Free Red, White & Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston

professors into agreeing a question on our last exam was misleading so I would get full credit for my answer, which was correct.” He takes a swig of beer. “Bad thing—Mom, I saw the new art in the hall on the second floor, and I need to know why you allowed a George W. Bush terrier painting in our home.”
    “It’s a bipartisan gesture,” Ellen says. “People find them endearing.”
    “I have to walk past it whenever I go to my room,” Alex says. “Its beady little eyes follow me everywhere.”
    “It’s staying.”
    Alex sighs. “Fine.”
    Leo goes next—as usual, his bad thing is somehow also a good thing—and then Ellen’s up.
    “Well, my UN ambassador fucked up his one job and said something idiotic about Israel, and now I have to call Netanyahu and personally apologize. But the good thing is it’s twoin the morning in Tel Aviv, so I can put it off until tomorrow and have dinner with you two instead.”
    Alex smiles at her. He’s still in awe, sometimes, of hearing her talk about presidential pains in the ass, even three years in. They lapse into idle conversation, little barbs and inside jokes, and these nights may be rare, but they’re still nice.
    “So,” Ellen says, starting on another slice crust-first. “I ever tell you I used to hustle pool at my mom’s bar?”
    June stops short, her beer halfway to her mouth. “You did what now?”
    “Yep,” she tells them. Alex exchanges an incredulous look with June. “Momma managed this shitty bar when I was sixteen. The Tipsy Grackle. She’d let me come in after school and do my homework at the bar, had a bouncer friend make sure none of the old drunks hit on me. I got pretty good at pool after a few months and started betting the regulars I could beat them, except I’d play dumb. Hold the stick the wrong way, pretend to forget if I was stripes or solid. I’d lose one game, then take them double or nothing and get twice the payout.”
    “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Alex says, except he can totally picture it. She has always been scary-good at pool and even better at strategy.
    “All true,” Leo says. “How do you think she learned to get what she wants from strung-out old white men? The most important skill of an effective politician.”
    Alex’s mother accepts a kiss to the side of her square jaw from Leo as she passes by, like a queen gliding through a crowd of admirers. She sets her half-eaten slice down on a paper towel and selects a cue stick from the rack.
    “Anyway,” she says. “The point is, you’re never too young to figure out your skills and use them to get shit accomplished.”
    “Okay,” Alex says. He meets her eyes, and they swap appraising looks.
    “Including…” she says thoughtfully, “a job on a presidential reelection campaign, maybe.”
    June puts down her slice. “Mom, he’s not even out of college yet.”
    “Uh, yeah, that’s the point,” Alex says impatiently. He’s been waiting for this offer. “No gaps in the resume.”
    “It’s not only for Alex,” their mother says. “It’s for both of you.”
    June’s expression changes from pinched apprehension to pinched dread. Alex makes a shooing motion in June’s direction. A mushroom flies off his pizza and hits the side of her nose. “Tell me, tell me, tell me.”
    “I’ve been thinking,” Ellen says, “this time around, y’all—the ‘White House Trio.’” She puts it in air quotes, as if she didn’t sign off on the name herself. “Y’all shouldn’t only be faces. Y’all are more than that. You have skills. You’re smart. You’re talented. We could use y’all not only as surrogates, but as staffers.”
    “Mom…” June starts.
    “What positions?” Alex interjects.
    She pauses, drifts back over to her slice of pizza. “Alex, you’re the family wonk,” she says, taking a bite. “We could have you running point on policy. This means a lot of research and a lot of writing.”
    “Fuck yes,” Alex says. “Lemme romance