Home > The President's Wife

The President's Wife
Author: Kathy Myme

Veronica

 

 

I take a deep breath, pulling nervously at the hem of my skirt. This is it. The moment that months and months of interviews and applications have been leading up to.

It’s my first day as a White House intern.

Run, my common sense hisses at me. Get out while you still can.

But I can’t let that little voice get the best of me. I’ve worked so hard to be where I am now. Graduating from college with a 4.0 GPA had meant saying bye-bye to my social life. I’d spent countless hours in the library, pouring over dusty old books and crying my eyes out over mock exams.

But it had all been worth it. Instead of graduating into a dead-end office job, I’m standing outside the gates to the White House armored with uncomfortable heels and my hair in a high ponytail.

No matter how prepared I am, I’ve never felt more terrified in my life.

Is it childish that I’m twenty-four years old and this is the first time I’ve seen the White House in person? But then California isn’t exactly down-the-road from the Oval Office. How am I supposed to react to something like this - something I’ve only ever seen before on TV - in person?

If the building alone is leaving me starstruck, how am I going to react to the people inside of it? Like every administration of the White House, the top figures in the Shepard administration are household faces known by people all over the world. The percentage of people inside that have their own Wikipedia page must be crazy high.

Just take President Shepard, for example. The media seem to document the man’s every move, and yet he still won the election in November after receiving the highest percentage of the popular vote ever recorded in the US. And while nobody talks about it, he’s like 99% of the reason the age candidacy rule for presidents was lowered to thirty. The man is a living legend. No matter what he does, his name will go down in the history books.

And to think if you Google search my name, all you get is spam.

But I’ve been chosen to be part of all of this. Me, just a girl fresh out of college. It’s all I’ve thought about in every waking moment lately and it still can’t be real.

It’s like nobody around me can believe it either. My dad called me three times last night alone, asking over and over exactly what I’d be doing here (“I don’t know yet, Dad.”) and who would be my boss (“They haven’t told me yet.”) and whether I’d get to meet the President (“Yeah, right.”) until I thought I’d burst. I can’t exactly blame him though. Ever since mom passed away, it’s like he’s been trying to do the worrying of two parents just so I don’t feel like I’m missing out. He’s probably sitting by his phone right now, waiting for me to text him.wasn't

And sometimes I think my boyfriend Trevor wishes it wasn’t real. Granted, I had to leave everything (including him) behind and move all the way from sunny California to Washington DC to make this happen. But every time we’ve talked since then he’s asked me when I’m coming home. When I’m going to stop ‘playing make-believe’.

Looking up at the White House, I’m starting to wonder that myself.

“Hello?” I approach the most awake-looking security guard hesitantly, although there’s no reason I should be nervous. Not yet, anyway. “I’m here for-“

“An intern?” The guard guesses, looking me up and down.

I frown, glancing at my clothing. This is the fanciest skirt suit I own, but is there something wrong with it? Something that gives me away?

“Yes,” I confirm. “My name is Veronica Waters. I think I’m a bit early?”

It’s a lie. I know I’m a bit early. The information in the email I’d received told me to get here for 8AM. It’s just gone 7:25AM, but it never hurts to be prepared. To come out on top, you have to work for it.

He looks down at a set of papers in a file. “Hmm…I see. Do you have any ID?”

I present him with my driver’s license. The photo always makes me cringe.

He types some information into a computer. There’s a whirring noise, and then he hands me my ID back along with a badge.

“Here’s your temporary visitor’s badge,” the guard says. “It’s only valid for today, so once you find the person supervising you then you’ll be given another one. Make sure you’ve received it by the end of the day or you’ll have trouble getting in tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” I reply, taking in all the information.

“The other interns won’t be here for another thirty minutes, but I can take you inside. See if there’s someone in there who can show you where to go.”

I flash him a grateful smile. “Yes, please.”

He nods and guides me through the gates, allowing me past security. Now there’s nothing between me and the set of doors - the White House doors! - that might change my life forever. I’ve imagined this moment a hundred-thousand times over, but nothing could have prepared me. Not entirely.

“Stay close,” the guard warns. “It’s a big place. We wouldn’t want you getting lost.”

His voice is kind… but there’s also a hint of something else there. A warning.

When we go inside, we don’t go in by the big, fancy White House entrance that dominates every photo. He allows me through a far less impressive side door, but I don’t find myself quite as disappointed as I thought. The whole thing feels a lot more secretive. Like I’m special.

We approach a reception desk where a woman is sipping her morning coffee, clicking away at a screen.

“Amy?” The security guard gestures to me. “I have…”

“An intern,” the woman replies, looking me up and down.

Seriously, is it something I’m wearing? The plain white blouse and black pencil skirt aren’t exactly a hot new professional look. I vow to throw out my wardrobe at the earliest possible opportunity.

“Yes, ma’am.” I stand up a little straighter. “I’m-“

“Bethany Jones?”

“No, I’m-“

“Alice Smith-Brown?”

“It’s Ver-“

“Trina Santiago?”

“Ma’am-“

Her brow wrinkles, but she still doesn’t pause long enough for me to get a word in. “Then… Riley O’Brian? But that name is marked off as male on my list.”

“That’ll be because I’m not Riley,” I point out. “My name is Veronica Waters, ma’am.”

She stares hard at her computer and I hear a few swift clicks. “Veronica Waters, you said?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m sorry to tell you this, but your name isn’t on my list,” she says. “You are one of the interns meant to arrive today, aren’t you?”

I nod. I’m absolutely sure that today is the day. March 9th. I’ve had it written in my calendar, in my phone, in my entire mind ever since I found out that I’d been accepted a month ago.

“I’m early, if that helps,” I tell her. “I was meant to arrive at eight.”

“That doesn’t make a difference. There are four interns meant to start today: Jones, Smith-Brown, Santiago, and O’Brian.”

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