She had been thinking about how to do this for well over a year. Since the day that they had met, shortly after he joined her father's campaign. He had come over to the house in Manchester with the others for a party her mother was throwing to welcome them all to the campaign. She was introduced to everyone with her father's arm placed protectively around her shoulder. She smiled and rolled her eyes as her father made the rounds, bragging to everyone how she had made honor role the last four year in a row. She met campaign worker after campaign worker and she was doing little to attempt to remember their names.

He was out by the pool, talking to other staff members, when she first saw him. She got a sinking feeling in her stomach when she saw him though the glass doors that led to their backyard. She was introduced to him like all the others: the youngest daughter, the baby. She rolled her eyes again, but this time didn't smile. He shook her hand and she felt her insides move in a way she had never experienced before. She shrugged lose of her father's grip and tried her best not to look like the baby that he had described her as. Then she glanced down, getting a good look at her outfit, and she realized how impossible a task this was. She was wearing a blue pleated skirt that looked more like a school uniform than a skirt you'd wear to a party. Her loafers were recently shinned and she could almost see the reflection of her face staring back at her. She cursed herself for being the last born. . . the baby.

She spent the rest of the party studying him from a distance. She observed him and tried to memorize his manners. The way he used his hands when he talked, the way he would get this look in his eyes like he was really interested when someone was speaking to him, the way the corner of his lips turned up, just a bit more, if he was talking to woman. He was very charming in an unconventional way, and she had never seen anyone like him. More importantly, she had never felt that way, so fast, about anyone ever before.

The next time they met it was a month later. School was over for the year and her father wanted her to come out on the road with them, see the country as they campaigned. Surprising everyone except for herself, she immediately agreed and anticipated the idea of seeing him every day.

He was always busy, constantly doing a million things at once. She would watch him, marveling at how he always had everything under control. One day she saw him yell at a group of volunteers whose only crime had been making too much noise outside his office. They scattered quickly and she was shocked at his obvious temper. She had never seen him angry before and at first she didn't know what to make of it. He looked around the office, giving dirty looks to anyone that dared to look back at him. He made eye contract with her and his expression didn't shatter at all. She was so use to the campaign workers smiling and being polite to her only because of who her father was. This didn't matter to him at all, and he squinted his eyes a little in her direction before turning on his heels, and storming back into his office.

That made her want him even more.

She celebrated her eighteenth birthday during the Democratic national convention. Flowers, teddy bears twice her size, and other inappropriate baby like gifts arrived in her hotel room all day long. She opened every card, hoping it was from him. Her disappointment grew throughout the day until she finally realized that he really hadn't bought her anything. She knew that his assistant would have sent whatever it was, but that didn't matter. In getting it for Zoey, she would have had to tell him, so at least he would be aware that she was turning eighteen.

Her party was filled with strangers who just wanted an invitation to get close to her father. She longed the whole time for a familiar face. Someone who knew her just as Zoey. Not as some chance to score points by sucking up to the presidential front runner's youngest daughter.

She finally spotted him right before they brought out her birthday cake. He was talking to the same woman he was always with, which didn't surprise her in the least. They were always together. . .on the bus, in the campaign office, or when they had gatherings like this. She watched them and tried to convince herself that there was no reason to get upset or jealous. Then he leaned over a bit, touching her knee, and there was no way to hide the way she felt. She hated him, she hated her, and most of all she hated herself. She hated herself for being so young, she hated herself for chasing after a man who was barely aware of her existence, and she hated herself for caring for him as much as she did.

As she stood there, tears making there way from what felt like the pit of her stomach, he looked over to her. He stood up and made his way quickly to her side of the room. "Hey," he said, touching her shoulders and immediately making her warm inside. "Don't look so sad. It's your birthday." He smiled and the tears forming in her stomach turned into butterflies. "Happy Birthday, Zoey." His arms ran from her shoulders to her arms as he kissed her on forehead. She thanked him and he gave her one last smile before going back to the party. At that moment she forgave him for doing all the things that had hurt her so much. She even forgave him for possibly loving someone else.

She thought of him that night as she fell asleep, just like so many previous nights. She thought about how someday they could be together. She thought about what it would be like to fall asleep with his body pressed against hers. She had imagined it so often that sometimes she swore she could almost feel his arm wrapped around her waist. She'd imagine him rubbing his hand along her stomach while pulling him in closer to her. Occasionally, she'd have dreams about him. Dreams that would leave her feeling all queasy and wanting more. If her dreams were like that, she could only imagine what it would be like when they really were together.

On one of the final nights of the primaries she watched him leave with the woman, both of them drunk off too much celebratory champagne. His hand was around her waist and she looked completely at ease as his hand circled around the area near her hipbone. She whispered something to him, and he nodded before looking around the room, making sure no one was watching them. He looked over at Zoey and smiled before quickly exiting the room. She knew he thought she had no idea what was going on. After all, why would she? She was just the baby so there was no reason for her to understand stuff like that.

Some nights she would think about him with other women. He was so charming that she only assumed he was very experienced. That night, though, she scared away the images of him with that other woman by setting a goal. Setting a goal and devising a plan made it easier to block the idea of him making love to someone else. Her goal was simple but it all had to be perfect for it to work. She needed the right atmosphere and setting to tell him how she felt. It had to be like something out of a movie. She decided inauguration night would be the perfect chance to do it. Fate and a little extra luck would have to play a role in her game. After all, as promising as the polls were, her father winning wasn't a one hundred percent lock. But if he did win she knew it was a sign that she had to do it.

Months later, her sign came. She remembered election night and the look on his face when it was finally officially announced that her father had won. Over the past couple weeks they had been so busy, especially him. He worked so hard to get her father elected, and as election day neared he looked more tired and more worried every day. So many times she had wanted to go over to him and tell him it was going to be okay. Win or lose, they would be okay. Now, as he ran around the room, kissing and hugging anyone he could find, she could see the fatigue of the battle he had fought wash away in seconds. It was all replaced with a look of pride and happiness.

When he reached her, he hesitated a moment before picking her up and kissing her cheek, just like he had done with all the other women. He pulled away in what seemed like milliseconds to her.

"How does it feel to be the first daughter?" He asked, yelling over all the celebration from around the room.

"I dunno," she shrugged her shoulders, feeling her palms start to sweat, recognizing the familiar feeling in between her legs that occurred when he touched her. "Nothing is going to be different for me."

"Sure it is," he started to back away to return to the others, and she wanted to reach out and grab him. Pull her into him and never let go. "You're the youngest daughter of the president," She cringed, as she knew exactly what was coming next. "Everyone always loves the baby."

He smiled, probably not knowing what those words meant to her, before grabbing Ellie and giving her a kiss on the cheek. Like so many times before, she felt her heart plummet, wanting to sink into the floor with it.

Soon, though, it would all change.

Inauguration day was completely frantic and she loved every minute of it. She chose a suit to wear to the ceremony months and months earlier. She had gone shopping with her mother and a few of the female campaign workers on a stop in New York City. They had eyed a Calvin Klein suit but none of them had bothered to try it on. She knew it was perfect. It was grown up, sophisticated, and she knew he'd have to pay attention to her in it. She wore a simple black coat over it, a look she had seen on many of the businesswomen in New York and DC. The kind of women he would like.

She watched her father give his inauguration speech from a seat just to the left of the podium. She couldn't help looking back to the people behind her to watch his reaction to what her father was saying. She wondered what the millions of people watching on TV thought as she constantly looked over her shoulder. Would any of them - -any of the people there- - realize what she was doing? Her mother finally grabbed her by the elbow and told her, not moving her lips, to stay still.

Her dress for the ball was something she had looked forward to wearing even more than her suit. It was strapless and her sisters made fun of her because it was so unlike anything else she had ever worn. She had a fight with her mother, who told her it was too low cut and too revealing for her age. In the end, though, her father interjected and stated that he thought she looked elegant, like a princess from a child's fairy tail.

She smiled even though the thought of looking like something from a fairy tale nearly killed her. She had read fairy tales as a little girl. Once again, she was being associated with being the baby. She imagined herself looking more like one of those classic movie stars. The ones who could walk into a room and every person would look at her and try all night to get her attention. She tossed what her father said to the back of mind. When she wore her dress she felt like she could conquer the world.

As the ball started she regretted not learning all those names so many months ago. Everyone talked to her and for the first time in her life she felt like a celebrity. She wondered to herself if this is what it was going to be like for the next four - - and possibly even more- - years. She liked it. She had always been shy as a child but mainly because she was never given the chance to speak her mind. She had no problem opening up, but only if someone else made the initiative. People asked her about Georgetown and why she had chosen it over other schools. A couple people even asked her what she felt about the things that her father planned to do in while office. They were genuinely interested in her opinion and she was genuinely interested in telling them what she thought.

She spent the night with strangers. She didn't cling to her father or follow her sisters around. She mingled the crowd by herself and loved meeting new people. She loved it even more when she was introduced as, "President Barlet's daughter, Zoey." All her life she was so use to being, "Governor Barlet's youngest daughter" or, "Dr. Bartlet's baby girl." She thought at first that it was the dress. Maybe her dress gave her the confidence to find this new side of her personality. But as the night grew on at least a part of her knew this new feeling was brought on through her own work and had nothing to do with the dress.

It was almost midnight by the time he showed up. He had been off at some other party and she realized how upset that should make her. Here she had gone to all this trouble, made all these plans, and he had disappeared. She prepared herself for the feelings of hurt and betrayal that had become a part of her over the past year and a half. But as she watched him greet his friends, she felt almost numb. Not numb from anger but a new feeling she was getting as she observed him. Her stomach didn't turn into knots like when she usually watched him. She rubbed the palms of her hands along her dress and she didn't discover the usual sweat that would form on them. It took her almost a minute to realize that he was wearing a tux. From nearly the first day they met she anticipated the day she would see him in a tux. He looked handsome, she thought, but in the way her sister's husband looked handsome in his tux.

About twenty minutes later she was talking to the newly elected governor from Ohio when he approached her.

"Hey, you didn't think you could escape without dancing with me, did you?"

"Of course not." She smiled and excused herself from her new acquaintance.

"I hear you're quite the hit here tonight, Zoey." He said, pulling her on to the dance floor.

"Really?" she asked honestly.

"Yeah, your father is over there singing your praises to about five junior senators. I think he was also trying to hold a Supreme Court justice hostage."

"He plans to do this for the next four years, doesn't he?"

"Yep," he said smiling. "And you're going to love every minute of it.

He placed his hand on her back as they danced. She looked over his shoulder, thinking of her original intentions for that night. She had wanted to tell him the truth, tell him how much and how long she had cared for him. She was going to dance with him and in the process he was going to realize what he had been missing out on. She was going to woo him, and in return, he would woo her right back. It was going to be exactly like it was in those old movies.

But now, as they danced around in circles, trying not to bump into others, she felt like telling him other things. She told him how she had gone through the entire White House in search of the perfect bedroom. She finally found one she liked but apparently it had always been used to display White House memorabilia collected during different administrations. She finally managed to convince her dad to tell who ever it was in charge of the historic pieces to move them. After all, she told him, what's the point of being the first daughter if you can't pull a string or two?

She told him about the courses she was looking into at Georgetown. There was an intro to women studies course that really interested her. However, it was at seven am, three mornings a week, and she knew she wouldn't be able to get up that early.

"Why don't you live on campus?" He asked.

"Why would I do that?"

"Everyone lives on campus, Zoey. That way you can take any class you want and you won't always be around you-know-who." He gestured across the room to her father, whose audience had grown to well over twenty-five.

"I never really thought about it." She said, the idea growing on her as the seconds passed by.

"You should. You can't live with your parents forever. After all, you're not a baby anymore."

She grinned at his words, vowing at that moment to someday tell him how much that one sentence meant to her. Perhaps she'd even tell him years from now about what she had gone through in the last year and a half.

"Yeah," she said, looking around the room and then back to him. "I guess I'm not."