Red Girl, Blue Boy by Baratz-Logsted Lauren

Author:Baratz-Logsted, Lauren [Baratz-Logsted, Lauren]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9781619635012
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
Published: 2015-10-20T03:00:00+00:00

KATIE

In the midst of my dream, I hear a peculiar ringing. What is that? It’s unlike anything I’ve heard before. Feeling the security of Dog curled up near my feet, I stretch myself awake, only to find that the ringing is still there. Wait. Did I listen to my iPod too loudly last night? Do I have tinnitus? I hope not. A new malady is not in my campaign plans. Plus, it will be very annoying if on Inauguration Day in January, when millions are on the mall cheering for my father, instead of clapping all I can hear is a stupid ringing in my ears.

But then suddenly it stops.

And into the silent void, I hear Cook shout up:

“Miss Katie! Telephone!”

I’m so excited that I leap from the bed, tumbling poor Dog tail over furry head in the process.

“Sorry, Dog!” I shout back at him, racing from the room and down the stairs in bare feet.

The phone for me! It’s probably my father with an update on the campaign!

But as I skid to a stop in front of Cook, I see she’s holding a thick oblong object pointed at me.

“What’s that?” I say.

“The phone.” She waves it at me.

“Uh-uh. That’s not a phone.”

She rolls her eyes at me. “It’s the landline. Your daddy keeps it so that his staff can get ahold of him anytime of the day or night, even at home.”

“Then how come I’ve never heard it ring before?”

“You know everybody’s on the e-mail these days.”

“Everybody’s on the e-mail?” Cook is prone to exaggeration. She also has a tendency to put too much oregano in her red sauce. It’s all I can do not to roll my eyes right back at her. “The e-mail”—Cook’s almost as bad as my father with “the YouTube.” Sometimes I feel like I’m the only person in this house living in the twenty-first century.

Then I remember . . .

The phone! It’s for me!

“Who is it?” I ask.

“How should I know?” Cook counters. “Whoever it is, he’s probably hung up by now since it’s taking you so long to answer.”

He? There’s a he on the other end of the line?

I snatch the unfamiliar object out of Cook’s hand, and scarcely able to breathe, intone the important word that begins almost every important exchange in life:

“Hello?”

“Um, Katie?”

“Who is speaking?”

“It’s Drew.”

“Drew?”

I did not see that coming!

But wait a second. “How did you get this number?” I ask. “I don’t even know it!”

“Um . . .” He sounds embarrassed. “Turns out, Secret Service agents are good for something. I talked to Clint, the agent assigned to the twins?” He clears his throat. “Anyway, listen. I was wondering . . .”

When nothing follows, I prompt, “I’m listening!” Just in case he doesn’t understand that, of course, I am listening.

“Do you want to come over today?”

“Do I want to . . .”

“Just, you know, to hang out? I’m—”

“YES!”

From the way that Cook takes a little leap backward, it occurs to me that maybe my response was too forceful. I’ve

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