Chapter 2
After high school I planned to go to the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill . My father wanted me to go to Harvard or Princeton like some of the sons of other congressmen did , but with my grades it wasn ’ t possible . Not that I was a bad student . I just didn ’ t focus on my studies , and my grades weren ’ t exactly up to snuff for the Ivy Leagues . By my senior year it was pretty much touch and go whether I ’ d even get accepted at UNC , and this was my father ’ s alma mater , a place where he could pull some strings . During one of his few weekends home , my father came up with the plan to put me over the top . I ’ d just finished my first week of school and we were sitting down for dinner . He was home for three days on account of Labor Day weekend .
“ I think you should run for student body president ,” he said . “ You ’ ll be graduating in June , and I think it would look good on your record . Your mother thinks so , too , by the way .”
My mother nodded as she chewed a mouthful of peas . She didn ’ t speak much when my father had the floor , though she winked at me . Sometimes I think my mother liked to see me squirm , even though she was sweet .
“ I don ’ t think I ’ d have a chance at winning ,” I said . Though I was probably the richest kid in school , I was by no means the most popular . That honor belonged to Eric Hunter , my best friend . He could throw a baseball at almost ninety miles an hour , and he ’ d led the football team to back-to-back state titles as the star quarterback . He was a stud . Even his name sounded cool .
“ Of course you can win ,” my father said quickly . “ We Carters always win .”
That ’ s another one of the reasons I didn ’ t like spending time with my father . During those few times he was home , I think he wanted to mold me into a miniature version of himself . Since I ’ d grown up pretty much without him , I ’ d come to resent having him around . This was the first conversation we ’ d had in weeks . He rarely talked to me on the phone .
“ But what if I don ’ t want to ?”
My father put down his fork , a bite of his pork chop still on the tines . He looked at me crossly , giving me the once-over . He was wearing a suit even though it was over eighty degrees in the house , and it made him even more intimidating . My father always wore a suit , by the way .
“ I think ,” he said slowly , “ that it would be a good idea .”
I knew that when he talked that way the issue was settled . That ’ s the way it was in my family . My father ’ s word was law . But the fact was , even after I agreed , I didn ’ t want