Disclaimer: I don't own anything!

Dear Mr President's Daughter

Chapter 1

I sat there on the big stage in the middle of Washington. I was trying not to look completely bored as my mother told me again that I should smile and look at my father while he's giving his speech and that I should nod when it was appropriate. You would think that she'd realise after the tenth speech he'd given that I had the obedient daughter act down pat.

I should probably introduce myself to those of you who are confused: my name is Spencer Carlin. And my father is the President of the United States.

Yupp! Old daddy Carlin won the election about a year ago and now we live in the White House.

I try to get excited about it but I can't. Not when it means that my parents are too busy to pay attention to me and the only time I even see them is when we're at a stupid press conference where I'm just ordered about all the time. In case you couldn't tell, I am not a happy camper. Oh well!

So anyway, I'm on this huge open stage sat on this stupid uncomfortable chair next to my mum and my dads just about to come on and make some speech to all the public. But everyone here seems even less pleased by this prospect than me.

"Why do you suck, President Carlin?" he's a fan. I thought sarcastically as I tried to see who'd stole my question only to have my charming mother slam her elbow into my ribs. I winced and turned to see what was making her about as happy as a fat man on a diet.

Oh. My dad had just walked up to the stage and I wasn't paying attention. Whoopsy!

I turned my whole body to face him as he started his speech and plastered an agonisingly fake smile onto my face as I completely zoned out and started wondering what I should have for dinner that night. I also wondered idly why my father bothered trying to speak at all. I could barely hear him over the crowds' questions and I was sat right behind him.

And then I heard it. The strumming of guitar strings in the midst of the throbbing crowd. I wondered how I could possibly have heard the notes being played. They were so soft and kind of sad. It almost felt as if they weren't really there. That they were just a part of my imagination coming out in a melody that so easily described my feelings of sadness and confusion. How else could I have heard it?

I felt like shrugging at my own question but then decided it would look odd in front of all these people and my mum would probably kill me for moving.

"Dear Mr. President,
Come take a walk with me."

Oh. My. God. Now I knew that that wasn't a part of my imagination. I needed to find out who that voice belonged to. It was a girl. I knew that much. Now all I had to do was find a girl quietly strumming a guitar in the middle of a loud crowd. Easy peasy.

But before I could even glance at the crowd my mums hand snaked out to mine and officially crippled my fingers. I glanced at her to find that she was smiling and nodding at my father. How the hell did she know I'd even thought about moving? Creepy. Since I couldn't look I decided to carry on listening.

"Let's pretend we're just two people and
You're not better than me.
I'd like to ask you some questions if we can speak honestly.

What do you feel when you see all the homeless on the street?
Who do you pray for at night before you go to sleep?
What do you feel when you look in the mirror?
Are you proud?

How do you sleep while the rest of us cry?
How do you dream when a mother has no chance to say goodbye?
How do you walk with your head held high?
Can you even look me in the eye
And tell me why?"

Now I really want to know what this person looks like. I can't imagine what face owns that incredible voice. It gives me shivers. I suppose it's the message she's giving and her obvious talent and completely raw voice that's giving me goosebumps. Well, that's all I can think of anyway. Whatever it is, I find myself straining to hear the rest of the song.

"Dear Mr. President,
Were you a lonely boy?
Are you a lonely boy?
How can you say
No child is left behind?
We're not dumb and we're not blind.
They're all sitting in your cells
While you pave the road to hell."

Good grief. I'm surprised she hasn't been arrested yet. She's definitely brave. This girl could possibly be my biggest hero to date. Bigger than Action Man. And that's saying something.

"What kind of father would take his own daughter's rights away?"

Wait. What? Christ in a tutu! She's talking about me! I don't even care if my mum is trying not so subtly to rip my arm from its socket with all her insistent tugging. I have to see her. I turned to face the crowd and instantly my blue eyes were drawn to a pair of the darkest, deepest brown eyes looking back at me and suddenly everything went quite as if it was just me and her. She was looking at me! I turned my eyes away and they oddly ended up on her lips which turned up into a smirk as she sang the next line.

"And what kind of father might hate his own daughter if she were gay?"

She raised her eyebrow still looking at me she sang. I felt myself blushing even though I didn't have any reason to.

"I can only imagine what the first lady has to say"

She looked at mum and pulled a face saying that she had a pretty good idea what she'd say. She looked back to me and smiled as if we were old friends before turning back to my father, her face hardening into an accusatory glare as she carried on singing.

"You've come a long way from whiskey and cocaine."

For the second time everything went quite. But this time it was literal. It happened when she tore her eyes from mine and turned to look directly at my father to belt out that last line. Maybe things had been getting quieter all along and I just hadn't noticed but now no one was speaking. Not even my dad. Everyone's attention was now on the tiny brunette and she didn't seem to be breaking under their gazes. And her eyes board into my fathers as she sang out the rest of the song. Her incredible voice only getting stronger and building in emotion.

"How do you sleep while the rest of us cry?
How do you dream when a mother has no chance to say goodbye?
How do you walk with your head held high?
Can you even look me in the eye?"

The bodyguards finally made an appearance but couldn't get anywhere near her because all the other members of the crowd had taken it upon themselves to protect this amazing singer by making a human wall around her. I don't think she realised though as all her attention was focused on staring my dad down and letting him hear her thoughts.

"Let me tell you 'bout hard work
Minimum wage with a baby on the way
Let me tell you 'bout hard work
Rebuilding your house after the bombs took them away
Let me tell you 'bout hard work
Building a bed out of a cardboard box
Let me tell you 'bout hard work
Hard work
Hard work
You don't know nothing 'bout hard work
Hard work
Hard work
Oh"

She closed her eyes as she let her emotions go and every hair on my body stood end as her voice was carrying to anyone who'd listen. When she opened them to look at him again she looked completely drained and defeated and continued to sing in a much quieter voice that could only be heard because everyone was quieter than when she'd started.

"How do you sleep at night?
How do you walk with your head held high?
Dear Mr. President,
You'd never take a walk with me.
Would you?"

She lets her guitar drop to the side as she looked at him for a moment as if daring him to answer her questions. When he didn't but just stood there tensely she turned to me and smiled sadly before she was grabbed by the arm and escorted through the crowd by the police who were finally able to push through the public.

I tried to keep my eyes on her as the body guards led me to the limo and the police led her to their car and wondered if we were all that different. I also wondered why I got tingles every time she smiled at me and why I couldn't get her eyes out of my head.

Please Review :)