“My dad is going to hate that photo, you know” she says. “I think we're supposed to wait for a staged media thing. His PR person is going to have a lot to say about it.”
I shrug. “I guess I don’t give a shit about your fucking dad.” We’re walking, but I don’t know where. I pull my pack of cigarettes out and she gives me a look. “You want one?” I ask.
Katherine shakes her head. “Why don’t you just go back to Hollywood or wherever for the summer? My father will make up some reason for you not going to New Hampshire, a reasonable story for where you are. You don't want to put up with his shit all summer, do you?”
“Trust fund,” I say. “Ella’s holding it over me. Is it true the house in New Hampshire is your mother's house?"
She shrugs. "It was her favorite place. We lived in a farmhouse in Loudon when I was a kid, but he sold it for the lake house, since he was going to DC during the rest of the year. But my mother loved New Hampshire, so even though we were only there in the summer, it was her place."
"And he's bringing Ella there," I say. "It's kind of a dick move."
"It's whatever, you know? Not a big deal." I can tell she's lying. "Ella seems okay. I mean, it’s weird that you call her by her first name.”
We’re standing near the entrance to the Metro. “You mean, instead of mommy dearest?” I ask. “Where the hell are we going, anyway?” I’m jonesing for a smoke even though it’s only been like ten minutes since my last. Katherine makes me feel edgy. Or, rather, I feel edgy because of how it felt to have her standing beside me, with her arm thrown casually over my shoulder. That, and maybe I'm irritable because I haven't been laid now in ten fucking days.
"I don't know," she says. "I was just getting out. I didn't have any plans."
"You don't seem like the spontaneous type," I say. "And I don't have to go to your mom's house for the summer, you know. If it bothers you." I offer her a half-hearted out, even though what I really want to know is whether it bothers her that I'm going. I want it to bother her.
"What do you know what type of person I am?" she asks, wrinkling her nose. "I said it's not a big deal. I don't want to talk about her."
We get on the Metro, going who knows where. We're talking, about regular bullshit, nothing heavy. She seems to be less irritated now, and she's laughing at the stories I tell her about some of my mother's friends, Hollywood celebrities, and how our little middle-finger photo is small potatoes compared to the real scandals. She's laughing, and it sounds nice.
"Where the hell are we going?" I ask, when we get off a stop.
Katherine shrugs. "No plans," she says. "Just getting the hell away from the house. Do you have better plans?"
I hold up my hands in mock surrender. "Whatever you want, Princess."
She ignores me, and we walk for a while until we get to a park. I don't know jack about DC, so I've got no idea where we are -- New York and Hollywood, those are the places I know. But she seems to have some idea where we're going, and I'm following her lead because she's not as awful as I thought she was. We're actually getting along, and for the first time since I've known her, it's pretty comfortable to hang out with her.
"You're not so bad, Princess," I say. "I mean, for a stuck up bitch."
She laughs. "I can't believe you just called me that."
"Bitch?" I ask. "You know I'm joking. Not about the stuck up shit, though."
"Do people think I'm a bitch?" she asks.
The honest answer is yes, but I shrug. "Who cares what they think?"
Katherine looks at me long and hard. "Better than being a spoiled dickhead."
I grin. "Whatever you say, Harvard." We're in a secluded spot off this path, trees overhanging the trail, and the place is practically uninhabited. I pull out a joint, and Katherine gives me a look.
"Are you stupid?" she asks. "We're out in public."
"No one's passed us in like fifteen minutes," I say. "Come on. There's a building up there -- we'll scoot behind it."
Katherine sighs. "First the photo in the paper, and now you're going to get us arrested for possession. My dad will fucking kill us."
I grin. "Come on, Princess," I tease. "Are you chickenshit?"
She follows me to the other side of a building that houses a bathroom, and we stand near some trees behind it. "I'm not some kind of naive little girl," she says. "I have gotten high before."
"Sure you're not, Princess," I say. "You're practically a fucking rock star." I light up and hand her the joint.
"Shut up," she says, as she takes a hit. "You tagged along with me. If you have cooler friends you'd rather hang out with, then that's where you should be."
"Cooler friends than you, Princess?" I ask, as she passes it back to me. "Not possible. I'm not friends with any kids of future Presidents."
She rolls her eyes. "That's the plan. Everything is about the plan. Always has been. My mother hated it, you know."
"The political thing?"
"Politics," she says. "I think she hated politics almost as much as she hated him. They fought a lot."