Confessions of a First Daughter Read online

  “Isn’t it awesome?” I screeched back. Friday night and Vex was packed. Lasers shot blades of light over the wall-to-wall patrons. A DJ wearing shredded urban wear and a Nationals baseball cap stood on a lit platform and mixed dance cuts.

  Hannah immediately pulled an unresisting Prince Richard onto the dance floor. They melded pretty well into the crowd heaving to a hip-hop remix of disco tunes. Smoke from dry-ice machines misted the room, and a disco ball lowered from the ceiling.

  The whole thing—the music, the special effects—was so killer, the urge to dance overwhelmed me. No wonder Vex earned a reputation as the hottest club in D.C. I scanned the room looking for someone who would dance with me. But the only people nearby were security agents from the prince’s detail, and Max.

  Desperate times…

  “Come on, Max!” I pulled at his arm. “Let’s dance.”

  He jerked away so hard, he elbowed one of the prince’s MI5 agents in the ribs. “That’s not a good idea, Morgan. I need to stay alert.”

  “But it’ll look less suspicious. See, people are already starting to wonder about you guys.”

  Max cast a hunted look at the cocktail tables over by the bar. Sure enough, some people were nodding and turning in my direction.

  “Well…I guess it makes sense….”

  A remixed Madonna song pumped through the sound system. That did it. I didn’t wait for Max to finish his sentence. I hauled him out on the dance floor and began grooving.

  Max stood before me, eyes wide with shock, watching me gyrate. I may be the president’s daughter but I’ve got some moves.

  “Get it together.” I laughed. “Dance!”

  Max moved robotically for a few beats, and the thought crossed my mind that maybe I should have gone it alone. If the floor were any less crowded, Max would have been a little embarrassing. Then all at once he relaxed and his movements became fluid.

  I flashed him a grin.

  Max jerked his shoulders in a cool b-boy bodywave, and once again I realized that there was more to Special Agent Max Jackson than I’d previously suspected.

  With Hannah and Prince Richard next to us, we danced through three decades of remixed hits. The floor became even more crowded, and heat from dancing bodies steamed up the wall mirrors.

  We were pushed into the center of the packed dance floor. I couldn’t see anything over the heads of the bobbing dancers. My T-back halter top stuck between my shoulder blades, and the hair on the nape of my neck curled in the humidity.

  The remix of nineties house music ended in a staccato drum solo. Then a slow song tinkled over the sound system.

  I expected the floor to empty so I could grab a drink of mineral water, but no such luck. More dancers flooded on. We were stuck.

  I saw Hannah and the prince sink into each other. She gave me a big fat wink over Prince Richard’s shoulder and settled her head on his shoulder.

  I glanced at Max. Sweat plastered his short brown hair into spikes and I could see him looking for a way out of the packed floor.

  I tried teasing him even though I felt a little weird myself. “You said you’d take a bullet for me. One slow dance won’t kill you.”

  “Remember that this is in the line of duty,” he quipped, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. He pulled me close; I draped my arms across his shoulders and we shuffled. I smelled his aftershave and tried not to think about how solid his biceps felt around me. Or the holster of his sidearm digging into my side.

  Max tilted his head against mine. And then I tried not to think about how much I liked that. For a moment, I forgot that he’d been hired to do a job—protect me. Instead, all I could think about is how right it felt to be in his arms.

  I sighed and snuggled closer; he tightened his hold on me.

  Then he stiffened.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Cell phone video recorder,” he murmured into my ear. “Our cover’s been blown. We have to move.”

  By the time Max had cleared a path to the door, the energy in the club had changed. Now a familiar buzz hummed underneath the music, and people were nudging one another and trying to get snaps of the prince and me on their cell phone cameras.

  The security detail closed in. Max ushered us through the kitchen while he arranged for the Baby Beast to meet us at the back door. Unfortunately, a bunch of photographers and videographers already packed the alley hoping for that million-dollar shot.

  “Your Royal Highness,” Max said to Prince Richard, “I’m afraid the paparazzi have discovered you.”

  “Ah well.” Prince Richard slipped his arm around Hannah’s waist. “It was entirely worth it.”

  The flash of cameras and digital recorders nearly blinded us. I grabbed Prince Richard’s hand to keep him from being mauled by a group of screaming girls and yanked him into the Baby Beast. Hannah and Max flung themselves in after us, and we rolled.

  Max and I politely stared out opposite windows as the D.C. skyline eased by, while Hannah and the prince snuggled close. I reached for a bottle of water in the limo’s wet bar and my hand accidentally grazed Max’s. An electric shock passed between us. He jerked away like he’d been burned.

  Whoa.

  Was I beginning to fall for my Secret Service agent?

  Chapter Seventeen

  “I told you to keep the fun low-key, Morgan.”

  Mom slapped the front page of The Washington Post next to my bowl of Frosted Flakes. She and I were eating breakfast in the family kitchenette.

  With a sinking feeling, I stared at the grainy photo of me and Prince Richard ducking out of Vex’s back door. I was holding Prince Richard’s hand, and he happened to have his head turned toward me so that his gorgeous profile was perfectly captured. Max and Hannah were nowhere to be seen. Probably Photoshopped out of the shot.

  “Mom, I can explain.” My mind raced. I didn’t want to get Max in trouble.

  “You know what?” Mom sighed. She looked unusually tired. “I honestly don’t want to know. You and the prince made it home safely, and that’s the main thing.”

  Mom’s taking a pass on giving me a lecture? My mother? “Is everything okay?”

  “Actually, it is.” Mom took a sip of her herbal green tea and spread soy butter on her sprouted wheat toast. “I made real progress with the Mfuso junta last night. I think he might be ready to play ball after all.”

  “That’s excellent, Mom!”

  Mom allowed herself to crack a smile. “It is pretty excellent, isn’t it? But this means that next Saturday, you’ll have to be me again while I hold the meeting. Are you sure, Morgan? Totally, one hundred percent sure you can do this?”

  I waved my spoon airily over my bowl of Frosted Flakes. “If you can get warring African military juntas to agree to a cease-fire and save the world from nuclear destruction, then I can pose as the president of the United States for a day.”

  She reached for my hand, her expression stone-cold serious. “If we’re caught in this deception, it’ll mean the end of my presidency. I could be impeached. You could…I don’t want to even entertain that thought….”

  I swallowed hard. I’d thought about the consequences already. “We have to do something, don’t we?” I squeezed her hand. “Look on the bright side: I’d have more time to study in jail.”

  Mom and I exchanged grins across the table, hers more reluctant than mine.

  For the rest of the weekend, I tried not to think about our swap, yellowcake uranium, or Konner. Mom and I did the usual rounds of honoring Earth Day volunteers and a couple of Olympic athletes. I managed to catch up on some homework and a sense of normal seeped in—well, as normal as my life gets. It was a relief after the week I’d had.

  But Monday morning, once again, whispers followed me through the halls of the Academy of the Potomac. Copies of the Washington Post’s gossip page, the Gadfly, and even downloaded photos of Celebricity.com’s website littered the cafeteria and library. The press was going crazy speculating about Preside
nt Abbott’s wayward daughter and Prince Richard. Max didn’t bother to confiscate the papers. There were too many.

  Even Hannah was annoyed. “They make it look like you and Rich are an item,” she said as we hoisted our massive chemistry books out of our lockers for class.

  I raised a brow. “Rich?”

  “Yeah. He called.” Hannah casually checked the text messages on her cell phone. Then she showed me the log of incoming calls.

  RICH

  RICH

  RICH

  I cracked up. Leave it to Hannah. If anyone could snag the world’s most eligible bachelor, it’d be her.

  “And guess who else thinks you two are an item?” Hannah tilted her head to the left.

  Konner Tippington hung around his locker and pretended to play with the texting pad on his cell phone, but it was so obvious he was faking. He gave me a nod and one of his charming grins, which would have sent me running right over to him in the past.

  Not this time.

  “The boy is mad jealous,” Hannah added with a laugh. “Jeong told me that Konner punched his gym locker when he saw the photo.”

  “He did?” I had to admit that was satisfying even though I wasn’t missing Konner the way I thought I would. Sure, he was scorching hot. Super popular. And could be charming when he wanted to be. But I never felt butterflies doing the cha-cha in my stomach the way I did when I danced with Max at the club.

  While I mulled that fact over I must have been gazing at Konner. Apparently, he took it for encouragement, because he started to walk over.

  Involuntarily I scooted closer to Max, who’d been waiting for me out of earshot and was politely examining a homecoming dance poster while Hannah and I finished gossiping. Max was wearing jeans and a graphic tee today, which, he explained, enabled him to blend better with his surroundings. Now, despite his earpiece, with his short-cropped hair and clean-shaven chin, he seemed more like a captain of the lacrosse team, or maybe an ace member of the tech club, than a trained Secret Service agent.

  Max looked up and saw Konner heading our way. His eyes went a smidge colder. “Ready for class, Morgan?”

  “So ready.”

  Hannah and I turned our shoulders on Konner; Max took up the rear, effectively freezing Konner out.

  “Nice,” Hannah whispered as we headed to the chem lab. “Secret Agent Man comes in handy sometimes, doesn’t he? Like at the club the other night?” She shot me a sly look. “I think he likes you.”

  “Max? No way. There’re all sorts of rules against agents getting friendly with protectees.” But I couldn’t help feeling a zing of hope. Maybe my imagination wasn’t playing tricks on me after all.

  I gave Max a grateful smile when we reached the lab, and he nodded back.

  For the rest of the day, Max played keep-away between Konner and me, and the funniest part of the whole thing was that I don’t think Konner had a clue. One minute I’d be right in front of him, the next minute Max would whisk me away, leaving Konner swimming in confusion.

  Konner aside, and despite the whispers and gossip about my picture in the paper, the day meandered on uneventfully. Until Ms. Gibson appeared before me in the hall right before calculus class.

  “Morgan, I’d like to see you in my office, please.”

  I cast a hunted look at Max, but this time he just shrugged. Obviously, he knew better than to get between me and Tomb-Raider Gibson.

  Once I settled into my all-too-familiar place on the other side of her desk, Gibson pushed a copy of the New York Post’s Page Six gossip column toward me. The pixilated image of my face showed me blinking like a doofus, while Prince Richard appeared to be looking down my shirt.

  “What’s the deal with this, Morgan? I believe this photo was taken Friday night, the same day you called in sick from school.”

  Crud. “Well, uh…”

  “Did you seriously cut school? With grades like yours?”

  God, Gibson looked so scary right now. I think I should recommend her to my mom for the position of head terrorism czar. Her interrogation methods would turn any terrorist into a quivering mass of Jell-O.

  “It’s not like that, Ms. Gibson, really it isn’t. I, uh…” My mind kicked into warp speed. It’s not like I could tell her that I had spent the day learning how to impersonate the president of the United States.

  “I was, uh, sick in the morning, but then I got better.” I winced. How lame did that sound?

  “Got better.” Ms. Gibson’s voice dripped with contempt. “Yes, I can certainly see how going to a nightclub would be conducive to your health. Whether it contributes to your intellectual health is another matter entirely.”

  I opened my mouth to tell her that some things were more important than school. Like helping my mom prevent nuclear proliferation.

  But I couldn’t blow Mom’s plans just to avoid another demerit in my file. “It won’t happen again, Ms. Gibson. Clubbing with Prince Richard was a one-shot deal. You can be sure of that.”

  “And skipping school?”

  “Never again.” If I could help it, I added silently.

  Ms. Gibson seared me with one of her penetrating glares. “I’m going to hold you to that, Morgan. Now get to class.”

  I booked out of there.

  Just outside of Gibson’s office, I spotted Brittany Whittaker and her posse cooing over a huge bouquet of flowers. Today Brittany wore a powder-blue mini and strappy sandals that made her legs look obscenely long and lean.

  My feet in their scuffed Converse high-tops automatically turned in the opposite direction, but Brittany’s honeydew voice curled around me. “Hey there, Morgan! Visiting Ms. Gibson again? I hope you’re not going on academic probation this semester.”

  Brittany’s minions tittered on cue.

  Since I could never be certain academic probation wasn’t in my future, I quickly changed the subject. “What’s with the flowers? Laying them on the grave of some other person’s stolen dreams?”

  Brittany smirked. “We’re consulting with Mrs. Hsu on appropriate decorations for the homecoming dance. Our committee is kicking it up a notch this year…last year’s crepe paper and homemade posters were super tacky.”

  Ouch. I’d headed up the decorating committee for last year’s homecoming dance.

  “And I’m really sorry to hear about you and Konner breaking up. Such a shame. The two of you made a…an interesting couple.”

  I was about to tell her I’d remember that the next time I went clubbing with Prince Richard, the most scorching of the British royals, when my nose tingled and I let out a great big woof of a sneeze.

  The posse jumped back.

  “Ew, gross!” one of them yelped.

  I sneezed again. And again.

  “God, get her a tissue,” Brittany snapped.

  I scrubbed my nose with the offered Kleenex. “I’m allergic to lilies,” I muttered. “It runs in the family.”

  “I thought white lilies were the president’s favorite flower,” she sneered.

  “It’s my dad who’s allergic.” Another sneeze exploded out of my nose. “I gotta get out of here.”

  As I walked rapidly away, I heard Brittany say, “Let’s double the order of lilies for the dance.”

  Brittany Whittaker’s evilness should have ticked me off, but since I didn’t have a date for the homecoming dance anyway, I didn’t really care. If she wanted to blow the senior class’s social fund on expensive flowers that would end up like brown potpourri, let her deal with the fallout from the student council treasurer.

  It wasn’t like the school elected me class president. Besides, I had my own problems to cope with. Like running the country on Saturday.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “How’d it go with the guidance counselor?” Max asked as he held the door to the Baby Beast open for me. We’d walked to where the perimeter detail waited with the motorcade outside AOP’s gates.

  “Okay, I guess. I mean, I’m not expelled…yet.”

  I was about to s
ling my loaded backpack into the limo when Max took it and hefted it inside for me.

  Agents never do personal chores like that. Ever. It’s against the regulations, meant to keep them from becoming personal servants.

  Max slipped in next to me and my heart accelerated.

  The limo slid through light midafternoon traffic until we hit the predictable gridlock on the Taft Bridge. I stared at one of the enormous stone lions that guarded the entry onto the bridge.

  “You’re quiet today,” Max remarked. “Are you sure everything’s all right?”

  After being slammed by Ms. Gibson and Brittany, I was overwhelmed by Max’s kindness. I nodded. “Thanks, Max.” I leaned over and nudged him with my shoulder.

  “For what?”

  “It’s just nice, you know, having you around.” I smiled.

  Now Max looked really uncomfortable.

  He scooted closer to the window and sighed. “Morgan, I think I may have given you the wrong idea.”

  “What?” I frowned. I thought we were having a moment.

  “I think I may have gotten a little too”—he paused—“comfortable with you.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “There are rules against fraternization between agents and protectees.” He wouldn’t even look at me.

  “What do you mean ‘fraternization’?” OMG, did he think I was coming on to him? “I thought we were friends.”

  “I’m your Secret Service agent and you are my protectee.” Max swallowed hard as if it were difficult to say. “That’s all.”

  “You don’t have to read me the Secret Service manual,” I said dully. “I get it.”

  “There are reasons why rules and regulations exist,” he continued doggedly. “They help prevent mistakes.”

  “Mistakes.”

  “Yeah. Mistakes. Ones that could cost you your life.”

  My head knew that Max was right. But my heart felt like he’d stomped all over it. I turned my face away and stared out the window, but the D.C. scenery had somehow lost its luster.

  We didn’t speak for the rest of the ride home.