Fourteen months earlier . . .
Stevie McCord shifted her backpack onto her shoulder and made her way back to her dorm room. She was stressed about the quiz she had just turned in - pretty sure she'd bombed it. She'd known that she should have studied but the entire dorm had gathered to watch "The Bachelor" and the temptation to join had been too strong.
"Hey!"
She looked up to find Annabeth from her biology lab walking beside her.
"Done for the day?" She asked.
"Yep." Stevie paused. "What about you?"
"I've got a class later tonight, but nothing til then. Hey, you wanna get some coffee?"
"Always!" They walked side by side to the Campus Cafe. Stevie felt out of sorts. Annabeth had never been friendly before. It seemed strange.
"What do you have tonight?" Stevie asked conversationally. "I hate those three hour night classes!"
"It was the only section left." Annabeth said with a shrug. "Polyscience 104."
"What's that?"
"Modern American/Soviet Relations."
"Oh, God!" Stevie groaned as they sat at an empty table. "That sounds infinitely boring!"
"Not into politics?"
It was something in the way she asked the question that put Stevie on red alert. Modern American/Soviet Relations? It sounded like something her mother would teach. She glanced around uncomfortably.
"I figured with your family, you'd be really into politics."
"What do you mean?" Stevie felt suddenly sick.
"Everyone knows, okay? I don't know why you have to act all secretive and stuck up."
"What is that supposed to mean? You don't even know what me! Why are you talking about my family?"
"You are kind of a celebrity is all. Geez! Like no one has ever asked you about it? C'mon! Give me a break! Your family knows the President! Is it true you dated his son?"
"Hey, look, I don't know who you've been talking to but I . . ."
"Your Mom isn't Secretary of State right now?" Annabeth sat back in the chair. "Come on! I looked it up."
"Why?" Stevie felt angry. "What difference does it make? We've been in the same class for a month and now you want to talk to me? Who cares who my mother is! She isn't here!"
"I should've known there was a reason you are so stuck up! God, one question and you act like a bitch! Whatever princess!" Annabeth stormed away.
Stevie stayed where she was completely stunned. What the hell was that? She glanced around hoping no one had overheard.
***MS***
It started with Annabeth. That was the first time someone approached her about her name; her parents. But it didn't stop there. She started getting asked on a more regular basis, "McCord, huh? Like the Secretary of State?" She had thought that administration had made it perfectly clear to all the professors but even her French professor asked about it.
"Have you been to the White House?"
Most people didn't ask about it outright, though. But she noticed subtle changes - people she hardly knew following her around. Overly friendly people asking to be part of her study group or to join their club or sorority. She was starting to feel paranoid.
The worst were the glares and the whispering. Once in the cafeteria, as she was trying to choke down an omelette that made even her mother's cooking look good, she was ambushed by a thin brown-haired boy.
"What's your mother got against American businesses?"
"Pardon me?"
"My father's company will go under if those tariffs get removed! What's her problem anyway?"
"I don't know who you are or what you are talking about."
"I'm talking about your jackass blond-headed mother making stupid decisions because of PMS!"
She furrowed her brow tempted to use a couple of moves her father had taught her on the idiot blinking in front of her, but instead she rose and said politely, "Please go away!"
It was an impossible situation: if she hit him, it would be in the press. If she yelled at him it would be in the press. It went against every fiber of her being to let such a colossal prick just walk away.
***MS***
"Your classes okay?" Her mother asked, squinting at the computer screen. "You look skinny. Have you been eating? Are you sick?"
"I'm fine. Just tired."
"You sure?" Her mother leaned closer. "Not boy trouble?"
"No, Mom!" She laughed. "God! I'm fine!"
"I'm sorry, baby! I know I'm supposed to get used to it, but I miss you! I miss you being home."
"Which home?" Stevie asked.
Jason had used his Gopro and given her a tour when they were house hunting but now she couldn't quite remember which of houses he'd shown her, that they'd moved into. It was all part of the whirling, upside down feeling she had; how could she be homesick if she'd never been home?
"Honey, maybe Dad and I could come for a visit or . . ."
"Seriously? With your security detail? Why not bring Mr. Dalton with you!"
"Right." Her Mom said with a sigh. "I hadn't really thought that through. I forget sometimes. It's just new, Stephy. We can figure it out."
"Don't call me that." Stevie, protested with a shy smile. "I've got a paper to write and you've got a country to run so . . ."
"I love you, sweetheart. Thanksgiving isn't that far away. It's always tough this time of year. Remember last year?"
It was true. Her freshman year she'd been a sobbing pathetic mess right around October. She had called home sobbing like a pathetic baby three nights in a row and then the next day her parents had surprised her, dropping everything and taking her out to lunch. It was like that was possible now.
"I know. You're right. I'm fine. I hate that I missed Jason's birthday, that's all."
"He survived." Her mother laughed. "He's a 'man' now. At least that what he tells me every time I try to give him a kiss."
"He still sleeps with that Mr. Koala, though." She said laughing, feeling herself relax.
"Yes." Her mother smiled widely. "He misses you, though." She sighed. "I do, too. Alison doesn't ever fight with me."
"Your perfect twin." Stevie said with a laugh. "Give her time. Sixteen is coming."
"Don't remind me. Do you need anything?"
"No. I'm good."
"Okay, sweetie. I better go. Dad'll be sorry he missed you."
"That's okay. I'll talk to him later."
"I love you. You are doing great. And I can't wait for Thanksgiving."
"I love you, too. Tell the brats I miss them."
"Can we Skype Thursday?"
"I can if you can." Stevie laughed. "Go save the world."
***MS***
"The problem," She explained to her roommate Jane. "Is that it is nearly impossible to be angry at my mother. She is the most logical person you could ever meet and she's insanely fair."
"But she screwed up your life." Jane pointed out.
"Not intentionally. It's just a by-product of being who she is - I mean, knowing she's running things actually makes me feel better! The woman has never failed at anything."
"I thought you said she couldn't cook."
"But even that she does at the top level. I mean, she once set our toaster on fire - and she wasn't even making toast. Even in something like that she takes it to an epic level."
"Well, then you're doubly-screwed! I mean your life is f'd up and you can't even get mad about it." Jane shrugged her shoulders. "Yesterday, I got 47 friend requests on facebook and 15 new follows on Instagram. I don't know any of them!"
"I haven't even checked mine this week! It's insane!" She fell back flat on her bed. "I thought our generation didn't care about politics! What the hell? Did you even know who are Secretary of State was before?"
"Nope. But what are you gonna do? I mean about all those sorority and club requests?"
Stevie sat up on her elbows. "Well, I guess I'll have to choose between the Young Communists and the FFA!"
She and Jane both laughed, but inside she felt like weeping - no she felt like packing a bag and heading home -of course, she'd have to get directions first.
***MS***
"So if you were to show any support, I bet it would get more attention."
Stevie McCord considered the small group of students sitting across from her thoughtfully. They were so earnest and so badly organized. She understood far better than they, what it would really take to bring attention to the ridiculous "Need-Aware" policy that Lovell was instituting. It was a stupid, unfair policy that would result in inequality becoming a campus norm. It was the kind of thing she'd been raised to notice; the kind of thing she'd been raised to do something to stop. It would serve her parents right if a firestorm of press rained down on her mother because they'd raised her to speak out against oppression. "If a law is unjust a man is not only right to disobey it, he is obligated to do so." Her father had quoted Thomas Jefferson enough times to leave an impression on her.
"What is your plan exactly?" She asked.
"Flyers and signs in the quad." Brian, their leader said excitedly.
"Well, wouldn't be better if you could stage a protest?" She asked, remembering the time her mother had helped her organize a protest when her school wouldn't allow girls to take wood shop in junior high.
"What do you mean?"
God! These people are babies! Some aspects of her childhood were completely ordinary - picnics, birthday parties, trips to the beach or amusement parks, but other parts weren't. It wasn't just watching the President of the United States being sworn into office and remembering the time the now leader of the free world was throwing you into a pool at a bbq, but a life in academia and politics. Her parents were not politicians but many of their friends were and the ones who weren't, were generally CIA. She'd been fed a steady diet of philosophy, diplomacy and intrigue since birth. Her earliest memories were of sitting in the giant university library reading a book about duckies while her father studied an old manuscript. By the time she went to college, she had already logged more hours on campus than some professors. And these kids knew nothing about staging a protest and drawing in the press.
"Stevie, if you just walk up to the Dean and say, 'Girls should be able to take wood shop' that's using your voice, and he might listen to you, or he might not. If you walk up and yell at him about how unfair the policy is, he'll probably dig in and be defensive." Her mother explained.
"So what should I do?"
"What do you think he would do if you gathered a group of friends, and you carried signs and called the local papers and asked to speak with him about the policy? What if you said that you didn't believe he could possibly support such an unfair policy in front of those friends and reporters?"
"He would say he was against it." She smiled, amazed at her mother. "Mom! That's brilliant! It's like pushing him to do what you want, but making it look like he wanted to do it."
"It's using your mind and voice, and strengthening it with the voices of others. It's a kind of diplomacy where you allow someone to make the obvious and right choice."
"It's called manipulation, honey." Her father had clarified. "And it works really, really well."
It was all so simple then, and her parents were towers of wisdom and strength. Now, she was completely trapped. School had become a nightmare. She was without escape. She couldn't very well tell her mother that her career was destroying her life. She was a self-avowed feminist for Christ's sake! There was no way she could say, "No! You can't do this amazing once-in-a-life-time opportunity because you are my mommy and I need you to lay low, while I spread my wings." She couldn't even talk to them about it - her mom would feel guilty and her dad would defend her mother. In all her years, she'd never felt so alone and powerless.
She studied the faces in front of her. They didn't know her. She only knew Brian and Cecily from one of her classes - the rest of them were strangers. They didn't even really want to know about her either. They just wanted their cause to be heard by any means necessary.
"Hey, you see that girl over there with the auburn hair? Her mom is Secretary of State! What if we get her on board? The press would lose their shit! It would be awesome!"
It was a strange thing to wander through campus completely recognized but completely unknown. It filled her with loneliness. She longed for home and could imagine herself wandering the empty, cold rooms of the horse farm - alone even there. "I have become a name, forever wandering with an empty heart." Lord Tennyson really knew his shit. But if you became nothing more than a figure or name what else was left but to play the part?
"The first thing we need to do is get as many people as we can to agree to a rally, and then call all the press we can." She told them. "And I should be out in front - they will pay attention if you use my name."
"Oh, sweet! You'll do it?" Brian beamed. "This is going to be epic!"
"You've no idea." Stevie told him.
***MS***
It wasn't until she was on the outskirts of DC that she felt the weight of what she'd done.
She'd quit school.
She was a dropout.
She'd been valedictorian, captain of the volleyball team and had six schools offering her a scholarship when she'd graduated from high school. And now she was running home; a drop out. It was quite possibly the most depressing night of her life. She was going to walk into a house she'd seen on video once and explain to her mother that she was a quitter; a loser kid who couldn't hack it in the real.
She could just picture her mother standing there looking completely flawless, her insanely beautiful eyes filled with disappointment, as her firstborn returned home with her tail between her legs. As the cab pulled to a stop, a knot of agents gathered, and she drew in a steadying breath, trying not be overwhelmed by the insane circumstance.
She pushed open the door. "Um, it's just me." She said to the nearest agent. "I'm Stevie, uh, Stephanie McCord, the um oldest."
"Yes, of course. We weren't expecting you!" He said with a smile.
"It's kind of a surprise visit." She explained, shyly. "Can someone let me in? I don't have a key yet?"
***MS***
Author's Note
Hey, thanks for all the reviews! I appreciate all the kind, and even the constructive criticism. My favorite thing about MS is how completely rich the characters are, and Stevie is the perfect example of that. I love her fabulous beautiful 20 year old righteous, protesting, supportive, loyal and disloyal complexity. I find it far more realistic that she has some missteps. I mean, how could you possible step flawlessly into womanhood if Elizabeth McCord was your mother? Anywho, this is written with much love and much respect, and compassion for the difficulties of being young, driven and under a very impressive shadow.