His eyes turn to pools of melted copper when he says that, and I smile at the thought of introducing Riley to Selene. The display of joy dies a painful death when Riley asks her next question.
“What about the President? And the Vice President? I heard they’re best friends. Is that true?”
She’s rambling now, and because we’re approaching the gate where we’ll have to identify ourselves and produce our IDs, Cal rushes to end the call, promising Riley and her parents that they’re more than welcome to make the trip up anytime.
“It’ll be nice to have them here,” I say to Cal as we make our way to the office to debrief with Agent Granger before he ends his shift.
He adjusts his tie, tugging at the knot he must have made too tight. “I agree. I’d love to see them.”
“Gotta keep Riley far away from Aubrey’s bitch ass, though,” I mutter under my breath, turning the knob to open the office door.
Cal grunts his agreement and grunts again when I stop abruptly and he runs into my back. “The fuck, Beckham?”
I step to the side, showing him the obstacle I’ve just encountered.
Jordan St. James stares back at us with wide green eyes that hold both contempt and the exhausted wariness that has become synonymous with her name in my head. There isn’t a single hair out of place on her head or even a hint of a wrinkle on any of the designer items that make up her outfit for the day, yet she still reads as wild to me. And it’s not a dangerous kind of wildness;it’s the other kind. One made of fear and the anger you feel when you’re not used to being afraid.
Behind her, frozen in a crouch that suggests his brain hasn’t decided if it wants him to sit or stand and come to Jordan’s aid, is Sam Granger with the smallest smudge of lipstick on his face. He watches us watch Jordan, his own brand of fear filling the room with the scent of pleas that have yet to be spoken. I know the ask. After all, I’ve made the request a million times to Agent Shaw and the rest of her team:don’t say anything, don’t do anything, just please, let us have this.
Cal recognizes it too. He steps to the side creating a path for Jordan to pass between us, and she takes the out immediately, leaving the three of us behind without so much as a second glance.
13
SELENE
Very few things on my social calendar inspire legitimate excitement in me. Too often, I have to show up to events Allegra has thrust upon me with a forced smile stretching my lips and feigned interest lighting up my eyes for hours while I hold boredom at bay.
Surprisingly, today’s engagement isn’t like that at all.
From the moment Representative Mr. Jackson of Virginia’s 11th Congressional District extended the invitation, I found myself genuinely thrilled by the idea of walking into a room where the doors were only opened because of my First Lady title. Of course, most of the positive feelings swirling around in my belly as I sit at the judge’s table are related to the middle and high school aged children filling the rows of seats behind me. Each and every one dressed to the nines and chattering nervously as they wait for their turn on the stage Mr. Jackson is currently occupying.
“I won’t be up here for long,” he promises, pushing the glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose back up. It’s an absent-minded gesture, one he probably does several times a day since his frames appear to be warped, that also hasthe benefit of making him seem less intimidating. Since he’s well over six feet and easily three-hundred pounds with broad shoulders and a hard stare, he can use all the help he can get on that front.
He wraps his fingers around the edges of the podium and smiles. “First, I want to thank each of you for being here. Back in the day you couldn’t pay me and my friends to give up a single minute of our summer break, so I’m impressed with the way y’all have packed this room out. Give yourselves a round of applause.” Scattered claps come from different parts of the room, but it’s a far cry from what Mr. Jackson has requested. He squints into the crowd, mouth pulled into a flat line of disapproval. “Now, I don’t know if y’all know this, but we’ve got First Lady Selene Taylor in the building today. If you won’t clap for yourselves, maybe you’ll clap for her.”
He gestures toward me, and I have no choice but to stand and face the sea of unfamiliar faces, smiling and waving even as the growing noise level in the room sets my teeth on edge. After the explosion at the polls, loud noises and tight spaces became even more difficult for me than they were before. On instinct, I look to the only source of comfort I have at the moment: Agent Shaw. There are four other agents in the auditorium, lining the walls and keeping a closed watch on the doors, but Agent Shaw is closest to me. She pulls her gaze away from the crowd and meets my eye, offering assurance of my safety in the form of a curt nod.
It doesn’t give me the same level of comfort I would feel if it were coming from Cal and Beck, but it’s more than enough to give me the strength to send the anxiety buzzing underneath my skin back where it came from. The crowd calms at Mr. Jackson’s insistence, and I return to my seat, praying the ringing in my ears will subside before the children take the stage. For a moment, I think it won’t happen because Mr. Jackson’s speech is nothing more than muffled murmurs, but as soon as he startstalking about the Congressional App Challenge, everything clears up.
“As you all know, the CAC was established in 2013 to facilitate national appreciation and recognition of the computer sciences and STEM. This is a nation-wide competition, but it’s not my job to worry about every kid in the nation. My job is to worry about you. The brilliant minds of the 11th Congressional District.”
He slaps his hand over his chest, eyes brimming with pride.
“My district.As your representative, it’s my job to give you every advantage I can, and there is no greater advantage than adequate preparation. At this stage in the challenge, you’ve already developed the concepts for your app and began building. You’re work shopping and fine tuning and double checking every line of code, in hopes that one day your app will be the one displayed in the Capitol building, and that’s great. But I’m here to tell you that none of it will matter if you don’t know how to talk about your app. If you can’t convince a consumer that they need it, they never download it, and all your hard work goes down the drain. That’s the last thing any of us want to happen, which is why today you’re going to stand up here on this stage and convince me and Mrs. Taylor that we need your app.”
A short silence follows the explanation, and then Mr. Jackson’s lifts a brow, an assessing gaze rolling over the crowd. “Think you can do it?”
The kids meet his question with resounding screams of affirmation that make him laugh as he makes his way to the judge’s table to take a seat beside me. Once he’s seated, members of his team move into the crowd, pulling students from the rows and lining them up next to the stage.
“I can’t thank you enough for doing this,” Mr. Jackson says, leaning in a bit too close. “None of the other reps will be able tocompete with this Pitch a Pro event. They’re all doing run of the mill stuff like coding boot camps.”
“It’s my pleasure. Thank you for thinking of me.”
“Of course! It would have been a failure on my part to not include the First Lady when she’s an expert in the field.” One of the members of his team, a young Black girl with a pixie cut reminiscent of the ones Mama spent her days doing in the 90’s approaches, handing Mr. Jackson a stack of papers.
“Rubrics,” he explains, placing the stack in between us. There are already pens on the table along with bottles of water for us to share.
“Will we be getting a list of the participants as well? I’d love to have some prior understanding of the students and their projects before hearing the pitch.”
