Free Defending Taylor (Hundred Oaks #7) by Miranda Kenneally Page A

desk.
    “Is that a parrot on the line?” I joke. “Hey, can we get a pa—”
    “We’re not getting a parrot,” Dad replies. My parents know me and my animal obsession too well.
    “Senator, we need to get out in front of this,” a voice on the phone says. “You have to make a statement about what happened. Remind people of your strong antidrug stance. Wallace’s people are just waiting for your poll numbers to go up again. Then they’ll leak something to the press about her drug use—”
    “Perhaps she should go to rehab,” another voice fires back. “That’ll show how seriously you take this.”
    “She doesn’t need rehab,” the other man retorts. “The tests found only nominal amounts of Adderall in her system and nothing else. We just need to make a statement!”
    Dad looks horrified that I overheard all that and starts jabbing a button on the phone, turning the volume down. I can still hear them. Dad sighs and gives up trying to get the phone to cooperate. “Randy, Kevin, let me call you back,” my father says before hanging up.
    Randy is Dad’s campaign manager, and Kevin is his chief of staff. It’s late on a Saturday afternoon, and all these people do is work. It sucks, but I get it. You either work hard, or you don’t succeed. Losing the election would not only leave Dad without a position, but all of the people in his DC, Nashville, and Chattanooga offices would lose their jobs too.
    It makes me feel guilty that Dad and his guys have to give up their day off to talk about me. I’m the reason they’re doing damage control in the first place. At the same time, I hate that I’m a pawn in their political game. It’s humiliating.
    I sit down in the armchair across from Dad. He looks at me with a tired expression. Campaign season always runs him down, making his hair turn grayer and the wrinkles around his eyes more pronounced. Campaigning is worth it to him though. Hardly anyone knows the president asked him to be Secretary of the Treasury, but Dad turned him down. He prefers being a senator so he can set his own agenda and focus on what he thinks is best for Tennessee, like the farm bill and tax policy. He loves his job.
    “How was the soccer game?” he asks.
    “We lost. It’s every girl for herself out there. Nobody passes the ball.”
    His mouth fades into a frown. “Maybe you can figure out a way to lead the team.”
    “But I’m not the captain.”
    “It’s just a title…you don’t need that in order to lead,” Dad says. “I’m sorry I couldn’t make it today.”
    “Me too,” I mutter. “It would’ve been a perfect campaigning opportunity. But you probably don’t want to remind voters we’re related.”
    “Taylor!” Dad pauses to rub his eyes. “This situation is already hard enough without your attitude. What did you need? I have to call the guys back.”
    “Can I apply to Webb?” I ask.
    Webb is a boarding school about an hour from here. I don’t know anyone there, but I feel like I might fit in better than at Hundred Oaks.
    Dad scrunches his forehead. “Why?”
    “They have a better soccer team.”
    He turns his attention back to his computer. “I’m not paying tuition for another boarding school.”
    “I checked their website. They offer scholarships to students with outstanding grades and test scores. I figure it’s worth a shot to see if they’d be interested in having me.”
    The determination in my voice gets his attention. He swivels in his chair to face me. He doesn’t speak for a long moment. “I’m sorry, but no. You’re staying right here where your mother and I can keep an eye on you. If I’d known the sorts of…activities you were involved in, I never would’ve let you stay at St. Andrew’s.”
    “Webb has more AP courses and a debate team,” I say, my voice taking on a desperate tone. “I think if I go there, I’ll have a better chance of getting into Yale.”
    “You should’ve thought of that before becoming involved with