Free The President's Daughter by Ellen Emerson White Page A

was protesting too much, but—“Like on Neal’s birthday,” Meg said. “She flew home and everything.”
    â€œNo one is saying that she didn’t.” Linda’s voice was calm. “You just have to remember that your mother isn’t running for school committee; she’s running for President. There’s a great deal at stake.”
    Wait, she was running for President ? Of the country. Wow. Who knew?
    â€œBut, in the future,” Linda said, “I’d rather that you didn’t talk to the press unless I’m there, or someone from my staff is sitting in.”
    Great. More rules to follow. “Yeah,” Meg said, “but—”
    Linda immediately cut her off. “I’d like that to be the policy.”
    â€œBut—” Meg released a slow, frozen breath, ordering herself not to lose her temper. “What if someone comes up and asks me a question? Do I say, I’m sorry, I can’t answer that unless someone’s with me?”
    â€œWe need to be very careful, that’s all,” Linda said. “People have an image—”
    Meg grinned, in spite of herself.
    â€œâ€”very important that you and your brothers come across as happy, well-adjusted—”
    â€œFake it, you mean?” Meg asked.
    Linda did not smile. “That’s not what I said.”
    Meg grinned, then recognized two familiar shapes twisting down a steep slope below them: one small and darting in bright red, the other tall and graceful in royal blue. “There’s Mom and Neal.”
    Linda looked down, wincing as the figure in blue took a jump over an uneven patch of snow and stayed airborne for several feet before landing effortlessly.
    â€œYour mother is sometimes incautious,” she said.
    Yeah. “A few years ago, she broke her leg,” Meg said, remembering how the incident had been both frightening and amusing—frightening because she and Steven had been skiing with her when
it happened, but amusing because of all the pictures Newsweek and everyone printed of the Senator crutching her way around Capitol Hill.
    â€œIt’s over if she breaks her leg,” Linda said grimly. “A candidate, particularly a woman, is supposed to be invulnerable.”
    â€œInvincible,” Meg said.
    Linda was not amused.
    They dismounted as the lift got to the top, Linda’s descent unsteady.
    â€œWhich trail would you say is the least demanding?” Linda asked, sounding more nervous than she looked.
    â€œToll Road,” Meg said, pointing to the right. “And take the Crossover.”
    Linda nodded her thanks. “Please try to be careful with reporters. Everyone will be glad to help you.”
    They separated, and Meg cruised over to Hayride. There was one particularly icy section, and she’d almost fallen on her first run down, so she wanted to try it again and see if she could get it right. She adjusted her sunglasses—blue Oakleys, and in her opinion, very cool—and paused at the top of the trail, studying the terrain to see how she could attack it differently this time.
    Then, she took a deep breath and jammed her poles into the snow, shoving off. She made a few quick parallel turns, enjoying the speed and the challenge of the ice. Her father—who loved projects —always tuned and waxed all of their skis before trips, and she really liked whatever wax combination he had used this time. The edges had good bite, but the bases felt like they were floating, which was perfect.
    Whipping along, carving short, neat turns, she considered slowing down before the difficult part, but decided not to, enjoying the rushing wind too much. She cut one of her turns a little late, and her right ski skidded unexpectedly, sending her down in a hard tangle of
skis and legs. She lay on her back for a minute, staring at the cloudy sky, annoyed at her own stupidity in trying to take it too fast. Nothing like being