Free White House Rules by Mitali Perkins Page B

entry on her blog.
    I have a question for you, intergalactics. Don’t get me wrong, I love my life, and I’m certainly not whining about going to parties and getting to meet famous people. But as my Gran always put it, “to whom much has been given, much will be required,” so I’m trying to figure out what’s required of ME during these four years. Of course, having fun is a perfectly decent thing to do, but is it enough? That’s why I thought I’d ask if you want to read about fun stu? or have me feature more serious posts on Sparrowblog. All votes greatly appreciated. Remember, keep those comments short, clean, and to the point. Peace be with you. Sparrow.
    Next, it was time to answer Mariam’s e-mail:
    Hey, Mariam! So great to hear from you. I’m thinking of having a get-together on Friday with some friends of mine from George Washington University. Do you want to join us? I’d like you to meet my cousin, too. We’ll probably just have pizza—no pepperoni or any other pork, I promise. Tell your parents, too, that although one boy might be here with us, the whole evening will be chaperoned by a grown-up at all times. (Thanks to the Secret Ser vice. They come in handy sometimes.) If you can make it, send a note, and I’ll dispatch a car to pick you up.
    Much love to you, your parents, and your grandmother from your friend Sameera.
    She powered down when Miranda came to find her, and they walked back across the hall to set the round table in the family dining room. “I posted on my blog today, but I’m wondering if we shouldn’t stick to the Maryfield ‘no-screens-or-plugs-on-Sunday’ rule from now on,” she told Ran, who was filling the water glasses. “It’s sort of relaxing to detox from the Web one day a week.”
    â€œFine. I’ve gotten used to that rule after all these years, and I actually like it—don’t tell Poppa that. But drop the holy act, Sparrow. I know why you don’t feel the need to get online every five minutes. It’s because you know Bobby can’t send you anything.”
    Sameera, who had just lit the tall, tapered candles on the table, sighed so heavily that she extinguished one of them. “I sure hope that conversation with his parents goes well. I should have told him about my make-your-parents-see-the-light family dinner plan.”
    â€œIs that what we’re doing? Are you going to tell your parents about Bobby?”
    â€œNo. I don’t have to ask them for permission when it comes to dating. At least, I don’t think so. We’re definitely not as old-fashioned as Bobby’s family.”
    â€œHey, your Hollywood heroes in black-and-white fantasy-land are all old-fashioned. Humphrey Bogart. Casablanca. Cary Grant. An Affair to Remember. Gregory Peck. Roman Holiday. ”
    Sameera grinned. Her cousin had named three of the movies they’d watched yet again over the holidays—mostly for the sake of the brilliant and beautiful heroes who lit up the screen. “Bogart. Now there’s a hero for you. Sacrificing hope of future happiness for his lady love…and the greater good.”
    â€œWell, Bobby made a sacrifice, didn’t he? It must have been humiliating to admit he thinks it’s important to obey his parents. Telling the truth like that took courage, so that proves he’s got two out of your three treasures.”
    Sameera glanced at her reflection on a knife before setting it on the table. “Yeah, he’s definitely honest, even with his parents. Meanwhile, here I am, sneaking around behind my parents’ backs.”
    â€œOh, so that’s what this dinner is about—your illegal trip to that coffee house. Well, they didn’t freak out the last time they found out about your getaway disguise, right?”
    â€œYeah, but that’s not on the agenda. I’m not sure they’re going to be as quick to forgive this