Read Online Long May She Reign by Ellen Emerson White - Free Book Online Page A

the Lower School. Although security was much heavier on game days, regardless. With all three of them in the same place, there would be at least twenty-five agents in and around the school. Probably not the most efficient use of the taxpayers’ money—but, as far as she was concerned, the more, the merrier.
    She moved as quickly as she could, very aware of the size of her entourage. The deathwatch didn’t help matters any. Once they got to the gym, everyone—a pretty sparse crowd, luckily—turned to stare, and she stopped short, not sure if she could go through with this.
    â€œCome on, there’s Neal.” Preston steered her towards the bleachers, where Neal, his friend Ahmed, and three Secret Service agents were already watching the action on the court.
    Carefully, she climbed—hopped, sort of—up several rows and sat down next to Neal. “Hi.” She nodded at Ahmed. “Hi.”
    Ahmed nodded gravely, peering at her through his very thick glasses.
    â€œSteven made like, the last four in a row,” Neal said, pointing at the lay-up drill.
    â€œIt was ex -cellent,” Ahmed said, in his precise, clipped little voice. He was a Foreign Service child, and had picked up a British accent somewhere along the way.
    Meg looked across the huge gym—it had been built quite recently, and was quite state-of-the-art for a high school—at the far basket, searching for Steven. He was wearing his usual number 9—the number he tried to be assigned in all sports, because of Ted Williams. Her family had always been partial to Ted Williams. And Carl Yastrzemski, of course. Jim Rice. David Ortiz. The usual suspects.
    The other team, in blue and white, looked taller, and Meg glanced at Neal. “Are they good?”
    Neal nodded.
    â€œIs Steven’s team going to win?” she asked.
    Neal and Ahmed shook their heads.
    Oh. Meg scanned the whole gym, including the jogging track up above them, still wearing her sunglasses, looking for anything out of place, or suspicious, or—fortunately, the most unusual phenomenon was the number of men lurking around in suits and earpieces. Her body-watch had filtered in, the cameraman and photographer wandering down to a spot near the scorer’s table to join three other photographers and videographers, who might be professionals—or simply overly-involved parents.
    â€œDo you think Steven minds the cameras?” she asked Preston.
    He grinned, loosening his tie—purple and black-striped, and quite flashy. “I think Steven loves the cameras.”
    That was probably true, when it came to sports. Not that he would ever admit it.
    The scoreboard buzzer sounded—making her flinch—and both teams trotted over to their respective benches. Or, more accurately, two lines of white folding chairs. All of the players pulled off their warm-up pants as their coaches gave them last-minute instructions. Steven saw her and shook his head, pointing to his own eyes.
    Meg sighed and took her sunglasses off, and he nodded, obviously amused. Then, his team gathered in a tight circle, each stuck a hand forward, and they all shouted, “One, two, three, let’s win!” The circle broke up, and the starting five ran out to the court, where the other team, the Panthers, joined them.
    Her high school had actually played both of these schools in tennis; neither of their number one players had been terribly impressive, in Meg’s opinion.
    Before, of course, she had had to drop off the team for security reasons, after her mother’s shooting. She’d been undefeated in singles at the time, and so, even though there were a couple of matches and the ISL Tournament left, she was still picked All-League, and as the team MVP—which, she suspected, had resulted in a certain amount of legitimate grumbling from other players.
    And now, it seemed like a hundred years ago.
    The game started off rough, and only became more so.