Chapter 193

At once, the producer and his cameraman come closer. Out of nowhere, two other reporters join them, all with their own microphones, which they jam under my face.

“Ms. Owens! What did you say to Mrs. Zimmer to start this fight?”

“I… uh…” I don’t know how to respond. It’s still sinking in that this is what happened. I feel like I’m in some kind of nightmare.

As if realizing they aren’t going to get any information from me, the reporters shift their microphones under Daphne’s nose instead.

“Mrs. Zimmer! What did Ms. Owens say that upset you?”

Daphne is more composed than me. She’s so put together in fact, that she immediately widens her eyes in faux-sympathy. “Oh, I didn’t mean to do that… It was an accident…”

One of the reporters frowned. The producer was wide-eyed again. As the cameraman continued recording, the third reporter asked, “You slapped her… on accident…?”

“There was a bee,” Daphne says, the lie spilling out so smoothly, for a moment, I think maybe I’m the one misremembering the situation. “I remember hearing that Esther Owens is allergic. Why… You could say that I saved her life.” Laughing, she looks at me, “Isn’t that right, Esther?”

“I…” Glancing around at the reporters and the cameraman and even Daphne herself, all seem to be waiting for my reply. Clearing my throat, I finally manage to piece together a reply. “Yes. Daphne’s right. She saved my life. That bee could have killed me.”

I’m not nearly as good of a liar as Daphne, so my words seem to only make the reporters more confused and annoyed than satisfied. But with Daphne and I both sticking to the same story, they must realize they aren’t going to get much of a story here. With a grumble, they each turn away.

When the cameras and reporters are gone, Daphne looks at me and whispers, “Don’t insult me like that again.” Then she storms away, moving closer to her husband’s side of the stage, where can see him from.

I watch her for a while, confused and… hopeful.

Daphne could have sold me out. She could have said that I insulted her or anything else. She could have created another scandal for Miles and not only ruined his campaign, but also my career.

Instead, she didn’t say a word.

Maybe, even mad at me, that girl who was my friend is still in there. In your youth, we would always protect each other. Us against the world, we’d say. We wouldn’t always get along. Sometimes we’d fight, but we even when we were hurt or mad, we would still stand together against everyone else.

Did she protect me now because she still feels that way? Or was it just a reflex, left over from when we were younger?

I don’t know, but I feel more hope now than I ever did before. If my friend was still in her, still trapped in a bad situation, I will find a way to save her. I won’t fail her this time.

There’s nothing else I can do right now, however, so I move toward Miles’s end of the stage to watch some of the debate.

Miles and Edwards answer questions one at a time, sometimes volleying accusations at each other.

“My opponent believes this… but I believe that…”

Back and forth they go, seemingly evenly matched, with no one getting any one-ups on each other. They have differing policies, but that comes down to each voter’s subjective favorite, not an over-arching right and wrong, despite how politicians sometimes speak as if the other’s policy might end the world.

Miles especially keeps things clean, never taking the low blows at Edward or his policy. We discussed this in our strategy. Edward’s charity work makes him look like a saint. Throwing dirt on a saint is sure to get us disliked. To win this, we have to stick to policy, not personal attacks.

Edward, however, doesn’t seem to have the same strategy, occasionally taking digs at Miles about his youth and perceived inexperience, ignoring that Miles has basically trained for this job since birth.

Miles, in frustration, glances around as Edward gloats about his own successes running charities and orphanages, and how all the money he made could somehow be evidence at how well he’s going to do running the nation.

Miles shifts his glance to the side and finally sees me standing in the wings of the stage. Relief immediately crosses his face. I give him a small smile, hoping to encourage him.

He can do this, I know he can. Yes, he’s young, but he’s well educated and has spent his entire life around politics. He knows these issues like other people know how to fix cars or run numbers or research results. This is his life’s passion, his career as well as what he studies for fun.

There is no one in the nation who cares more about issues and politics than Miles Hamilton.

I believe in him. He’s right for this country, and not just because Edward Zimmer is so very wrong.

I only hope Miles can see that for himself, and not get too caught up in his hatred of Edward. Hatred that I can certainly understand, but that will be of no use in this campaign.

We could both scream from the mountaintops that Edward assaulted me, but with his untouchable reputation, no one would believe us. We had to use other tactics to win, and those tactics mainly involve Miles being the better candidate, through and through.

“This is the final question of the night,” the moderator says. “For Mr. Zimmer. Mr. Hamilton brings a lot of enthusiasm to the campaign, but his age has caused uncertainty for many voters. As his opponent, how do you perceive these issues facing Mr. Hamilton?”

That’s a strange question, particularly for the final question. The candidates are usually asked how they would handle issues or what they would personally do in different scenarios. It’s rare for a candidate to be asked about their opponent’s campaign, other than to maybe explain disparaging remarks they might have made.

For this question to be entirely about Miles, and nothing about Edward, puts me instantly on guard.

This feels like a setup.

I turn cold all over. If the Whisperers are in Edward’s pocket… Could they have influence over the questions? They’ve influence over everything else. It makes sense.

I have to get Miles out of there, but I have no way of actually doing so, not without physically dragging him away, which wouldn’t look good for him either.

“Mr. Hamilton does not suffer from lack of enthusiasm, it’s true,” Edward says. “He’s akin to a puppy chasing a ball. It’s almost adorable, in a way. It almost makes me want to root for him myself. Unfortunately, cuteness and energy alone cannot make a successful president. Policy and experience are what truly matter. And Mr. Hamilton is weak in both.”

Miles stiffens, but waits patiently for his turn to rebuff. Per the terms of the debate, he should have an opportunity to defend himself.

“To make up for his lack of inexperience, he should be surrounding himself with competent people. Unfortunately, his campaign manager seems even more inept than he does.”

The blood drains from my face.

Miles, expression twisting with anger, shoots a glare at Edward. If looks could kill…

“Esther Owens is a detriment to his campaign.” Edward meets Miles’s heated glare with a smirk. “Take my advice, kid. As someone older and wiser. You have to know when to trim the fat.”

“Go fuck yourself, Edward,” Miles snaps.

The air leaves the room. Everyone goes very quiet.

Miles just dropped an f-bomb on live television.

In that moment, I have no idea whether to be a proud girlfriend or a mortified campaign manager.