says.
“Just doing my job, ma’am.”
He closes the door and goes back to his gargoyle impression.
Sam pulls me in the opposite direction.
“Asshole,” she says. “Sorry about that.”
“I don’t think he likes me,” I say.
“He doesn’t like anyone,” she says, “but he
really
doesn’t like you.”
“Strange, because I’m very likable.”
“My father seems to think so.”
“And you?”
“I haven’t made up my mind yet.”
“Take your time,” I say. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I can’t go anywhere. I’ve wasted my first chance and I have to scramble to find another. I told Father I was going to finish quickly and make things simple. Instead I’ve screwed up and now things are getting more complicated.
I sense myself drifting into thoughts that are not helpful to me. Regret. Recrimination. I’ve learned not to dwell on such thoughts.
Things happen.
Adjust. Stay on task.
“Was my dad talking your ear off in there?” Sam says as we walk down the hall together.
“Both ears.”
“He has a big decision to make, and it’s got him a little crazy.”
“Is he going to change garbage day to Thursday?”
“Funny,” she says, “but it’s more like, ‘What am I going to do with the rest of my life?’ ”
“I didn’t know mayors thought about things like that.”
“Mayors in their final terms do,” Sam says. “That’s the beauty of term limits. They are fear-inducing.”
“I thought he’d go back to running his company.”
The mayor’s company, GRAM. Global Risk Assessment Modeling. Sophisticated data-mining algorithms applied to global security. It turned the professor into a businessman and the businessman into a billionaire. That billionaire became the city’s mayor at a time when the world felt the most unsafe.
At least that’s how the story is told. That was nearly eight years ago. I was in third grade at the time.
“Who knows what he’ll do,” Sam says. “My father has a way of making simple things very complicated. My mother used to call him on that, but now—” Her smile fades. “Now we’re sort of on our own.”
Her mother. I’m remembering the article I read about her mother’s car accident in Israel.
Sam stares at the ground, traces the pattern on the marble with one toe.
“You okay?” I say.
“Memories,” she says. “I hate them sometimes.”
“Me, too.”
“Really? What do you have memories of?”
Many things, all of them dangerous to me.
Before I can answer, a girl with bright red hair interrupts us coming down the hall.
“Great party!” she says.
“Thanks for coming,” Sam says to her.
Red gives me a double take, not recognizing the new guy with Sam. She lingers, waiting for an introduction.
She doesn’t get one.
“I’ll leave you guys alone,” she says, and keeps going down the hall.
“Any other questions about my dad?” Sam says.
“A lot more,” I say.
Her face darkens.
“I want to know more about him because I want to know more about you.”
“I see,” she says, studying my face.
“You’re always trying to figure out if I’m telling the truth,” I say.
“Professional hazard.”
“What profession is that?”
“Daughter of a famous person,” she says.
But I wonder if it isn’t something else.
Girl who got hurt by her ex.
Or maybe
Girl who lost her mother and doesn’t trust the world.
Whatever it is, it’s complicated.
We cross the threshold of the front door on the way back to the party, and I stop and grab the door handle.
I’m not going to get another opportunity with the mayor tonight. My best play is to get out now.
“Where are you going?” Sam says.
“I’m leaving.”
“April Fool’s?”
“For real.”
“You’re blowing off my party?”
“Not blowing it off. I was here; now I’m leaving.”
This is not a girl who is used to boys walking away from her. I see her wrestling with the idea. She wants to ask another question, but she stops herself.
“Okay,
“Just doing my job, ma’am.”
He closes the door and goes back to his gargoyle impression.
Sam pulls me in the opposite direction.
“Asshole,” she says. “Sorry about that.”
“I don’t think he likes me,” I say.
“He doesn’t like anyone,” she says, “but he
really
doesn’t like you.”
“Strange, because I’m very likable.”
“My father seems to think so.”
“And you?”
“I haven’t made up my mind yet.”
“Take your time,” I say. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I can’t go anywhere. I’ve wasted my first chance and I have to scramble to find another. I told Father I was going to finish quickly and make things simple. Instead I’ve screwed up and now things are getting more complicated.
I sense myself drifting into thoughts that are not helpful to me. Regret. Recrimination. I’ve learned not to dwell on such thoughts.
Things happen.
Adjust. Stay on task.
“Was my dad talking your ear off in there?” Sam says as we walk down the hall together.
“Both ears.”
“He has a big decision to make, and it’s got him a little crazy.”
“Is he going to change garbage day to Thursday?”
“Funny,” she says, “but it’s more like, ‘What am I going to do with the rest of my life?’ ”
“I didn’t know mayors thought about things like that.”
“Mayors in their final terms do,” Sam says. “That’s the beauty of term limits. They are fear-inducing.”
“I thought he’d go back to running his company.”
The mayor’s company, GRAM. Global Risk Assessment Modeling. Sophisticated data-mining algorithms applied to global security. It turned the professor into a businessman and the businessman into a billionaire. That billionaire became the city’s mayor at a time when the world felt the most unsafe.
At least that’s how the story is told. That was nearly eight years ago. I was in third grade at the time.
“Who knows what he’ll do,” Sam says. “My father has a way of making simple things very complicated. My mother used to call him on that, but now—” Her smile fades. “Now we’re sort of on our own.”
Her mother. I’m remembering the article I read about her mother’s car accident in Israel.
Sam stares at the ground, traces the pattern on the marble with one toe.
“You okay?” I say.
“Memories,” she says. “I hate them sometimes.”
“Me, too.”
“Really? What do you have memories of?”
Many things, all of them dangerous to me.
Before I can answer, a girl with bright red hair interrupts us coming down the hall.
“Great party!” she says.
“Thanks for coming,” Sam says to her.
Red gives me a double take, not recognizing the new guy with Sam. She lingers, waiting for an introduction.
She doesn’t get one.
“I’ll leave you guys alone,” she says, and keeps going down the hall.
“Any other questions about my dad?” Sam says.
“A lot more,” I say.
Her face darkens.
“I want to know more about him because I want to know more about you.”
“I see,” she says, studying my face.
“You’re always trying to figure out if I’m telling the truth,” I say.
“Professional hazard.”
“What profession is that?”
“Daughter of a famous person,” she says.
But I wonder if it isn’t something else.
Girl who got hurt by her ex.
Or maybe
Girl who lost her mother and doesn’t trust the world.
Whatever it is, it’s complicated.
We cross the threshold of the front door on the way back to the party, and I stop and grab the door handle.
I’m not going to get another opportunity with the mayor tonight. My best play is to get out now.
“Where are you going?” Sam says.
“I’m leaving.”
“April Fool’s?”
“For real.”
“You’re blowing off my party?”
“Not blowing it off. I was here; now I’m leaving.”
This is not a girl who is used to boys walking away from her. I see her wrestling with the idea. She wants to ask another question, but she stops herself.
“Okay,
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