariam decided to run interviews, and she had a knack with Q&A that made her “student of the week” sound fascinating, even if he or she wasn't the most popular kid in school.

Sameera joined the team when they worked in the mornings or at lunchtime, but she stuck to copyediting or contributing brief blurbs here and there. She wanted to save some creative energy for later, when she stayed up late writing a new post, or composing the next chapter of her book.

She loved writing about Jacob Lawrence on Sparrowblog—she shared their progress in setting up the paper, ranted about her ongoing vendetta against trigonometry (
why
did a journalist need to know that sine-squared theta plus cosine-squared theta equals one?), and described the tight sense of community shared in various circles. Lots of the Spanish-speaking students were second and third cousins, and most of the African-American kids had grown up attending Sunday school together in a big church on the corner. Sparrowbloggers also read about some of the harder things going on at the school, like the fact that some ethnic groups didn't mix it up at all. And how a couple of her classmates disappeared for days on end without any news. Sameera even wrote a post on behalf of a group of girls who were lobbying the district to provide a nursery on campus so they could bring their babies to school with them. They got the funding.

But she also felt free to write about the glam and glitz of life in the White House. After all, events like chatting with the secretary of state about crew (he'd rowed for Harvard) or waltzing with an Olympic athlete were parts of her life, too. Sparrowbloggers seemed to enjoy the account of the private party at a senator's mansion in Mary land where an ancient-but-still-famous rock band flew in to perform. They got to read about the top thirty high-tech movers and shakers joining the First Family to laugh hysterically at Dad's favorite comedian. They found out about Sameera's private lunch with a few of the White House bloggers and the nuggets of wisdom she'd gleaned from that discussion. Sameera was discovering that even sharing a list of swag in an event goodie bag could be fascinating if written in just the right way.

And she wasn't the only member of the First Family to be hitting her stride. James Righton worked tirelessly, except for Sundays, of course, when he worshipped in the mornings at church and relaxed with his family for the rest of the day. First Lady Elizabeth Campbell Righton was almost as busy as the president. Her NACWAH initiative was thriving, she was bustling around trying to increase teachers' salaries, and her refugee advocacy work overseas was still going strong. She was also now a regular member of Senator Banforth's bipartisan women's Bible study.

And what about the First Lady's extremely competent right-hand woman? Tara was working a lot less these days. She was so head-over-heels for JB that she was taking parenting classes and had been caught red-handed reading
The Thirtysomething Bride's Guide to Marriage at Midlife.

Miranda's cookie-making business had taken off; she was getting orders from all over town for events and special deliveries. The small kitchen on the third floor was now stocked with baking goods, cardboard boxes that held a dozen scotchies exactly, wax paper, and mailing supplies. Gallons of fresh milk arrived in droves from Merry Dude Dairy Farm. And when Miranda wasn't baking or studying with Westfield, she was in the thick of making movies three and four. She'd bought more memory, batteries, and other camera gadgetry with her cookie money, but she was also squirreling away a lot of her earnings in a savings account.

What with everything they were doing, it was hard to find time to plan Sameera's seventeenth birthday bash. But when the big day finally arrived, the entire event took place without a hitch.

Sameera's parents agreed to stay upstairs in the Residence. “We'll celebrate with you on Sunday,” Mom told her. “Having the president and First Lady show up at a party for young people could kill the atmosphere.”

Sandra and JB worked out a hand-stamp security procedure that would allow the kids to get inside quickly for the party. They cleared all the names on the guest list before the party and stamped their hands at school that day. Only people with hand stamps and identification were allowed into the White House for a quick second security clearance.

“Wear what you'd wear to a Jacob Lawrence dance,” Sameera told everybody. “And no presents whatsoever. They won't let you bring them through security anyway.”

The night of the party, Miranda, Mariam, and Sameera waited anxiously in the East Room. It seemed so formal and big. Famous, rich, and powerful people had feasted and danced in this space. And now the junior class of Jacob Lawrence High School was about to commandeer it.

More and more kids started passing through the entry hall. At first, they entered the East Room a bit hesitantly, but Tommy's friend the DJ made them comfortable right away by telling jokes and playing an upbeat mix of tunes. The three girls made sure everyone was greeted and welcomed.

“Happy Birthday, Sparrow,” each guest remembered to say, and some of them hugged Sameera as though they'd known her for years.

“Let's get this party started!” Miranda said, and the cousins exchanged their signature fist punch before she went searching for Tommy.

Mariam let George lead her out to the dance floor, looking nervous but determined. Nadia had brought her boyfriend along, and they were standing so close you couldn't tell whose jeans belonged to whom. Sangi was having a great time dancing with Jean-Claude, the valet, who was singing the words to the reggae tune the DJ was playing.

Sameera watched Tahera and Rashida dancing with their boyfriends, Tommy showing off for her cousin (and vice versa), and George making Mariam giggle at his silliness. Suddenly, she remembered how much fun she'd had at the traditional Viennese Ball so many weeks earlier. She'd felt right at home that night amidst the classical music and formal gowns. Now her seventeenth birthday party was taking place in the same venue. This time, though, skin glistened with sweat as everybody jammed to a mix of hip hop, reggae,
and
bhangra tunes. And she knew she was going to have as much fun as she'd had all those weeks before—if not more.

“Is your party all you hoped it would be?” Bobby asked, coming up beside her.

“Definitely,” she said, reaching up to kiss his cheek. “Because you're here.”

“That's not why you're loving it,” he answered, smiling. “It's because you know how to feel at home anywhere, Sameera. And the best part is that you take everybody else there with you.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” And just as she had the first day they'd met, she grabbed Bobby's hand and pulled him into the circle of dancing people.