Ready or Not

11

“I’m so excited,” Kris kept saying.

She didn’t have to keep telling me. I could tell she was excited by the way she kept jumping up and down and squeezing my arm.

I guess I should have been excited, too. I mean, the president of the United States was going to be addressing the youth of America from my very own school.

But since I pretty much hate my school, it was hard to summon up any kind of enthusiasm over the fact that Adams Prep was about to get its fifteen minutes of fame…well, forty minutes, actually, if you factored in commercials.

Plus there was the small fact that outside the school were about a thousand people who really weren’t all that jazzed about what we were going to say.

But Kris’s conviction that her beloved alma mater was about to get its well-deserved due wasn’t what had Kris so excited. And the protesters weren’t even within her radar. No, she was practically delirious with joy over the fact that she was going to get to meet the president…

…not to mention Random Alvarez, the hottest VJ around.

“There he is,” she kept saying, bouncing around beside me. “Look at him! He’s so smart!”

Occasionally, she would say, “He’s so hot.” That was the only way I could tell who she was talking about. Smart meant the president. Hot meant Random Alvarez. Both men were in hair and makeup, getting ready for the show.

“It’s too big,” Random kept saying to the stylist who was trying to get him ready to go on. “It’s sticking up too much!”

“That’s how it’s supposed to look,” the stylist kept assuring him, as they both gazed at his reflection in a large hand mirror. “It’s how all the kids are wearing it.”

Random looked at me and went, “She’s not.”

The stylist glanced my way. I saw her jump as if a bee had stung her or something. Then she said, to Random, “Yeah, well, she’s, um, doing her own thing.”

Very nice! I mean, my hair doesn’t look that bad.

Or does it?

The president certainly didn’t seem too thrilled when he first noticed it. He took one look at my head, gave a kind of shudder, then went, in a sort of strangled voice, “Is that permanent?”

“Semi,” I said.

“I see,” he said. “And you’re supposed to be…”

Do not ask if I’m supposed to be Ashlee Simpson, I whispered fiercely. Only I did it inside my head.

“…punk?” The president finished.

“No,” I said, surprised. I mean, how could he think I looked punk? I was wearing jeans, it’s true. But also my form-fitting Nike shirt. Punk rockers don’t wear Nike products. “I’m just supposed to be me.”

“But—”

But David’s dad evidently thought better of asking whatever it was he’d been about to ask, because he just looked heavenward, then turned back to the makeup artist who was blotting his nose. He didn’t glance my way again.

Which just goes to show that you can’t please all the people all the time.

Although you can please some of the people some of the time.

“I can’t believe I get to meet you,” the stylist I had been assigned was saying, as she tried to wipe the shine from my forehead. It is very hard to keep from sweating when you know you are about to go on TV. “You are, like, one of my idols. I loved the way you saved the president. That was so awesome!”

“Thanks,” I said.

“It is such an honor to be able to work with you.” The stylist’s grin revealed perfectly straight teeth, the work of a really skilled orthodontist, or the product of pretty decent DNA…it was hard to tell which. “You are such a role model to girls everywhere. You know?”

“Gee,” I said to her. “Thanks.”

Some role model. I was seriously considering having sex with my boyfriend on a national holiday. Oh, and someone had just tried to hit me with a turkey sandwich.

“It’s just too bad,” the makeup lady said. I glanced at her sharply. Oh my God, had she read my mind? Did she know, somehow? About David and me? I’d heard about barbers who could read the minds of their clients just by touching their hair….

“About this dye job, I mean,” the makeup lady went on, fingering a loose curl of my hair. “You really should have let a professional handle it.”

When she was done with me and my forehead shine, I went and sat in my assigned seat while everyone else ran around, going on about how nervous they were. Well, everyone else but Random Alvarez and the president.

“Oh, God,” Kris said, coming up to me and squeezing my arm again. “Do you think he’d give me an autograph?”

“Which one?” I asked her.

“Either,” she said. “Both. I don’t care.”

“The president will,” I said, because I knew he would. “I don’t know about Random. I never met him before.”

“I’m going to go introduce myself,” Kris said. “Before the show starts. Don’t you think I should? I mean, I’m on the panel. It would only be polite to introduce myself. Don’t you think? Just say hi, and welcome them to our school. It’s the right thing to do. Isn’t it?”

I shrugged. To tell you the truth, I didn’t really care what Kris did. I had my own problems.

One was that I had seen my whole family sneaking into the gym a little while earlier, and seating themselves next to David and the first lady. My whole family—my parents AND Lucy and Rebecca. I’d hurried over to them and been all, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” and my mom had looked at me like I was nuts.

“You didn’t expect us to miss your little town meeting, did you?” she wanted to know.

“But you could have stayed home and watched it on TV,” I pointed out. “I mean, it’s live, so you wouldn’t have missed out on anything.”

“Sam,” my mom said, sounding a little offended, “the president’s speech is about how families need to spend more time together. Wouldn’t it be just slightly hypocritical of us not to be here to support you?”

I hadn’t thought of that. And I guess she was right.

But it was clear that, even though they were there, supporting me wasn’t all that high on their agenda. My dad was on his cell phone—because somewhere in the world, a bank is always open—and Rebecca was reading a book on chaos theory. My mom kept checking her PDA, and I saw Lucy craning her neck, looking around the crowd in the folding chairs for her friends.

But when her gaze skipped over Tiffany Shore and Amber Carson, I realized it wasn’t her friends Lucy was looking for at all. It was Harold Minsky. Who wasn’t there, probably because a town hall meeting from his school—even one over which the president of the United States was presiding—wasn’t anywhere near as interesting as whatever was on the Sci-Fi Channel tonight.

But my family embarrassing me in front of everyone in my school—not to mention the nation—wasn’t the only thing getting me down. The other thing I couldn’t stop thinking about was…

Had that really been Dauntra out there? And if so…what did that even mean? I mean, does she hate me now, or something? Just because I’m supporting my boyfriend’s father’s initiative?

When I got back to my seat in front of the cameras—which hadn’t been turned on yet—I saw that Kris had summoned up all her courage and gone over to introduce herself to the men of the hour—David’s dad and Random Alvarez. She was pumping Random’s hand as I watched, seemingly oblivious to the slightly annoyed look on his face. He was clearly still unhappy with his hair.

“Hey.” David’s voice tickled my ear. “Break an arm.”

“Very funny,” I said to him. He always tells me to break an arm when I’m about to go on TV, because breaking an arm was, basically, how we’d met—when I broke my arm saving his dad from being shot.

“Don’t worry,” David said, kissing me on top of the head. “You’re going to be great. You always are.”

“Thanks,” I said, even though I didn’t believe a word of it.

“And, hey,” David said, still trying to cheer me up, “you get to meet Random Alvarez!”

“He’s a total cheesehead,” I said.

“Your friend Kris doesn’t seem to think so,” David pointed out. I looked in the direction he was nodding and saw Kris laughing at something Random had said (probably something like, “At least my hair looks better than that chick’s, over there”). Kris put a hand out, resting it on Random’s chest, as if to say, “Stop! You’re killing me with your wit!” But really, you knew she’d just wanted to touch his chest.

Random didn’t look as if he minded too much, because a second later, he leaned down and whispered something in Kris’s ear. She turned an interesting shade of pink, but nodded enthusiastically. Then Random slapped her on the butt.

Really.

I looked at David. “Ew,” was all I could think of to say.

“What’s up with Lucy?” David asked, nodding toward my sister, who was still looking for the love of her life in the many folding chairs along the darkened gym.

“She’s looking for Harold,” I said. I’d told David all about Lucy and her tutor in the car on the way over from the art studio. His response had been to nod sagely and say, “Oh, sure. She has a crush on him because he’s the only guy in the world who’s never paid the slightest bit of attention to her. You can see the allure.”

I raised my eyebrows at this. “You can?”

“Well, if you’re someone like Lucy, who’s always gotten any guy she’s ever wanted, having a guy not want you is a bit of a novelty. Of course she’s going to fall for him.”

I hadn’t really thought about it that way. But it did make sense.

“It’s a genius plan on the part of what’s-his-name,” David had remarked.

“Plan?” I’d scrunched up my face—but not in a repulsive, Brittany Murphy way, I hoped. “You think Harold PLANNED this?”

“Oh, sure,” David said. “To get her to like him? Come on. It’s brilliant. Pretend he doesn’t care, drive her insane …he knows he’ll have her eating out of his hand by the end of the week.”

“Um,” I said. “If you’d ever met Harold, you’d know…he’s not that kind of guy.”

David looked surprised. “Really?” Then he shook his head. “Poor Lucy.”

Watching her now, as she tried to appear casual while she looked around for Harold, David said it again: “Poor Lucy.”

You could say that again.

Now the director was calling, “Okay, people, we go live in ten. Places.”

“Hey, listen,” David leaned down to whisper in my ear. “I almost forgot. The weirdest thing just happened. My mom was talking to your mom just now, and she mentioned the whole Thanksgiving thing. My mom did. About you coming with us to Camp David.”

Every drop of blood in my veins seemed to turn suddenly into ice.

“And your mom said it was fine,” David went on. “I hope you don’t mind. I mean, about my mom jumping the gun and asking before you had a chance to. But she really wanted to know. About the turkey, and all.”

“And nine, eight, seven”—Random came and slid onto the stool beside me, with the president already perched on the one to his other side—“six, five, four—remember to look at each other, not into the camera—”

“Hope that’s okay,” David said, giving me a quick kiss on the cheek. Then he ran for his seat, just as the director yelled, “And we’re on!”

And every camera in the room turned to focus on my horror-stricken, blood-drained face.

“Hey, this is Random Alvarez, and I’m here hosting MTV’s latest town hall meeting,” Random said, in a much deeper voice than he’d used before the cameras came on. He was also seemingly oblivious to the fact that half the student population at Adams Prep, including Kris Parks, on a folding chair in front of us, was staring at him as if it were just the two of them standing in front of a minister in a Vegas chapel, about to be joined in wedded bliss.

“This is the show where you, the viewer, get a chance to hear about just some of the issues that are facing young voters in the upcoming election year. Tonight I’m proud to be joined by a man who needs no introduction, the president of the United States, who’s here to talk about his new initiative, Return to Family. We’re also joined by Samantha Madison, the young woman from John Adams Preparatory Academy—where we’re privileged to be filming this show live right here in Washington, D.C.”—screams from the students of Adams Prep, including Kris, who took that moment to shriek, I love you, Random, which the VJ ignored—“who risked her own life to save the president’s, and was appointed teen ambassador to the United Nations for her efforts. Mr. President, Samantha…hello, and welcome.”

“Hello, Random,” the president said with a smile. “Thanks so much for having me here tonight. And may I just say, Random, that you are, like, totally my favorite VJ.”

This got a nice laugh from the crowd. I saw the first lady, who was sitting beside my mother, turn to her and say something with a big smile on her face. My mom said something back, laughing.

I wondered how hard my mom would be laughing if she knew what I was really going to be doing at Camp David over Thanksgiving break.

“Thanks, Mr. President,” Random said, in the same disturbingly deep voice. Also, I totally saw him scoping on Kris’s underwear beneath her Talbot’s kilt when she turned around in her folding chair to say something excitedly to the girl behind her.

“So, Mr. President,” Random said, reading off the TelePrompTer just under the camera we all weren’t supposed to look into. “Tell us a little about your Return to Family program, if you will.”

“Certainly, Random,” the president said. “You know, I feel strongly that with divorce rates as high as they are today, and the number of single parents on the rise, it’s important we not forget that families are—and always have been—the backbone of America. If the family unit is weakened, then America is weakened. And I’m here before you tonight because I fear American families have been weakened…not just by the financial demands on them, but because of a basic failure to communicate. I understand the pressures on today’s parents, who are working hard to provide their children with privileges they themselves may not have had growing up. But I also feel that parents need to make more quality time to spend with their children—not just cheering them on at soccer games, or helping them with their homework, but actual time, talking…opening the lines of communication between parents and children.”

David’s dad paused. He never has to read from notecards or the TelePrompTer. He always memorizes all of his speeches. It’s something David can do, as well—speak in public completely extemporaneously (SAT word meaning “composed, performed, or uttered at the spur of the moment”).

I, on the other hand, need notecards. I had mine, tucked in the pocket of my jeans. All I had to wait for was my cue, which Random was going to give me shortly. The president was going to go on about what parents could do to open the lines of communication between them and their children, and I was going to talk about what kids themselves could do.

Then, the day after tomorrow, I am going to go to Maryland and have sex with my boyfriend for the first time. Apparently.

“That’s why I’m asking for a Return to Family,” the president went on. “One night a month, where we all turn off the television, stay home from soccer practice, and just spend time with one another, talking. I know it doesn’t sound like much…one night a month…can that really be enough to strengthen a family? Studies show that yes, it can. Children whose parents spend even as little as a few hours a month talking with them develop cognitive skills such as language and reading more quickly, test higher, and experience fewer instances of alcohol and drug abuse and premarital sex.”

Wow. Maybe that was my problem. Maybe that’s why I was going to be experiencing an instance of premarital sex. Because my mom and dad don’t spend enough time with me.

Yeah. It’s their fault.

“And you’ll have the support of the American government behind you,” David’s dad was going on. “In an effort to help parents open the lines of communication with their teenaged children, I’m asking state legislators, as part of the Return to Family plan, to pass a bill that requires teens seeking prescription contraception at family planning clinics to have parental consent or to have clinics notify parents five business days in advance of providing such services to teens—”

There was a lot of applause when the president said this. Kris and her friends in the folding chairs in front of us actually cheered.

I didn’t cheer.

I went, “Wait. What?”

But the microphone clipped to the collar of my shirt didn’t pick it up.

Which was probably just as well. Because I couldn’t have heard what I thought I’d just heard. No one else was reacting as if they’d heard anything unusual. I looked out and saw my dad getting up and moving out of the gym because he’d gotten another call on his cell phone. My mom was having a hard time clapping while also balancing her PDA. Rebecca was still reading her book on chaos theory. Lucy was putting on lip gloss.

Everyone else was clapping.

So it must be okay. I must have heard wrong. So, wait. What was I worried about again? Oh, yeah. Sex. With my boyfriend. At Camp David. Day after tomorrow.

“I feel this is an important step,” the president went on, after holding up both hands to still the flood of applause, “in opening the lines of communication between parents and teens. The United States currently leads the developed nations in teen birth and sexually transmitted disease rates. If parents were informed of their teenaged children’s behaviors by the agencies that are currently allowed to keep this vital information from them—the clinics and even pharmacists that play a part in promoting teen sexual activity—they could effectively put a stop to it—”

More applause. More applause.

I couldn’t believe it. I hadn’t heard him wrong. What was happening? Why were people clapping? Didn’t they understand what David’s dad was saying?

And why had none of this stuff been in the literature the White House press secretary had given me? There’d been nothing there about requiring clinics and pharmacists to notify parents if teenagers came to them for birth control. If there had, I’d have noticed. I mean, that kind of thing has sort of been on my mind lately.

The applause for the president’s speech was thunderously loud. So loud that it was a few seconds before anyone heard me shouting, “Wait! Wait just a minute!”

Random, noticing that I’d jumped down from my stool, looked over at me and, not seeing from the TelePrompTer that it was my turn to speak yet, said, “Samantha? Did you, uh, have something you wanted to say?”

“Yeah, I have something I want to say.” The notecards were still in my pocket. I wasn’t pulling them out. I wasn’t pulling them out because I’d forgotten all about them. I was too confused—and angry.

“What are you people clapping for?” I looked right at Kris Parks and her friends. “Don’t you realize what he’s saying? Don’t you realize what’s happening here?”

“Um, Samantha,” the president, behind me, said, “I think if you’ll let me finish, you’ll find that what’s happening here is that I am trying to strengthen the American family by giving parental control back to the people who know what’s best for their children—”

“But that’s…that’s wrong!” I couldn’t believe I was the only one in the room who seemed to think so. I looked down at Kris and the other kids from Adams Prep. “Don’t you get it? Do you hear what he’s saying? This Return to Family thing…it’s all a crock! It’s a trick! It’s a…a…”

Suddenly, Dauntra popped into my head. Dauntra, who couldn’t return to her family, because she’d been thrown out by them. Dauntra, who questioned authority—so much so, she was willing to get arrested for it.

“It’s a conspiracy!” I shouted. “A conspiracy to take away your rights!”

“Now, Sam,” the president said, in an easy voice, laughing a little, “let’s not be dramatic—”

“How am I being dramatic?” I whirled on him to ask. “You’re standing up there, telling the American public that you essentially want pharmacists and doctors to rat teens out if we come to them for help—”

“Samantha,” the president said, looking a lot madder than I’d ever seen him, including the time I took the last chocolate-chocolate-chip cookie from a complimentary basket Capital Cookies had sent him. “That is an over-simplification of the issue at hand. Americans have always valued the family above everything else. American families are this country’s backbone, from the Pilgrims who came over on the Mayflower to the settlers who tamed the plains, to the immigrants who’ve made this nation the great melting pot that it is today. I, for one, will not stand here and allow the dissolution of the American family through the undermining of parental rights—”

“What about my rights?” I demanded. “What about the rights of the kids? We have rights, too, you know.”

I looked back at the audience. It was hard to see their faces, with the bright lights from the show shining into my eyes. But I managed to find David.

And saw that he was smiling at me. Not like he was happy about what was going on, or anything. But like he understood that I was only doing what I had to do.

Because really, who else was there to do it?

And seeing that smile, I understood something else all of a sudden. Something that hadn’t been at all clear to me until then.

“Don’t you see?” I asked the audience—and the president, at the same time. “Don’t you get it? The way to strengthen families isn’t to undermine the rights of one member, while giving more rights to the other. It’s not about the PARTS. It’s about the WHOLE. It’s got to be EQUAL. A family is like…it’s like a house. There has to be a foundation first, before you can start decorating.”

I wondered if Susan Boone was watching this. I sort of couldn’t picture her watching MTV. But hey, you never knew. Maybe Susan was watching. If so, she’d know. She’d know that I finally got it. What she’d been talking about for the past two weeks, about how you couldn’t neglect the whole for the sake of the parts. I got it now. I was ready for her life drawing class. I finally understood.

Too bad it was too late.

“Don’t you guys get it?” I appealed to the other people my age in the audience. “The real reason the United States leads the developed nations in teen birth and STD rates isn’t because clinics aren’t notifying parents about their teenagers’ behavior, but because here, all they teach us is Just Say No. Not, ‘Here’s what you do in case saying no doesn’t work out for you.’ Just…no. In countries where adults are open with kids about sex and birth control, and teens are taught that there’s nothing shameful or whatever about it, the rates of unwanted pregnancies and STDs are lowest—”

“I understand your concern, Samantha,” the president cut me off, smiling a little tensely. “But I’m not talking about families such as those you and your fellow pupils here at this fine school belong to. I’m talking about families who haven’t had the advantages yours has—”

I couldn’t believe it. What was he saying? That families who lived in Cleveland Park were somehow immune from bad parenting and teenage sexual experimentation?

“—families who haven’t taught their children the kind of morals your parents have instilled in you,” the president went on. “You and all of your friends here at John Adams Preparatory Academy are great examples to this nation of the kind of children we should be striving to raise, children who have the moral character to stand up for what they believe in, to say no to drugs and sex—”

“So because I’ve said yes to sex,” I declared hotly, “that makes me a bad example to this nation? Is that what you’re saying?”

There was a beat as everyone—including me—realized what I’d just said.

As the knowledge that I had just announced to the entire country that I’d had sex with my boyfriend (even though I hadn’t) washed over me, I couldn’t help wishing that the gym floor beneath me would open up and swallow me whole.

Sadly for me, however, it didn’t.

“Oh my God,” I heard my mother’s voice, breaking the sudden stillness that had fallen over the gym.

Then:

“Oh my God,” I heard David’s mother’s voice say.

Then Random Alvarez seemed to come awake from the doze he’d sunk into while the president and I had been speaking, and said, into the camera, “And we’ll be back, after these important messages!”