Wild Hearts (41 page)

Jessica Burkhart
is a full-time writer in Kentucky horse country. She is the author of the twenty-book Canterwood Crest series, which has over one million copies in print. Jess is passionate about mustang conservation and hopes to visit the horses in their natural habitat one day.

www.jessicaburkhart.com

Twitter: @jessicaburkhart

Instagram: @jessashley87

As Mimi Blake introduces us to the viewers at home, for the first time, I begin to feel nervous.

After the introductions, she continues with, “Katie, George spoke with you at length last week, so I think we'll begin today with Drew.” She turns to me. “Drew. Katie has spent most of her life on the campaign trail with her father. But this is all new to you, isn't it?”

Now I officially cross over into full nervous territory as I realize that some sort of response is required from me. I stare directly into the camera. “Yes, Mimi,” I say woodenly. “That is correct.”

That is correct? What kind of moron talks that way?

“You're not really like any other candidate's child that we've seen in recent years.”

Is there a question in there somewhere?

“Rather than dressing to impress, you dress…” With the back of her hand, she indicates my clothing from head to toe. Again, where's the question? And how am I supposed to respond? Too late, I remember the tie in my pocket. I can't put it on now… can I?

Looking directly into the camera, I say once more, “Yes, Mimi that is correct.”

I feel a sharp stabbing sensation around my ankle and realize that Katie just kicked me with the pointy toe of her green high-heeled shoe. Hey! And, ouch! Still, it does remind me of what Katie advised earlier, that I should talk directly to Mimi, not the camera, like we're just two people having a conversation.

This immediately reduces my level of nervousness. And you know what else reduces it? Anger at Katie for getting me into this mess in the first place.

As anger fuels me from the inside, on the outside I suddenly feel distinctly calmer. And, as Mimi proceeds to ask me questions, I realize that this is easy. I know these questions! And how do I know them? Because the TV network forwarded them to Ann in advance to show to me. And
that
happened, according to Ann, because Katie's people set a precedent last time by insisting that that was the only way Katie would do the interview with them—if she could see the questions first. This struck me as cheating at the time. What kind of
wimp
needs to know the questions in advance? What could she possibly be scared of? Coward. But her fear is serving me well now as Mimi continues, “We're told that, despite your family's relatively recent elevation in fortune—unlike the Willfields, the Reillys weren't born with silver spoons in their mouths—you still ride the public school bus and even go to your old public school. Is that correct?”

“Yeah, Mimi.” Look at me! No more robotic “Yes, Mimi that is correct” for me. I'm nailing this thing! “I'm a big believer in public transportation,” I add. “I even took the train here today.”

“Well, don't think you'll be able to do that once you're in the White House,” Katie blurts out, adding a muttered, “not that that'll ever happen.”

What is it with that girl? And why does she get under my skin so much?

Oh, right. She's annoying.

Plus, could she be right? If my mom wins, will my life really be that different? Excuse me while I retreat back into denial.

I decide to ignore Katie. Mimi does too, practically cooing at me, “Ooh, a real man of the people!”

She swivels her head sharply from me to Katie. I take this to mean that the camera will be swiveling to Katie now too, so I take this opportunity to whip my tie from my pocket and rapidly knot it around my neck. The ends wind up wildly uneven, but whatever.

After a dramatic pause and with a fake smile, Mimi says in a falsely cheerful tone that couldn't be more menacing:
“Katie:'

Just her name, full stop.

I have no idea exactly what's coming next. What I do know is that for Katie, it can't be good.

But for me? This is going to be very good. Because there's nothing I can imagine enjoying more than seeing my enemy fall on her face.

 

After Mimi's menacing
“Katie,”
she turns to the camera and says, “We'll hear from Katie Willfield after the break,” and we pause briefly for commercials.

I can't say for certain what Mimi has in store for me once the break's over. All I know is, it'll be harder than those puffball questions she's been lobbing at Drew. Why, she's all but asking him, with moony eyes, to tell us all the reasons he's so wonderful.

Ugh.

She'll undoubtedly ask me some of the harder questions that George left on the table. Like if I ever felt shortchanged, growing up in a single-parent household in which the only parent spent most of his time focusing on his political career? Or if I have political ambitions of my own?

Both of those would be harder than the questions asked on the previous visit because they're more personal. But that's okay. I'm a professional. And I know how to use the personal professionally. The first question, I'll answer by saying, I don't feel shortchanged at all. When a candidate is as fit to lead the country as my father is, I can only feel privileged,
blessed
to be a part of his manifest destiny. And if it's the second? I'll say, It's a little premature to throw my hat into the ring, don't you think? and I'll accompany it with a smile and a wink to let everyone know that, of
course
that's in my future!

Oh, no. But what if, worst of all, she asks about the china patterns? There was nothing on the list of original questions about that but since George put it on the table with his comments, maybe it is considered fair game now? Still not a problem, I think as I stiffen my back. I'll just fall on my sword. I'll say, My father had no knowledge of what I was doing. Voters should not penalize themselves over childish high jinks that are my sole responsibility. And if she follows it up by questioning, Shouldn't a parent know what his child is up to? Well, she won't do that, because she'll know that I could then counter with a question about her own lax parenting style, and believe me, she
won't
want to go there. Everyone knows the Blake kids are nothing but tabloid trouble.

As we're counted back down from commercial break and Mimi opens again with that eerie smile, followed by
“Katie,”
I'm feeling
pret-ty
good about my various strategies.

Then Mimi says, “Is it true what we've heard, that even though you're sixteen, you've
never
had a romantic relationship in your life?”

What? She can't ask that!

“Is it true you've never even been on a single date?”

I'm being blindsided here! How is it possible that she can do this? We had an agreement! These questions weren't on the list! But then, with horror, it hits me: That agreement was for my
last
appearance on the show. We never had them sign one for
this
appearance.

Mimi leans forward in her chair and I can practically
feel
the camera moving in for a close-up of my humiliation.

“Is it true, Katie, that you've never been kissed?”

 

 

An hour later, I'm huffing and puffing as I lean in, my hands gripping the carved wooden armrest as I shove, hard, on the couch. It moves only an inch.

An inch.

Stupid freakin' behemoth couch. I feel like I'm trying to move a Mack truck. Trees must have weighed more in the seventeenth century.

Yeah, that makes sense.

I groan and push again, straining with all my might. The leg screeches against the marble floors and then gives way, sliding abruptly. My hands slip off the armrest, and I slam to the ground.

“Oomph,” I say, my forehead resting on the cool floor that had, moments ago, been covered by a French provincial sofa.

The ground is musty. Dusty. Like, oh, I don't know, it's been covered by a couch for a few decades. I've gotten so used to the polished-until-I-can-see-my-reflection cleanliness in this place that it's almost foreign to smell actual dirt.

Footsteps shuffle closer, and I suddenly realize I'm not alone. Crap, I hope my mom isn't going to bust me.…

I roll over and look up into the amused, warm brown eyes of a boy close to my age. He's leaning over, resting his hands on his knees as he peers down. I blink as if he's a mirage and he'll disappear. Spotting a guy like him in a place like this is harder than finding a lifeboat on the
Titanic.

But he doesn't.

Disappear, that is.

Awesome. The first boy under seventy I've seen in this place, and he finds me lying facedown on the floor of the billiards room.

“It was the candlestick,” I say abruptly, because it's the only thing I can think of and I'm fighting the urge to check him out.

He's cute. Really, really cute. He looks… Costa Rican. Maybe part Native American or part African American… or some combination uniquely his, because I've never seen a guy so totally drool worthy.