I’m bored out of my goddamned mind.

I can’t do this.

I’ve been back for two weeks and I’m about to pull every strand of hair out of my head from the stress of not being stressed.

I joined a yoga class.

I joined a spin class.

I asked around and found some friends of friends that go hiking and try out different trails every week, but they won’t be more active until the weather is a little warmer.

Those things are so temporary. They don’t require constant thought or problem-solving or watching over.

I need that, I think.

I flop face-down on my couch with a yell, at a loss.

I don’t know how long I’m lying there in self-pity when I perk up because my FaceTime starts ringing.

I press accept without glancing at who’s calling and the video screen opens. There’s fumbling for a second, then a face pops into the frame.

“Marissa!” I’m completely surprised.

We met in Junior League, but we’d lost touch when she moved to California for work.

“Hey, am I interrupting you? I know you’re probably busy.”

“Girl, I’m only busy in my dreams now. What’s up? How have you been?”

“Married, divorced, blah blah. Anyways, that’s a story for another time. I’m hearing some chatter and I wanted to check in with you.”

“Chatter about what?” Chatter is rarely good. Chatter that I don’t know about is even worse. Honestly…I’ve been terrified to turn my phone on. I’ve been texting from my iPad, but any backed up stuff hasn’t come through yet.

“Your mom is Camille James, right?”

Oh, hell. Anything about family is never good. “Right. Now you’re making me nervous.”

“Did you know she gave up a child for adoption? Before you were born?”

Sudden cold hits my core in a way it never has before.

“No, I was my mom’s first child.”

“You’re sure about that, because if that’s the case, I can send my own chatter out. I’m just hearing blackmail and…”

“I’m sure. Blackmail? Who?” I snatch my phone from my dining room table and sit back in front of the computer, pressing the power button.

“Your father. You really haven’t heard anything? That’s kind of unlike you.” She raises a brow, laughing a little and I scowl.

“Believe me, it hasn’t been by choice.”

“Well, you look good at least. Glowing.”

“Just came back from vacation. I’m going to put some feelers out, but thanks for giving me a heads up.”

“You’re welcome. It’s not close to being public yet, to my knowledge. We’ve just got the—.”

“The grapevine, I know. You still in California?”

“Actually, I just got back to New York today.” She moves her screen around and I can see empty boxes stacked everywhere.

“Let’s do lunch and catch up soon, okay?” I’m already distracted because messages are coming in and I’m scanning them as quickly as I can for information.

“I’ll send you my calendar. Talk later, smooches.”

“Smooches.” I murmur, ending the call. I sit there for a second, running through all the possibilities in my head.

There’s no way. This is why I need to be doing my damned job because stuff like that doesn’t happen when I’m in charge.

I grab my keys and slide my feet into the Keds I keep by my door.

I need to see my parents and find out who the hell is letting false information slip through the cracks.

Then fire them.

* * *

It was about a 45-minute drive from my condo in Greenwich Village to Gracie Mansion.

I shut off my car after I get through the gates and sit there for a second, just taking it in. The pale yellow of the house, the white wraparound porch, and the grayish-green window shutters and accents.

I had to convince my dad to move in. He was hell-bent on staying in the townhouse he and Sina moved to once we all left.

They lived in the townhouse, we’d have events and barbecues at the house we grew up in, and now - those things will happen here.

I think the mayor-elect staying in Gracie Mansion gives it a special tie-in to New York, it makes it seem more alive, more real.

More mayor-of-the-people like.

Who convinced my father of that? Me.

Who cleaned up the little messes that popped up over the years and made sure nothing was ever unfairly said about this administration? Me.

Who put the plans together to boost his popularity ratings and put him in exactly the right places to get his platform across?

Me, with a little help from people I directed.

I’ll be damned if it’s going to blow up in my face now because of incorrect information.

I want someone’s head on a gold-plated platter and I want the knife and fork to eat it with.

I slam my door and stalk up the walk, taking the dark grey stairs two at a time.

The door swings open because the guard let them know I was here.

“Keyra, we weren’t expecting you. How was your trip?” Sina holds the door open and hugs me when I step inside. I hug her back, scanning my eyes over the foyer. When she tries to guide me towards the sitting room, I shake my head.

“I’ll show you all the pictures later. But I need to talk to Dad right now, is he around?”

She pauses, her smile wavering just a little bit and the green eyes she and Mickey share, flickering. “He’s actually meeting with someone right now, but they should be finished by the time we finish catching up.”

“Sina.” I lower my voice and she fingers the pearl bracelet we saved up from our summer jobs and got her for Christmas years ago.

“Keyra.” She sighs. “Keyra!” She calls softly, her voice defeated when I take off towards my dad’s office.

I push open the door and stop up short when I see who my father is apparently meeting with.

My mother.

They both have the same stupid, guilty look on their faces like they did when I overheard them talking about how not to tell us they accidentally ran over our puppy.

That “We thought it’d be best to keep it between us and now we’re at a loss” look.

I know immediately that the only people with incorrect information are apparently my sisters and me.

They’ve been lying to us our entire lives.