First in line

First In Line 6

The whole ride to the white house was unusually loud; probably because of Ryan asking Morgan a lot of questions—as if I haven’t interrogated her enough a while ago. Ryan seems amused with everything that has to do with Morgan. I mean, she is amusing, I just think he fancies her too much. “Okay guys, we’re here. Stop with all the questions already.”

“Aw Jack, am I ignoring you that much?” Ryan teased as Morgan laughed and I, scoffed. What struck me though was Ryan calling me Jack; it’s been a long time since I last heard that nickname. It makes me feel like I’m back in my old room in Philadelphia, fumbling with all the books my father is bringing and trying my best to read all of it just to impress him. My heart constricted. The doubts are here once again, they keep on pulling me down even if I’m already satisfied in where I am now. Sure, maybe I feel a little unappreciated from my father but I know he’s a good man, and that’s all that matters.

“You can ignore me all you want Ry, you ain’t getting anything from me.” I rolled my eyes as Ronaldo opened the door for me. “Thank you Ronaldo, Tell Angel that Desiree misses her already and that she is welcome in the white house anytime.” Ronaldo smiled at me gratefully before nodding his head. I tried to be closer to every staff we have here in the white house and I do hope that I’m doing a great job so far. I’m going to miss all of them though once we’re gone.

I waited for Morgan, as soon as she’s ready; I guided her throughout the white house. “Have you been on one of the tours of the white house?” I asked her as we walked in the center hall. She nodded her head, still looking around. “Yes.” She answered; her voice exasperated like she just ran in a marathon. Am I making her nervous once again? “But I never been in the rooms you’ve showed me.” She glanced at me but then when I looked back at her, she quickly looked away. “What’s your favorite room in the mansion?”

“Hmm.” I thought about every room in the white house—and that’s a lot—but immediately knew the answer to it. “The Library, although I love hanging out in the blue room. But when I’m bored I usually just walk around and look at the paintings of the Past Presidents.”

“Do you have a favorite one?” She asked, as we turned into the entrance hall, which is quite appropriate to her question because my favorite painting was hanging right in here. “There.” I pointed to the oil painting of John F. Kennedy that was made by Aaron Shikler. We stood in front of the painting as I admired it. I glanced at her to see her having a confused expression. She is staring at the painting like JFK was going to come out any minute.

 I stifled a laugh once I found out that she’s trying to see what I liked about it so much. “You don’t have a crush on JFK don’t you?” This time, I didn't bother to stop the laugh that was about to come out. “I mean, he’s handsome and all but I don’t see anything special about this painting.”

“Well for starters—He stood out.” I glanced back at the painting of JFK in which he has his arms crossed and his head shook. “He’s the only one in that position. Everyone’s standing or sitting down with their heads held high. That painting doesn’t represent his leadership or his optimism, but it represents his assassination, his death.”

She fell silent for a moment and then looked back at the painting, only this time, with a new perspective. Her mouth fell open and her eyes roamed JFK’s face. “He’s just like you.”

I snorted. “As if.” She held her hands high in surrender. “I swear, not just with the name, but sometimes I would see you in the hallway with the same position.”

“Well that’s what looking at that painting every day before leaving made me.” She laughed at that and I smiled. “Come on, let’s go to my room.” I led her towards my bedroom but not before going to the Queen’s sitting; my mom’s favorite place. I opened the door and was greeted by Mom and Jane. “Hey Mom.” I walked to where she was and gave her a quick peck on the cheek as a sign of respect. “Good evening, Ms. Ambassadress.” I saluted Jane and ran back to Morgan. She has her arms crossed and her feet were tapping the floor impatiently. She glared at me as I just smiled sheepishly. “Don’t blame me; it’s my duty to serve my mother some manners.” The glare grew more intense. “I promise no more interruptions.” She sighed and let me lead the way towards my room, but we didn’t make it without another interruption, and this time, it was my father.