We-- the two dozen or so of Bart's platoon, plus Lana, Cindy and me-- huddled at the edge of the carpeted area, waiting nervously. Suddenly there was hubbub in our group and Lana nudged me and pointed toward the viewing stand. I could make out three or four burly men in suits-- and then, in the middle, there was no mistaking him. It was the President.We watched him shake hands with generals and an assortment of other guests as they filled the room. We heard another airplane landing above us and a couple of the soldiers grinned at each other. That was the "high value target" they'd been expecting. It was almost showtime.The elevator started to descend from the top and we saw a large contingent of guards with automatic weapons surrounding some sort of large platform or table draped in black and tilted almost upright. At the bottom four of them moved out, forming an advance guard, while others began to wheel the platform toward the center of the floor, about 15 yards from the carpeted. Stacy stopped and backed up. The woman looked like she was in her mid twenties, had long brown hair down her back, and wore jeans and a blouse. She got in the back seat with me.She asked us if we were from the college, so we told her yes. She didn't say any more but I noticed a sort of knowing look on her face. I realized she saw us as immature, giggly girls. It wasn't quite fair because she was seeing us when we were out to enjoy ourselves. Cathy talked to her and found out her name was Jen and she lived out in the country near by. She told us she was a freelance writer. I looked at the way she talked to us so confidently and the way we were hanging onto each word, and I realized we were giggly girls compared to her. And it sounded like she had a life that I would love to have.We came to the turnoff toward Jen's place and Stacy volunteered to drive her home as it wasn't that far out of our way. She had a little cabin underneath some tall pines: it was beautiful. Jen invited us in to.
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