Chapter 6: The Johnson Girls

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The one who hired me was the Johnson family in the capital.

Their house sat on a tree-lined street, American flags fluttering gently from the porch columns. The Johnsons had two daughters: the elder, Madison Johnson, was sixteen; the younger, Riley Johnson, was thirteen.

The house smelled of cinnamon rolls and fresh laundry, sunlight slanting across the hardwood floor. The first wife died three years ago. Fearing a stepmother would mistreat the girls, Mr. Johnson never remarried.

Before I met the two girls, this gentle and polite man explained to me repeatedly, somewhat apologetically:

"My eldest, Madison, is calm and steady. I have no worries about her.

But my younger daughter is spoiled—you'll have to put in more effort."

I nodded slightly:

I looked him square in the eyes, mustering a hint of a smile. "A girl with some spirit is no bad thing—better than a doormat, easily bullied."

As soon as I finished, I heard the beaded curtain in the hallway being slammed noisily.

It was Riley eavesdropping, unhappy to hear her father speak ill of her.

For three days in a row, she pretended to be sick and refused to come.

Her absence lingered over the breakfast table, a silent protest in every untouched bowl of oatmeal. "Mrs. Foster, don't mind my sister. To tell you the truth, I don't want to intern at the White House, but it's best if I am chosen. Riley has too much temper, I'm afraid she'll cause trouble there."

Madison hoped she could be chosen and was always serious about learning etiquette and rules.

She spent afternoons copying out thank-you notes in looping, careful script. "...Mrs. Foster, I heard the First Lady and the President were childhood sweethearts?"

Madison did not hide the envy in her eyes:

Her voice had the soft, hopeful tone of someone raised on fairy tales. "I heard that when the President was just a senator's son, he was not favored. The First Lady was then a governor's daughter, able to move freely in D.C., and often brought food to him.

She even risked her life to guard the East Wing, afraid someone would harm the young Daniel, tasting every meal for poison before letting him eat.

After Daniel became President, he did not forget the old affection, and the two finally became a couple."

I couldn't help but laugh.

The truth tasted bittersweet on my tongue. Madison might be disappointed.

"If you intern at the White House, never mention childhood sweethearts to the First Lady, nor talk about the President's past."

Madison asked, puzzled:

"Why?"

She cocked her head, a spark of modern curiosity lighting her face. "It’s just like something out of a Netflix show, right? Childhood sweethearts, all that drama."

Because those stories about Rachel and Daniel being childhood sweethearts—

were actually all my and Daniel's past.

A past I carried like that silver barrette—tarnished, hidden, but never quite forgotten. And I wondered, as I watched the Johnson girls, if anyone ever truly leaves the White House behind.