Presidential Punk

Chapter 1: Six Years Later (National Secrets)

That was six years ago. I'm fourteen, now, and I currently attending Washington Preparatory Academy (WPA). WPA is a prestigious academic school, that's nearly impossible to get into, unless your parent's are somebody's in DC.

“It’s four thirty.” My friend Mallory pointed out.

”Shit! I have to go!” I said rather bummed.

“Just get a new schedule,” One of my other friends DC friends, Rebecca replied.

"I haven't gotten one yet," I told Mallory and Rebecca.

Mallory rolled here eyes, "You and your schedules!"

"I really do have to go," I frowned, hoping Mallory and Rebecca would understand.

Mallory and Rebecca really are good friends to me, but they're use to "sticking it" to their parents, and they're use to putting on the "Trophy Children" of powerful men act, but shutting it off the second that the camera leaves.

"Good luck!" Mallory gave me a sympathy look.

"Yeah, good luck!" Rebecca gave me a look similar to Mallory's. "Don't let 'em change ya!"

Mallory, Rebecca, and I all laugh at Rebecca's crappy joke.

"Will do!" I grin, as I grab my crutches, and pull myself into a standing position. "Bye!" I call, as I limp away on my crutches, my hip killing me.

”Kennedy! Come on, other way!” I hear my head bodyguard, Avy call, as her voice snaps me back into reality.

I don't even have to think the words, 'Reporter', 'Camera', or 'Press' to understand what Avy just told me.

"Again?" I moan, very annoyed. This is the third time in four days that the press has tried to mob me. I'm not even the President, for Heaven's Sake!

I don't know what I'll do next time that the press try to follow me! I'll probably get ridiculously mad at POTUS and FLOTUS (President of the United States and First Lady of the United States, also known as my parents).

Not that I will get to mad. I’m kind of a ‘Daddy's little girl', so I've never had the guts to yell at him, because he’s always really nice to me. This can be embarrassing sometimes, though. He’ll hug me in public, or just say 'the wrong thing' in front of people, and as a result, I'll be blushing bright red.

Just as I was about to leave, I ran into my twin sister, Erin. Erin had come out of drama club or something on her crutches. Once the black Cadillac from the White House came and we got in, Erin and I started talking.

“I still can’t believe you’ve come to school in these cars since you were ten. Born to be a princess, I guess, huh?” Erin asked, her eyes wide with excitement.

”You were, too," I reminded her. "But... you know...”

The story was all too simple. When we were little, we were kidnapped and thrown down in a cellar, and I was found; she was not. We became friends after I moved to Washington D.C. Now older, we were both taken again because the kidnappers could not tell us apart. When we were found, we were told that we were identical twins.

Mom's words still echo in my head: "You've already lost two; you don't need to loose what's left!" Two children lost; that could only mean one of two things: I have had a sibling die, or I have another sibling out there somewhere.

“So what color are you going to die your hair?” I asked Erin. "Maybe purple, so you can take me Literature tests!" I joke.

”No way!” Erin replied, without even thinking about it for a second.

"Oh, come on!" I beg Erin.

"Nope. Sorry, Kay."

I give Erin a puppy face, but she just rolls her eyes in response.

No one besides our family and Erin's adopted parents know that we are twins yet. We're keeping the secret with a lot of caution. I mean; Erin hasn't even changed her name back to her birth name yet. Her "real name" is really 'Regan', but of course no one really knows about that yet.

"So, how's your hip and leg?" Regan changes the topic, referring to my fractured hip, and giant slice that I got on my leg, which now has stitches running up and down it like railroad tracks.

I decided to let Regan get away with a topic change.

"The Vikatin is helping a lot," I responded. "Your arm and leg?" I question back, referring to her arm broken in two places, and her broken leg.

"Numb," Regan remarks, a bit sarcastically, as the Cadillac drives up into to the driveway behind the White House residence.

We slowly get out of the car, and start making our way towards the residence, when, we are stopped by The White House Press Secretary, Jane Jenkins.

We're allowed to walk around the White House, because people just believe that Erin is my friend, who was taken when I was; the current theory the press has about Reagan, is that the people who took us did not want witnesses. We have different color hair (because of the dye in mine), we dress so differently, and our bruised faces hide any distinctive facial traits. Thus, no one ever looks far into it. The press is getting fussy about what happened to me, but Dad is trying his best to hold them off for the time being.

”Hi Reagan, hi, Kennedy!” Ms. Jenkins greets us. ”Oh yea! Guys, your press conference is in two weeks!” This is how the conversation began.

”Why the hold up?” Reagan asks.

"I told the press that you two need to rehabilitate; just be around your friends and families, and get use to sophisticated society, again," Ms. Jenkins explains.

"Rehabilitate?" I smirk; slightly annoyed.

"Yes," Ms. Jenkins confirms, as she puts her hand on my shoulder.

I flinch, and snap my head around, only to see Ms. Jenkins.

”But two weeks is a long time!” Reagan exclaimed

”Yes, it’s that your father has his reasons and all you know that very well,” Ms. Jenkins tell Regan, eying me.

Reagan nods her head, and I just stand there stoically.

Ms. Jenkins takes her hand off of my shoulder, as I continue to watch her, my eyes following her.

"Come on," Reagan says to me softly. "Your parents are waiting for us."

I nod my head.

”Later, Jane!” we call at the same time, as we crutch away. This is one of the mysteries about being a twin; you always seem to know what your twin is going to do next- for better or for worse.

The more that I think about it, the more that I realize all of the things that Reagan and I have in common; signals that we are related. These "signals" have been everything from her being left- handed, and me being right- handed, to the unique green color of our eyes, to our 5'2 height.

I arrive at the Oval Office, and I, I mean, we slip in to see our father.

I keep saying 'I', even though I mean 'we'. I keep forgetting that there is no 'I' anymore; it's all 'we' and 'us'.

Anyways, Dad was on the phone, so he flapped his hand for us to come in. Reagan and I quietly make our ways over to Dad's desk, and wait for him to finish his call.

"Yes. I most definitely will, Senator. No, thank you. I will. Bye," Dad ends his phone call, and sets the phone down.

”Hi, girls," Dad smiles, "How are my two favorite girls today?"

Two identical smiles purse on Reagan and my lips.

Well, at least Dad remembers that there are two of me... I mean us.

"Better," Reagan tells Dad, which is a legitimate answer. It wasn't "good" or "perfect", but it wasn't "bad" or "pained" either.

"Good; that's all one can really ask for," Dad tells us. "Now what was it that you wanted to talk to me about? As much as I'd love to stay and talk, I have a meeting with a Senator in five."

”Well, if you're going to be in the residence by nine, we are going to have what you call ‘quality time’.” I tell Dad.

"Excellent! Time with my lovely wife, and four of my kids! I can't wait!" Dad exclaims.

I can't help but roll my eyes ever so slightly at Dad's cockiness; but even I have to admit that it's nice to see Dad in a lighter mood.

I grin; I can't help it; it's going to be so awesome to spend time with Dad and the family, again! I haven't done it in soooo long!

"Why are you grinning like and idiot?" Reagan asks me, a quizzled expression on her face.

"I'm not grinning," I insist.

"Right." Reagan says, seeing right through my denying.

Tap! Tap! I jump, when a Secret Service agent knocks on my door. The agent then let's himself in, without even waiting for a response from me. What the purpose of the knocking then, still puzzles me.

”Miss Barracks, Kennedy, phone for you,” The agent hands me a cordless phone.

"Thanks Teddy," I accept the phone, knowing full well who it one on the other end.

I knew who it was; it was Mallory calling about going to the mall this evening.

"Hey Mal!" I call into the phone.

"Hey," Mallory says.

"So, can you go to the mall tonight?" She asks like an excited puppy.

“Sorry I can’t," I tell her, hoping that she hears the sincerity in my voice. "We're having 'quality family time' here tonight if nothing comes up."

“What is up with you lately you seem to have a ton more family time then you used to. What happened to the Kennedy who's family was a gala every- other weekend?"

”Listen,” I began. "That was over six years ago. A lot has happened; a lot has changed. I thought that you would understand that better than anyone."

Mallory spoke again this time obviously frustrated, ”Kennedy, something’s going on and I need to know. I thought that we were best friends." she sounded really dissapointed.

"We are!" I insisted

Mallory just didn't understand. I have a twin who was in training to be a first daughter, I have a father still paranoid from what happened, I have two siblings loving us each half to death because they know that Reagan and I are alive. She didn't understand that my life had changed drastically; when you've disappeared off the satellites, and even the CIA can't find you, but somehow you're found, your entire outlook on life changes.

But then again, Mal was right; how was she suppose to know what I was feeling, if I didn't let her in.

I could hear awkward silence on the other end of the line, and I sigh.

"Listen, Mal. You are one of my best friends, and I know that I haven’t been really honest with you, but I have good reason to be. Why don't you come over tonight, and I'll explain it all."

"Promise?" Mallory asked, in an un-sure voice.

"Promise." I confirmed.

Oh jeez! What have I gotten myself into; telling one of my friends national secrets? What am I going to do?