All around us I could feel the room changing as the night got later and the map on the wall became divided down the battle lines of red and blue.
"Hey," Preston said, looking at me. "Can I talk to you for a second?"
I glanced at Bex and Liz, who nodded for me to go, so the potential first son and I walked to a quiet corner of a party. "I fully admit that what I'm about to say will officially make me a girl." For a second, I forgot my fears and laughed. "And I'm owning that," the boy in front of me carried on. "So that's got to be worth something, right?"
"Right," I answered, biting back a smile.
"But it's just that I've got to ask you about…Does Macey ever say anything about me?" he finally blurted.
Despite my exceptional education, I totally didn't know how to answer his question. Maybe it was because we'd spent more than a year trying to figure boys out, but in all that time it had never crossed my mind that we might be just as encrypted to them. But more likely, it was because I didn't have a clue what to say.
"She doesn't say much about any of this," I finally admitted, gesturing around at the elaborate party—her other world. "It's not really…her, you know?"
Preston smiled. He did know. And right then I knew that it wasn't really him either.
"Do you ever think about Boston, Cammie?" he asked, but I didn't get a chance to admit that I did think about it— too much. "I do," Preston said, and then he smiled. "She's really something, isn't she?"
"Yeah," I said slowly. "She really is."
He looked at me then like I've been looked at maybe once or twice in my entire life, and I felt the subtle tremor that comes with being truly seen. "Something tells me she's not the only one."
"Preston—" I started, but the potential first son just shook his head.
"Whatever secrets you and Macey have, Cammie, I don't want to know them." He took a step away but then stopped suddenly and moved closer. "Just tell me one thing: does it involve Spandex?" He closed his eyes and a really goofy look crossed his face. "Because in my mind it involves Spandex."
"Preston," I said, laughing and slapping him gently on the arm.
I saw Macey walking toward Bex and Liz, and before I could say another word, Preston made a beeline toward her.
"Jeez, Preston." Macey rolled her eyes. "Don't you have
a—"
"Macey," Preston said, cutting her off, "I came over to say that if our dads win, we're going to be seeing a lot of each other." Macey opened her mouth as if to protest, but Preston didn't let her draw a breath. "And if they lose … well, I think we still should see a lot of each other anyway. So there," he finished with a shrug. "That's all. You ladies enjoy the party."
And with that he walked away, and all Liz, Bex, Macey, and I could do was watch him go.
"Did he seem a little …" Macey started, but it was up to Bex and Liz to finish.
"Hot?" they said in unison.
Macey nodded like maybe it was true, maybe it was okay to admit it, maybe—just maybe—there might be an advantage to being the vice president's daughter after all. But then her gaze shifted and there was a sparkle in her eye. "And speaking of hot…" Macey said, "what's new with Zach?"
I thought about Preston, who had just done one of the bravest things I'd ever witnessed, and I realized that loving someone takes courage. It takes strength. But I'd never been brave when it came to Zach—I'd never taken the chance or said what I wanted to say. I thought of the way he'd looked at me at the football game, and it suddenly seemed too late.
"I don't think he likes me anymore. Maybe he never liked me. Maybe he just liked … a challenge?"
Macey shrugged. "It happens."
"No, Cam!" Liz protested. "Maybe he's just…" But she couldn't finish, because the only way that sentence could end was badly.
"Well, now's your chance to find out," Macey said as she pointed through the crowd at the boy who stood in its center with his hands in his pockets, his shoulders slumped as if he were the most harmless guy on earth.
"I heard someone's playing hooky," Zach told me. He smiled. Standing there, it felt almost like nothing bad had ever happened—or would ever happen again.
"There's a boy in my life," I told him. "He's a very bad influence."
Then Zach nodded. "Bad boys have a way of doing that. But they're worth it."
The ballroom was too hot and crowded. I felt almost dizzy as Zach leaned close to me and whispered, "Can I talk to you?"
As soon as I felt his hand in mine I forgot all about my mother's words. I didn't think about my promise. I wanted someplace quiet, someplace cool. And most of all, I wanted answers. So I let Zach lead me out a side door and onto a street that had somehow become an alley, thanks to Secret Service perimeters and D.C. blockades.
I shivered and wrapped my arms around my chest and wished I'd brought a winter coat. It suddenly seemed way too cold for the first Tuesday in November.
Someone had propped open a door to the hotel, and I heard the band stop. Some other state must have been called, because a moan rang through the night, but I wasn't really listening. Not anymore.
Because it was dark.
And I was cold.
And Zach was taking his jacket off and draping it around my shoulders, which (according to Liz, who double-checked with Macey) is the single-sexiest thing a guy can do.
His hands stayed on my shoulders a second longer than they had to. The jacket was warm and smelled like him. The wind blew harder, catching stray pieces of confetti in the breeze and whirling them around us like a patriotic snowstorm.