Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 127991 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127991 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
“I’m sure Violet can get you the approved graphics from our marketing group,” he said, gesturing with his coffee cup. “Just add the pound signs, or whatever you call ’em, and get the attention of the college boys. Then we’ll be good to go.”
“Hashtags,” Arnold scoffed. “If only the kids put half the effort into their classes as they do their hashtags, the world would be a better place.”
A man named Brian Raffey tapped a thick finger on the table next to his coffee cup. “Can you blame them if their classes are all about how to gallivant around in the wilderness? My son tried to convince me to let him take four credit hours on something called Independent Study in Outdoor Recreation. What I want to know is how the youth in this state plan to pay their bills if that’s what they’re studying in school?”
“Outdoor recreation makes up five percent of Maine’s economy,” I said, trying to maintain a neutral tone. “That’s more than double the national average. It’s one of the reasons our state universities offer programs in those areas.”
Violet looked thoughtful, but the rest of the table looked either confused or annoyed by my addition to the conversation. My father fell on the annoyed side.
“Be that as it may,” Dad said, ever the diplomat, “I agree that galvanizing the youth is important but challenging. I expect Reagan will reach this audience.”
I let out a slow breath of relief and began to get excited. This was the opportunity I’d been waiting for. Social media strategy for a political campaign was everything, and targeting the college-age demographic made it more fun. I could try some off-the-wall stuff I’d been thinking about and really boost engagement. My parents wouldn’t understand what I was doing, but they’d be impressed when they saw the numbers—
My impromptu brainstorming session almost caused me to miss Violet’s next comment.
“We’ll have to clarify your stance on tuition assistance before we get too involved in the student groups, Senator. After your comment at the food bank press event, we’ve been receiving increasing pressure to speak to that in more detail.”
Arnold sighed, and Brian shook his head. My father’s eyes flicked between the two men before glancing up at the ceiling. “These kids,” he murmured. “They just don’t understand reality.”
Brian tapped his finger on the table again. “Ask them how they’re going to pay for it. That’s what I want to know.”
I opened my mouth to comment, but my father shot me a look that very clearly commanded me to stand down. I clenched my teeth against the urge to defy him. As a politician’s son, I knew better than to make a scene in front of influential campaign donors, regardless of how strongly I felt about the topic.
They bandied language around before coming up with a more detailed way of saying… very little of substance, which seemed to be exactly what my father wanted.
When he finally finished his coffee and said his farewells to the others, he turned to me with a smile. “That went well. I’m glad to have Brian on board. His campaign contribution alone is funding our entire ad budget for this quarter.”
I swallowed a groan. “And in exchange, all you have to do is ignore Maine’s youth when it comes to affordable college tuition.”
“You’ve been begging to work on my campaign’s social media, and I’m allowing it. I didn’t ask for your opinion on my platform, son.”
“You’re letting me add hashtags. There’s so much more I could do.”
“I’m giving you a chance here, Reagan—a limited-time, one-shot chance—in part because Violet had some grave concerns yesterday just before you arrived and in part because Thatcher said some positive things about your performance—”
“He did?” I felt my face go hot at the surprise in my own voice. “I mean… I appreciate him volunteering that information.” Especially since Thatcher and I hadn’t been on speaking terms all day yesterday.
My father grunted. “I disregarded what he said at the time, but upon reflection, I decided you might be useful. Consider it an unpaid internship for the time you’re here, which might be extended if all goes well.” He smiled benignly at the server who’d come to collect our dishes and waited until she was gone before continuing. “But continuing to argue with your boss is a surefire way to get yourself fired before you even start. Understood?”
I inhaled sharply. This was the job I’d wanted badly enough to endure months of frustrating busy work at PennCo, badly enough to embark on a cross-country bus tour in the dead of winter with the boss I’d probably already been falling for, even if I hadn’t known it yet. And while part of me wanted to flip a table, tell my father exactly where he could shove his disrespect, and flounce out… I also knew that was precisely what my father expected me to do.