own pockets.”
“You shouldn’t get worked up about McMann on an empty stomach.” My dad nudged her egg-white omelet toward her. “That’s how you wind up with an ulcer.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“I worked hard making that beautiful breakfast for you, and you’re not even going to eat it?”
My mother pursed her lips. “Guilt, Doug? Really? Are you looking to get stabbed?”
“Not this morning.” My father covertly moved my mother’s fork out of her reach.
“I can never tell when you’re fighting or flirting,” I said.
“It’s a fine line,” my mother said, and then she smiled at my father and squeezed his hand.
My parents were weird, though I assumed most children thought that about their parents. But they were also sweet and absolutely perfect for one another. Where my mother could be demanding and ornery, my father was easygoing. My father’s lack of ambition made up for my mother’s abundance of it. They were a team in every way.
“I still don’t understand why McMann is such a big problem,” I said. “No independent has ever posed a serious threat before.”
My mother had gone back to reading her tablet and spoke without looking up. “Because he’s a fear-mongering sociopath.”
“I doubt he’s a sociopath, dear.”
“Like hell,” my mother said. “All he cares about is power, and he’ll do and say whatever he thinks will win him the election, even if it means tearing the country apart.” She shook her head. “He’s playing on people’s fears. He’s got Rosario’s voters thinking I’m going to arm toddlers with semiautomatic rifles, and he’s got my voters thinking Rosario’s going to murder babies and kill God, leaving himself as the only alternative.”
I hadn’t taken the threat Jackson McMann posed seriously because I didn’t believe people would honestly support someone so obviously racist, xenophobic, and misogynistic. I assumed his popularity would flame out quickly and he would become a footnote to the election. But clearly I had been wrong to dismiss him, especially if my mother was concerned.
“How do we fight him?” I asked.
“We don’t,” my father said. “We ignore him. Eventually, he’ll say or do something vile enough to disqualify himself from the race.”
I sensed my parents were done discussing McMann, and I needed to go get showered and dressed for church anyway, but an idea had begun to form.
“What if I invited Andre Rosario to join me building houses in Belle Rose on Wednesday?” I blurted out the question before I lost my nerve. It was a bold suggestion, and I wasn’t sure how my mother would respond.
My father said “Why?” while my mother silently scrutinized me.
I was already a bit overheated from running, but sweat beaded immediately under my arms and on my back as I scrambled to explain. “Jackson McMann is divisive, right? He’s got voters thinking you and Mr. Rosario can’t agree on anything. But if people saw Andre and me working together, it would send the message that you can put aside your differences for the betterment of the country.”
“I don’t like the idea of you using a volunteer opportunity to score political points,” my father said.
“Obviously, we would be there to work,” I said. “But not only could we bring some attention to the fact that there are still communities struggling to rebuild after last year’s hurricanes, Andre and I working together could show people that, despite their differences, Mom and Mr. Rosario are both invested in making the country better for everyone, while Jackson McMann is only in it for himself.”
I folded my hands on the table and waited. I knew I could convince my father that this was a good plan, but convincing my mother was the real test. And I wasn’t even concerned that she would dislike my idea; I was worried that she would see through it. That she would see my ulterior motive for inviting Dre. I really did want to help my mother’s campaign, and I thought this was a good way to do it, but I mostly wanted to see Dre.
Finally, after staring at me with a stony expression for what felt like an hour, my mother said, “At the very least, it could shift attention away from McMann for an afternoon.”
“I think this could be a good thing,” I said.
“Maybe.” My mother still looked skeptical. “Do you think you can stand spending a whole day with Andre Rosario?”
The thought of spending an entire day hanging out with Dre nearly caused me to smile so big it would have given me away immediately. Thankfully, I was able