The Golden Boy Returns

By Deborah Nam-Krane

David Hwang was idealistic, smart, and hard-working—and he wanted to help. Powerful Lucy Bartolome recognized his talent right away, but first he needed to smooth out his rough edges. He’d need every lesson she’d taught him if he was going to run for mayor of Boston—again.

Kasi Panchal was smart and hard-working, but she’d seen too much for too long to be idealistic. Something about David Hwang made her believe in a lot of things she’d given up on—including herself.

Zainab Hendrickson and Emily Graham knew David and Kasi could make things happen if they joined forces. Of course they’re right, but can those two get out of their way long enough to see it too?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Deborah Nam-Krane
• Release date: Mar 28, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311909114

Deborah Nam-Krane

Deborah Nam-Krane is a Boston-based writer who has been telling stories in one way or another since she could talk. In addition to writing romance/chick lit/women's fiction, she's also intensely interested in education, history, economics, policy and media literacy- that is, when her four children (two of whom are homeschooled) allow her to be.

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DEDICATION

For Ginnette Powell, the best buddy anyone could hope for

PART ONE: The Making of A Golden Boy

CHAPTER ONE

2007

It was dark outside but the Student Government Council offices were buzzing with activity. The Academic Affairs meeting had just wrapped up. Giles de Rochart, the Vice President of Academic Affairs, was standing outside the office, surrounded by his adoring fans. Tall, dark haired David Hwang was arguably just as handsome—and unquestionably quicker on his feet—but the thought of flirting as much as Giles did on a regular basis exhausted him. He sighed just thinking about it before he recognized a welcome figure.

Zainab! The young woman ahead of him turned around and beamed. What are you doing here? Is Student Affairs meeting tonight too? If so, tell Joe that if he thinks he can get our conference room Giles will kick his ass.

Zainab laughed as she walked over. I'm glad Giles is good for something! David was Giles' Assistant VP, and everyone knew he was the one who did all of the work.

What? David gestured toward Giles and the four young women, almost certainly freshmen, circled around him. He also brings in new recruits.

It's just that he can't keep them once they hear him speak, Zainab muttered.

Ah, David said, pulling up to his full height of six feet, but that's when I step in and we actually get some work done.

She raised an eyebrow and smirked. Too bad you weren’t here a little earlier to close the deal with someone.

David perked up. Yeah? Someone smart?

Zainab nodded. I think so. Her name’s Emily and even though she’s not even nineteen she’s, like, halfway through all of her credits. But it’s too late. She’s too disgusted with Giles’ stupidity to return.

He deflated, bowing his head ever so slightly. "That’s a shame. I’m going to need all the help I can get. Last year we passed a bill to make sure all textbooks would be available in the library and online."

Zainab wrinkled her nose. What do you mean, online? Like from a website?

David shrugged. I'm not going to be too picky. A website is fine, but we're hoping more specifically for e-books. Zainab blinked. You know, he said after a moment, something you can read on your computer or phone.

Wow, Zainab said. I'd heard about people reading those things in Japan on their phone, but I didn't realize they were coming out with those for textbooks.

David nodded confidently. The publishers are going to be making a big push for them in the next few years. If we can get ahead of this, we can negotiate a good rate. I mean, we're a huge school. And we won't have to carry our heavy textbooks around. Win-win.

Zainab frowned. Wait a minute. My books have a lot of complicated graphics. My phone is going to be able to handle those?

Some phones are, David said matter-of-factly. And they're coming out with new and better phones all the time. But word is that they're also starting to develop mini-computers you can easily carry around.

Zainab was skeptical. Easier than a laptop? Because those aren't that small.

Some of what they're developing is like a miniature version of a laptop, and some of it is like a bigger version of a Blackberry. And dude, even if you had to carry around your laptop, it would still be less than carrying around four textbooks, right?

True, Zainab conceded. But are you sure this isn't just a trend?

Like I said, the publishers are making the push. If I'm wrong, they're wrong. But you talk to anybody about the possibility of smaller technology that can do more, they're excited about it. It's an easy bet.

Win-win-win?

David grinned. Exactly.

Zainab crossed her arms. So then let me ask you this, since you're on such a roll: when are you going to stop letting Giles take all the credit for your work and become VP yourself?

I could ask you the same thing about Joe, you know.

Zainab blushed a little bit. Fair enough, but I'm not the one who wants go into politics as a career, Mr. Political Science Major.

David shrugged. What am I supposed to do? He just got elected!

She looked over her shoulder at Giles, who was now talking to just one girl, and much more closely. What a shame.

It's fine, Z, he said reassuringly. I'll run next spring when he runs for President.

Zainab's head whipped around. Giles is running for President?!

David looked down at her as if she were speaking another language. Yes, he said slowly. Did you think he was the VP of Academic Affairs because he's passionate about instruction here?

You know Joe's going to run too, right?

Of course he is, David said. They all are; Jessica from Student Services and Sandoval from Administration too. But the real race is going to be between Joe and Giles, and everyone knows that.

But Giles is an idiot! Zainab exclaimed then quickly turned around to make sure Giles hadn't heard her. She sighed with relief as she saw he was closer still to the young woman next to him.

"Zainab, do you listen to Joe when he speaks? He's not exactly an A-student either, and he doesn't even have Giles' accent."

And we all know how much Americans love foreigners in positions of leadership, especially when they're incompetent.

David put up his hands. Look, I don't care which of them wins. It won't matter.

Doesn't the SGC president regularly meet with the university president?

And the university president tells our president exactly what to do, so between those two, it really doesn't matter.

Aren't we supposed to be the representatives of the students, not the lackeys of the administration?

We are, David answered. And someday we will be.

And when will that be?

David winked. As soon as I'm president.

~~~

One of the first signs of a successful politician is someone who remembered names and faces. People who thought they were remembered often felt important, and people who felt important were going to do favors for the people who remembered them.

David Hwang had been born with a good memory and the ability to quickly figure out how a system worked. He was also—by nature and nurture—kind. As a child, he had wanted to help others in the little ways that he could.

That was the sign of something besides a politician.

Joe Welles remembered names as well, but David could practically hear a click as he not only recalled the person’s name but also assessed their relative importance. That calculation helped him determine how much time he needed to spend with them and when he needed to hand the person off to one of his lackeys.

It perplexed David that Zainab Oginabe-Kensit was one of them. She was personable and smart—as opposed to being smart and personable—and if she wanted to she could easily have made it to VP herself. But she didn’t want to. In fact, David realized pretty quickly that while she followed politics she didn’t want to work in politics, at all. What might have been a fun way to meet people a few years ago now looked like a job—an unpaid job that was cutting into her school work. So why was she doing it? It only took David a couple of times to watch her stare at Joe to see the stars in her eyes.

No accounting for taste, as they say.

The question of whether Joe Welles or Giles De Rochart was going to be elected was irrelevant by the beginning of the Spring Quarter of 2008. David hadn’t been there to witness it, but some of the younger student senators had told him—in whispers and in hysterics—about the crazy girl who had punched Joe—and then how Mitch Graham, practically right off the plane from Ireland, had finished off the job. No one knew exactly what had happened, but Joe was gone within the hour, and not just from the SGC offices. He wasn’t anywhere to be seen on campus ever again.

David couldn’t have cared less about Joe Welles. Didn’t anyone else notice that Zainab was gone as well? He asked for a description of the crazy girl and she sounded a lot like the Asian girl (was she Korean too?) he’d seen walking around with Zainab on campus. And Zainab might have been super-frosty to Mitch the last time he’d seen them in chambers, but they were still friends.

David remembered the party he’d blown off that weekend so he could have dinner with his parents. Of course Zainab had gone if Joe had been there…

Sick to his stomach, he had reached out to Zainab, but his three calls in as many days went directly to voicemail. He reluctantly decided against calling her again, hoping she would call him back whenever she was ready.

Giles was elected President of the Student Government Council, and David was elected Vice President of Academic Affairs. By the end of that year, David had made sure that all textbooks used at the university were available in electronic format. The administration had been adamantly opposed, but then an item had shown up in the Boston Globe, citing the rising excitement about e-readers and the university's forward thinking initiative. David never knew exactly how that piece got into the Globe, but he had his suspicions about one of the committee members who just happened to be a Journalism major.

David was summoned to meet with the university president the next day, without Giles. He had braced himself for a tongue-lashing, but it was the most congenial meeting he'd had with an adult since middle school.

Good luck in the spring, the president had said as David left.

Thank you, sir, David said, then grinned as soon as he left the office.

Not that it was an election that needed luck. David had told Zainab the truth: the election for president almost always came down to the VPs of Academic Affairs and Student Affairs, and David beat Joe’s successor by a wide margin.

Most student government presidents and vice presidents kicked back and enjoyed their half-load and free tuition, but not David. His parents had been livid when they'd realized that he'd have to be in college another year if he took on the job, so they forbade him to run. Desperate, he made them a deal: he'd load up on classes the year before so that when he did get the job that would be the end of his requirements.

His mother frowned. People do that?

David smiled. Someone already has.

Thus, the year he was VP of Academic Affairs, David was also taking five classes instead of four. Realizing that would still leave him short, he took a full load the summer after he won the election, sneaking in two night classes so the administration wouldn't be too upset with him.

It was the first time in his life that David had been humbled. The people he met were easily a decade older than he was, and many of them were striving to complete their degrees while working full-time and caring for children. Then there were the people who had just been laid off from their jobs and were going back to school to improve their chances of getting back into the workplace.

Humbling, but he loved it. He hadn't been around hard-working people in a very long time. They reminded him of his grandparents and his uncles: industrious people who made him want to step up his game. When one of his fellow students asked him if he wanted to start a study group, he jumped at the chance.

David hadn't wanted it known before, but he was an excellent teacher. (His mother still glared at him when he talked about politics as if he were betraying her by not entering into her profession.) He was the unofficial tutor for most of the study group sessions, and his classmates were impressed with his easy mastery of the subjects.

He was getting an education, too. His classmates could relate everything back to what they'd seen in the workforce, and David sat back as they shared their anecdotes. He mentally noted everything, and when he got home he'd put what he'd heard in a journal.

It wasn't just workplace experience David soaked up. The pressures of juggling family life with work and school were immense—and by the way they talked David could sense that things used to be better. He asked about taxes, but his classmates wanted to talk about public transportation, overtime policies and even daycare drop-off rules.

Hmm, David mumbled one night as he jotted notes into his notebook.

When one of his classmates declared that she wouldn't be able to come to the next meeting because of childcare, David heard himself speaking before he knew what he was saying. So why don't we meet at your house?

Everyone looked at each other. Why not?

David made sure they rotated through everyone's house and arranged childcare swaps in exchange for potluck dinner contributions and carpools for people in far-flung areas. He took note of everything about everyone's homes, and spoke at length with his classmates’ spouses and children. He was starting to get a sense of what would make everyone's life better—and how far away those things were for them.

David invited everyone and their families to his house in Belmont when the summer ended. His mother had pulled out all the stops and put out a feast of Korean food. Wow, one of his guests managed between mouthfuls. And your mom works full-time?

My mother thinks work is a vacation compared to what she does at home, David deadpanned. David's mother muttered under her breath, but he saw her smile for a split second.

So, one of David's classmates said at the end of the meal. When are you going to announce your run?

David laughed. I think I have to graduate first, and I've got to serve out the SGC presidential term.

So you'll wait a year, another classmate nodded. Then you'll run?

David didn't blink. Run for what?

Boston City Council, his classmate said without missing a beat.

The Council has no power, David's father said irritably.

It depends on what you want them to do, his classmate said. They have final say over the budget, and every once in a blue moon they've been known to pass a law. Good luck getting past the mayor's veto, though. No one wants to take him on.

If they are unwilling to take him on, they have no real power, David's father insisted. In a body like that the only time you are powerful is when you're united. Otherwise you're dependent on coalitions, inside or outside—and that's not real power.

You have a point, sir, David’s classmate said respectfully. But the Council is more than just budgets and ordinances. The councilors also make sure constituents get necessary services, and they hold hearings on issues like education and new business development. If nothing else, those issues can force the mayor's hand.

What kind of services? David's mother asked.

Anything, Mom, David answered, from making sure there's a stop sign on your street to making sure you have enough heat in your building in the middle of winter.

David's father frowned. I see you've been reading up on this.

David grinned sheepishly. Maybe a little.

You've got my vote, one of his other classmates said as she raised her glass. To David!

Everyone else raised their glasses. To David!

David blushed, and then raised his glass as well. "Dup shi dop!" he said before he emptied his glass.

CHAPTER TWO

Of course, you can't be a city councilor if you don't live in the city, so the first thing David did that fall was find roommates. His parents were horrified when he told them he was going to move to Roxbury. Have you looked at the crime rate?! his mother exclaimed.

Mom, it's some of the only affordable housing in Boston that's close to the university.

It's bad enough we're going to pay for you to live somewhere else on top of having to pay your tuition, now you tell us you're going to be living in a place like Roxbury? This is ridiculous!

David looked at his father. Did you guys forget that I'm getting free tuition this year? Paying this rent is much cheaper than paying my tuition!

His mother walked away, muttering under her breath in Korean about ingratitude and stupidity.

David's first challenge in Roxbury was figuring out the best way to get to school. Technically, there was a bus route that went directly from his home to the train station that abutted the university, but after a week of waiting for the unpredictable bus and being late to classes and meetings, he decided to walk three blocks over and take the bus that dropped off at Roxbury Station, from which he would get on a train for one stop to the university. The bus ran faster, but at times he found the train just as unpredictable. In desperation, he had his father bring his bike from home, but that was only something he could do when it wasn't too cold—and Boston winters could get very cold.

The one advantage to the long, unpredictable waits for public transportation was that he got to know some of his fellow travelers as they waited at stops and stations. David wasn't usually the one who started the conversations; often he was minding his own business and someone would ask the time, if he knew when the next train was coming or what he was reading in the paper. Almost invariably, one of two things would happen: the two would start talking about local politics and issues that were important to them or the person would start telling David about something terrible that had happened to him or her. At first, David wasn't sure if he could believe people, but when the twelfth person started telling him about lousy medical care, getting screwed over by the school system, the police refusing to respond to repeated calls about a crime, or how dangerous the traffic patterns were in Boston, David started to believe that he wasn't being punked.

He started to believe, in fact, that something was wrong.

David subscribed to the Globe and the Herald and pored over both like they were class assignments. Every few days, he checked to see what new hearing orders had been filed by the Council. When he could, he attended open City Council hearings, and even when he didn’t he got a sense for who called hearings and what they were about.

During SGC meetings, David frequently found himself staring out into the students who attended, and was dismayed to realize how many of them weren’t from Boston. He looked at the school statistics; only a slightly larger percentage of the student body at large was from Boston than the percentage from the student senate.

A few days later he pulled Erica Thorpe aside. She was an Education major and had been his assistant VP the previous year, and was now the VP of Academic Affairs. Do you know what percentage of the student body comes from Boston?

She pursed her lips. You tell me.

Less than ten percent. Do you know what it was ten years ago? Closer to fifteen.

What about Massachusetts as a whole?

He'd picked her as his AVP last year for a reason. More like twenty. And what was it ten years ago? More like thirty-five.

David, we know this, right? The university has gotten more expensive and more dependent on people who can pay the full ride.

We're a major university in Boston, David said emphatically. We have a special duty to make sure that people who live here aren't shut out of attending the school.

Uh huh. And what are you going to do about the tuition?

Seriously?

Erica shrugged. "No, but that's what anybody higher up the food