Maybe something’s wrong with her, I think. Sore throat? Laryngitis?
So, very quietly, slowly, and respectfully, I stand up, lower the toilet seat, and climb onto it. Then I peek out the window.
The reason Sadie’s not talking is that her mouth is busy.
When it’s done being busy, know what Sean says?
“I’ll go home and start packing.”
I’m not sure if it would work on the members of the Supreme Court, but when it comes to your boyfriend or girlfriend, there’s nothing more convincing than a kiss.
Monday morning, Alistair, Jaesang, Catalina, and I deliver notes from our parents to Miss Lochman.
“We’re going to be absent next week,” I say. “And while it’s still legal, we feel obligated to do the homework. Our parents were wondering if you’d fax it to us at the hotel in DC?”
Actually, the deal we made is we can’t go to DC unless we promise to spend time on the flight home keeping up with our work.
“What’s the name of the hotel?” Miss Lochman asks.
“The Watergate.”
According to Mr. Kalman, the Watergate has a lot of history. A famous crime took place there. In 1972, the Democratic National Committee had their headquarters at the Watergate. Burglars broke into their offices, tapped phones, left transmitters under tables, and then got caught by a security guard.
Guess who they were working for.
Richard Nixon, the president of the United States! He wanted to know what the Democrats were planning to use against him in the election.
Nixon won. In “a landslide,” Mr. Kalman told us. It took two years before the whole story came out. Congress wanted to throw Nixon out of office, but he resigned.
Ever since, whenever you hear the word gate at the end of another word, that means there’s a scandal.
There’s been Nannygate, Travelgate, Troopergate, Irangate, and a whole lot of other gates. I start to worry there’s about to be a Homeworkgate.
“Are you sure it’s a good idea to stay at that hotel?” I ask Mr. Kalman. “What if Livingston Gulch has friends there? They might tap our rooms and listen in on our strategy.”
“We’ll double-check the phones, Sam. If we find any bugs, we’ll give them misinformation. Besides, the Watergate just came through a big renovation. The history’s there and it’s not there, if you know what I mean.”
How can history be there and not there at the same time? Unless . . . paradox?
On Tuesday we wake up early, drop the dogs at a friend of my dad’s, and head to the airport with Mr. Kalman. Not only are my parents getting a room of their own at the Watergate, they’ve got a row of their own on the plane. They’re sitting in 17 while we’re in 8 with Mr. Kalman. Right now Sadie is asking him for advice.
“Do you think I should go away to college?”
“It’s a big world, Sadie. A young person should venture out into it.”
“I probably won’t even get in to the out-of-state schools.”
“Why not? I thought that with your grades and the debate team . . .”
“My grades have gone down. I’ll be lucky to hold on to a 3.5 GPA.”
“Because of the case?”
She looks at me.
“I’m glad I did it, though. Win or lose, it feels right to try.”
Sadie leans around Mr. Kalman and gives me a look that says, Quit listening in. I lean back against my seat and check out the in-flight entertainment.
The problem with sitting just three rows behind the first-class curtain is the smell of haute cuisine that hits our noses while we’re nibbling on snack trays of cold bread, dry chicken breast, and wrinkly cherry tomatoes.
On the other side of the curtain, something good is being served. There’s a creamy, cheesy, herby scent—I’m guessing fettuccine alfredo, but it’s probably got company on the plate, some salmon or steak, too, with garlic butter. The smell is like a leash for Alistair, tugging his nose forward into the space between Mr. Kalman’s seat and mine.
I can hear him sniffing.
Mr. Kalman can hear him sniffing too—and he doesn’t even have his hearing aid in.
The call button in our row lights up, and soon a flight attendant comes down the aisle and asks Mr. Kalman, “May I help you, sir?”
“Is it possible to purchase an in-flight upgrade?”
“Would you like to move seats?”
“Are there any available in first class?”
“Well, yes. But we’re already an hour into the flight.”
“I wouldn’t ask for a discount. You can charge me whatever you like.”
The flight attendant looks at this eighty-five-year-old man surrounded by a bunch of kids.
“You want a quieter flight, don’t you?”
Mr. Kalman smiles and hands him his credit card. The flight attendant reaches for it, but Mr. Kalman pulls it back.
“The food will be upgraded as well, won’t it?”
“Yes, of course, sir.”
He nods and hands him the card again.
Then Mr. Kalman turns around in his seat, which isn’t so easy for a guy way past eighty who’s probably never done yoga, and says, “Get up, Alistair. You’re moving seats.”
I hope Alistair makes a lot of money when he grows up. I can’t imagine him ever flying coach again.
The newly renovated Watergate is an awesome hotel. Mr. Kalman upgrades our team to the Homework Suite. It’s really called the Presidential Suite, but we’ve renamed it for luck. It has three huge rooms, a nice little kitchen (Alistair’s happy), and a spectacular view of the Mall.
After we check in, we head out for a tour and Mr. Kalman’s crash course on the Constitution. We already know the basics, how there are three branches of government—legislative, executive, and judicial.
The legislative, a.k.a. Congress, which is made up of the Senate and the House of Representatives, makes the laws.
The executive, a.k.a. the president, enforces the laws.
And the judicial, a.k.a. the Supreme Court and
