Secrets of a First Daughter Read Free

eke out worm-low scores on the SAT and disgrace the Abbott family name.”
    â€œIsn’t it a little early in the morning for melodrama?”
    â€œI’m serious! I’ve got a lot to live up to: genius parents, blue-blood pedigree, and oh, my mother is the freaking president of the United States.”
    â€œHey, come on. Don’t worry so much about disappointing everyone. You’re going to do great. I’ve seen you get out of worse scrapes and come up smelling like a rose. I have faith in you.”
    â€œThanks, Max. That helps. Lots.”
    â€œMaybe this will help even more.” He settled his lips on mine, and I felt my toes curl. Whoa! Being with Max made my day—my life, actually—even if we had to sneak around. It was totally worth it.
    For the next several minutes we forgot about scones and lollipops and SATs and politicians and the Secret Service and hovered in a blissful place, population of two—Max and me. When I was kissing Max, the rest of the world, andall my problems, faded away.
    I’d completely mellowed out until I happened to glance at the massive Swiss watch on Max’s wrist. Then my world came crashing down.
    â€œOmigod, I’m late!”

Chapter Three
    George was waiting for me in the residence hallway when I emerged from the basement stairwell. Her tiny foot tapped in her steel-reinforced boots. “Have a good time?” she inquired.
    I hid Max’s lollipop bouquet and pencils behind my back. “I, uh, needed to, uh, check something.”
    â€œOn the ground-floor level?”
    â€œYeah. I was near the electrical room looking at…boiler valves. An upcoming project for physics class.”
    Boiler valves. Pathetic. She wasn’t buying it, obviously. “Hope it was worth it, because you’re going to be late for the test. The advance team is onsite now but we can’t hold things up for the other students—even for the president’s daughter.”
    I had cajoled my Secret Service detail into keeping my retest a secret from my parents, and for once, they’dsympathized with me. Even George. Guess everyone’s afraid of disappointing their parents.
    I started to hyperventilate. “I can’t be late, George.”
    She nodded, businesslike. “Then we’ll do our best to get you there on time.”
    For once, George’s demanding nature served me well, because the driver of the unmarked car didn’t argue when she told him to take the shorter, unauthorized route to the local community college, where the test was being given. We arrived in the parking lot of a 1960s-era cinderblock building with five minutes to spare. No press, either, thank god. I tried to remember Max’s test-taking tips: Do the easy questions first, use the process of elimination for questions where I wasn’t sure of the answer, and don’t get hung up on one question for too long.
    I barely registered following George through the maze of classrooms and labs until I was suddenly in a lecture hall packed to the gills with desks. The test proctor looked about eighty years old. He wore super-thick glasses and smelled like licorice, but the Grateful Dead shirt under his blazer was his salvation. After making me empty my pockets of everything but Max’s mechanical pencils and a calculator, he herded me to the only seat left in the room.
    As I made myself as comfortable as I could in the hard plastic seat, I noticed that right across from me wasan overprocessed bleach-blonde who looked like Brittany Whittaker. She was checking herself out in a purse mirror while swabbing gooey, glittery lip gloss over her pouty lips.
    Wait a minute, it wasn’t a Brittany look-alike; it was the genuine evil article. Ugh.
    Brittany Whittaker was my nemesis at Academy of the Potomac—or AOP, as everyone calls it. This was the girl who’d stolen my election platform in order to rig the senior class presidential elections in