Secrets of a First Daughter by Cassidy Calloway Read Free Book Online Page B

well, I was…” Brittany spluttered.
    â€œWe’ve put that unfortunate incident behind us,” Mom interjected, saving Brittany from more humiliation.
    Brittany turned an ugly shade of purple and slithered away.
    â€œI probably shouldn’t have said that, huh?” Mom remarked when Brittany was out of earshot.
    I started giggling. “Probably not. But I loved it!”
    Now the room really started filling up with my classmates. They oohed over the decorations, and some, holding copies of Cin’Qua’s latest Rolling Stone magazine cover, headed straight to the balcony to snag an autograph. George organized the fans in a line and—wait—did her Secret Service eyes linger for a moment too long on Cin’Qua’s booty? George was full of surprises.
    â€œThe party certainly has started,” Mom said. “When do you want to begin the tours, honey?”
    â€œWhy don’t we let everyone run through the buffet line once first,” I said. “People will be less antsy on a full stomach.”
    â€œSounds like a plan.”
    The party revved up. People gushed about the food, and especially my mango salsa and smoked chipotle flautas. Mom started the tours.
    So far, so good. Every so often, I spied Max when he took his turn to perform routine security sweeps of the event.
    At one point I caught him looking longingly at me. Then he did that magic Secret Service thing where he blended into the crowd and disappeared. I wished he could be right by my side as my boyfriend tonight—no secrets, no hiding.
    I surveyed the guests again, eager to distract myself from the strange loneliness I was feeling in a room full of people. Cin’Qua started to play. Jonas, the horndog captain of the tennis squad, was hitting on Mya while she ignored Konner, my ex, who was checking himself out in the antique mirror hanging over the unlit fireplace. The buffet table was already a wreck. Jeong and Carl were hanging there, scraping up mango salsa with Nigel’s homemade tortilla chips. “This party’s the bomb, Morgan,” Carl said, mouth full.
    â€œYeah, and your mom’s tour was so cool,” Jeong added. “Whodathunk the president of the United States was so funny? She showed us your dad’s nunchuk collection in the gym, and I couldn’t stop cracking up when she said she had to borrow them every so often to break a Congressional filibuster.”
    â€œThat was classic!” Carl busted up.
    â€œHa ha.” I scanned the room again. I couldn’t put my finger on it but something was wrong. “Hey, have you guys seen Brittany?”
    They shook their heads. “And that’s a bad thingbecause…?” Jeong asked.
    â€œIt’s better to see the snake than wonder where it is,” I said.
    â€œGood luck with that.” Carl gave a sympathetic shrug and went back to his chips.
    I headed to the balcony, which was jammed with a White House–style mosh pit. Hannah was out there, her normally pulled-together outfit seriously messed up from her spazzing out in the front row of Cin’Qua’s concert.
    A sick feeling was developing in my stomach. If someone wanted to see me fail, it would be Brittany. She was up to something. I just knew it.
    I searched the Red Room, the Map Room, and the other rooms the White House security team had authorized access to. No dice.
    In the family residence hallway, that suspicious feeling persisted, and on a hunch, I headed to my bedroom.
    â€œWhat. The. Hell ?” I yelled.
    Brittany Whittaker was in my bedroom .
    Blind fury gripped me and I didn’t care if I would get arrested for assault, I wanted to rip her flat-ironed hair out of her skull by the fistful. “You’ve got two seconds to explain what you think you’re doing in here. Then I’m calling Secret Service to have them remove an intruder, and send your ass back to the D.C. jail.”
    â€œChill, Abbott.