Page 5 of Lessons in Power
“Paper and pencils,” Dr. Clark decreed, ignoring the groans. On the whiteboard, she wrote a single question in all capital letters:WHAT ISSUE DO YOU THINK WILL MOST AFFECT THE RESULTS OF MIDTERM ELECTIONS?
Instead of history, Hardwicke juniors took Contemporary World Issues. Theoretically, this class was supposed to turn us into global citizens, informed about a wide variety of issues playing out on the international stage. In reality, there were enough of us in this class with political connections that “world issues” all too often struck close to home.
“Your answers to this question will form the basis for today’s discussion.” Dr. Clark leaned back against her desk. “Since I’mnotactuallycruel enough to give you a Monday quiz, feel free to leave your names off your papers.”
As my classmates started scribbling down their answers, I turned the question over in my head. I was enough of a Kendrick—and enough of a Keyes—to know that the midterm elections were shaping up to be brutal. If the president lost control of Congress, his chances of getting a second term in the White House were next to nothing. Ivy was currently working for no fewer than three congressmen up for reelection at midterms. I had no idea what exactly she was doing for them, but a person didn’t come to Ivy Kendrick unless there was a problem—or a secret that needed to stay buried.
Slowly, I put my pen to the page and jotted down my answer, letter by letter. What factor did I expect to play a role in the midterm elections?
C – O – R – R – U – P – T – I – O – N.
As my pen formed the letters, I thought less about what Ivy was doingnowthan about the secrets I carried, in part, because of her. My first few weeks at Hardwicke had beenveryeventful—the kind of eventful that involved assassinations, cover-ups, and being kidnapped by a rogue Secret Service agent.
“Answers in,” Dr. Clark called.
I folded my paper in half, then turned and met Henry’s eyes as he passed his to me. He held my gaze, and I wondered what he’d written down.
I wondered if Henry was thinking about the political conspiracy we’d uncovered together.
As Dr. Clark collected our answers, she started lecturing. “Right now, the Nolan administration has the benefit of amajority in both the House and the Senate. But—as I’m sure many of you are aware—that could change in a heartbeat with what is shaping up to be one of the closest midterm elections in recent memory.”
Beside me, Asher withdrew a roll of duct tape from his bag. Henry made a slight choking sound, which I translated to mean,Dear God, who gave Asher that duct tape and what is he planning on doing with it?
At the front of the room, Dr. Clark resumed her perch on the edge of her desk. “So,” she continued, “let’s see what factors you foresee affecting the very balance of power in this country.” She unfolded the answers, one by one. “Jobs. Health care. Immigration.” She sorted the answers as she read them, pulling out and saving a few for later. “Jobs again. Terrorism. The economy. Terrorism. Defense.
“And now things get interesting.” Dr. Clark went on to the slips she’d pulled out of sequence. “Ideology. Religion. Voter turnout.” She paused. “Not exactly what I meant byissue, but undoubtedly true, Ms. Rhodes.”
Near the front of the room, Asher’s twin sister tossed her strawberry-blond ponytail over one shoulder. Somehow, I wasn’t surprised she’d written her name on her answer. Emilia Rhodes believed in giving credit where credit was due—particularly if it was due to her.
“Last three,” Dr. Clark announced. “Presidential approval rating.” Her gaze flickered briefly toward my side of the room—to Henry. “Transparency.” She moved on to the next-to-last sheet, then ended with mine. “And corruption.” She paused. “Mr. Rhodes, while I’m sure you do a passable Houdiniimpression, I would prefer you not duct-tape your hands together during class.”
Asher gave her his most charming smile. “Your wish is my command.” He did a good job of pretending his hands weren’t half taped together already.
Only Asher, I thought. But there was another part of my brain—the part where instinct and emotion blended together, wherefightandflightlived in wait—that couldn’t help remembering a time when I’d been bound hand and foot.
I felt a light touch on my shoulder.Henry.I didn’t turn to look at him, but my gut said that he knew exactly where I’d been a moment before.I was held hostage by a rogue Secret Service agent.Thinking the words sapped the memory of some of its power.That rogue agent helped murder the chief justice of the Supreme Court. And the American public will never know.
Transparencywasn’t President Nolan’s strong suit.
The rest of the class period passed in a blur. When the final bell rang, I stood.
“About that grudge-holding yearbook editor—” Asher started to say, but before he could recommence wheedling, he was summarily cut off.
“You owe me a favor.” Emilia Rhodes wasn’t a person who bothered with words as mundane ashello. She was as intense as Asher was laid-back—and she was, unfortunately, correct.
Ididowe her a favor.
“What do you want?” I asked Emilia.
She hooked an arm through mine. “Walk with me.” She didn’t speak again until we’d made it to the hallway. “Tomorrow during chapel, they’ll be taking student council nominations.”
“In November?” I asked.
“Student council elections take place on Election Day.” Emilia executed a delicate little shrug. “Hardwicke tradition.”
Hardwicke wasn’t a normal school. Most days, it didn’t even pretend to be.
“The next student council term begins in January,” Emilia continued. “I intend to be president. You have a certain amount of …influence”—it pained Emilia to say that word—“at this school, particularly among freshmen and miscellaneous social misfit types. When the headmaster calls for nominations tomorrow morning, I want you to nominate me. Maya will second your nomination.”
