The President's Daughter by Ellen Emerson White Page B

sleep.”
    â€œWould you like me to make you some warm Coke?” her father asked.
    She looked at him uncertainly. “Would that help?”
    He laughed. “No.” He sat down on the stairs, indicating for her to sit next to him. “What’s wrong? Are you still upset about this weekend?”
    Well—yeah. But, she shrugged. “I don’t know. I thought it was going to be just us.”
    â€œShe’s running for President,” he said. “There’s no way it’s going to be ‘just us’ for a long time.”
    Meg slouched down, not wanting to hear that.
    â€œOh, don’t worry.” He put his arm around her. “It’s not going to be that bad.”
    If they had to do stupid politics the whole time, they weren’t even going to get to ski . “Will people be taking our pictures all over the place and asking questions and everything?” she asked.
    He nodded. “Probably.”
    â€œSounds like fun,” she said grumpily. “What am I supposed to say to reporters?”
    He sighed. “We’ve gone over that, Meg. Just be polite and friendly. And don’t worry about it. Your mother’s staff will keep them out of the way—that’s what they’re there for.”
    Meg kicked at the bottom stair with her right foot.
    â€œWorld champion fretful child,” her father said.
    Yeah. So? “Don’t make fun of me,” she said.
    â€œI’m sorry. Look,” he kissed the top of her head, “please don’t worry. It’s going to be fine. All you have to do is stand there and smile.”
    Right. “Look daft, you mean?” she asked.
    â€œI’ll buy that,” he said, grinning. “But, it’s really going to be fine.”
    Not likely, but she didn’t want him to call her fretful again. “Do you promise?”
    He nodded.

    â€œCan I quote you on that?” she asked.
    â€œSure,” he said.
    Â 
    THEY GOT TO Stowe right before dinner on Friday night. The place was packed with reporters and cameras, and her mother’s staff was very excited. Her mother had a press conference, and then, there was a quick photo session, naturally. They ate at the Tavern at the Inn, a dinner which wasn’t exactly restful, but they were together, as her father kept pointing out.
    By the time they finished, it was too late to do much of anything else, although she and Steven and Neal—and an advisor named Nasira who had gotten her PhD when she was only about twenty-three, and was an expert on the Middle East, particularly issues relating to Iran—went down to the game room and played pool and air hockey for a while. Her parents had rented a townhouse for the family, and the campaign had taken over part of the nearby conference center, as well as a couple of condominiums and a block of rooms at the Inn itself for the ever-expanding staff. Her mother’s formal Secret Service protection hadn’t started quite yet, but she noticed that a bunch of agents and other security people seemed to be around the resort, too.
    Steven and Neal ended up going to bed pretty early, so that they’d be wide awake for skiing in the morning. Meg wasn’t tired, so she hung out down in the living room, watching the same kind of endless strategy session that she usually saw around the kitchen table or out on the patio. And, as usual, her father was making jokes that only her mother seemed to think were funny. Everyone else was too busy being serious, and she wished that Preston had been able to come, since everyone would be a lot more relaxed if he was there. Although, as far as Meg could tell, Glen and Linda never had a good time.
    After about an hour, she gave up, deciding that the meeting was never going to end.
    â€œGoing to bed?” her father asked, as her mother flipped through a thick sheaf of reports and briefing books.

    â€œYeah.” She nodded. “I’m pretty