The President's Daughter by Ellen Emerson White Page A

Steven.”
    â€œGod, about time.” Steven grabbed the phone from her. “Hi, Mom, where are you?”

    Meg got up, moving to the door. “Dad? Neal? Mom’s on the phone!”
    â€œOh, good.” Her father came in from the sitting room. “I thought it might be.”
    â€œWow, let me talk!” Neal rushed in, trying to get the phone away from Steven. “Come on, it’s my turn!”
    â€œGod, wait a minute, will you?” Steven pushed him.
    Not that she and her brothers were predictable, or anything. “Neal, don’t bug him,” she said. “He just got on.”
    Neal scowled, and sat sulkily in a chair to wait.
    â€œShe still in Des Moines?” her father asked.
    Meg shook her head. “Detroit.”
    He looked surprised. “What’s she doing there?”
    â€œShe got the UAW,” Meg said.
    â€œReally? My God, she’s cleaning up on the unions.” He tapped Steven’s shoulder, indicating for him to hurry up.
    Once Steven and Neal had finished, and her father was on the phone, she and her brothers waited at the table.
    â€œGuess what Mommy said?” Neal asked, leaning forward on his elbows. “She bought me a cowboy hat in Texas! A real one!”
    â€œHow dumb is that?” Steven snorted, his mouth full of Oreos he’d found on top of the refrigerator—since Trudy always hid unhealthy food from them.
    â€œYeah, well, she got you one, too.” His face fell. “That’s supposed to be a surprise.”
    â€œYeah?” Steven looked eager. “What color are they?”
    â€œIf you really think it’s stupid, we can have Dad tell her to take yours back.” Meg helped herself to some Oreos, giving one to Kirby, who wagged his tail and retreated under the table to eat it.
    â€œMeg, shut up, okay?” Steven said, blushing.
    â€œBe careful, okay?” their father was saying. “Well, I have to worry, I can’t help it.” He listened. “Okay, I love you, too.” He listened
again, then hung up to see Meg grinning, Steven pretending to throw up, and Neal giggling. “Little brats.” He picked up what was left of the package of cookies. “Come on, who wants to go watch the Celtics game?”
    â€œGross,” Meg said. “I hate hockey.”
    â€œCute,” her father said.
    Â 
    SHE SPENT THE next couple of days looking forward to going skiing, but began to lose enthusiasm when she realized what it was going to be like. The first warning came on Monday night when her father remarked that “there would be some politics going on, and they all had to be prepared for that.” What she had seen as a relaxing family weekend was going to be more of a marathon three-day campaign session. Glen was coming, Linda—who Meg had decided to call the Ice Queen—was coming, campaign coordinators and pollsters were coming—and Meg didn’t feel like going.
    She didn’t communicate that to her brothers, both of whom were so excited that the weekend was all they talked about. She was anything but eager.
    Wednesday night, hearing her father wandering around—he did that a lot when her mother wasn’t home, especially after they were all in bed—she got up and went downstairs, finding him coming out of the den.
    â€œWhat are you doing up?” he asked, automatically checking his watch.
    She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not tired.”
    â€œTerrific.” His expression was wry. “It’s going to be fun waking you up tomorrow.”
    Since she always stayed up as late as possible, it was probably never fun to wake her up.
    He reached forward, touching her forehead with the back of his hand. “Do you feel okay? You’re not coming down with anything, are you?”

    Oh, good idea. If she was sick, she wouldn’t have to go. “I don’t know,” she said. “I just can’t