Reid notices that he's close enough to kick and summarily buries the thought. Enacting violence against the governor's son would be a very stupid thing to do, no matter how annoying the questions he asks.
"I don't lie," Reid lies.
Everett chuckles. "Of course you don't. Politicians never lie. What is it my father always says? Heworks with the truth.That's bullshit, if you ask me."
In Reid's opinion, that actually sounds quite sensible. But that's not what this is about.
"I'm not a politician," he reminds Everett, which earns him a snort.
"I feel like we've had this conversation before." Everett's words are weirdly slow when he says this, carefully enunciated. He sounds even more tired than Reid feels.
"We have," Reid says.
Everett chuckles to himself. "Same bullshit, different day."
Reid draws a sharp breath.That's enough.
He doesn't have to stay and listen to this. "My job isnotbullshit," he says and carefully steps over Everett's legs, which he's stretched out and is blocking the entire hallway with. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to leave."
And he does. Behind him, he can hear Everett shuffle to his feet and stammer through an attempt at an apology. He even says Reid's name. But Reid ignores it. His day has already been hard enough, and dealing with Everett's issues is not in his job description. Everett will just have to figure it out on his own.
Chapter 10: Too much
Reid starts his next day with a throbbing headache, and things only get worse from there. The responses he expected from the DMs he sent out are nowhere to be found. Almost nowhere. There's one message in his Instagram inbox:"Fuck off, this isn't funny."
Reid is baffled. How could anyone think he's making a joke? The messages were sent from the verified @CALgov account. Maybe it's the medium? Do these parents view everything on social media with suspicion? He has very little information on them, no official list of affected children. All he knows is the number published by theNew York Times: twenty-four.
Not to be deterred, Reid replies to the suspicious DM, though he doubts it will lead to much. He then turns his attention to calling the numbers he didn't reach yesterday. This results in some new conversations and a few tentative agreements toattend, depending on the date. But the responses are tepid. What is he supposed to do with "Yeah, I'll have to see. Maybe"? It's not enough for Mr. Wright's planning purposes.
He asks Marisol that question and Marisol, pen between her teeth and a smudge of ink in the corner of her mouth, tells him to go ask Mr. Wright. Which is reasonable, but so not what he wanted to hear.
Mr. Wright's face after Reid has finished his question is a sight to behold. Truly, Reid had no idea his eyebrows were this agile. One of them wanders halfway up his bald head. "You ask me thatnow?"he demands.
Oh, damn it. This is why Reid doesn't work well under pressure—at least not the kind Mr. Wright exerts. If Reid had known that he was allowed to ask this, he probably would have asked much earlier.
"... yes?" Reid says. Is this a rhetorical question?
Mr. Wright does not look impressed. "It's almost noon. It'sFriday.We need to finalize our plans on Monday. Were you planning on coming in tomorrow?"
Fuck. Why would…There's no way he has the energy for that. It wouldn't end well. Just the thought of it makes everything in Reid contract. There's a ringing sound in his ears. Wordlessly, he shakes his head.
"Well, then you're leaving it awfully late, aren't you?"
"I'm sorry, sir."
Mr. Wright doesn't say it's okay. Instead, he just rubs his forehead. "How many—what did you call it—tentative yesesdid you get?"
"Twelve, sir. At least one parent for eight of the children. Sometimes two."
"Twelve?" His booming voice sounds incredulous, and for just a moment, Reid thinks he must have really messed up. Twelveparents is only a quarter, if the NYT has their numbers right. "Boy, how are we supposed to fit twelve people in frame?"
Reid shudders at being called"boy″.It feels oddly inappropriate. But then, the rest of what the man said catches up to him. Could they seat the parents in rows? Aren't camera people trained for this? But then he notices Mr. Wright's patronizingly benevolent expression. Ah. It wasn't an actual question.
"None of them have given me a definitive answer without a date," Reid hurries to explain. "I mean, I have two who said yes unreservedly. I'm counting those separately. But we can't know—"
"Oh, they'll come." Mr. Wright swats his hand at the empty air like Reid's questions are annoying flies.
"But what if they don't have time?" Most of them appear to be working regular jobs.