“Which is?” the president wanted to know.

“Well.” David’s mom had to think a minute. Then she brightened. “At least our children aren’t suffering from teen apathy, like so many of their peers. I mean, David and Sam really do seem to care about the issues.”

The president didn’t seem to think this was anything to be thankful for. He sank, with a gusty sigh, back down into his chair.

“This,” he said, to no one in particular, “just hasn’t been my day.”

Suddenly—even though I was still really mad at him for trying to pull one over on me…because that’s exactly what he’d tried to do, just as Dauntra had warned—I felt a little sorry for David’s dad. I mean, after all, his program really did have some good points.

“Return to Family is a nice idea,” I said, to make him feel a little better. “If it means, you know…this. Families talking stuff out. But if it means violating someone else’s rights…well, how is that helping anybody?”

He gave me a very sour look. “I got the message, Sam,” he said. “Loud and clear. I think all of America did.”

Taking that as my cue that maybe David’s dad had seen enough of me for one day, I crawled off the couch and slunk from the living room…

…and was relieved when David joined me in the silent kitchen, Lucy and Rebecca having long since been banished to their rooms…though I didn’t doubt there’d been some surreptitious eavesdropping going on at the top of the stairs.

“You okay?” David asked, when we were alone together at last.

Instead of replying, I threw my arms around his neck and just stood there, my face buried against his chest, breathing in his Davidy scent and trying not to cry.

“There, there,” David said, stroking my Midnight Ebony hair. “Everything’ll be all right, Sharona.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, sniffling. “I don’t know what came over me back there at the gym.” I stood there with my eyes closed, enjoying the warmth I could feel through his sweater, wishing I never had to let go.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “You were just doing what you always do…standing up for what you believe in.”

It made me blink to hear him say that. Because it so isn’t true. I don’t stand up for what I believe in. Not with Kris at school. Not with Stan at work. And especially not with David. I mean, if I had, I wouldn’t still be going to Camp David with him for Thanksgiving.

“Listen, David,” I said, after taking a deep breath. “About Thanksgiving—”

“You’re still coming, aren’t you?”

Only it wasn’t David who asked it. It was his mother, the first lady, who came into the kitchen at that very moment. David and I sprang apart.

What was I supposed to say? I mean, she looked really concerned. Like all she could think about was all that turkey that was going to go to waste if I didn’t show up.

“Um, yes,” I said. “Yes, of course I am.”

“Good,” the first lady said. “I’m so glad. Come on, David. It’s time to go. Good night, Sam.”

“Um,” I said. “Good night, ma’am. And…I’m really sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” David’s mother said with a sigh. “Tell Sam you’ll pick her up Thursday morning, David.”

David grinned at me. “I’ll pick you up Thursday morning, Sam,” he said and, after giving my hand a squeeze, dropped it, and followed his mother out into the foyer.

Thursday. Great.

“Well,” my mother said, when we’d finally closed the front door behind our guests, “that was nice. Too bad they took their Secret Service agents with them. I could really use a bullet in the head right about now.”

Even though I sort of felt the same way, I decided it was time to recite the speech I’d been mentally rehearsing since we’d all left the gym.

“Mom, Dad,” I said, “I’d like to take this opportunity to thank you both for raising me in such a warm, supportive atmosphere, and for providing me with the kind of positive role models that a young girl such as myself really needs if she’s going to make her way in this complex and ever-changing urban landscape—”

“Sam,” my dad interrupted me, “I realize you were merely trying to make a point tonight. However, I think it’s time we made some changes in this house. Some BIG ones. With that in mind, I would really like it if you would go to your room right now. And stay there,” he added, sounding, for the first time in a long time, like he was actually doing some parenting.

“Um,” I said. “Okay.” And scurried up the stairs to my room….

Where I found my sister Lucy waiting, her eyes wide.

“Oh my God,” she cried, after making sure our parents had closed the door to their own room, and couldn’t overhear us. “That was…that was…that was INSANE.”

“Tell me about it,” I said, feeling suddenly exhausted.

“I mean, I have never seen Mom and Dad so…so…so the way they were.”

“Yeah,” I said, staring up at my wedding photo of Gwen.

“So are you totally grounded?”

“No.”

Lucy looked shocked. “Not at ALL?”

“No,” I said. “But Dad said there were going to be some changes around here. Some BIG ones.”

Lucy sank down onto my clothes hamper, clearly shaken to her core.

“Wow,” she said. “You killed Carol and Richard.”

“I don’t think I killed them,” I said. “I think they just, like…trust me.”

“I know,” Lucy said, shaking her head. “That’s the beauty of it. They have no idea what you’ve REALLY got planned. For the day after tomorrow.”

I fully did not need the reminder. I clutched my stomach, suddenly convinced I was going to heave.

“Lucy,” I said, “could we talk about this some other time? Because I think I need to be alone right now.”

“I hear you,” Lucy said, and rose to leave. “But I just want to say, for teenage girls everywhere, way…to…go.”

Then she left, closing the door softly behind her.

And I looked up at Gwen, and burst into tears.


 

Top ten reasons I hate my school:

10. The people who go to it totally judge you by what you wear. If, for instance, you like to wear black, you are called a freak—to your face—by nearly everyone who passes you in the hallway.

9. If you happen to have dyed your hair black, you are not only called a freak, but a goth or punk freak as well. Some people also might ask you where you parked your broom, assuming you are a practitioner of Wicca, not, of course, realizing that Wicca is an ancient religion pre-dating Christianity that is based on the appreciation of nature and the celebration of life forces and has little if anything to do with brooms, which are only used as ceremonial tools in a few Wiccan rituals.

Not that I have ever studied Wicca. Much.

8. All anybody ever talks about is who won on American Idol or which school athletic team is going to which final. No one ever talks about art or ideas, just TV and sports. This seems exactly the opposite of what school is supposed to be about, which is opening the mind to new things and embracing knowledge (NOT of the latest Juicy Couture designs).

7. People totally litter. Like, they just throw their gum wrappers wherever. It’s sick.

6. If, for instance, you happen to mention that you like a certain kind of music that isn’t Limp Bizkit or Eminem, you are routinely shunned and called a ska-lovin’ skank.

5. One word: P.E.

Or is that two words? Well, whatever. It sucks. I hear in some school districts, they’ve started having cool things like self-defense classes and Outward Bound–type adventures in lieu of endless games of dodgeball.

I so wish I could go to a school like that.

4. Everyone thinks they have to know everyone else’s business. Gossip is practically a religion at Adams Prep. All you ever hear in the hallways is, “And then she said…and then he said…and then she said….” It’s mind-boggling.

3. Even though everyone is so sanctimonious and holier than thou, it seems like the raunchier a reputation you have, the more popular you are. Like the football player who got drunk at that one party and Did It with a girl who turned out to be in Special Ed. He got voted Prom King that year. Yeah. Real nice role model.

2. The main hallways are filled with case after case of sports trophies, with only one case devoted to students who have won art awards, and that case is in the basement by the art room where no one goes but other people taking art.

And the number-one reason I hate my school:

1. My parents wouldn’t let me stay home from it the day after I announced on MTV that I’ve said yes to sex.


13

Theresa had to drive us to school the next day, because there were so many reporters outside the house, my parents wouldn’t let us take the bus.

Which was probably just as well, since, judging by the kinds of questions the reporters were shouting (“Sam! Were you and David ever intimate in the Lincoln Bedroom?”), the kids on the bus weren’t exactly going to be super understanding of the situation, if you know what I mean.

Theresa, of course, was blaming herself.

“I should have known,” she kept saying. “All those times he came over, and you told me you were studying. Studying. HA!”

“Theresa,” I said. “David and I really were studying all those times he came over.”

But it was like she wasn’t even listening.

“What kind of example are you setting for your baby sister?” Theresa wanted to know. “What kind?”

“For God’s sake,” Rebecca said disgustedly. “I’ve got an IQ of one seventy. I know all about sex. Besides, it’s not like I’ve never seen Showtime After Dark.”

“Santa María!” Theresa said, to this.

“Whatever,” Rebecca said. “It comes on right after National Geographic Explorer.”