The Unexpected Everything(132)

“Andie!” Palmer looked at me like she wasn’t exactly sure who I was.

A beep sounded from my bag on the passenger seat, and we both looked over at it, just as another one sounded. “Just a second,” I said, leaning in and pulling it out. “It’s Topher,” I said, looking at the screen, turning it so I could read it in the glare.

Palmer raised a disapproving eyebrow at me. “Topher?”

“No,” I said immediately, then realized this wasn’t entirely correct. “Well, kind of. A little, but never again.” Palmer frowned, and I realized just how much there was to catch her up on. “I’ll tell you later.”

“What’s he want now?” she asked, folding her arms over her chest.

I stared at the texts, trying to make sense of them. “I’m not sure.”





TOPHER


Hey, don’t let your dad do the campaign thing today

Heard my mom saying something

Think it’s a bad idea.

I looked at Palmer, who was reading over my shoulder. “Okay, what is wrong with him?” she asked, shaking her head. “He can’t be bothered to give you like a smidge more information?”

“I’ll call him,” I said, pulling up his contact info, wondering why this was happening now. I was supposed to be halfway to Clark’s by now, practicing what I was going to say to him, gathering all the courage I could muster. I wasn’t supposed to be trying to decode Topher’s texts. But I had a not-so-great feeling as I waited for his phone to ring. Topher almost never told me things like this, mentioned things that could impact either of our parents.

“Hey,” he said, picking up on the fourth ring.

“Hey,” I said, pulling my phone back from my ear to look at the texts once more. “I got your texts.”

“I figured,” he said. “Hang on.” There was a small pause, and then I noticed that things had gotten much quieter on Topher’s end—like he’d just stepped inside, or gotten into his car, or something.

“What’s he saying?” Palmer whispered, poking my arm.

“Nothing yet,” I whispered back to her.

“Sorry,” Topher said, his voice much clearer now. “Look, I shouldn’t even be doing this. But I heard my mom saying something last night . . . something about how the governor is just using your dad as a prop.”

“A prop?” I repeated, feeling myself frown. “What do you mean?”

“I guess people have been saying he’s not aggressive enough. So when your dad’s onstage, he’s basically going to point to him as an example of everything that’s wrong with politics.”

“To his face?” I asked, feeling sick. I couldn’t even think about what this would do to Peter’s plan. If this happened before my dad’s announcement, his press conference, the whole narrative Peter was crafting wouldn’t work. Which was maybe what the governor was counting on.

“I think so,” Topher finally said after a silence. “From what I could hear, at least.”

“Okay,” I said, nodding, trying to figure out what to do with this information. “I’m going to call my dad.” I looked over at Palmer, who mouthed What? at me.

“Probably a good idea,” Topher said. Silence fell between us for a moment, and I thought back to how we’d left it, how awkward it had been—and then realized that he had texted me anyway.

“Thank you,” I said, hoping he would know that I meant it.

“Sure,” Topher said, then, “I’ll see you, Andie.”

“What’s going on?” Palmer asked, when I’d hung up. “Is your dad okay?”

“I don’t think so.” I looked down at my phone once more. “Topher said this thing he’s doing today—this rally—might not actually be so good.”

“Wait, so he’s running again?”

“Apparently,” I said as I pulled up my dad’s number and called it. It didn’t even ring, just went right to voice mail, and I suddenly remembered a campaign tic of my dad’s—he turned his phone off every time he was going to be interacting with voters. He always said he didn’t want to be tempted to take a call, or look at a text, or do anything that might be read as not giving them his undivided attention. “His phone’s off,” I said, scrolling through my contacts again. “I’ll just call Peter.”

But Peter’s number went right to a recording that told me the number was no longer in service. I lowered my phone, realizing that Peter must have gotten a new phone during my dad’s leave of absence.

“No good?” Palmer asked, as I lowered my phone and bit my lip.

“No,” I said, looking at the time. I didn’t even know where this event was in New York, but it must have been close-ish. If it was starting in less than two hours, it couldn’t have been up in Albany or anything. I tried to do the driving math and realized that there was no way I’d be able to go stop my dad and then get back home to see Clark before he left for his bookstore event. Because it was looking like I’d have to go up there—I wasn’t going to let my dad just get attacked like that. And there didn’t seem to be any other way of contacting him. I let out a breath and turned to Palmer. “Up for a road trip?”