surprise.”
Brittany’s plastic smile turned into a snarl.
Hannah stalked forward, and Brittany’s posse flinched. “But you better watch out, Brits, honey, because Morgan and I will make sure you keep your campaign promises.”
Brittany dismissed Hannah’s words. “You know how politics is. Winning comes first. Keeping promises is”—she waved her hand airily—“as needed. Excuse me, please. I’m late for a meeting with Mrs. Hsu. Oh, and a bit of advice, Morgan. You may be the daughter of the president, but you should know that not all publicity is good publicity.”
She laughed, and her posse dutifully echoed as they trailed her on her way to the school’s administration wing.
Hannah snorted in disgust. “So now we have to live a whole year under Brittany’s despotic rule? Maybe we could stage a coup.”
“Worked for Napoleon. Or was it Hitler?” I answered sourly.
“Cheer up, Morgan. Karma’s a bitch. It’ll bite Brittany on the butt one day—hard.”
“I don’t believe in karma. If I did, I’d have to believe that karma’s taken a huge bite out of me. What did I do to deserve all this trouble right now?”
For once, Hannah didn’t have an answer.
Chapter Nine
Somehow I got through the rest of the afternoon, though I was still in shock that I lost the election…to Brittany Whittaker! Ugh! Mom always said that in politics, integrity would be rewarded, but no one could argue that Brittany’s underhanded ways paid off for her big-time. And her crack about not all publicity being good publicity let me know beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was behind that insane newspaper photo of me.
I was pulling books out of my locker when Max approached. “We’re going to bring the Baby Beast up the drive,” he told me. “You can wait on the front steps for us.”
I slammed the locker door shut. “Don’t bring the car inside the gate. I hate that. Besides, I have rehearsal.”
“There’s press outside school grounds. And a camera crew. I think it’s best to get you out of here.”
Oh craaaaaap.
Max’s face betrayed a trace of sympathy, which I totally didn’t want at the moment. “Unless you want to be on the six o’clock news, bringing the car onto private property where the press isn’t allowed is the only way to avoid them.”
I heaved a sigh. “All right. I’ll be out there in ten minutes.”
As usual, the sight of the heavily armored black limo with the presidential seal on the door caused a stir. Gawky freshmen crowded on the sidewalk to get a closer look at the car and to take photos with their cell phones.
“Maybe Abbott does think she’s hot shit,” someone muttered audibly. “Glad I voted for Whittaker,” someone else answered.
I hurried down the front steps to the waiting car, pushing my way through the crowd. Just as I reached the door, a mic was thrust in my face.
“How does it feel to be an Abbott and lose an election?”
Surprised, I stopped. A young woman, clearly a Georgetown undergrad, complete with skullcap and nose ring, had breached school property with her dreadlocked cameraman.
Before I could blink, Max was between us. “This is private property,” Max said. His voice was just a little scary. “You’re breaking the law.”
He nodded to an agent from the perimeter detail, who moved in on the cameraman.
The color drained out of the young woman’s face. “I…I didn’t know….”
“It’s okay, Agent Jackson.” I knew what it was like to break the rules and screw something up. “I’ll take the question.”
I thought of my mother the day after she lost her very first campaign, running for a seat in the House of Representatives. Always stay classy in victory , she’d said, but most especially in defeat. The voters will remember it next time .
I took a deep breath. “As everyone who participates in democracy knows, losing is sometimes part of the process. I wish my opponent every success, and I know she’ll make a fine senior class
Brittany’s plastic smile turned into a snarl.
Hannah stalked forward, and Brittany’s posse flinched. “But you better watch out, Brits, honey, because Morgan and I will make sure you keep your campaign promises.”
Brittany dismissed Hannah’s words. “You know how politics is. Winning comes first. Keeping promises is”—she waved her hand airily—“as needed. Excuse me, please. I’m late for a meeting with Mrs. Hsu. Oh, and a bit of advice, Morgan. You may be the daughter of the president, but you should know that not all publicity is good publicity.”
She laughed, and her posse dutifully echoed as they trailed her on her way to the school’s administration wing.
Hannah snorted in disgust. “So now we have to live a whole year under Brittany’s despotic rule? Maybe we could stage a coup.”
“Worked for Napoleon. Or was it Hitler?” I answered sourly.
“Cheer up, Morgan. Karma’s a bitch. It’ll bite Brittany on the butt one day—hard.”
“I don’t believe in karma. If I did, I’d have to believe that karma’s taken a huge bite out of me. What did I do to deserve all this trouble right now?”
For once, Hannah didn’t have an answer.
Chapter Nine
Somehow I got through the rest of the afternoon, though I was still in shock that I lost the election…to Brittany Whittaker! Ugh! Mom always said that in politics, integrity would be rewarded, but no one could argue that Brittany’s underhanded ways paid off for her big-time. And her crack about not all publicity being good publicity let me know beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was behind that insane newspaper photo of me.
I was pulling books out of my locker when Max approached. “We’re going to bring the Baby Beast up the drive,” he told me. “You can wait on the front steps for us.”
I slammed the locker door shut. “Don’t bring the car inside the gate. I hate that. Besides, I have rehearsal.”
“There’s press outside school grounds. And a camera crew. I think it’s best to get you out of here.”
Oh craaaaaap.
Max’s face betrayed a trace of sympathy, which I totally didn’t want at the moment. “Unless you want to be on the six o’clock news, bringing the car onto private property where the press isn’t allowed is the only way to avoid them.”
I heaved a sigh. “All right. I’ll be out there in ten minutes.”
As usual, the sight of the heavily armored black limo with the presidential seal on the door caused a stir. Gawky freshmen crowded on the sidewalk to get a closer look at the car and to take photos with their cell phones.
“Maybe Abbott does think she’s hot shit,” someone muttered audibly. “Glad I voted for Whittaker,” someone else answered.
I hurried down the front steps to the waiting car, pushing my way through the crowd. Just as I reached the door, a mic was thrust in my face.
“How does it feel to be an Abbott and lose an election?”
Surprised, I stopped. A young woman, clearly a Georgetown undergrad, complete with skullcap and nose ring, had breached school property with her dreadlocked cameraman.
Before I could blink, Max was between us. “This is private property,” Max said. His voice was just a little scary. “You’re breaking the law.”
He nodded to an agent from the perimeter detail, who moved in on the cameraman.
The color drained out of the young woman’s face. “I…I didn’t know….”
“It’s okay, Agent Jackson.” I knew what it was like to break the rules and screw something up. “I’ll take the question.”
I thought of my mother the day after she lost her very first campaign, running for a seat in the House of Representatives. Always stay classy in victory , she’d said, but most especially in defeat. The voters will remember it next time .
I took a deep breath. “As everyone who participates in democracy knows, losing is sometimes part of the process. I wish my opponent every success, and I know she’ll make a fine senior class
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