Sisters First: Stories from Our Wild and Wonderful Life

by Jenna Bush Hager

There are five stages to SAT grief: disbelief, then denial—it must be someone else’s score—then tears. Followed quickly by a somewhat humiliating exit from your friends and retreating to your room. And finally, five: the knowledge that you will be retaking the test, and signing up for SAT prep beforehand.

On a trip to Italy in 2006, to accompany American athletes to the Olympic Winter Games, my mother and I had a private lunch with Silvio Berlusconi, the Italian prime minister. Almost immediately, Berlusconi, who had a reputation as a ladies’ man, began calling me “Bella” and musing over my blue eyes. He told me that I should have children with his son, right after telling me, “If I was younger, I’d have children with you.” A few sentences after that, the female translator stopped translating.

At one point when we were dancing, most likely caught up in the festive spirit, he whispered, “I love you.” He blushed; instead of playing it cool, he had inadvertently let the words slip. But I took those three words and ran with them. I said, “I know! Let’s get married!” At which point, Henry turned bright red. We had been dating for three months.

In other words, there were no early clues that I was anything but docile, eager to be more mischievous than I was, in spite of a very real obsession with vamp nail polish and Courtney Love.

She particularly loves her latest dog, Mini, who has bitten almost everyone in the family.

And when she shall die Take her and cut her out in little stars And she will make the face of heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night And pay no worship to the garish sun.