Georgetown Academy, Season One Read online

  “Yup,” Evan replied and Maura nodded, her dark frizzy hair escaping from the haphazard ponytail she had placed it in. She had circles under her eyes indicating severe dehydration and pale skin that suggested she’d been locked in this studio without access to sunlight for the past three years. With as many hours as Maura was forced to stay here every night, it probably wasn’t far from the truth.

  Evan returned her eyes to her borrowed laptop from the network, her fingers moving over the keys as quickly as possible as she tried to keep up with the pace of the conversation in the room. Sure, the student government meetings were fun for Evan (mostly because of Hunter), but this was what she truly loved. Being at the center of real, hard-hitting journalism. From a young age, Evan had realized that politicians in this city didn’t do much at all on their own except try to get re-elected. It was the journalists who shed light on the problems affecting society. Who held elected officials responsible if they didn’t do what they said they were going to do. And even today, with so much of the media becoming sensationalist or partisan, Evan knew there were still some true journalists working out there, like the ones who embedded themselves with the troops in Afghanistan or stood on the streets with the protestors in Libya, trying to tell the world the real story of what was happening in those places. Honesty was very big in Evan’s book, which was why journalism had always been so appealing. It seemed like a way to keep the world honest.

  “What have people been hearing from the senate?” Paul now asked the group. He looked almost gentle with his warm brown eyes, speckled gray hair, and smooth coffee-black skin that always made Evan wonder if he got Botox, though she couldn’t imagine him being that vain. However, despite outward appearances, Paul had razor-sharp instincts, asked tough questions and was known as one of the few television journalists whom politicians from both sides of the aisle admired.

  “The big story is that the Mills/Walker feud seems to be back and bigger than ever,” said Todd Bryant, the mid-level producer who covered all things Capitol-related. He never cracked under the pressure of Paul’s gaze, as Evan imagined she would if he ever addressed her personally. Todd was only thirty-two, but didn’t look a day over twenty .

  “It would be hard for their feud to get any bigger,” Paul noted wryly.

  Evan straightened up in her chair. She could actually remember, back when she was friends with Ellie, a time when Richard Mills and Ellie’s mother, Marilyn Walker, had been quite cordial to one another.

  “We should frame the current story in the context of their history,” Samantha Whitman, the sleek executive producer of the show, said, her perfectly manicured nails tapping on the table.

  “Agreed. Highlight their past concisely before we get to the meat of the current story,” Paul Nelson responded, leaning forward in his chair and shifting his gaze to Todd Bryant.

  “I’ll cover the broad strokes,” Todd concurred. “A little over two years ago, Walker and Mills considered themselves allies in the senate, despite being in different parties. That is, until Richard Mills voted against Marilyn’s big education bill. Convinced half his colleagues to do the same and left her hanging out to dry in front of the president after Marilyn personally promised him bi-partisan support. So Marilyn got pissed. Not only did her bill get squashed, but she looked like a fool because Mills started telling anyone who would listen that he never promised her anything.”

  Evan’s stomach tightened. She knew what came next.

  “Then Marilyn released a slew of emails from Richard Mills, proving he had privately backed the bill before his turn-around. So then, Mills was the one with egg on his face. He never recovered. It hurt him so bad, he didn’t even win his primary that year.”

  “Did they ever tie that waitress scandal to him? Wasn’t that the reason behind Marilyn Walker’s divorce?” Samantha asked. Evan blushed even harder. It was seriously bizarre to hear everyone talk about people she knew personally.

  “I had a few sources who said yes, he was probably tied to it, but nothing concrete. In any case, Mills is back with a vengeance now. He’s already gone on record vowing to repeal Title IX.”

  “For what reason?” Paul stepped in. “It’ll never happen.”

  “And he knows that. But Title IX is Marilyn’s baby. She’s tried to expand its scope for years.”

  “So it’s a personal, petty potshot,” Samantha summed up.

  “Exactly.”

  “Let’s stay tuned, then. I want to know when you have anything more substantial, Todd,” Samantha said crisply. “This could be a nice little series of stories.”

  “Moving on,” Paul said, addressing the group, “Where are we with the Secretary of Education? Any word yet on who the president is appointing?”

  “My sources tell me he’s made his choice,” a youngish junior producer named Doug piped up, self-importance filling his voice. “It was down to either Amanda Freeman or Phil Negrin, and supposedly, Negrin was the frontrunner.”

  “It can’t be Negrin,” Evan said before she realized the words were coming out of her mouth. For the second time today, she had a roomful of people’s eyes on her. Evan gulped.

  “Why not?” Samantha turned, her ice blue eyes boring into her. It was a make-it or break-it moment. Evan took a breath and looked up at her.

  “Because his daughter, Daphne, left school. I go to Georgetown Academy. She vacated her student government position because she and her family moved back home to Florida.” A buzz spread around the room.

  “So it’s most likely Amanda Freeman then… Interesting,” Doug said. “She’d be the first female to have held that position in thirty years.”

  Samantha turned to him. “See if you can confirm it before Sunday.”

  Evan was still riding high from the meeting when she walked to the office kitchen to grab water and snacks for Maura. She was rummaging through the massive pantry for the pretzel M & M’s she knew Maura liked, when she heard someone enter.

  “Your name is Evan, right?”

  Evan popped her head up to see Samantha Whitman staring at her as she brewed a cup of tea for herself at the counter. Evan nodded, too intimidated by Samantha, with her perfectly blown-out hair, slick designer suit and (Evan happened to know) closet full of Peabodies to speak.

  “You did well in there today.”

  Evan beamed, mentally recording all the details of this exchange so she could relay them to her parents later.

  "You know, Paul always says good journalism isn't just about observing from the sidelines. It's about finding the story and putting yourself in the middle of it.” She paused. “I can’t help but think you’re getting such a great opportunity to do that being a student at Georgetown Academy. “

  “Right,” Evan responded, not sure if she was quite understanding what she was hearing.

  “If there’s ever another situation like we had today, where you find yourself privy to knowledge that can help us get to the truth of a story, you shouldn’t hesitate to tell me. Okay?” Evan nodded and Samantha smiled at her. “You’re a really smart girl, Evan. You kind of remind me of myself when I first got started with all this.”

  And with that, Samantha exited the kitchen, leaving Evan a puddle of nerves and excitement. Suddenly, her phone buzzed with a text. She dug it out of her back pocket and saw it was from Luke.

  You sure you don’t want to meet me at the Rookie Party?

  Evan was about to text him back “I’m sure” when she suddenly heard Samantha’s words in her head. Good journalism isn’t just about observing from the sidelines. It’s about finding the story and putting yourself at the middle of it. Observing from the sidelines was the perfect way to describe what Evan had been doing for her entire life. Who knew what might happen at the party that Samantha could find interesting?

  The thought of actually attending made her stomach fill with nervous energy, but how could she ever hope to have the courage to report from Libya if she didn’t have the courage to show up to a high school party?
/>   She began typing on her phone, a petrified smile forming on her face.

  Actually, count me in…

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Tuesday, 5:14pm.

  Brinley tried to keep her raging headache in check as she waited for her boyfriend, Graham Wells, to come out of the dressing room at Lost Boys, the upscale Georgetown men’s boutique on Thirty-First Street. Getting Graham a new outfit for the rookie party had originally been Brinley’s idea, but she was definitely regretting it now. She pressed her fingers to her temples, rubbing hard. She hadn’t slept at all the last two nights and the pain in her head had begun to spread to all her muscles, some of which she was appalled to find were twitching.

  Brinley reached into her bag and checked her phone for the hundredth time. Dammit, she thought, where in the hell was Nathan and why was he not calling back?

  “Brin, come check it out,” Graham called from the dressing room.

  “Can’t you just come out and show me?” she snapped irritably. She was worried if she got up from the love seat she was perched on, she might pass out.

  In the mirror, Brinley caught two sales girls quietly and excitedly motioning to each other about the fact that Graham Wells, the vice president’s son, was in the store. Or, the former Vice President’s son, Brinley had to remind herself. As of that morning, the new president had been inaugurated and Graham’s father had found himself out of office. The absence of the previously always-present two secret service officers who had flanked Graham was a glaring reminder of that.

  Brinley had worried it would send Graham’s stock in this town plummeting, but from all the giggling at the cashier’s desk, it looked like he was just as popular as ever, something Brinley now found bittersweet. She no longer derived joy from the jealous looks girls would cast her way, all dying to be the ones dating the son of such an important public figure. Graham’s recent transgression had changed all that.

  Two months ago, Graham had cheated on her with an intern. And if the going rumor was to be believed, he hadn’t just hooked up with Kourtney Kramer. He had screwed her in a bathroom stall at the Smithsonian. Brinley had had to summon all her innermost political-wife strength to forgive him, holding his hand through the school hallway the same way countless scorned wives held their cheating husbands’ hands on the press conference podium. She knew Ellie thought she forgave Graham because she loved the perks of dating the vice president’s son and she was partially right—did anyone else from G.A. get invited to movie night at the White House? But the truth was, she liked being with Graham, too. He was one of the few guys at G.A. who didn’t bore her to death. And it wasn’t like he was the only one with secrets.

  “Brin, I’m serious. Come back here.” His voice, full of impatience, interrupted her thoughts.

  Brinley checked her phone again for any texts or messages from Nathan, then counted to ten slowly, exhaling at each number, trying to slow her jittery heartbeat. Finally, she stood, waiting a second for the dizziness to fade before she took a step.

  She entered the large dressing room to find Graham in just his boxers, his olive complexion still darker than usual from his family’s recent trip to Bermuda. His skinny chicken legs were stuck out awkwardly, completely out of proportion with his broad shoulders, but it was one of the traits Brinley found most endearing in him.

  Then he gave her that smile and she was instantly annoyed.

  “Graham, what are you doing?” she asked, though she had a pretty good idea. He wrapped his arms around her, nuzzling her neck.

  “You look so hot when you’re annoyed,” he murmured into her ear, already trying to work the zipper on the back of her dress.

  “Graham, not here,” she whispered angrily as she turned to face him, “There are tons of people out there.”

  “I know,” he replied. And then he was on top of her, her back pinned to the wall, his tongue already in her mouth.

  Not for the first time, Brinley regretted the fact that she had begun sleeping with him, thus opening the Pandora’s Box of his endless sexual appetite. Though, of course, she had done it for good reason. When Graham had cheated on her with low-rent Kourtney Kramer, whose parents didn’t even have the decency to spell her name properly, Brinley was still a virgin. But that had all changed shortly thereafter. Brinley figured if Graham could have gotten what he wanted from her, he wouldn’t have strayed. So, one weekend when his parents were at the Munich Security Conference, Brinley slipped into the vice presidential mansion at Number One Observatory Circle and lost her virginity. She figured in terms of location, it was second only to the White House.

  “You know you want it,” Graham whispered now.

  No, Brinley thought, her annoyance creeping even higher, I really don’t.

  Frankly, Brinley didn’t even see what the big whoop was with it all. Sex with Graham wasn’t that pleasurable for her, if anything, it was kind of painful, which Brinley had thought was supposed to stop after your first time. Brinley wished she could ask Ellie, who had lost her virginity to Hunter six months ago, about it, but it would have been far too mortifying. So she pretended like it was amazing, both to him and, of course, to her friends.

  Brinley extricated herself from Graham’s grasp. He sighed, exasperated.

  “Don’t be such a prude. I locked the door.”

  Brinley was about to respond when she heard something that almost sounded as sweet as angel’s bells to her. A beep from her phone indicating a text.

  It was from Nathan. Her heart soared.

  “I’m leaving,” Brinley informed Graham.

  “Without me? Jesus, Brin, I’m sorry.” He gave her a hurt look.

  “It’s fine, it’s fine. I just realized I’m late for something,” she said hastily. Anything to get out of here. “I’ll see you at the party tonight.”

  And with that, she dashed out of the dressing room, pretending like she didn’t hear Graham calling out, “But where are you going?”

  It wasn’t like she could tell him the truth about it, anyway.

  Brinley bustled through the crowds of overweight tourists and annoying families clogging up the National Mall, the enormous grassy park that occupied the land between the Lincoln Memorial and the Capitol building. She finally spotted Nathan Wright wandering around near the base of the Washington Monument, their usual meeting spot, his uber-curly brown hair announcing his presence to her long before she saw his face. Though he was a year ahead of Brinley at G.A., he was so short he could easily be confused for a freshman, and the fact that his skin was still speckled with acne didn’t do him any favors either. He raised his eyebrows when he saw Brinley. Or rather, his unibrow. Brinley had once given him the info for her waxer, Galina, but he clearly hadn’t used it.

  Now, though, Brinley wasn’t thinking about his personal grooming habits or lack thereof. She was practically running toward him. Calm down, she told herself. But she couldn’t.

  “I called you ten times last night. Where’ve you been?” Brinley asked, aware of the desperation that tinged her voice.

  “I was busy. I had dinner with my family at Citronelle. Sarah Palin showed up and it was a madhouse in there.”

  Nathan pulled Brinley to a nearby bench, looking around to make sure no one was watching too closely. That was the beauty of meeting at the National Mall. There were so many people all focused on the museums and monuments, that no one really seemed to notice what anybody else was doing. As Nathan fished into his bag, each second was an eternity to Brinley, but she willed herself to remain silent. Finally, Nathan produced a small white bottle of pills.

  “How many do you want?”

  “I’ll take all of them.” She handed him a wad of cash.

  He shook his head. “These are twenty milligram Adderalls. The ones you’ve been getting are ten milligrams. These are double.” Brinley looked at him, dubiously. While money wasn’t an issue, she wasn’t going to let someone like Nathan take advantage of her. Finally, he showed her the milligram label on the pills, and Brinley
conceded, digging more cash out of her Balenciaga bag.

  “All right, Brinley. A few things I want to go over. Adderall is an instant-release drug which means you’re going to reach maximum plasma concentration within three—”

  “For god’s sake”—Brinley cut him off—“you don’t need to go through your dad’s whole speech every time you sell to me.” Nathan’s dad was one of the biggest lobbyists for the pharmaceutical companies. Nathan apparently had unlimited access to his father’s stash, and as a result had become quite popular at Georgetown Academy, selling everything from Xanax to Viagra to Vicodin to its hungry students.

  “Fine. Do you acknowledge you denied receiving counseling on how to use this drug—”

  Brinley couldn’t take it anymore. “Yes, yes, now give it to me.”

  “You need to relax, Brinley. If you want to use this once in a while, have fun at a party, use it to help you study, that’s one thing. But you’re acting all addicted and stuff.”

  “You’re my dealer. Not my therapist.” Brinley gave him her haughtiest look. “Just remember, Nathan, I could shut down this operation in one second with a call to the Commissioner of the FDA…or as I call him, Uncle Jeff.”

  And with that, Brinley grabbed the bottle out of Nathan’s hand and stormed away.

  After she safely locked herself in a stall in a putrid public restroom filled with crying children and women with fanny packs the size of baseballs, Brinley choked down a pill and immediately felt better. Pretty soon, she would be feeling the jolt, the comforting, speedy buzz that flowed through her body, and all would be okay. She was a little concerned she had taken it so late in the day. She’d probably be up all night yet again. But it was worth it.

  In the privacy of the bathroom, she allowed herself to ponder what Nathan said. That she was an addict. In general, when Brinley heard the word “addict,” she thought of gross, toothless people who lived on the street, leeching off the country’s welfare system. Much like some of the people in this very public restroom. She was nothing like that. Still, she hadn’t liked feeling so out of control with Nathan and she resolved to cut down on the Adderall for a little bit.