Chapter 1 #2
“Don’t remind me,” I mutter, and Milo bursts out laughing.
“Not a fan of this life?” He gestures at the elevator car around us just as the doors ping again, alerting us that we’re on the ground floor. We step off together.
“You seem a little better suited to it than I am,” I tell him. “I’m kind of a private person, I guess. You seem to be more comfortable with having hundreds and thousands of eyes trained on you.”
Milo shoves his hands into his pockets as he leans back against the shiny, gold-and-blue wallpaper behind him. “Oh, you’d be surprised,” he murmurs.
I should say goodbye to him and go find the front desk, where my lo mein and Uncle Stan’s orange chicken are waiting. But something keeps my feet—wrapped up in Chucks that I’m sure Ezra will make me change out of—firmly in place on the dark green carpet.
Milo sighs. “I’m what, around fifteen years older than you? I guess I have been at this whole ‘political family’ thing a long time. Listen, Noah, if you ever need advice, or just want to talk—”
He’s halfway through the sentence when the elevator pings again, letting us know someone else is getting off. The doors slide open.
Out steps Ezra Morehouse.
“Noah,” he says sharply. “I was just looking for you and Stan. I know you two were planning to have lunch, but that will have to wait. A local reporter wants photographs of you both together.”
His eyes track me up and down, and his gaze narrows.
“What are you wearing? Why does your tie have blue polka dots? And what on earth are those shoes on your feet? You look ridiculous. I told you, Noah, this weekend is important for your uncle.” He sighs and shakes his head in annoyance, like I’m a toddler tracking dirt across his carpet.
“I don’t understand why you have to make even the smallest things so difficult. ”
I can feel myself shrinking into the suit I’m wearing against my will, and I wait for Milo to disappear down the hallway and away from my shame, but instead he steps out in front of me, until his body is shielding me from Ezra. “Hello,” he says, holding out a hand. “I’m Dr. Milo Warner.”
Ezra’s face flashes into the smile he pastes on for reporters, constituents, and anyone with a social media account above five thousand followers.
“Senator Warner’s son,” he says easily as he shakes Milo’s hand.
“Good to see you. I’m Ezra Morehouse, Senator Hardaway’s COS.
Sorry about the health-care bill. I know you were working hard on supporting that for us. ”
Milo flinches again. I’ve been busy with school this past year, and I haven’t followed the details of what happened with that bill, but now I’m starting to wonder what I missed.
Ezra turns to me again. “Grab your food and head back upstairs. I’ll find you something more… suitable to wear before I bring the reporters to you.”
Milo takes another step in front of me. “Listen, man,” he says easily.
“It looks like Noah needs a break from the cameras right now. Who can blame him, right? That spotlight gets a little too bright for all of us once in a while. Maybe you can do the photo shoot tonight, when he’s all dressed up for the big event anyway? ”
Ezra’s eyes narrow further as his face takes on that slightly blackened look Uncle Stan never seems to notice.
The same look that usually has me moving to take off my Chucks or put on a tie immediately, or whatever else it is Ezra’s ordering me to do.
But Milo just stands tall in front of me, an easy expression glued to his face.
I can practically see Ezra making fast calculations in his head.
For one moment he looks like he’s about to open his mouth to argue, but then he quickly closes it and swallows.
“I’ll see what I can do,” he finally says.
He turns and rushes down the hall, off to conquer whatever someone with a five-hundred-dollar teeth whitening job goes off to conquer.
I sigh. “There goes my afternoon,” I mutter.
“It was nice talking with you, Dr. Warner.” I turn to go find my food, which is probably going to be cold by the time I finally get to eat it.
There’s no way Ezra’s going to take Milo’s suggestion to heart, unfortunately.
I’m sure of that. I’m only a few steps away from the elevator, though, when a hand on my shoulder stops me in place.
Milo’s hand.
“Listen, Noah,” he says. “What I was saying, about getting in touch with me if you ever want to talk? I meant it.” He pulls his wallet out of his pocket, tugs a business card from it, and hands it to me. “My info’s there. Reach out anytime, okay?”
Then he disappears in the opposite direction.
I spend the walk to the front desk studying the card. Wondering. Does he really want me to contact him? I mean, people don’t say things like that if they don’t mean them, right?
But reaching out to Milo Warner has got to be a terrible idea.
His mother and my father are going up against each other in a major election soon, that’s pretty clear.
I feel like sinking through the floor, away from everything and everyone around me, as I imagine those coming months of political appearances, and all the ties I’ll be expected to wear, and all the Ezra commands I’ll be expected to follow.
And the entire time, Uncle Stan will be moving further and further out of my orbit as I try to figure out where my life goes next.
I haven’t felt this lost since my life imploded when I was nine years old. I barely survived that implosion. What if I can’t make it through another one?
I rescue my takeout from the front desk and check for the fortune cookies. Two of them lie at the bottom of the bag. Uncle Stan will be happy, at least. I pluck one of them out and open it on a whim.
You will find the change you seek, it says.
Unlikely, I silently tell the cookie. I crumple the fortune up in my hand as I walk away.