Rita’s family had owned magazines and newspapers for two centuries. She had wealth, but no security to speak of—her family was fine with the level of security provided by the school. It was nothing for Rita to hire a car service to take her the twenty miles into Geneva on weekend nights. She would eat in the restaurants and party in the dance clubs until the early hours of the morning, then take a car back here, arriving home around dawn.

Or sometimes not at all.

Sometimes on weekend nights, after participating in whatever lame group activities were on offer here on campus, Elizabeth would wake up in the early hours before sunrise and listen to see if Rita had come home that night.

Rita had freedom, and lots of it—and Elizabeth had none. The Secret Service had vetted Rita and found her not to be a threat, mostly because there was no way to smuggle anyone on campus. People she knew in Geneva could visit her, but only during the daytime, and they couldn’t come into the building at all. After they passed through security, they had to sit out on the campus grounds.

Rita was sitting on her bed, making a drawing on a pad with a thick black pencil. “Hey, babe,” she said, without looking up.

“Hey, babe,” Elizabeth said.

Hey, babe—that was their thing. They called each other babe.

Elizabeth’s friendship with Rita was one of the few good things that had come out of this school year. Rita was going to Brown next year, in Providence, Rhode Island, just up the road from Yale. Elizabeth was hopeful that they would stay in touch, and stay friends. But you never could tell. A lot of these so-called friendships fell apart after you weren’t in the same space anymore.

“How’s your dad?” Rita said.

“You know,” Elizabeth said.

Rita nodded. “I know. He’s President, and that’s a big job.”

“That’s right.”

Rita flipped the page in her drawing pad. Now she was writing something instead of drawing.

“I imagine he’s busy doing Presidential things.”

“He’s very busy acting Presidential,” Elizabeth said.

It was dummy talk. Over time, they had evolved a system of communication that the Secret Service couldn’t overhear or intercept. They would continue to talk normally, about this or that, like dizzy high school girls. All the while, they would pass written messages back and forth, which they would later rip up and throw out in the dining hall garbage cans.

Rita turned the pad around and showed Elizabeth what she had written.

Do you still want to go for it? Escape Mode?

Escape Mode was a plan that Rita had invented for Elizabeth, a way to break her out of the prison she was in and give her a chance to experience a little adventure, a little excitement, and what little nightlife the city of Geneva had to offer.