“Tell me how you feel about something,” her mother said.
“About what?” Meg asked.
“Anything. Just tell me how you really feel about something.”
“Okay.” Meg folded her arms across her chest. “I don’t like reporters, Secret Service agents, or starting school tomorrow.”
“No argument there,” her mother said.
“I wish we still lived in Massachusetts, I wish you were an English teacher, I wish . . .” She stopped.
“Do you really wish I were an English teacher?” her mother asked.
Meg shrugged. “Just anything but president, right?” said her mother.
“It could be worse.” Meg said.
“What do you mean?”
“You could be pope.”