Meg Cabot - Ready or Not

“Parents should have the right to know what their children are doing behind their backs,” the president declared.

“Why?” David wanted to know. “So they can act like you’re acting now about it? What’s the point, Dad? They’re just going to freak, the way you are.”

“If they find out BEFORE their child goes ahead and HAS sex,” the president said, “they MIGHT be able to try to stop him, to open up the lines of communication so that they can keep that child from making the worst mistake of his or her life—”

“Let’s not get too dramatic here, shall we?” My mom’s tone was steady—the same one she uses in the courtroom. “Sam has apologized for what she did, and explained that she was speaking hyperbolically.” (SAT word meaning “an exaggerated statement uttered in excitement”). “I think the real issue now is what we are going to do about it.”

“I’ll tell you what WE’re going to do about it,” the president said. “Boarding school.”

David lifted his gaze to the ceiling with a bored expression. “Dad,” he said.

“I’m serious,” the president said. “I don’t care if you only have a year of high school to go. I’m sending you to military school, and that’s final.”

I glanced, panic-stricken, at David.

But he looked calm…much calmer, as a matter of fact, than you would think, considering that he was about to be enrolled in some boot camp in the Ozarks.

“You’re not sending me anywhere, Dad,” David said. “Because I haven’t DONE anything. Instead of jumping to conclusions like a reactionary, why don’t you try to understand what Sam was saying during the town hall meeting…that there has to be a balance within families in order for them to work. Everyone is entitled to his or her rights, but only so long as they don’t infringe on the rights of another. Just because they aren’t old enough to vote doesn’t mean it’s okay for you to strip teens of their rights.”

David’s dad glowered. “That is an oversimplification of—”

“Is it?” David asked. “You might want to keep in mind that in a few short years, those teens will be old enough to vote. And how kindly do you think they’re going to feel toward the guy who made the law that rats them out to their mom and dad every time they want to buy a rubber?”

“Enough,” my mother said emphatically, before the president, who looked madder than ever, could open his mouth. “We’re not solving all of society’s problems tonight.” She sent the president her best courtroom look—the one her coworkers over at the EPA called Death to the Industrialist. “And no one is getting sent to boarding school. Let us, for the moment, be grateful that we have two smart, healthy children, who have always made the right decisions in the past. I, for one, intend to trust them to continue to make the right decisions in the future.”

“But—” the president began.

But this time it was his wife who cut him off.

“I agree with Carol,” the first lady said. “I think we should just put this whole, unfortunate incident behind us, and try to look on the bright side.”

“Which is?” the president wanted to know.

“Well.” David’s mom had to think a minute. Then she brightened. “At least our children aren’t suffering from teen apathy, like so many of their peers. I mean, David and Sam really do seem to care about the issues.”

The president didn’t seem to think this was anything to be thankful for. He sank, with a gusty sigh, back down into his chair.

“This,” he said, to no one in particular, “just hasn’t been my day.”

Suddenly—even though I was still really mad at him for trying to pull one over on me…because that’s exactly what he’d tried to do, just as Dauntra had warned—I felt a little sorry for David’s dad. I mean, after all, his program really did have some good points.

“Return to Family is a nice idea,” I said, to make him feel a little better. “If it means, you know…this. Families talking stuff out. But if it means violating someone else’s rights…well, how is that helping anybody?”

He gave me a very sour look. “I got the message, Sam,” he said. “Loud and clear. I think all of America did.”

Taking that as my cue that maybe David’s dad had seen enough of me for one day, I crawled off the couch and slunk from the living room…

…and was relieved when David joined me in the silent kitchen, Lucy and Rebecca having long since been banished to their rooms…though I didn’t doubt there’d been some surreptitious eavesdropping going on at the top of the stairs.

“You okay?” David asked, when we were alone together at last.

Instead of replying, I threw my arms around his neck and just stood there, my face buried against his chest, breathing in his Davidy scent and trying not to cry.

“There, there,” David said, stroking my Midnight Ebony hair. “Everything’ll be all right, Sharona.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, sniffling. “I don’t know what came over me back there at the gym.” I stood there with my eyes closed, enjoying the warmth I could feel through his sweater, wishing I never had to let go.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “You were just doing what you always do…standing up for what you believe in.”

It made me blink to hear him say that. Because it so isn’t true. I don’t stand up for what I believe in. Not with Kris at school. Not with Stan at work. And especially not with David. I mean, if I had, I wouldn’t still be going to Camp David with him for Thanksgiving.

“Listen, David,” I said, after taking a deep breath. “About Thanksgiving—”

“You’re still coming, aren’t you?”

Only it wasn’t David who asked it. It was his mother, the first lady, who came into the kitchen at that very moment. David and I sprang apart.

What was I supposed to say? I mean, she looked really concerned. Like all she could think about was all that turkey that was going to go to waste if I didn’t show up.

“Um, yes,” I said. “Yes, of course I am.”

“Good,” the first lady said. “I’m so glad. Come on, David. It’s time to go. Good night, Sam.”

“Um,” I said. “Good night, ma’am. And…I’m really sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” David’s mother said with a sigh. “Tell Sam you’ll pick her up Thursday morning, David.”

David grinned at me. “I’ll pick you up Thursday morning, Sam,” he said and, after giving my hand a squeeze, dropped it, and followed his mother out into the foyer.

Thursday. Great.

“Well,” my mother said, when we’d finally closed the front door behind our guests, “that was nice. Too bad they took their Secret Service agents with them. I could really use a bullet in the head right about now.”

Even though I sort of felt the same way, I decided it was time to recite the speech I’d been mentally rehearsing since we’d all left the gym.

“Mom, Dad,” I said, “I’d like to take this opportunity to thank you both for raising me in such a warm, supportive atmosphere, and for providing me with the kind of positive role models that a young girl such as myself really needs if she’s going to make her way in this complex and ever-changing urban landscape—”

“Sam,” my dad interrupted me, “I realize you were merely trying to make a point tonight. However, I think it’s time we made some changes in this house. Some BIG ones. With that in mind, I would really like it if you would go to your room right now. And stay there,” he added, sounding, for the first time in a long time, like he was actually doing some parenting.

“Um,” I said. “Okay.” And scurried up the stairs to my room….

Where I found my sister Lucy waiting, her eyes wide.