Page 96 of The Rebel King

CHAPTER 42

LENNIX

“I’m not a monk or a priest,” Maxim says from the small platform we set up in Philadelphia’s Love Park, the iconic LOVE statue behind him with stacked red letters. “And, yes, at some point, I inhaled.”

He pauses for the crowd’s laughter. We finally convinced him to wear the campaign T-shirt. He felt weird wearing his own name across his chest. The man makes bras from recycled water bottles but has qualms about clothes that bear his name.

“But I’m not a liar,” Maxim continues. “I’m not a coward, and I know how to build something from absolutely nothing. I look back enough to learn from our history but won’t allow antiquated practices to keep us from the brightest future. Dig deep enough into my past, and you might find me saying something stupid or that I no longer even believe. Look closely enough, and you’ll spot my flaws, but you’ll also see someone with a vision and, I hope, the integrity to see through.”

We kicked our policy pop-up tour off in New York, and our Cade bus has been tracking across states every day. Inherently, the viral, grassroots nature of the pop-up format means the crowds trend younger. I believe we’ll have millennials on lock come November. They’re the earliest adapting demographic, obviously. They’re not as quick to mistrust Maxim’s relative “youth,” and the idea ofdoing something history-making—electing an independent president—appeals to them. Specifically,Maximappeals to them. He’s handsome and compelling, that leashed power and raw physicality drawing people to him, but it’s the breadth of his intelligence and his unexpected humor keeping their attention.

“Ain’t this some shit,” Kimba mutters next to me on the periphery of the crowd.

“What?” I ask, forcing myself to drag my glance from Maxim.

“You can’t take your eyes off him.” Kimba nods to the stage. “And Glenn can’t take his eyes off you.”

“What?” I look around, and my glance collides with Glenn’s. He stands a few feet away but averts his eyes quickly.

“Well, I’m sure that orange bra doesn’t help,” Kimba says wryly.

It’s hot to be only May, and I decided to test-drive one of the “Make the Future” campaign tank tops. I didn’t anticipate my orange bra strap sliding down my arm every five minutes.

“He’s been staring at your tits all day.” Kimba laughs. “Youdoknow he’s got a thing for you, right?”

“Who? Glenn?”

“You cannot be that oblivious, Lenn. How can a girl as sharp as you…” She huffs a sigh and rolls her eyes. “Lord, you are.”

“Glenn and I have known each other for years. This is our fifth campaign together. We’refriends.”

“Uh, yeah. He heard you were working on the first three and made sure he was, too, and the last two campaigns, Owen’s and Maxim’s, you put him on. Dude’s thirsty. He can write his little ass off, but his nose is wide open for you, honey.”

Shock and chagrin take turns slapping me around. “Maxim said the same thing.”

“Oh, my God. When Glenn called you Nix the other night, I thought Maxim would lose his mind. Glenn probably has a scar from that glare he cut him with.”

“You noticed that?”

“I, unlike you, notice everything, see all the signs, and will interpret for a small fee.”

We clap at a particularly stirring point in Maxim’s speech along with the rest of the crowd.

“And when do you plan to put all this relationship observational skill to work for yourself?” I ask.

“Mama’s got needs, and Mama gets ’em met, but I donotneed a relationship.”

“Did you see David at the funeral?”

“Girl, please,” Kimba scoffs. “David was a youthful exploit. Seeing him again, even if it hadn’t been at a funeral, there wouldn’t have been any sparks.”

“When are you gonna find a guy you’ll give more than a night or two?”

A shadow crosses Kimba’s face, and she fiddles with the gold ring she wears on her right hand. “Guys like Maxim don’t grow on trees.”

Before I can dig into that, Polly walks up. “Hey, ladies. I think Maxim has to do a little detour.”

“Detour?” I ask. “What do you mean?”

---