DC By the Book

Excerpt: "That is just so like Lucy," Catherine said as we walked Manet through the Bishop's Garden on Monday after school. The Bishop's Garden is the part of the grounds of the National Cathedral, where they have all the funerals for any important people who die in D.C. It is only a five-minute walk from where we live, in Cleveland Park, to the National Cathedral. Which is good, because it is Manet's favorite place to chase squirrels and bust in on couples who are making out in the gazebo and stuff.

Excerpt: “You never know,” my mom said to Lucy from the front seat. “They might change their minds.” To us, she said, “What do you say, Sam? Catherine? Afterwards Dad is taking us to Chinatown for dim sum.” She glanced at me. “I’m sure we can find a burger or something for you Sam.”

Excerpt: On the way to Susan Boone’s that first day, Theresa was setting some limits. She was on to the fact that I had every intention of bolting the minute she drove away. “If you think, Miss Samantha,” she was saying as we crawled down Burrito Alley, which is what people are calling Dupont Circle lately since so many burrito and wrap places have popped up all along it, “that I am not going in with you, you have another think coming.”

Excerpt: “I know exactly what you are thinking Miss Samantha,” Theresa said as we sat on Connecticut Avenue in a traffic jam, caused as usual, by the president’s motorcade. That is one of the problems living in Washington D.C. You can’t go anywhere without running into a motorcade.

Excerpt: When we finally got to the Susan Boone Art Studio, which was on the corner of R and Connecticut, right across from the Founding Church of Scientology, Theresa gave me a very dirty look. Not because of the Church of Scientology, but because of the record store Susan’s Boone’s studio was on top of. As if I’d had something to do with picking the place out!

Excerpt: Although I have to say, Static, one of the few record stores in town that I’d actually never been to before, looked tempting – almost as tempting as Capitol Cookies, the bakery next door to it. You could even hear the strains of one of my favorite songs thumping through the walls as we walked toward the store (we had to go around the block once and park a million miles away on Q Street; you could tell Theresa wasn’t going to be insisting on walking me to the door again after this).

Excerpt: Our house is old – more than a hundred years old, like most of the houses in Cleveland Park, which are all these Victorians with a lot of stained-glass windows and widow’s walks, painted bright colors. For instance, our house is turquoise, yellow, and white.

Excerpt: From the list: Top ten reasons I would make a better girlfriend for Jack than my sister Lucy: Number 4. I would never make Jack go to the mall with me. If I ever went to the mall, which I don’t. Instead, Jack and I would go to the museums, and I am not talking about the Aeronautical and Space Museum, which everyone goes to, or the Smithsonian to see Dorothy’s stupid red slippers, either, but actual art museums, with actual art, such as the Hirshhorn.

Excerpt: Instead she stopped in the middle of Connecticut Avenue – causing all the cars behind her to honk – and went, “If you are not out here at exactly five thirty, I will hunt you down. Do you hear me? Hunt you down exactly like an animal.”

Excerpt: The first place I went was Capital Cookies. Well, how could I not? It looked so warm and inviting, what with the rain and all, and I happened to have a dollar sixty-eight in my pocket, exactly as much as a congressional Chocolate Chunk. The cookie they handed me was still warm from the oven, too. I slipped it into the pocket of my black Gore-Tex coat. They don’t allow food in Static, where I was going next.

Excerpt: Behind the first SUV, the second one stopped, and then the limo, and so on. Traffic was totally stopped behind them, all along Connecticut Avenue. Then these guys with these earpieces climbed out of the cars and went toward the limo. And then, to my utter astonishment, the president of the United States got out of his limo and walked, with a bunch of Secret Service guys clustered around him holding up umbrellas and looking around and speaking into their walkie-talkies, into Capitol Cookies! That’s right, just walked into Capitol Cookies, like he did it every day. I didn’t know that the president liked Capitol Cookies. Capitol Cookies are good and all, but they’re not the most famous cookies around, or anything. I mean, there’s just the one store.

Excerpt: On the other hand, the people who owned Capitol Cookies would probably prefer to have the president be seen ducking into the store. That is way better publicity than you could ever get by privately shipping him his own supply. And then, as I stood there in the dark and rain, with the red lights from the top of the SUV in front of me flashing in my face, I saw Mr. Uptown Girl throw back his rain poncho. And it turned out what he’d been doing under there had nothing to do with him being a shoplifter. Not at all. It turned out what he’d been doing under there had to do with a great big gun, which he brought out and pointed in the direction of the door to Capitol Cookies… the door through which the president, his cookies having been secured with miraculous swiftness, was just exiting.

Excerpt: From the list: Top ten pieces of incontrovertible proof that stopping a bullet from entering the skull of the president of the United States of America changes your life: Number 10: The ambulance you are riding in gets a police escort all the way to the hospital. George Washington University Hospital, to be exact. The same hospital they took President Reagan to when he got shot.

Excerpt: Lucy didn’t share my outrage, though. She just went, “Cool, party at Kris’s. I’m bringing Jack.” To which both my parents replied, “Oh, no, you aren’t", then added that we weren’t allowed to go to parties at which there wasn’t at least one parent in attendance. Especially with Jack, who got caught skinny-dipping in the Chevy Chase Country Club pool during last year’s Christmas ball.

Excerpt: I have been to the White House many times. I mean, if you live in the Washington, D.C. area, starting in, like, the third grade they make you tour the White House practically once a year, then write a stupid report on it. You know, My Trip to the White House. That kind of thing.

Excerpt: It was weird turning onto Pennsylvania Avenue. Normally the part in front of the White House is completely closed off to cars. The only way you can go up to the fence in front of the president’s house is on foot. But since we were special guests, we got to drive right up to the big barricade that blocks off the street. A bunch of policeman were there, and they checked our license plate and my dad’s ID, and then they lowered the barricade into the ground, and we drove over it. Then we were in front of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, which is the address of the White House.

Excerpt: On Tuesday, when Theresa drove up to the corner of R and Connecticut, across from the Founding Church of Scientology, you couldn’t even see Capitol Cookies. You couldn’t see Static, either. That’s because so many reporters were standing on the corner, waiting to interview me as I made my way into Susan Boone’s.