Edgewater by Courtney Sheinmel

was also on loan from Harper’s closet, and I deeply regretted leaving the house without removing the loose tampons swimming around in there.
    Lennox was stepping through an adjacent metal detector, handing her purse over to another man in a suit. Mine was handed back, but hers wasn’t. “Miss, I see you have a cell phone in here.”
    â€œYes, of course I do,” Lennox said.
    â€œThe Copelands are requiring that all devices that can take pictures or be enabled to post onto social media not be brought onto the premises unless you have a press pass. It was stated plainly on the invitation.”
    â€œHey,” Charlie said, sticking a hand out. “I’m Charlie Copeland. I’m the son of the people who hired you tonight.”
    â€œI know who you are, sir.”
    â€œCall me Charlie, please. What’s your name?”
    â€œPhilip.”
    â€œPhilip, good to meet you. I agree with you that this girllooks awfully suspicious, but I assure you, she’s harmless, and I don’t mind if she brings her phone in. She promises not to use it, right?” He looked at Lennox.
    â€œSure, of course not,” she said quickly.
    â€œAll right?” Charlie asked. He leaned toward Philip. “I’m trying to make a good impression here.”
    As if he had anything to worry about where Lennox and I were concerned.
    â€œAll right,” Philip said. He handed Lennox her purse—phone and all. Charlie ushered us forward, into a foyer as big as a wedding hall. The floor was patterned marble, and several gilded chandeliers hung down from a frescoed ceiling. Standing below, it looked three-dimensional, and I couldn’t imagine that the Sistine Chapel itself was any more awe-inspiring. The back wall was a window that stretched up two stories. Sliding panels at the bottom were thrown wide open, and the crowd was moving toward them, headed outside. Charlie kept getting intercepted by people wanting to say hello and tell him it was good to see him back in Idlewild.
    Lennox steered me toward a waiter with a silver tray of drinks balanced precariously on one hand. “That’s a poppy in his lapel,” she told me.
    â€œSo?”
    â€œIt’s the Copeland family flower,” she said. She nodded toward the cocktails on his tray, which looked a bit like liquid candy. “Pick a color, any color.”
    I reached for a glass of red, but the waiter pulled the drinks back from me. “Miss, I’m going to need to see some ID.”
    â€œSorry. Never mind.”
    â€œYou, too,” Charlie was saying to an older man with a much younger blonde on his arm. “It was great to see you both. I’ll see you around.”
    The three of us finally made it outside, onto an expansive deck featuring a human-size chessboard at the center. Guests were milling about on the black and white squares, resting the butt ends of drinks and appetizers on the crowns of giant king and queen game pieces. Lennox moved toward the railing. “Look,” she said. “That guy in the orange tie over there by the pool—that’s the Speaker of the House!”
    â€œWow,” Charlie said. “You’ve done your homework.”
    â€œI read the
Washington Post
every day,” Lennox said. “And I have my own blog—Capitol Teen. You can look it up.”
    â€œBetween you and me, the Speaker’s a total asshole,” Charlie told her.
    â€œReally?” Lennox leaned over the rail again. I did, too—to see if there was anyone out there I had to avoid.
    â€œOh my God,” Lennox said. “I see your mom. Oh my God, she’s looking right at us!”
    Julia Copeland
was
looking right at us—well, right at Charlie. Tall and slender, she was wearing a sleeveless white dress that showed off her sculpted arms. Four thick gold necklaces were layered around her neck, and her blond hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail. She looked as perfect