Confessions of a First Daughter by Cassidy Calloway

Author:Cassidy Calloway [Calloway, Cassidy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2009-05-06T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

“Because it’ll never work,” Mom said. “Truman and Kennedy didn’t live under the same media scrutiny that we do. You don’t even sound like me.”

“Oh yeah? Hand me your cell phone.”

“Come on, Morgan—”

“No, really. Let’s put it to the test.”

Mom shrugged and handed me her personal cell phone. I turned the volume up so Mom could hear the conversation, and hit the key to Dad’s mobile. It only rang once before Dad’s voice crackled through. “Everything all right, Sara?”

“Everything’s fine,” I said, careful to let my voice drop soothingly on the last syllable, like Mom would. “I just wanted to wish you a safe flight, and tell you I love you.” I grimaced over this last bit.

A pause. Uh-oh. Maybe I wasn’t as good at imitating Mom as I thought I was.

“Well, I love you, too, Sugarlips,” Dad replied. I cringed. He called her Sugarlips? Gag. “When I get back, maybe I’ll show you how much—”

I tried to cut him off before my ears were soiled any further. “That sounds fantastic—”

Mom, quivering with suppressed laughter, nudged me. She’d scribbled a word on a bubblegum wrapper and held it under my nose.

She can’t be serious. “NO!” I mouthed to her.

“YES!” she mouthed back.

I made myself finish the sentence. “—Sweetcheeks.”

Another pause. I really thought the jig was up, but then Dad murmured: “It’s a date.”

I said good-bye quickly before I learned any more about my parents’ love life. No one needs to know that stuff. Ever.

“Sugarlips? Sweetcheeks? I think I’m gonna need therapy.”

Mom let loose. I’d never seen her laugh so hard. “Sorry, sweetie,” she said after she got a grip. “It’s a code your father and I came up with, to let each other know that everything’s okay.”

“I think I threw up a little in my mouth.”

“Try negotiating with the opposition party over environmental regulations. You’ll get used to the taste of vomit.” Mom’s tone changed. “You may be able to pull off sounding like me, but looking like me? No way.”

“Wanna bet?” I groped for my cell phone on my nightstand. Three seconds later: “Hey, Hannah. Mom and I have a national emergency we need your help with.” I explained that I needed her to bring her full makeup kit. “Can you come over right now?”

“And miss calculus? Hell, yeah! Mom’ll write me a note if I tell her the president needs me. Be there in thirty.”

She arrived in less than twenty, armed with her Louis Vuitton travel suitcase full of theater makeup, wigs, and prosthetics. “Max almost didn’t let me up until they sonogrammed everything, but I told him the president was waiting. That boy is by the book.”

“As he should be,” Mom said, peering into the suitcase. “Oh my gosh, Hannah! What happened here?”

“Oh no!” Hannah pulled out a molten sack of plastic. “The security machine melted my supply of gel enhancers!”

Mom and I exchanged looks. Then we busted up again.

While Hannah dumped the bag of plastic goo in the trash, she asked, “So what’s this national emergency?”

“I need you to make me look like my mom,” I told her.

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