Golden Boys (Golden Boys, #1)(29)

“I think you’d be better served with a hybrid program. I want you to take typography and fundamentals of graphic design. I don’t think you fully know what you want to do, but looking at your work, you’d get a lot out of these classes. The fashion history course would also be good for you, and I know we’ve got an empty space there. And I want you to get some hands-on experience, so I’ll put you in the fashion studio class too. You’ll have two classes back-to-back in the morning, then you’ll have a six-hour break, followed by your design classes.

“Fashion History, though, starts in about five minutes. It’s down one floor and at the end of the hall. Think you can make it?” She finishes scribbling a note on some letterhead and hands it to me. “Just pass this to Professor MacLachlan. I’ll email you your new schedule today. And Reese? Welcome to Riley Design.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

SAL

The escalator lifts me out of the metro station at Capitol South, and I start to shake before I even step off. The sun is peeking out through the clouds, and it’s sweltering, but here I am shaking. I step off the escalator and pull up my phone, though I’m pretty sure I know where I’m going. I did a dry run yesterday from my new place to the Capitol building. From there I walked straight down the National Mall, the strip of parkland that leads from the Capitol, past the Washington Monument, all the way to the Lincoln Memorial.

My new phone background shines back at me. I took hundreds of photos yesterday—not an exaggeration—but my favorite ended up being this one. In between the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial lies the World War II Memorial, which is stunning. It’s a large fountain that’s surrounded by a walking path, with fifty-six pillars surrounding them, their shadows like spokes on a bike.

Each pillar represents a state or territory that fought in the war, so I walked around until I found the pillar with “Ohio” on it. I took a selfie and made it my phone background. I’m far from home, but I get to keep a piece of it with me through this whole trip. I’m here to help Ohioans, and to work for one of the people who represents them in the Senate.

Maybe that’s why I’m shaking. This is such a huge opportunity, and I know I have to do things right.

I check my look in my phone’s selfie camera and quickly adjust my bow tie and smooth down my hair—the humidity is not going to be my friend this trip. I walk the short way up to the entrance to the Capitol and wait for my contact at Senator Wright’s office to come get me.

This is real. This is happening.

? ? ?

Thirty minutes later, I’m sitting in a conference room with a large group of interns, and I’m trying to process all the cool stuff that just happened. Meghan—Senator Wright’s scheduler—walked me here, and as soon as we left the security area, things started feeling official. Busts of important Americans dotted the halls; flags hid in every corner. Every senator’s office was just right here, and as I walked by them, I found myself repeatedly starstruck.

Orientation, or whatever this is supposed to be, happens too quickly. The Speaker of the House welcomes us, wishes us all a wonderful summer, and is gone before we have the chance to even process what just happened.

The other interns seem to be a part of a larger program, probably the college one the congresswoman was talking about at dinner. I don’t get to know anyone, because there’s really never any time, and it all seems a bit chaotic. As we’re about to change rooms, Meghan comes in to take me and two others out.

I guess our time is done here.

“What did you think?” Meghan asks. “We wanted to give you a taste of what you can expect here, plus we’ve been swamped this morning and didn’t know where else to put you. I heard the Speaker was going to stop by—did she make it?”

I can barely keep up with her pace, which I admire doubly because she’s in heels.

The guy next to me replies first. “She did. It was … great!”

“A little rushed,” the girl behind us says. She adds quickly: “Oh, but, like, amazing that she could fit that into her schedule at all.”

“I would not want to be her scheduler,” Meghan says with a deep chuckle. “I’m drowning as it is. We all are—you’ll see.”

Though I don’t want to be ungrateful, it’s not the most welcoming environment. But this does feel important, so I work hard to seem unbothered by her blunt tone and the fully disorganized program. I get the feeling we’re already a burden to her, and maybe to all of them, so I will not let that happen.

We’re brought into Senator Wright’s office, where Meghan introduces her arrival by kissing her fingertips and smacking the side of the door frame.

“What was that?” the guy with us says, his voice quiet.

“Probably some secret ritual they’re too busy to let us in on,” the girl replies.

I laugh but don’t add much.

The space is cramped, and I feel a small sense of dread come over the group as they realize they need to fit three more bodies in their office for the summer.

“One day, when Wright’s back in town, we’ll do bagels and you can get to know everybody more, but for now”—she points to her left and starts gesturing at people, clockwise, around the room—“that’s Jenna, staff assistant; Marcus, constituent advocate; Pasquale, chief of staff; press assistant, legislative assistant, and there are a few others back in that room that you’ll probably never meet, as they’re never in the office.”