Not Afraid of Life Page 6

  Reluctantly, I got up and looked out my window to see about a dozen high school kids chanting my name with a megaphone.

  I opened the window and leaned out. “What?”

  By this time, Mom had gotten out of bed, too.

  “Hey, boys,” she said. “Why are you yelling at my daughter?”

  They explained that they were a high school group and were doing a scavenger hunt around town.

  “One of the things on our list is to get a photo taken with one of the Palins,” one of them said.

  Mom loved it and thought I should not only let them take a photo but also join in the fun.

  “You should join them, Bristol,” she said. “Go do the scavenger hunt with them!”

  That’s when I knew Juneau was going to be an awesome place to live. I hurriedly got dressed and put on my shoes. However, after I got down to their cars, I realized that these kids didn’t really mesh with me. Though they were incredibly nice, they told me they were on the “battle of the books” team and drove Subarus with “Going Green” bumper stickers.

  Before we drove away from the mansion, another scavenger team arrived to get a Palin photo. Now, that was the team to be on. The boys were rowdy, drove big trucks, and one of them even had a snowmachine in the back. In other words, they were my kind of guys. Because I’d told the first group I’d go with them, I did . . . but I was pressing my nose against the glass in regret that I’d committed too early.

  Once we settled into a routine, our days went something like this. I’d go to school, then Mom would get the girls ready and drop them off at school. After school, Piper’s school bus would drop her off next to the steps of the Capitol. She’d bring in her pictures, which she was forever making for people who worked there, who nicely hung them in their offices. Senator Menard even gave us a dog, whom Piper named Agia. Sounds like a nice name for a dog, right? Well, it was an acronym for Alaska Gasoline Inducement Act, Mom’s signature project. But when we left, we gave that dog back! We also had a dog named Indy. (Well, we had three dogs named Indy. Indy 1 was a gift from Aunt Molly when I was two . . . right after the earrings. Indy 2 was a black miniature toy poodle that Willow neglected so much that Grandma and I gave it away when Willow was out of town. Indy 3 was the runt of a shih tzu litter, which didn’t last long before we gave it to a friend, too!) Now I have a new dog named . . . Charlie. Yes, I did think about Indy 4 but decided to try something new. Maybe he’ll last longer!

  I see now that it was good for me to be back on the basketball team, even though it was a compromise. The basketball manager, Marissa, quickly became my best friend. Half Chinese and half native, she had dark hair and a funny sense of humor, and we became friends instantly. Since she was the manager, I asked her to hold my phone during our first game. Well, Levi just happened to call me during the game. And when I didn’t answer, he called me again. And again. And again.

  At the end of the game, Marissa handed me my phone and said, “Levi Johnston has called you forty times! What’s wrong with this kid?” I remember she pronounced his name like “levy” and I laughed. “Is he crazy about you?”

  “I think he’s just crazy,” I said, and we laughed.

  We were instantly best friends, which made the irritations of basketball in an inaccessible city much more bearable.

  In the lower forty-eight, mothers complain of their kids taking long road trips that get them home late at night and complicate homework. But in Alaska, sports require long road trips and even airplane rides to remote locations hundreds of miles away. Instead of quick trips to nearby towns, our “away” games took us to faraway towns. While we lived in Wasilla, most of our trips were manageable and within a few hours. But travel for Juneau basketball was a lot more difficult.

  Competition required taking airline “milk runs,” Alaskan Airline flights more like city buses than flights because they stop in every small town to let passengers off on the way to the destination. (The jets on the milk runs have large cargo areas sometimes loaded with Cordova salmon and other high-priced fish to take to Seattle.) We took about four basketball trips during the season, during which the whole team would fly into small towns like Sitka (in the southeastern part of the state that faces the Gulf of Alaska) for a game. Instead of staying at the high school or at a hotel, however, the entire team would be “housed out” with local families willing to let us sleep in an extra bedroom or, all too frequently, their floor next to the couch. Even when my mom was governor, I’d travel to remote villages, go to complete strangers’ homes, and sleep on their floor. I think the only special treatment I got was once I was housed out at the home of the Ketchikan mayor, whose daughter played basketball. Most of the time, I was sleeping on whatever pull-out sofa or spare bed people had. Frequently, when people realized they were housing the governor’s daughter, they’d stick a business card in my hand and ask, “Hey, we love your mom. Can you give this to her? I’d love to work for her on . . .” Otherwise, I was just part of the team.

  We never housed out any of the opposing team’s players at the Governor’s Mansion, but it was completely open to our friends from school. When we lived in Wasilla, our place was where everyone always came over for food and television. My brother’s hockey friends were always over, eating cookies my mom baked and annoying Willow, Piper, and me. People would always tell me how awesome and cool my mom was, and I’d readily agree. So I had the “cool mom,” and the “intimidating dad.” A good mix, in my opinion. In Juneau, even though the dynamics were different, with Dad working on the Slope, our open-door policy was still in effect. And it was a lot of fun to invite people over to a mansion.

  Most of my classmates hadn’t ever been inside of it, because governors never had young kids running around. There was a famous place in the mansion called the “cigar room,” which became the hangout spot for all my friends. It had old leather couches, a wine cellar, a wet bar, and a card table. You just felt like you needed to smoke a cigar and have deep conversations in a cloud of smoke. That’s not what we did, of course. Mom put an (more kid-appropriate!) air hockey table down there, and it became the most awesome place for friends. Also, because it had its own entrance, we could come and go without disrupting anyone else.

  My bedroom was not as cool as the cigar room. The decor was stuck in 1972, with Pepto-Bismol pink walls, a floral print comforter with matching drapes, and other items we were warned we could not change. However, we did spiff it up a bit, with two new minifridges, a microwave, and pictures for the wall. Plus, it had three closets in it. One closet was full of jeans only while another was packed with color-coordinated, perfectly laid out T-shirts. It was a joy for a neat freak like me to have the space to organize everything in such a way. The bedroom had a balcony that stretched to Willow’s room. During the summer, tourists were always coming by and taking photos, so my friends, Willow, and I would get out there and make noises at them, like bird calls, to see if they’d notice.

  For the first few months, we had a chef; and the basement was like a Costco, full of soda, ready-to-eat food, and cookie dough, which made me very popular with friends at school.

  I took advantage of it.

  The first people I had over for a formal lunch date were Marissa and a guy named Hunter Wolfe.

  I was introduced to Hunter the first week of school, and I loved his shy demeanor and dirty blond hair. He was into football, trucks, motorcycles, and dirt bikes. In other words, he was a typical Alaskan boy. But something that was not so typical was the fact that he treated me so well.

  Once I left basketball practice and saw a note on my windshield.

  Hey cute bball girl, hopefully we can hang out soon!

  “Check this out,” I said to Marissa as I handed her the note. “No one’s ever done anything this thoughtful before!” We were both surprised.

  Sometime during the next few weeks, Hunter and I skipped class after lunch. I needed to go to the ba
nk, and he came into the bank with me, even though we could’ve gotten into so much trouble for skipping school. Without even thinking about Levi back home, I immediately agreed to an invitation for lunch. It couldn’t have gone better. When he reached for the check to pay, I noticed that he smelled so good. He was a gentleman, quiet, and very respectful.

  After we went out to eat a few times, I invited him and Marissa to the mansion.

  Blowing taxpayer money sure had its advantages!

  “Hello,” I said to our chef over the phone between second and third period. The school didn’t have a cafeteria with long lines, milk in cardboard boxes, or hairnet-wearing lunch ladies. Instead, we were allowed to go off campus for lunch to eat where we wanted.

  “I’d like to have some friends over for lunch, please.”

  “Wonderful,” she said. Since Mom wasn’t hanging out at the mansion all day, I think the chef was thankful to actually have something to do. “How many people have you invited and what should we serve?”

  She could make anything for us—gourmet grilled cheese sandwiches, homemade tomato soup, Chinese pot stickers, Caesar salads, pizza, any variation of salmon, and . . . well, just about anything. The first day I had my friends over, I think we agreed on serving grilled cheese sandwiches and soup, and I anxiously awaited the opportunity to entertain them in our new glamorous location. When Marissa got out of Hunter’s car, however, she somehow ripped her jeans all the way down the back. And that’s how my elegant lunch began, with a big laugh, a rush to my room to grab an extra pair of jeans, and good food.

  Governor Mom, however, considered the chef an unnecessary luxury. The cook was bored at the house all day, and Willow, Piper, and I never wanted any of her gourmet undercooked meat. Plus, Mom thought it would teach us a bad lesson to always have a chef hanging around waiting to satisfy our every whim. And after she asked the government department heads to cut costs, she felt that we needed to cut costs, too.

  After she unbudgeted the chef, we were sitting around eating moose hot dogs, and I couldn’t hide my irritation any longer.

  “Mom, seriously?” I asked, holding up the moose hot dog. Though those hot dogs are actually quite tasty, I complained that our family was getting fewer perks than previous governors’ families. “We already don’t fly first class, we don’t have security detail at school, and we don’t have people chauffeuring us around. Why can’t we have any perks?”

  Of course, she campaigned on fiscal responsibility, which meant making some drastic but important cuts. She replied, “Well, we’re not like other governors’ families, Bristol.”

  Only now do I appreciate her wisdom. It’s hard to turn down things that make life easier, even if you know it’s the right thing to do. Self-reliance is a virtue my parents tried to teach us in Wasilla, and they’d keep trying to instill it in us in Juneau. (They’re still trying to instill it in us, come to think of it!) That’s why I know that even if Mom one day becomes president, the Palin kids will still clean out their own trucks, shop at Target, and cook our own meals. Or in my case, defrost them.

  When Mom had to host dignitaries for dinners, it required laying out a nicer spread than her famous moose chili. That meant that I had to help her when she didn’t always have the help of a “First Spouse.” I helped Mom decide on the catering menu, select floral arrangements, help the house manager, and select fonts for the place settings. But my normal life had very little to do with being the governor’s daughter and everything to do with being a teenager.

  And crushes are part of teenage life. One afternoon after school, a bunch of kids were over and we were watching movies with friends. Hunter and I went to go get some food for snacks in the basement. When we got down there, he leaned over and kissed me! I had butterflies in my stomach because I knew that he was developing feelings for me.

  This was confirmed when, not too many days after that, a floral deliveryman knocked on the door of the mansion with a bouquet of pink roses. I’d just been out sledding with my friends, so I was in the shower when the flowers came. One of my friends went down to answer the door. When she came back upstairs with the gorgeous bouquet, we all were amazed.

  “They’re for you!” she exclaimed.

  I carefully opened the Hallmark card attached, which read, “When I wake up, I think about you. When I brush my teeth, I think about you. When I fall asleep, I think about you.” And then, when I opened the card, he’d written a sweet note in his distinctive handwriting:

  Ever since we started hanging out, I can’t stop thinking about you . . . I hope you realize my feelings for you are true! Love, Hunter.

  I was absolutely blown away. It was the first time a boy had sent me flowers! I actually figured out quite quickly that getting flowers was kind of a hassle, because you had to take care of them until they inevitably died. Give me chocolate anytime over flowers. But nevertheless, I didn’t know what to think of Hunter’s kindness. Our relationship fizzled out over time, mainly because I didn’t know how to respond to his kind gestures toward me. I’d always think, Why is he treating me this way?, or What did I do to deserve this?

  But before that, I hung out with him, along with a tight knot of friends, including Marissa, Jacob, Susie, and Alex (Erika’s son). Although we were all so different, with very different personalities, we had a blast. We’d go shooting at the range, which was a lot of fun until one day the police stopped us. We’d apparently been shooting too close to the road, which gave the cop a perfect reason to check my driver’s license. I got a ticket because I only had a “provisional license,” which didn’t yet allow me to haul my friends without an adult. Oops! All of my friends’ guns got confiscated, and their parents had to go down to the station to get them back. (I am no stranger to tickets, though. I’ve gotten tickets for speeding, for having illegally dark window tint, and other little things. In Alaska, like in many states, you get points for violations during the year. If you accumulate enough points, your license will be suspended for a certain amount of time and you lose your driving privileges. At one point, I had only four points out of twelve left!)

  When my friends and I weren’t shooting clay pigeons, we’d hang out and jump on the trampoline in the backyard, which seemed so out of place in the backyard of the Governor’s Mansion. Once, it was raining and we were out there, jumping around and being silly. That’s when Mom—the governor!—came outside, climbed onto the trampoline, and jumped with us.

  We had so much fun in Juneau. After the cook left, we always brought up fun foods from the cigar room, and pretended to be chefs. Chocolate-covered strawberries was one of our favorite treats to make. We were always in that kitchen. Once, Willow was making everyone bacon, and the grease got too hot. When she burned the bacon, the smoke detectors went off and the fire department showed up at the mansion. It was a little embarrassing. (And this was the second time we had a visit from the fire trucks. The first time was when Mom tried to build a fire in the fireplace, only to find out the chimney was closed due to lack of use!)

  We’d also entertain ourselves by repeatedly listening to rap songs, making fun of the lyrics, driving my car through car washes, walking around downtown Juneau, taking hikes in the mountains, and having bonfires where we’d roast marshmallows into the night. Sometimes, after Mom had gotten the fireplace working again, we roasted marshmallows right there in the mansion!

  Some of the other people at school, however, didn’t roll out the welcome mat. I’m not sure if they were intimidated by the fact that we were the daughters of the governor or they simply didn’t like newcomers. They were mildly irritating at school, with the kind of petty viciousness only kids muster. They’d threaten me to stay away from their boyfriends, call Willow and me names, and gossip constantly about what we were—or weren’t—doing.

  However, one day things took a serious turn. Some of our new classmates posted an Internet threat against Willow. An eighth-grade girl told twelve-year-old
Willow that her Samoan brothers were going to gang-rape her. It really unnerved Mom. Later, one boy posted something on MySpace about me: “Bristol’s a slut when she’s drunk and a slut when she’s sober.” My heart sank when I read that. I barely even knew who that guy was! That’s how, at an early age, I began to develop tough skin and quickly get over all the untrue gossip about me and my family.

  Though it was generally a wonderful semester, I was still pretty happy when summer arrived. My dad and I packed my bags and drove my car (by way of a ferry) home to Wasilla.

  Alaskan summers are a welcome change from the doldrums of winter. During the school year, we’d go to school around nine o’clock in complete darkness, and by the time we get out of school around three o’clock, it would already be dark again. But during summers, it’s pretty much light outside all of the time. And everyone takes advantage of the light. I remember how exhilarating it was as a kid to ask Mom, “Hey, can we go ride bikes?” Even though it was ten o’clock at night, she’d let us go by saying, “Sure, it’s light outside.”

  Wasilla also never gets too hot, even though the new Wasilla Target has lots of swimsuits on the racks. In the winters, it’s not uncommon for temperatures to reach twenty below zero. And that’s not counting the windchill factor. (We rarely even talk about the windchill. That’s for sissies. Basically, it’s cold, it’s going to be cold, and it will always be cold until the summer when it’s slightly less cold.) That’s why my hometown has so many little coffee shacks dotting the main roads and streets. It’s not uncommon to see one, drive less than a mile, and see another. That’s why I decided that learning how to make coffee might be a good way for a kid like me to make a buck in the summer of 2007.

  Mom and Dad didn’t force us to work. Though we weren’t wealthy, my parents took care of our every need. Sometimes, just sometimes, they didn’t see some of my wants as actual needs. For example, after I spent that time in Juneau, I was totally addicted to jeans. Seriously, I wanted to have every type in every color from Nordstrom. But after Mom bought me a few, she was sick of shelling out the money for a thirst that was never quenched.