Shaking Up the House Read online

  Dedication

  For Brielle Black, my niece, with all my love

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  1. Winnie

  2. Ingrid

  3. Winnie

  4. Skylar

  5. Zora

  6. Ingrid

  7. Winnie

  8. Zora

  9. Skylar

  10. Winnie

  11. Ingrid

  12. Winnie

  13. Ingrid

  14. Winnie

  15. Skylar

  16. Zora

  17. Winnie

  18. Zora

  19. Skylar

  20. Ingrid

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  1

  Winnie

  SATURDAY, DECEMBER 5

  Winnie didn’t think it all the way through.

  Typical Winnie.

  But to be fair, this morning there was no one around to tell her not to do it, for once. A legit miracle in this house that was always teeming with people busy like ants at a picnic. Besides, the floors were freshly waxed, and, best of all, she was wearing soft, fluffy socks.

  Perfect combination.

  All the canned energy of having to act properly through another photo op made her skin crawl. And since she couldn’t hide at Blair House, what better way to release the tension than a mini-adventure on her way to the North Lawn?

  The first time her family had received the official White House Christmas tree, she’d been so excited she’d cried. She’d also only been four. Eight years of the same thing later (standing in the cold, smiling at the cameras, and putting on her Perfect First Daughter face), the excitement of another holiday season under the spotlight had lost its shine. Still, she had to do what she had to do. She tucked her shoes against the wall, out of her path.

  A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed that no Secret Service agents were camouflaged against the flowery wallpaper or behind a curtain in the Solarium.

  Faintly, she remembered Mami’s words from the other day: “Winnie, why are you always listening to the voice of mischief instead of the voice of reason? You need to set a good example!”

  Even now she didn’t have an answer. Instead, she laughed and broke into a run to get momentum.

  With a wild “Woo-hoo,” she pushed off the banister and slid down down the ramp.

  She closed her eyes, as if that could quiet the critical voices in her head and vanish the judgy eyes watching her from the portraits on the wall. Never in a million years would they have imagined a dark-skinned Latina girl as one of America’s first daughters. She wasn’t going to miss them or this house. She’d never say so out loud, though. If people knew her true feelings, they would call her spoiled, entitled, ungrateful.

  The executive mansion, the president’s palace, the People’s House (as Papi called it) . . . the White House featured a hundred and thirty-five rooms, a florist, a chocolatier, a bowling alley, a private theater, and a million other perks. What else could a kid want?

  But people didn’t understand. Who’d want to grow up in a museum?

  And that’s what the house ultimately was: a museum. Winnie felt like of the pandas at the National Zoo, always under the spotlight. She was grateful about all the comforts, and especially the chocolate lava cake Chef Jean-Paul made when Winnie had a particularly bad day. But with the perks came the pitfalls.

  She couldn’t even open a window without creating a scene or ruining the vacations of innocent tourists who’d only wanted a glimpse of one of the most iconic residences in the world.

  Winnie hadn’t seen photos of the new house in California yet, but Tía Suz had assured her it had floor-to-ceiling windows to take advantage of the golden sunshine in the afternoons, and the sounds of singing birds and the waves of the ocean. Winnie was holding on to that promise. She couldn’t wait to leave the White House forever.

  All these thoughts blurred through her mind in the five seconds her adventure lasted.

  Next thing she knew, she had crashed head-on into someone. Winnie bounced back and landed on her bottom.

  “What in the world?” the other person exclaimed.

  The other person was none other than Paloma López, J.D., the first lady of the United States (FLOTUS for short), code name Pinnacle. In other words, her mom.

  Mami.

  Of all the people coming and going through this house, it had to be her! Winnie would never not be grounded.

  Somehow, her mom had managed not to fall with the force of the impact. Still, she placed a hand on the wall, as if she needed to steady herself at the sight of her older daughter, the rambunctious one. As usual, Mami looked immaculate in a snow-white coat, dark wool slacks, and black boots with three-inch heels. Her dark skin gleamed, flawless, thanks to excellent genes and the meticulous nighttime skin-care routine Winnie had never had the patience to imitate. Her black hair was arranged in a tight ballerina bun at the base of her neck. But Mami’s delicate features were deceiving. Under the elegance, there was solid granite.

  “Ow.” Winnie rubbed her forehead.

  “Winifred Esperanza López Bianchi,” Mami said in that voice that cut through ice, diamonds, and flitting fantasies of adventure. “What in the world were you thinking, young lady? The carriage is almost here! We’ve all been looking for you, and here you are, acting like a kindergartner instead of a señorita of twelve. No, I take that back. When you were a kindergartner, you had better manners. Pero niña!”

  Full name and Spanglish? Winnie was in serious trouble.

  She decided to appeal to her mom’s tender feelings. Paloma had been trying to act composed for the press, the staff, and Winnie’s dad, who had so much to do in his last weeks as the president of the United States they hardly ever saw him. But Winnie knew Mami’s emotions had been all over the place. Moving out after such a long time was wreaking havoc on the whole family.

  Gingerly, Winnie clambered back to her feet and lowered her head. “I’m sorry, Mami. I promise it won’t happen again.”

  Paloma laughed. A short, high-pitched yap that unsettled Winnie more than if her mom had sent her to her room. “Ay, mi amor! If I had a penny for every time you’ve said you were sorry and you promised not to do it again, I’d’ve been able to fund my reading program the first year of Papi’s presidency.”

  Tentatively, Winnie walked toward Mami, and in a somber voice that couldn’t really hide the excitement, said, “In less than seven weeks, I won’t even be able to do this anymore.”

  “Counting down the days, are you?”

  “And the hours.”

  Her mom laughed for real this time and brushed a hand over Winnie’s head, then glanced back at the polished wood access ramp. “I’m sure that when FDR had this installed, he never imagined it would double as a ski-jumping platform.”

  Encouraged by the tender expression in Mami’s eyes, Winnie said, “You see an access ramp, I see an American Ninja Warrior inverted warp wall. . . .”

  Mami looked puzzled.

  “That floor-obstacle thingie they have on the show,” Winnie explained.

  “Oh, mi amor. You and your imagination.”

  Since the Olympics were kind of impossible, Winnie dreamed of putting her gymnastic skills to good use in a proper obstacle course. For some weird reason though, Papi had never agreed to build her one. That would have been an epic legacy to leave behind for future first children.

  Paloma shook her head, but when she looked down at Winnie, her eyes widened in alarm.

  “What happened to your sweater? It’s torn.”

  With dread, Winnie inspected
the sleeve of her cotton-candy-pink pullover. A tear ran from the elbow to the wrist. “Oh no,” she said.

  For weeks, she and Ingrid, her eleven-year-old sister, had looked at catalogs and websites trying to find the perfect outfits for today and all the events coming up during the busy holiday season. Ingrid wasn’t a fashionista like their mom, but she cared a lot about her looks. They helped her get in character for each occasion, she usually said. Winnie only played along with her planning to make sure the clothes they chose allowed for freedom of movement, aka jumps and back handsprings. And now all the months of negotiation had gone down the trash, because there was no way Winnie could go out and receive the Christmas tree in a holey sweater.

  “I’m so sorry, Mami . . . but look, I can keep my arm stuck to my body like this,” she said, demonstrating, walking like a member of the Old Guard. “No one will notice, I swear. I’ll change into something else as soon as we come back into the house.”

  Her mom wasn’t smiling now. “Hija, remember. Not only do you represent our family, you’re the face of our country. More importantly, our Latin community and our culture. From all sides of the political spectrum, people look up to us as either good examples to follow or terrible ones to avoid.”

  “Examples to destroy, you mean,” Winnie muttered, and then she asked, “What about those talks about being myself, and following my heart—”

  “With great privilege comes a lot of power and also responsibility. By the way, there’s a bundle of letters ready for you to read and reply to.”

  Winnie stifled a groan. She loved some of the letters she got from people all over the world. She especially liked the ones she got from kids her own age whose lives were so different from hers. The staff curated the letters, but once a terrible postcard criticizing Winnie for how loud she’d laughed in a TV interview had somehow missed the purge and gotten to her hands. She’d tried to forget the worst parts, but the phrase “You’re not good enough to be in the White House” in Spanish had never really left her.

  The pressure to be perfect was too much. What Mami said was true. But why was she responsible for representing the whole of Latin culture? Her parents were of Mexican and Argentine heritage, two countries that were big, unique, and diverse, but for some reason she was supposed to match both perfectly. Not only that, but also she needed to fit the ideal image of a young Latina for all of Latin America and the US. It was impossible!

  Winnie didn’t get to complain, though. Her mom was gently leading her forward into action. “Vamos, change the face. And pick up your shoes.”

  Winnie dragged her feet in the hallway. From the corner of her eye, she saw one of the butlers, Weston, changing a flower vase. He must have heard the whole argument. She should have gotten used to people seeing her in every circumstance, but she never had, and now it was too late. She wished she could pull a preteen-rage card and slam a door, but she could never. She was brash and impulsive, but she cared about her family and respected the staff too much to make them uncomfortable.

  Mami urged her, “Please, run to your room and change. Alice made sure we ordered two sweaters in case something like this happened.”

  Alice Sung was Mami’s chief of staff, and she had saved Winnie more times than she could count.

  One of Mami’s phones chimed with an incoming message, and she glanced down at it. “I’ll come along so you don’t get lost on any other adventures,” she said. “We only have five minutes and we can’t be late.”

  That her mom personally had to escort her to make sure she didn’t destroy herself or anything else was a new low.

  A heavy feeling settled on Winnie, her own personal gray cloud that she didn’t know how to shake off.

  Maybe Mami could feel its hold on Winnie, because she said, “Why don’t you invite a friend to come over tomorrow?” Her voice was chirpy but also careful, like she was trying to find the best words to make Winnie feel better. “You’ve been talking about this new girl at school. What’s her name? Anjali?”

  For a second Winnie got excited, but realizing all the hoops Anjali would have to go through just for a sleepover at the White House, she knew it wasn’t worth it. “No, thanks. Nothing like telling a prospective new friend they need to have a full background check extending five generations back to kill the vibe.”

  “And why don’t you go to her house?”

  Now it was time for Winnie to laugh sarcastically. Picturing Agent Sisco or one of the other agents snuggled in a sleeping bag in Anjali’s living room, all because Winnie wanted a sleepover, made her shiver. Been there, done that. No, thanks.

  “No, Mami. Besides, didn’t you say we needed to simplify our already hectic life?”

  “See? You do listen to what I say after all,” Paloma said, walking into Winnie’s room.

  Winnie turned on the light and smiled at the sight of the extra pink sweater on her bed. She made a mental note to thank Alice for her ability to see the future.

  She took off the torn one, put on the new one, and turned to face her mom.

  Paloma was in inspecting mode, and after a brief nod of approval at Winnie’s appearance, her eyes continued sweeping through the room. Before her mom started pointing out imperfections, Winnie said, “I promise I’ll clean Lafayette’s cage tomorrow. I haven’t had the chance yet.”

  “You needed to finish all your chores yesterday, Win. Not just the ones you felt like doing.”

  “I don’t understand why the staff can’t help me when I’m swamped with homework, Mami.” She didn’t say how she was hardly keeping up. She didn’t want to get in any more trouble.

  Her mom pinched her nose with her fingers and in a nasal voice said, “You’re the one who insisted on taking care of this ferret yourself. How you can sleep with this odiferous beast in your room is beyond me. How you and your father convinced me to get you a ferret is a mystery. Why couldn’t you choose something sensible, like a labradoodle?”

  As if he’d known they were talking about him, First Ferret Lafayette, Laffy for short, peeked his pointy face from his sleeping hammock. With a swift turn of his body, he was sniffing between the cage’s thin bars, making dooking sounds of happiness like he was giggling.

  Winnie fed him one of his favorite turkey treats. “Labradoodles are predictable.”

  Her mom scoffed, and Winnie added, “At least it’s not an alligator like President Adams’s, or a raccoon like President Coolidge’s!”

  Paloma laughed, covering her mouth with a perfectly manicured hand.

  “It’s true! He named her Rebecca. Imagine a raccoon with the same name as Abuela,” Winnie said.

  Winnie wasn’t the comedian of the family—that would be Ingrid—but she did love making her mom laugh. Especially after getting into so much trouble on a Saturday morning.

  “Let’s go, Popcorn,” Mami said, using the code name the Secret Service had given Winnie. It had sounded cute years ago, but now it made her cringe.

  “Kettle corn or butter?” Winnie asked.

  Mami smiled. “Both! Now, come on. It’s the pinnacle of impoliteness to make people wait for you.” Then she added, “Like you said, a few more weeks, and this is all over.”

  She sounded sad, but to Winnie, Inauguration Day was the light at the end of a tunnel that in the last few months had gotten darker and darker.

  After a childhood under the public’s eye, she was ready for a normal sleepover with friends. For not having to explain the surveillance closet in a hall at school to new students. She couldn’t wait to be a normal twelve-year-old, free to run wild in the house, slide on the floor with her fluffy socks, or open a window to let out the smell of her pet’s rancid cage and let in crisp wintery air.

  2

  Ingrid

  Although it was still early, the White House entrance was already bustling with activity. Just the way Ingrid liked her mornings—whirlwind-y. She smiled and waved at the tourists huddled by the fence along the North Lawn. If it weren’t for the frigid air, she would sit outsi
de and talk to people all day.

  “I can’t imagine not being here next year,” she said to Sally, one of the holiday volunteer coordinators. Sally was old enough to be her grandma, but Ingrid loved her as a friend. “I just can’t.”

  Sally pouted. “And I can’t imagine this place without you. The first time you were—what?—three, four years old?”

  “Three!” Ingrid said, waving at the dozens of volunteers coming off a bus. Every December, they arrived to decorate the most famous house in the country.

  Ingrid wouldn’t be here when they came back to take things down. Now she was the one pouting.

  Sally one-arm-hugged her. “We need to make the most of it, then. It’s the last one, but it will be the best time.”

  “Mami said this season’s plans blew her socks off.”

  Poor Sally had just sipped from her coffee cup. She swallowed quickly but still choked with laughter.

  Ingrid patted her back. “There, there.”

  When Sally could speak again, she shook her head at Ingrid and said, “Ingrid, you and your wittiness. I could never picture your mom using those words.”

  Ingrid wrinkled her nose. “Well, she has used the words ‘season plans’ and ‘socks’ plenty of times. Not in that combination, but I promise she looked excited, like her socks were really blown off.”

  Sally laughed again as she headed toward the line of volunteers.

  With the help of the fleet of decorators and Ingrid’s stream of jokes, the White House already felt festive and warm like the woolen blankets Abuelita Leti, Papi’s mom, knitted for the whole family. The only missing piece was the main tree that would lord it over them all in the Blue Room, and which was rolling in on a carriage right now.

  Where were Mami, Papi, and Winnie?

  Ingrid looked over her shoulder into the house.

  “Good morning, Ingrid,” Chief of Staff Alice Sung said on her way to talk to the reporters waiting beyond a barricade. “Ready for today?”

  Ingrid struck the Megan Rapinoe pose. “Always! It’s showtime, baby!”

  Alice laughed, and a rush of victory went to Ingrid’s head. She was the only one who could make the sternest woman in the White House laugh like this.