3. Fucked Either Way

Celeste's POV

For the first time, I try to stay optimistic.

I try not to think about the fact that I'm obviously in the black book of a presidential candidate who might eventually win and then wake up on the wrong side of the bed one morning and decide to find the lady who called him an angry bird during one of his campaigns in Texas.

I won't only be screwed, but I'll be screwing Ciara too, and that's the part that hurts because she's totally innocent.

"No, nothing will happen." I comfort myself as I place my right hand on my chest. "Ciara won't find out about this, and the president will forget about this encounter. Amen." I say the prayer in faith.

The back entrance is less busy now, and everyone seems settled. So, the whole goal was to get Jordan Rogers on stage for his speech. Great.

I look around me, and everyone is tuned in, watching the program unfold live.

"He'll give his speech in the next eight minutes," a worker randomly says out loud, his eyes still glued to his screen.

Why do I feel the sudden urge to actually hear what he has to say and what he truly proposes for America?

The angry bird I witnessed isn't someone I would recommend, but maybe...

I don't know when I start moving toward the backstage area. I reach the curtains and stay half-hidden while peeping through. I watch the man I just insulted walk onto the stage.

Applause and screams fill the air, and when he gets to the podium, the screaming gets louder. He hasn't even spoken yet, and everyone's chanting like they've been waiting to just see him in person before they lose their minds.

How does the entire room love him? Is he the Justin Bieber of politics? I really should do my research on him.

He stands still, one hand resting against the podium while he scans the crowd like he's searching for something, someone, me?

I'm delusional.

The giant screen behind him catches his face from a different angle, making his expression visible to everyone in the convention center, and the crowd goes insane again.

He looks less like the angry man I ran away from and more like someone who actually belongs here.

A smile plays across his lips, and damn, that is dangerous.

A lot of people here are clearly fangirling and supporting him just because of his looks. I can assure that.

Jordan clears his throat. "Good afternoon, Texas."

The crowd erupts again in cheers, and his smile seems more genuine now. Indeed, he's the man for the people, not me.

He waits for them to settle before continuing. “I know many of you came here today because you want change.” His voice is calmer than I expected, almost charming.

"We’ve spent too long being told that the problems facing ordinary Americans are complicated to solve. That the economy is broken, the borders are difficult, and the system is deep-rooted.” He pauses. “But they’re not.”

The crowd cheers and I hate that I find myself listening.

“We don’t need another politician who spends four years explaining why something can’t be done. We need someone willing to do it.”

More applause.

I glance around the convention center. Everyone is watching him, paying full attention, and I might be the only person distracted because even the people working backstage have stopped what they’re doing.

Maybe he's not completely terrible.

“And when I say a new America,” he continues, referring to his slogan, “I don’t mean an America that belongs to one party, one class, or one generation.”

The crowd quiets, not losing focus on him.

“I mean an America that belongs to all of us!” he affirms.

The entire convention center erupts again with applause, screams, and people raising banners.

I don't think he is done with the speech yet but... that was actually good, I have to admit. He knows what he wants and what he wants the people to believe.

My eyes drift toward the giant screen again. Jordan Rogers looks untouchable up there, so confident and powerful.

"Maybe the angry bird has a little charm after all." I find myself smiling at my own silly thought.

He places both hands on the podium, with one hand adjusting the mic. “I don’t promise you that the next four years will be easy. I promise you that I will spend every single one of them fighting for an America where...”

BANG.

The sound cracks through the convention center, and Jordan stops speaking.

My smile disappears as I try to figure out what that is. Then another BANG tears through the room.

This time, I see it. The microphone jerks violently from the impact, and Jordan’s body is suddenly yanked backward as two security officers crash into him.

The giant screen behind him flickers, and the entire room bursts into chaos.

"AHH!"

People scream and start running in every direction.

I'm frozen behind the curtain for a second until someone screams from the stage.

"GET DOWN!"

That's enough to bring me back to reality. I turn around and run deeper into the backstage corridor as people start pouring through the side entrances behind me.

WHAT THE HELL!

Someone slams into my shoulder, and another person stumbles against the wall.

"Keep moving!"

I don't know who they're talking to. I just keep running.

The corridor that was quiet a few minutes ago is now filled with people. Campaign workers are abandoning whatever they were carrying, posters and flyers are scattered all over the floor.

I see security personnel moving in the opposite direction, heading toward the stage while shouting into their radios.

"Secure the candidate!"

"Lock down the east entrance!"

That's what I hear them say and my heart pounds harder.

Candidate. They're talking about Jordan. Is it an assassination attempt?

Another loud crack echoes through the convention center. I don't know if it's another gunshot or something falling.

God! Save me!

I can't breathe because now the corridor feels narrow. Everyone is still trying to push through. This is chaos.

I close my eyes for half a second. I force myself to inhale and exhale, then one more time. I can't lose it, not here, not now.

"Everybody stay down!" an officer commands, but everyone is still in motion.

No time to die, and no one is willing to stay down. We all push toward the nearest exit. I just follow, and I don't even know if my sister’s badge is still around my neck or where my phone is.

I just need to get out.

We all find ourselves outside. Sirens are approaching and the noise becomes even worse.

Some people are crying, some are shouting into their phones. Others are trying to push past the barricades while security personnel desperately attempt to keep everyone from moving back toward the building.

I'm completely disoriented. Where the hell am I supposed to go?

I look around for a familiar face, but damn, no one is familiar. I haven't even had a proper human interaction with people for the past year except with my sister, and she isn't here.

Ciara's probably at the bakery right now, completely unaware that the presidential campaign she sent me to has just turned into a crime scene.

I reach for my phone and press the power button.

It's dead. I should have charged it before leaving.

Security officers start directing people into different sections. "Event staff, this way!"

Oh, I'm in that category. So I follow the group but then I notice what's happening ahead. Several campaign workers are standing near a barricade while security officers check their badges one by one.

Not just the badges, but their faces too.

Fuck.

I see one woman handing over her ID, and the officer looks at her face and checks something on his device before waving her through.

I pause. Dammit.

If they're checking identities, then I'm beyond screwed because I'll be a suspect in this whole presidential chaos.

"Next."

Another staff member steps forward and the officer repeats the process of checking her credentials.

If I go through that line, it'll be the end of everything I've tried healing from for the past year and I don't think I can go through that again.

I slowly step away from the group without anybody noticing. Everyone is too busy worrying about themselves, and all I need is to find another way out.

I head toward another parking area away from the main crowd and I really don't have a direction. I might just have to wait somewhere until the situation settles down.

I turn a corner and immediately stop when I see more security officers ahead.

Today really is that day.

Black SUVs line the curb, their engines running. I better turn around, but then I see him.

Jordan Rogers.

He's being escorted toward one of the vehicles, surrounded by security. Two agents walk directly beside him while another moves ahead, scanning the area.

His suit is intact, but his tie is gone and his hair is a bit messy. He looks furious and... alive.

I better turn around now, but it's too late because one of the agents notices me. "You!"

I freeze. How did I think I'd remain invisible?

Jordan and his escorts turn briefly in my direction at the call-out, and...

Jordan’s eyes meet mine.

Wasn't I the one running away from him in the corridor? Now, I have walked straight into him again, and this time, any mistake of running or ignoring a security officer's order, it's shoot-on-sight.

Either way, today, I'm going to be fucked.

I stand still as two of the agents walk towards me.

Dear God. Dear God.

Jordan stops moving, and so do the security personnel beside him. He's watching me until recognition sets in his expression.

I close my eyes one last time and remember the janitress's words about today's campaign going well and now, it has gone worse than anyone imagined.

The angry bird is about to be angrier at me.

"Why are you wandering about? Where are you supposed to be? Who are you?" one of the agents asks me strictly.

Truly, I could think of an answer for the first two questions, but the last question is where I'll lose it.

"I-!"

The agent looks intimidating, and that makes me blank.

Just shoot me already.

"Let her. She's coming with me."

Jordan?

The two agents don't waste time. If the soon-to-be president says I'm coming with him, then I am.

I take a step backward. “Wait...”

One of them reaches for my arm, and the other moves beside me. They don't even answer me.

I look toward Jordan again, but he has already stepped into the SUV, leaving the door open behind him.

No way I'm getting into a car with him.

Rather, shoot me!