“Well, hey, that wouldn’t have been so bad. But I’ll start thinking up ways for you to repay the favor,” I say with a sideways grin.
He looks right into my eyes, his expression managing to be both teasing and intimate. And for the first time in as long as I can remember, I feel myself growing shy, looking away first.
“So.” I give him a conspiratorial nudge, regaining my cool. “What are you in here for on your first day, anyway? Organized crime, weed, seduction of a teacher?”
He leans in closer.
“I have my secrets, but they’re none of those.”
A thrill radiates through me.
“I’m good with secrets,” I tell him.
Just then, a dour-faced girl I don’t recognize—must be an underclassman—walks through the door and plops into the third chair, filling our little circle and interrupting the moment. Chace leans back in his seat.
“I think Higgins just wants to get me up to speed on the curriculum and the minimum grades I have to maintain to stay on the soccer team.”
“She’s full of fun today,” I say under my breath.
“What about you?” He raises an eyebrow. “Something tells me this isn’t your first time in the headmaster’s office.”
I shrug modestly.
“Yeah, I’ve made a few appearances. I have a feeling my mom orchestrated this one, though. She’s obsessed with making sure I stay on the straight and narrow and get into the right college, so she probably talked Higgins into this preemptive visit.”
“Your mom sounds like my dad,” Chace remarks.
“They do have a lot in common,” I say. Before he can ask what I mean, Higgins’s assistant is standing before us.
“Mr. Porter, the headmaster will see you now.”
“Good luck,” I tell him.
He’s in the office for a good twenty minutes, during which time I scroll through my text messages and halfheartedly look over tonight’s homework assignments. When he comes out, it’s my turn.
“How’d it go?” I ask, as the headmaster’s assistant escorts him to the front of the office.
He shrugs.
“No biggie. Hey, I’ll wait for you if you want.”
A smile escapes my lips.
“Okay.”
It’s just as I suspected. Mom enlisted the headmaster to give me a lecture on my subpar grades last year, and to drill into my head how crucial junior year is for me to “reverse the trend” and “step up my game” if I want to be considered by a top-tier university. Now, to put things into perspective, my GPA is a 3.5. That’s on the fringes of the honor roll, for heaven’s sake! It’s not like I’m some D student. But, as Higgins and my mom love to remind me, a 3.5 is low for an Oyster Bay student. It’s not exactly an average that will wow admissions officers from Stanford or Columbia. Forget about Harvard and Yale—I already blew my chances there, barring some miracle.
“Why do I have to go to one of those schools, anyway?” I ask the headmaster, though of course I already know the answer.
“Because you’re an important young lady meant for great things. Your mother could wind up becoming president in the not-too-distant future, and if that happens you’ll be serving as an example to girls all across the nation, not to mention representing your mother in front of the world.” Headmaster Higgins shuffles some papers on her desk. “Now, something that could be of vital help is your extracurricular activities. Even the most academically competitive schools will overlook a lower GPA if someone has an extraordinary talent that would benefit their school name.”
I stare blankly at the headmaster. What, does she think my inner Lady Gaga or Serena Williams emerged out of nowhere over the summer? I think of Nicole and her violin and feel a sudden spark of anger that she doesn’t have to worry about any of this.
“I’ve been approached by a few different modeling agencies,” I tell Higgins. “Maybe—”
She shakes her head emphatically.
“That’s not the kind of talent I was talking about, dear.” She hands me a booklet from her stack of papers. “Here’s a list of the different extracurricular activities and sports teams Oyster Bay has to offer. Sign up for a few, won’t you?”
By the time I finally make it out of her office, I’m fuming. Silly me; I thought this year would be different. I thought my mom’s latest lofty goals meant that she’d finally lay off me, that she’d be too busy controlling the House of Representatives to try controlling every aspect of my life. But she’s still determined to turn me into her perfect image.
Chace stands when he sees me reemerge outside the office. He takes in my expression and doesn’t speak until we’re alone, in the relative safety of the hallway.
“You okay?”
“I have something to confess,” I tell him, feeling a shot of adrenaline as I imagine how Mom would cringe if she heard what I’m about to say. “I knew who you were yesterday. My mom works with your dad at the Capitol, and she wanted—”
“She wanted you to get close to me.” Chace finishes my sentence, leaning against one of the lockers in the hallway.
I stop, taken aback.
“Well. Yeah.”
Chace gives me a half smile.
“My dad told me to do the same.”