Looking around the room, Natalie saw that most people were busy on their phones and those who weren’t stared into space with a dead gaze like actors waiting for their cue. Then Adam said, “Next question,” and everyone sprang back to life, hands shooting up, eyes sparkling intently. Natalie put up her hand with the others even though she wasn’t sure what she planned to ask. Adam wouldn’t address the news, and her policy questions were too dull.

“In the back,” Adam said, looking in her direction.

Matt said, “Thanks, Adam,” and Natalie bit her lip. She’d thought—

Adam shook his head. “Not you, Matt.” Pointing directly at Natalie, he said, “Brown hair, purple blouse? You had a question?”

In her peripheral vision, Natalie could see every camera now turn in her direction. She could feel them zooming in on her face, live on TV from the White House briefing room. Her heart pounded and her tongue felt huge in her mouth.

“Thank you, Adam,” Natalie heard herself say. She glanced down at the paper with her questions on it but her eyes couldn’t focus. She was too busy thinking, Here’s your shot. Ask something memorable. There was something about live TV and instinct. When she was on air under pressure, instinct took over and usually delivered. Trusting that, Natalie swallowed and hoped the right words would come out of her mouth.

“Does the First Lady believe that the US should grant Venezuela’s request to extradite Rigo? And, keeping in mind that she is originally from Venezuela, will Mrs. Crusoe speak with the presidents of Venezuela and Colombia about the rape accusation when she attends the summit this evening?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Natalie saw Matt sit up straighter and felt a tinge of pride that she’d surprised him. This was quickly followed by a dose of self-loathing for caring.

At the podium, Adam seemed to sneer slightly before flipping a tab on his briefing book. He began reading. “I am sorry to inform everyone that the First Lady will be missing tonight’s dinner for the summit. She sends her regrets and best wishes for a successful meeting. But she is home with a migraine.”

Natalie felt the blood rush in to her cheeks and heard her heartbeat in her ears. She’d gotten some news. In the high school cafeteria atmosphere of the briefing room, this was like getting asked out by the hottest guy in school and getting an A all in the same day.

“Honey, I have a headache,” a male voice called out from the back of the briefing room in a bad imitation of Ricky Ricardo, shaking Natalie out of her reverie. The room turned to check the source of the outburst and then broke out in laughter.