Golden Boys (Golden Boys, #1)(30)

We’re not sure what to do or, like, how to behave, and Meghan takes that pause to usher us into the side room. On one end is (presumably) Meghan’s cubicle decked with souvenirs from her university, and on the other end is a round table jammed into a too-tight space. With two chairs, one computer, and two phones.

“Shit, let me grab you another chair. I don’t think Cyrus is in today, so …” She trails off as she leaves the room, and for one moment I’m absolutely certain Gabriel would lose his mind in an environment like this. He’s so easily overwhelmed in normal situations, but something as frantic and high energy as this? I almost laugh at the thought.

She returns with a chair, then says to us in a tone that you’d probably reserve for a group of toddlers, “I’m going to be over here at my desk for the next thirty minutes. I have, like, six meetings to reschedule, and this has thrown my morning off a bit.” She pauses. “But get to know each other, since you’ll be working together for the next few months. We have coffee in the front room if you want some; there’s a water cooler out there too. Lunch is on us today—we’re getting sandwiches catered. Anyway, more info soon, I promise.”

She turns and puts on her headset, then starts punching numbers into her phone. I turn to the others, a little stunned, and take a seat.

“I think I’ll grab us some coffee,” the guy says. “Any preferences?”

“I hate coffee,” the girl says, “but I think I’m going to need it to keep up with these people.”

We bust into snickers—keeping semi-quiet so we don’t bother Meghan. I agree, and within minutes we each have a steaming cup of coffee in front of us. It’s milky and smells sweet, so the girl and I just go for it.

It’s fine.

“I’m Sal,” I say. “Though I feel like we’re basically old war buddies after the pure chaos we just went through over the past couple of hours.”

“Josh. I know they have a lot going on here, but I—I guess I don’t know what else I should have expected.”

“April. This is fucking bonkers.” She smiles. “I kind of love it.”

We spend the next few minutes talking about what part of Ohio we’re from. April’s from Mechanicsburg, a small village far outside Columbus; Josh’s from Zanesville, a town known mostly for the fact that it was the capital of Ohio for about two whole years. I’m the only one up north, but I doubt there’s much of a difference in our towns. Ohio’s a big state, but its towns tend to have a distinct look and feel.

Instantly, though, conversation cuts to colleges. April’s going right to George Washington University because she wants to be in DC as soon as possible. Josh is a little hesitant to move, so he has his eyes on a few local universities that have good programs. They turn to me.

“I’m still figuring that out, I guess.” I sigh. “Part of me wishes I could just fast-forward to working on the Hill, walking fast, heartbeat absolutely racing twenty-four-seven. But I guess you can’t do that without going to college.”

I’m met with mostly crickets, so I’m going to assume that what I’m saying doesn’t make sense to them. I shrug.

The phone rings, and the three of us all back away from it instinctively. On the third ring, I start to look around, wondering whose job it is to answer this call. I make eye contact with Meghan, who’s on a call of her own, and she nods toward the phone and gestures picking it up with her hand.

I look to my co-interns, neither of whom seem interested in answering. So I swallow the fear and do it myself.

“H-hello? Senator Wright’s office. This is Sal speaking?”

“Oh great! Meghan got you up to speed. It’s Jenna!” She pauses as I cycle through the names I was just introduced to, but I can’t remember her role. Something with constituents maybe? She continues, “We’re drowning in calls right now because Wright’s supposed to be voting on that health care bill tomorrow. Could you help and take a call from a constituent?”

“Oh sure. What do I do?”

“Just let them speak, and you can make a tally of whether they support it or not. Pretty easy. Sending one your way now, thanks so much!”

Before I can hang up, the phone starts ringing again. I see the little red light blinking at me and quickly turn to my shoulder bag and whip out a notebook and Mom’s trusty engraved pen.

I take a breath, then tap the line.

“Hello, my name is Lauren Miller and I’m calling from zip code 45345. I’m urging Senator Wright to vote NO on H.R. 19249.”

I scribble down the zip code and write NO next to it. The lady on the other end is reading from a script that she got online, I’m assuming, because I know the pacing and the structure pretty well. I’ve been on the other end of them, even, I’m realizing, to this same office. I don’t know how to respond—usually I just get rushed off the phone when I’m the caller, but something in me wants to try to connect to this constituent. To give them the experience I rarely get when calling my reps.

“Thank you for letting us know,” I say. “I want to make sure you know your thoughts will be passed along to the senator. Is there anything else you’d like me to relay to him?”

A pause, then: “You’ll actually pass the message along to the senator?”