I grin at my screen. I wish he were here on the couch, curled up with me.
I stopped talking to him after he missed my party to hook up with Mindy Roberts, but what if I had forgiven him? Would we have gotten together? But why would I want to be with a guy who hooks up with another girl?
On the other hand, why did I give up our friendship just because he made one mistake? I hate how my parents have been judging me after I made one mistake. But giving up my crush two years ago, giving up him—that was the only way to protect my heart.
Based on how Ezra’s been acting since I came back to Franklin, it’s like I’m the only girl in the world. I mean, except for Svetlana, the Russian spy dominatrix. I run my finger over my phone screen, touching Ezra’s picture.
I’m distracted from Ezra’s smile when Dad’s voice spills from the TV speakers. It’s one of his campaign commercials.
“My mother was a schoolteacher, and my father, a businessman. They raised me in a middle-class neighborhood right here in Franklin, Tennessee. After high school, I joined the Air Force and served my country in Vietnam. Now I serve my country in a different way. As your senator for the past eighteen years, I’ve worked hard to bring jobs to Tennessee. In just the past two years, we’ve added one hundred government positions at the Arnold Engineering Development Complex, the most advanced flight simulation test facility in the entire world.
“I’m a lot like you. I have a family that I work to support. My son is prelaw and hopes to become a public prosecutor, to help keep Tennessee safe.”
God, Dad will say anything for a vote. If Oll becomes a public prosecutor, I’ll eat my hat. He’s totally gonna get a job as general counsel at the family firm.
The commercial cuts to my brother throwing a baseball to my dad. Then the image of my dad sitting with Jenna on a park bench fills the screen.
“My daughter is carrying on the family tradition and is majoring in business, just like me and my father. My kids left Tennessee for college, but my goal is to keep creating good jobs here, so my kids and yours will come back to Tennessee after they graduate.
“Tennesseans, we stick together.”
That’s how the commercial ends. No mention of me. Nothing about me having a 4.2 GPA or being a kick-ass soccer player or that I’m hopefully headed to a good college…
I lean over and place my head between my legs. Tears fill my eyes. I’ve killed myself working hard for years. And now I am an embarrassment.
But wait. Why is this new commercial airing now? Why did Dad rush up to get footage of Jenna and Oliver?
I swipe on my phone and pull up the Tennessean home page. The headline reads, Senator Lukens Admits Family Problems.
The article reads, Senator Edward Lukens released a statement today, acknowledging his underage daughter was recently found with pharmaceuticals that were not prescribed to her. Senator Lukens stressed that while this is a personal family matter, his stance on drugs has not changed, and he and his wife are taking the situation with their youngest daughter very seriously.
My hand shakes as I stare at my phone.
I storm up the stairs. A tear rolls down my face. And then another. I bang my fist on the door to Dad’s study.
“Come in.” He sounds tired.
I walk over to Dad’s media center, where’s he’s pecking away on the keyboard. Of course he’s on the speakerphone with one of those bozos, Kevin or Randy.
“How could you?” I screech.
The clackity-clack of Dad’s typing stops. “Randy, I’ll call you back.” Click.
“Taylor, I’m sorry,” he says softly. He at least has the decency to look embarrassed. “You know I had to get out in front of this. If I didn’t say something now, Wallace’s people would’ve secretly encouraged the press to bring your issues to light a day or two before the election.”
“My issues? How can Yale consider me with this splashed all over the papers? They make me sound like an addict.”
“With your grades, you’ve still got a shot—”
“I have to get into college on my own merits, and you just took away any credibility I had left! No one is going to care about my grades or my résumé now. They’ll just see what is printed in the headlines. You didn’t even ask my permission before blasting my business all over the news!”
I stalk out of the room, slamming the door. I hurry to my bed, where I crawl under the sheets and cover my face.
If Yale didn’t know about what happened at St. Andrew’s, they will now. I shake my head. If only I’d thought through all the possible outcomes before I told the dorm mothers it was my backpack. But with the dorm mother shining a flashlight in my face, I froze. If I had thought it through, maybe I would’ve turned Ben in. I still could. But would anyone believe me, considering Adderall was found in my system? Oliver and Jenna would. Ezra too. They could help me set the record straight.
I’m fixing to call my brother when I think about the ramifications. Turning in Ben wouldn’t take attention off me; it would just fuel the story. It would give the press more to blast me for and, in turn, would negatively affect Dad’s campaign again. I can see the headlines now: Senator’s Daughter Snitches to Save Self.
On top of the possibility I could further trash Dad’s campaign, I’d almost rather be known as a druggie than a snitch. People will forget about pills, but a person’s character isn’t so easily forgotten.
When I was a freshman, the most popular guy in school was a senior lacrosse player named Davis. Everyone loved him, even though he was an asshole. One time during his senior year, he wasn’t prepared to take his U.S. Constitution exam, so he called a bomb threat into the school. Everyone was terrified as we evacuated. Until I was safely at the University of the South up the road, I really thought I was about to die.
After the bomb dogs finished searching campus, freaked-out parents showed up and hauled their kids away until the situation was under control. Then a rumor spread that Davis was behind the bomb threat. Pretty soon, all the students knew what he did. Since no one got hurt, some people didn’t think it was a big deal. Others, like me, thought it was a shitty thing to do. Just because nothing happened didn’t mean it wasn’t dangerous. What if someone had been trampled in the rush to escape? What if a real emergency happened and the cops were busy searching for a bomb that had never existed?
I gave Davis the stink eye whenever I saw him and muttered “jerk” under my breath, but I would never have the guts to tell a teacher. It didn’t matter that lots of kids thought Davis was worse than a Lannister after what he did; no one would’ve ever trusted me again if I snitched. And you know anonymity wouldn’t work—someone would eventually leak that I was the person who turned him in.