In Love and Diplomacy

Chapter One: From Sea to Shining Sea

"It's about drive, it's about power
We stay hungry, we devour
Put in the work, put in the hours
And take what's ours"

- Dwayne Johnson, "Face Off", a truly iconic song

Chapter One

I was never scared of heights.

How could I? My entire life was a climb.

It might not always seem like it, but there's more to show for being the middle child than simply being forgotten. I was the boldest, the bravest, and the most likely to get stuck in a tree, because I'd needed to be the highest.

My competitive edge was my sword, my path to recognition; I'd been honed by hunger. It was a craving for a spotlight that'd been taken as soon as the next sibling came, as soon as the oldest hit a new first, as soon as there was a shiny new bauble packaged in the shape of one of my sisters. I wasn't the first to walk my path, and I wasn't the last.

Where does my journey get written down?

I love my family. They love me. But scholars say if you want to make an impression, you should go first or last; no one remembers what came in-between. So I was like every other simmering, middle child—I'd find another way to make my mark.

That feeling of need hadn't faded as I'd gotten older, either. It'd just changed shape. It wasn't satiated by team sports, or debate club, or family game night. It'd festered and was fed in entirely different ways, and believe me, I'd always given it enough to feast. I'd sharpened my teeth on academic degrees and promotions. I'd flossed with accolades and recognition. I'd consumed praise from each of my bosses. From my very first supervisor at Munch's Candy Shop to my most recent mentor, the Attorney General of the state of California, I was a shining star. I played politics like a dinner bell.

No, I was never scared of heights—I climbed too fast to fear the fall.

"We're going to miss you around here."

The words were grim, but I smiled at the speaker, leaning on the lobby's desk counter with a shake of my head. "You say that as if you're rid of me forever," I teased.

"It feels like it," Christina griped.

My smile widened. Here, in the belly of a government building newer than most, was someone I was really going to miss.

Though a gorgeous sunset filtered through the tall glass windows, staining the open floors, Christina looked displeased. Irritation dipped her brow and twisted her mouth into a grumbly grimace. Still, I knew the root was affection. A dwindling afternoon and a broad view of the city were peering in to marvel at meandering workers, but it wouldn't get a view of me for much longer.

"Give the newbies a chance, will you? They'll get the hang of it eventually," I promised. My political grin was broad, but Christina scoffed. She knew the game as well as I did, perhaps even better. She'd been here a long time.

"It feels like just yesterday you were starting with us. Now you're leaving." She shook her head, straightening the already perfect Mickey figurine by her keyboard. "I have little hope for your replacements, Avery. They all seem a little too eager if you ask me—not that anyone ever does."

No one ever needed to. She was never shy to tell us.

Christina ruled this domain with an iron fist. Her perches were scattered throughout the halls, but her throne was here in the lobby. She radiated no-nonsense authority and extreme, precise organization. She was the type of grandmother to offer you candy and tell you to fix your collar, all in the same breath.