For a moment, I wonder if I should copy Chloe and take a year off between high school and college, but that doesn’t feel right for me. I need to do something.
“Shouldn’t I have some idea of what I want to do before you spend all that money on college?” I ask.
“Honestly, Tee, you’ve got time to figure that out. Some days, I’m not sure what I want to do either, and I’m sixty years old. But I’m not sorry I’ve pushed you. You are so smart and so wonderful, and I want you to have all the options in the world.”
My eyes water at his words.
I get what he’s saying. But at the same time, I’ve been pushing myself so hard for so long that I resorted to pills to make it through. I never get eight hours of sleep. Is getting into the best school really worth it? I don’t know. I really don’t.
My eye twitches. I rush to cover it up with my hand.
“You should get some rest,” Dad says, squeezing my shoulder. “Take a nap before dinner.”
“Dad? If I didn’t go to Yale, would you hate me?”
“Of course not. I’ll always love you. But I’d want to know what you’d plan to do instead.”
“I don’t know, but I’m sure other colleges would take me with my grades and test scores.” I puff out my chest in an imitation of Dad. “I’m so smart and so wonderful, and I will have all the options in the world.”
He throws his head back to laugh. “Would you stop teasing me already?”
I give him a hug. “One of the good parts of being at Hundred Oaks is getting to be at home. I’m glad we’re spending more time together, Dad.”
My father gives me a sad smile. “Me too, Tee.”
Election Day
In ninth grade, I worried that Madison and Steph were growing closer and that they didn’t need me as a friend anymore. To feed my bruised ego, I started hanging around Gabriella, this girl from Spain who was glamorous and sophisticated. I wanted her to like me because I thought that would mean I was also glamorous and sophisticated. To get her attention, I told her things I shouldn’t have, like that Madison had a crush on the basketball team’s senior forward. Gabriella thought that a freshman having a crush on one of the most popular guys in school was funny and told just about everyone.
When he heard the gossip, the senior went up to Madison in the dining hall, patted her on the head, and said, “I’m flattered, but you’re too young for me.”
The embarrassment turned Madison’s face purple.
She knew it was my fault, and for a while after the head-patting incident, I dreaded seeing her. I avoided her in the halls. I didn’t want to see the disappointment on her face. I wanted to crawl into a hidey-hole and never come out. But I apologized, and she forgave me, but that shame didn’t just dissolve. It stuck around.
That’s what I feel like on Election Day.
Six years ago, the last time Dad was up for reelection, I remember freaking out because mean girls at school kept saying, “If your daddy doesn’t win, he’ll lose his job!” That kept me up at night. I didn’t understand that he could always go back to work for my grandfather’s firm.
It wasn’t the end of the world.
But today feels like the end of the world. Because regardless of whether or not he wins, his reputation will never be the same, thanks to me.
After school, Ezra and I head to Nashville to join my parents, Oliver, and Jenna for the election results.
Ezra looks over at me from the driver’s seat. “You okay?”
“Not really.”
He reaches for my hand and squeezes it.
We drive to the Opryland Hotel, where Dad’s campaign rented out a ballroom. Tons of his supporters are here, waiting for the results that will come in over the next several hours. I take a peek inside to find an explosion of red, white, and blue balloons. Fun dance music is playing, and people seem to be having a great time.
Mom, my brother and sister, Dad, and his immediate staff have gathered in a smaller room next door. Unlike the ballroom, there is no party going on here. It feels like a funeral.
When Jenna and Oliver see we’re here, they stand up. Oliver pats me on the back and shakes Ezra’s hand, while Jenna gives Ezra a hug.
“Ezra, it’s so good to see you,” Jenna says in a sultry voice, her fingertips touching his chest.
“Well, aren’t you handsy as ever,” Ezra replies, extracting himself from her grip.
“Sometimes I worry you’re a succubus,” I tell her.
She winks. “Can you blame me? Your boyfriend’s hot.”
“That he is.”
According to the TV, Dad is ahead. I bounce up and down on my toes at that.
Camera crews from CNN, MSNBC, AP, and a bunch of other news outlets are here to film Dad watching the results. A publicist from the campaign tells the camera guys, “No footage of Taylor, got it?”
Talk about things I thought I’d never hear. I mean, I get it. People will be voting over the next several hours, so it’s best not to remind them that I exist. Still, I can feel my face getting redder and redder.
I sit down on a sofa near a television. Ezra gets me some crackers and water, but I’m too nervous to eat. All I can do is watch the results. Right now, with forty percent of precincts reporting, Dad is winning sixty-two percent to Wallace’s thirty-five. Other candidates account for the remaining three percent.
I inhale and exhale. Inhale and exhale. I can’t stop biting my thumbnail. After about an hour of watching results, it’s ragged, and the polish is chipped off.
Ezra grabs my hand and kisses it, twining our fingers together. He leans over to whisper in my ear, “I’m here with you.”
I nod and try to smile, but it hurts my face.
Over the next hour, Dad’s lead falls from sixty-two to fifty-five percent. Wallace is gaining. Whenever I look over at Mom, she has a fake smile pasted on her face for the media.
Dad walks by me a few times and squeezes my shoulder, showing he still loves me. Part of me wishes I could go hide somewhere, but I got us into this mess.
I have to face it. I have to stand tall.
The room grows quiet when polls close at eight o’clock, and the next report shows Dad and Wallace are tied at forty-eight percent. Eighty percent of precincts have reported. I cross all my fingers. I start making promises in my mind. If Dad wins, I’ll never lie again. I’ll be a good girl forever. I’ll do whatever my parents say.
An hour later, and with ninety-three percent of precincts reporting, the race is still too close to call. Mom and Dad are holding hands tightly, unable to tear their eyes from the TV. Jenna looks up at the ceiling, her lips moving as if she’s talking to herself, doing math in her head, calculating our odds of success tonight. Oliver crosses his legs, shaking his ankle.
Then at nine thirty, the news says all precincts have reported:
Wallace pulled ahead by two percent.
With mouths gaping, Randy and Kevin look like they just found out the moon landings weren’t real. Honestly, prior to me getting kicked out of school, that would’ve been more likely than Dad losing the election.