As far as blows went, this one was lethal.
Less than an hour later, the president issued a statement. He said that he was grieved that his own son had been made a victim and thankful that Walker had uncovered the duplicity in time to save hundreds of lives.
“Let me be clear,” President Nolan finished. “The United States does not negotiate with terrorists. We do not fear them. We will not allow them to divide us. This country is strong. We are proud. We are united. And the war on terror is one we will win.”
CHAPTER 23
On Monday morning, Maya was somewhat muted as she told Emilia that her approval ratings were at an all-time high among freshman and sophomore girls. Given that muted wasn’t typically an adjective that described Maya Rojas, I didn’t need the pollster’s daughter to tell me that, like Ivy, her mother had worked through the weekend, or that President Nolan’s approval rating was at an all-time low.
Opposite Maya, Di flipped her white-blond hair over one shoulder. “Hands,” she said, her Icelandic accent making the word sound sharper. When none of us moved, she rolled her light blue eyes. “I do not bite,” she said. “Much. Give me your hands.”
Maya offered hers, and Di whipped out a pen and wrote something on the back of Maya’s right hand. Then she turned her light blue eyes to me.
“Hand.”
“Pass,” I said.
“You cannot pass,” the ambassador’s daughter said, waving my words away. “You are the one who started this.”
I glanced over at Maya’s hand. Di had written four letters on the back. ISWE.
As in: I STAND WITH EMILIA.
“The freshman girls are writing it on their hands.” Di gave me a steely-eyed look. “Now we write it on ours.”
Emilia remained strangely silent. A week ago, she would have ordered me to play along.
I held my hand out to Di, appraising Emilia the whole time. The words thank you hadn’t left Asher’s sister’s lips once since I’d gotten her back in the race. I understood that she couldn’t thank me—not without acknowledging, even if just in her own head, that this wasn’t just about the election.
I watched as Di wrote the letters on my hand. ISWE.
“I come bearing donuts.” Asher appeared next to our table. “And the bearer of donuts,” he intoned, “was greeted with trumpets and pomp.” He waited patiently—presumably for both trumpets and pomp.
Instead, he got Emilia giving him the look of a sibling who knew her brother all too well. “What did you do?” she asked him flatly.
“Nothing,” Asher answered with a charming smile.
Emilia’s eyes narrowed slightly. “What are you going to do?”
“Can a boy not just bring his dearest, darling twin a sugary confection in celebration of the beauteousness that is Monday?”
“No,” all four of us answered at the same time.
“Perhaps I am overwrought with filial guilt,” Asher suggested. “For I have betrayed my family by standing in this election with that rogue Henry Marquette.”
“Perhaps,” Emilia countered, “you blew something up and want me to be the one to break it to Mom and Dad?”
Asher winked at her. “That is possibly not entirely false.”
“Do I want to know what you blew up?” Emilia asked him with a long-suffering sigh.
“That would depend on how attached you were to the stone gargoyle that used to sit on our front porch.”
I snorted and snagged a donut.
Asher took that as an invitation to plop down beside me. “How goes the campaign?”
We didn’t get the chance to answer.
“Better than some people’s, I’d wager.” John Thomas strolled over but didn’t sit down. He probably enjoyed towering over us, looking down. “I just heard the most unsettling rumor,” he said, relishing the words.
Until that moment, I’d forgotten about John Thomas’s promise that Henry was going to be his next target. With everything that had happened, I’d forgotten to ask Ivy if it was possible that Congressman Wilcox might know what she’d covered up for the Marquette family.
I’d forgotten to ask her if there was any way that the congressman’s son might know the truth about Henry’s father, too.
“Now would be a good time for you to leave,” Asher said. His voice was cheerful enough, but I could hear a thread of warning underneath.
“I just wouldn’t feel right walking away,” John Thomas countered. “The least I can do is warn you about what I heard.” He gave every appearance of sincerity, except for the slight uptick of his lips. “Addiction is a disease. I had no idea Henry’s father had gone through such a rough time prior to his death. In and out of rehab—”
Asher stood up. “Don’t,” he gritted out. “Talk. About. Henry’s. Father.”
Asher was a person who was constantly in motion—always laughing, always smiling.
He wasn’t smiling now.
“I’m not talking about Henry’s father.” John Thomas stared Asher down. “I’m just telling you what other people are saying.”