Not Afraid of Life Page 5

  In spite of all these low-budget road trips, Mom had learned from her lieutenant governor loss to do things right this time. Her two themes were simple and catchy: “New Energy for Alaska” and “Take a Stand.” Plus, she set up a nice campaign office in Anchorage on Fifth Street. One weekend, we loaded the car with paintbrushes, rollers, and several gallons of red paint and painted the Alaska flag on her headquarters wall. As we stood back and admired our work, everything seemed so much more official. Like always, her endeavor was a family affair. Kris Perry, one of her dear friends—and a fellow soccer mom—became instrumental as they figured out how to win the gubernatorial race. Even my great-grandmother on my dad’s side got involved in the campaign. Mom called her a “one-woman Eskimo whistle-stop tour” as she went around Dillingham and told the elders about “Todd’s wife.”

  Our fall was consumed with starting that adventure, but right after spring break in 2006 I ran into Levi.

  “Come see me play in Fairbanks,” he said.

  “I’m already going,” I told him, trying to hide the fact that I was thrilled at his invitation. That hockey-mom thing my mom always talked about? It wasn’t a campaign tactic. She really was the manager of Track’s hockey team, which means she went to his games and cheered the young players, kept score, compiled stats, organized transportation, and put bandages on game-induced wounds. Though Fairbanks was a seven-hour drive from our hometown, I happily endured the road trip there. I watched from the stands as Levi played.

  A few days after that game, he invited me to the movies. Because we were so young, he had his dad pick me up and drop us off. After seeing a silly movie that made us both laugh, he leaned in to kiss me.

  Afterward, he looked me straight in the eye and said, “I just had to do that.”

  “Why?” I asked, a little skeptical even though I was a freshman. “So you can tell your friends?”

  “No,” he purred. “So I can sleep tonight.”

  Okay, so maybe I wasn’t skeptical enough, because that line—that cheesy line—melted my heart. The next day I was still intoxicated with new love, when I noticed he was texting someone.

  “What’s going on?” I asked. “Is that a girl you’re texting?”

  “Um, yeah,” he said. “She was asking me a question about something.”

  “Really? About what?”

  “She’s just a friend,” he said. “Ask my mom or sister. They’ll tell you.”

  This became a pattern. At first, I’d call to check out his story, but his family always backed him up. It made me feel like I was being petty and small-minded.

  Of course, he was texting a girl—because he was with that girl when I wasn’t around.

  After so much public unfaithfulness, it almost seems strange to mention such a small incident. But it’s significant because it was the initial lie snowball that started an avalanche.

  Levi would frequently lie to me about other things, too. For example, he told me he had a new cobalt blue truck—a 2007 Chevy Silverado extended cab, with rims, and a double pipe exhaust. Not only did he have no cobalt blue truck, it was before he had a truck at all. Though he later got a series of red trucks, none matched his disturbingly specific description. He also would act like he had lots of money, which is odd since I didn’t even really care about that. He’d say he got twelve fish when he didn’t catch any. It’s weird. He’d lie when the truth would do just fine.

  I ignored his lies, mesmerized by what I thought was love, and the year went on well for me at Wasilla High School. With one week left, everyone was looking forward to the wonderful Alaskan summer.

  That’s when I did the thing that drove me crazy about Levi: I told a lie.

  “We’re going to go stay the night at Ema’s house,” I nonchalantly said as my friend and I headed toward the front door and to Point MacKenzie.

  Of course, I thought I was headed into an evening of harmless high school fun. But really, I was headed into the deep quicksand of sexual sin, during a night that I barely remembered. The next morning when I woke up, I didn’t know what had happened until I spoke to my friend, who confirmed my deepest fears.

  On the drive home from Point MacKenzie, she and I sat in the backseat while Levi chatted with his friend riding in the passenger seat. (Guys, take note: Do not put your girlfriend in the backseat so that you can talk hunting with your friend.) His only acknowledgment of our life-changing moment was the occasional knowing glance or wink in the rearview mirror.

  He remembers, I thought . . . and dread crept all over me. I tried not to vomit.

  When we got back to the house, I was devastated as I tried to figure out what had just happened. When we got a chance to be alone, I pulled him aside and began a very uncomfortable conversation.

  “You knew I didn’t want to have sex until I was married!” I whispered. “How could you?”

  He never really gave me a good answer, but he did apologize. “I thought you wanted to,” he said. “I thought you changed your mind.”

  He also claimed to have been drunk, which I believed.

  Okay, there are several times in this story where looking back at what happened I can see the perfect opportunities for me to have gotten out of this situation. I regret lying to my mom, I regret losing my virginity, and I regret—more than anything—that the incident at Point MacKenzie caused me to move toward Levi, instead of run away from him.

  At the end of the conversation, Levi apologized and said, “We don’t have to do it again until we’re married.”

  Mysteriously, that’s all I needed to hear. I was thankful he understood why I was so upset, and he seemed to totally respect my decision not to have sex again. His immediate agreement actually made me appreciate him more.

  But I hadn’t suddenly recovered from this traumatic event. Rather, I was reeling from a million emotions all fighting for attention in my mind. Later that day, my friend was at my house and we talked about all that had happened. It was a lot to process, so we needed to bring in more friends to help us talk it out.

  “You need to come over,” she said to another friend into the mouthpiece.

  Do you remember when phones were “picked up” rather than “slid on” and were cradled in a receiver or hung from a wall instead of always living in your pocket or bag? Well, at my house we had a landline phone, and the kids were always spying on each other by listening from a different phone in other parts of the house. It was easy—you’d just carefully lift the receiver, put your hand over the bottom, and be very, very quiet.

  Track had perfected this. I honestly think he could work for the CIA or the FBI the way he always seemed to know my business. However, my friend wasn’t aware of his tactics and didn’t have a cell phone.

  When she picked up the phone in the kitchen, she whispered to our other friend. She didn’t realize that Track had suspected something was wrong in the house and had lifted the receiver to test his theory.

  “Just believe me. You’ve got to get over here,” she insisted. “Now!”

  Apparently, my other friend at the other end of the phone knew something was up and wasn’t going to come over until she knew exactly what had happened.

  My friend finally relented. “Bristol and Levi had sex last night!”

  Through the phone, my friend heard the loud thunk of Track slamming the phone onto its receiver.

  “Bristol, I think I messed up,” she sheepishly said as she hurried into my room. We looked out the window and saw Track furiously punching numbers into his phone and pacing back and forth in the driveway. Then came the yelling, “I’m gonna f—king kick his ass,” he told his friend.

  Because I wasn’t rowdy, Track was disgusted and shocked when he heard his hockey teammate had taken his sister’s virginity. He never spoke to me about it directly; he drove straight over to Levi’s house and threatened to . . . well, let’s just say Track was an “abstinenc
e only” advocate when it came to his sisters, and he was ready to enforce that philosophy with his fists.

  Please don’t tell Mom and Dad

  I texted him. In retrospect, I underestimated my parents. When I finally did tell them that I was pregnant, they didn’t come back at me with fire and brimstone. How much easier it would have been if I’d confessed to them before it escalated to pregnancy.

  Only if you promise to never do that again!

  he texted right back.

  Though I’d later find out it was a hard promise to keep, it was an easy promise to make. I never ever wanted to have sex with Levi again until we were married.

  I promise

  I texted Track, and that was that. I didn’t appreciate it at the time, but I’m now thankful to have a brother who cared about me so much.

  A natural consequence of Track knowing about the Point MacKenzie incident is that Levi never showed his face around my house again. When we’d go out, he’d pull into the driveway, I’d hop into the car, and we’d go to his house or to a movie. (Girls, if your date won’t go to your house and knock on the door, he’s probably not the right guy for you.) Levi had gotten his license in May, which meant we had more flexibility and didn’t have to rely on parents or friends to see each other.

  And that’s the story of how I began to live my double life and why Mom and Dad didn’t worry about their straight-A, straitlaced daughter.

  At least, not yet.

  Chapter Four

  Not Like Other Families

  On November 7, 2006, we gathered at the Captain Cook Hotel in Anchorage with hundreds of volunteers, supporters, family, and friends who came in from the cold to hear the results of Mom’s gubernatorial race. They’d been outside campaigning, holding the red signs on the side of the street, and praying that Mom would somehow pull it off. It had been a tough campaign for Mom, who was definitely the underdog, but as the precincts started reporting in gradually, we began to think, Could it be possible that she might win?

  Mom said her thank-yous to all the supporters before we walked from the hotel to the Egan Civic and Convention Center, where the media had gathered to interview the candidates. I’m not sure how long the walk was—probably just a few blocks!—but it was the first time I’d ever worn heels, and it seemed like miles. Plus, it was freezing cold and snow was piled up on the sides of the streets.

  It didn’t matter. We were so excited about the fact that Mom might become Alaska’s youngest and first female governor, we could’ve run down the street. When we finally arrived, Leisl and my cousin Lauden marched into the center yelling, “Sarah! Sarah!” Mom went off to do radio and television interviews, while we probably acted rowdy in all of our giddiness. Finally, after Mom had given several interviews, the results of all the precincts came in.

  I was standing with my cousins and family friends who had helped us with the campaign when I heard that my mother won the race; she ended up capturing more than 51 percent of the vote.

  Everyone was so excited, and the atmosphere was electric.

  It was clear right off the bat that Mom was not going to be “politics as usual.” She was sworn into office in a hockey rink. It turns out the Carlson Center sports arena was the perfect place to accommodate the five thousand Alaskans who braved the cold and attended the event—including almost two thousand students who came on yellow school buses or traveled from nearby Denali Elementary. We got on a bus in Wasilla with every member of my family and made the seven-hour drive. Lauden and I put our headphones on and chatted the whole way. The drive was worth it. There was a lot of excitement all because of my mom.

  She took the oath of office while placing her hand on the Bible Dad held for her. It was the Bible she’d used as a kid, and it had her maiden name—“Sarah Heath”—embossed on the front of it. Afterward, everyone clapped enthusiastically, and people started chanting her name from the cheap seats.

  We were sitting onstage—five generations, from Great-Grandma Lena all the way down to Piper, who wore a bright red dress. What other color would do? Before we went out there, Piper wanted to wear a tiara on her head, so we let her attend our mother’s ceremony wearing a crown! We were exhilarated as we heard the crowd roar, “Sarah! Sarah!”

  Alaskan natives danced, bagpipe players played, and Jewel’s dad sang. Iditarod champion Libby Riddles introduced Mom, since Libby was the first woman to win the 1,150-mile sled dog race. When she got up to the podium, everyone was still chanting, so she quieted the thousands by saying, “Okay, the governor said cease and desist.”

  It was a wonderful ceremony, which nicely honored my mother’s accomplishment, showed she was definitely going to be a different kind of governor, and allowed us to celebrate with loved ones.

  Levi wasn’t there.

  In fact, he never campaigned with us, never wrote out a name tag, and never went to any picnic or rally. I interpreted his lack of interest in the outcome of the race as a sign that he wasn’t searching for fame. In fact, I actually found his lack of interest appealing, a weird kind of evidence that he was in our relationship for me and me alone.

  When Mom became governor, it meant we had to make a lot of changes, including a move to Juneau. Though I thought I might miss Levi, I was ready for a change of scenery.

  “Don’t bring anything you don’t absolutely need,” Dad said to us girls as we excitedly stuffed our favorite clothes into our suitcases. It’s rare to be able to start over in the middle of the school year at a new school, in a new city.

  There was only one problem. Juneau is the most inaccessible capital in America. In the middle of the Tongass National Forest, you can only get there by air or sea. While thousands of people debark off cruise ships into the city, it’s more complicated for people like my mom who are involved in the government. Some lawmakers have to travel a thousand miles just to get to the office, trips complicated by the lack of roads in or out of the city. (Juneau is the only capital not connected to the U.S. Highway system other than Honolulu, and the only capital to share a border with another country: Canada!)

  It complicated my life as well.

  “You’re not taking your car,” Dad said. He’d told me earlier that my first car would be my mother’s black VW Jetta. It was diesel and a stick shift, which made it so cool. (We still drive it, and it’s going strong at 180,000 miles and counting.)

  “Dad, come on!” I protested. Mom was already preparing for her new role as governor, so this showdown was going down between Dad and me.

  “If you’re not playing ball, you don’t need a car.” As I mentioned, my enthusiasm for basketball had waned since middle school, and I was ready to hang up my uniform. But Mom and Dad believed athletics were one of the most important aspects of youth and weren’t letting me quit so quickly.

  “You’re trying to bribe me?”

  “You bet I am.”

  To get a car into the state capital, you have to drive it up to Canada and have it barged in. It was complicated, cost money, and Dad didn’t want me to have extra time and a car in which to drive around and find trouble. I reluctantly agreed to their terms and stuffed my basketball shoes into my suitcase as well.

  When we first arrived, we staked out our bedrooms. The Alaska Governor’s Mansion is over fourteen thousand square feet, has eight fireplaces, and six bedrooms. The Greek Revival–style house is white, with large stately columns, black shutters, and a green roof. It seems like the kind of house that could be found in New England, except that there’s a huge totem pole on the side. I bet our state might be the only capital with that decoration! Alaska, as you may know, is famous for these hand-hewn cedar poles that were used to communicate before natives had written language. The one at the mansion supposedly tells the story of how mosquitoes, sunlight, stars, tides, and marine animals were made. The stately home sits high on a hill, which gave us a really great view of the city. Plus, it was just a couple of bloc
ks away from the Capitol building, the high school, and the downtown shops.

  Though it was nice, it seemed more like a museum than a house. So we started moving in, Palin style. The most fun things we brought to the mansion were “buoy swings” (like tire swings but made from old buoys instead of Michelins), which we hung from a tree in the back. Mom also put a trampoline in the backyard. The transition to Juneau was pretty easy and was even more seamless because of the hard work of our house manager, Erika. It didn’t hurt that she had fun boys our age. We loved hanging out with them. One of my fondest memories was when one of her sons and his friend jumped into the freezing river channel in the middle of winter wearing swim trunks. My friend and I were trying to drive back from the docks after we videotaped it. But after they stood on the side, held their breath, and plunged into the icy water, my car got stuck! So these two freezing cold boys in swim trunks and sandals had to push our car out of the snow before any of us could get out of there.

  Dad still worked the North Slope, which meant he was thirteen hundred miles away. Track was traveling on a hockey team in Michigan, more than three thousand miles away. That meant that Willow, Piper, and I were the only Palin kids in the mansion. Talk about girl power!

  One night, I was lying in bed around nine o’clock, when I heard a commotion outside.

  “Bristol . . . Bristol!” I thought I was just hearing things until it lasted for fifteen minutes straight.