The Kid Who Became President (2 page)

“Hello?” Lane said wearily when he picked up the phone. There was music playing in the background and somebody was singing off-key.

“It's me, Moon. Who's over there?”

“The future Miss America,” he moaned.

Chelsea.

Chelsea Daniels was definitely the prettiest girl in our school, maybe the prettiest girl in Wisconsin. With her impossibly long blond hair and impossibly sky blue eyes, she looked like a fashion model. In fact, she was one. After school, she modeled for some local department stores.

I didn't even
know
Chelsea when I agreed to run for president. But Lane convinced me to ask her to be my First Lady anyway. He said I would get more votes if a gorgeous girl was on my arm. He was right. America loved Chelsea, and Chelsea loved, well … the attention.

When I quit the presidency, Chelsea was naturally upset that she wasn't going to be First Lady after all. She broke down crying. Lane cheered her up by telling her that she should think about entering the Miss America pageant. He promised to help her win, just as he had helped me win. Lane always likes a challenge.

“Moon!” Lane whispered into the phone. “I had no idea what I was up against! Turning Chelsea into Miss America is going to be a lot tougher than getting you elected president.”

“What's the matter?”

“The girl has no talent, Moon!” he whispered. “Zero! She can't dance. She can't play a musical instrument. When she started to sing, my dog ran away. And she's dumb as a block of wood.”

“Gee, I'm sorry,” I said. “I'll bet she'll win the swimsuit competition, though.”

I had never admitted it to Lane, but I had a secret crush on Chelsea Daniels. She was just so gorgeous! It was cool when she pretended to be my girlfriend the entire time I was running for president. I knew everybody was thinking, “This guy must be pretty special to have such a pretty girl as his First Lady.”

“So what about you?” Lane asked. “How does it feel to be the first president in American history to resign before his term began?”

“Lane,” I said carefully, “I changed my mind.”

There was silence at the other end of the line.

“Are you there, Lane? I said I changed my mind.”

“I heard you,” he replied. “I was just saying a silent prayer.”

“For me?”

“No, for America,” Lane said. “Why do you want to do that, Moon? Quitting was the smartest thing you ever did. You get all the glory of winning the presidency without any of the hassles that come with actually being president.”

“Lane, I want to do some good,” I said, a bit embarrassed. “I want to make a difference.”

“You want to make a difference?” Lane laughed. “Moon, it doesn't make any difference who's president. It's all politics. Nothing ever gets done. When a Republican is president, the Democrats just trash him. When a Democrat is president, the Republicans just trash him. And because you don't belong to either party,
everybody's
going to trash you.”

“I want to try, though,” I pleaded. “I need you, Lane. I'll need a lot of help.”

“No, Moon. I've had enough of politics.”

“Let me get this straight,” I said. “Instead of being the top adviser to the president of the United States, you'd rather devote your life to … a
beauty pageant
?”

“It's
not
a beauty pageant,” Lane protested. “The girls have to be intelligent, articulate, talented —”

“Yeah, everything Chelsea is
not
. Lane, I'm giving you the chance to help me guide the United States of America! It's the chance of a lifetime.”

In the background, I could hear Chelsea warbling something from
The Sound of Music.
Lane sighed. “What do you want me to do?” he asked.

“I want you to be my secretary of state.”

“The secretary of state only handles relations with foreign countries,” Lane said, which was news to me. “I'm not interested.”

“Well, I want you to be whatever my closest adviser would be. My go-to guy. My right-hand man.”

“That would be chief of staff,” Lane told me.

“Then I want you to be my chief of staff.”

Chelsea butchered “Climb Ev'ry Mountain” while Lane thought things over. I had to hold the phone away from my ear.

“Okay, I'll do it,” Lane finally said.

“Great! Put Chelsea on.”

I heard Lane telling Chelsea to stop singing and pick up the phone. He told her it was me, but he didn't tell her why I was calling.

“I'm not speaking to you, Judson Moon!” Chelsea shouted. “I worked my butt off helping you get elected, and how do you repay me? You resign on election night! How could you
do
that to me? Who needs you anyway, Moon? Lane is going to help me become Miss America. And I'd rather be Miss America than First Lady any day. You jerk! I hate your guts!”

“I thought you weren't speaking to me,” I said quietly.

“That's all I'm going to say!”

“Chelsea, let me just say one thing,” I said. “I changed my mind.”

“Huh?”

“I decided to accept the presidency after all. Lane's not going to help you become Miss America. He's going to be my chief of staff. And if you're willing to forgive me, I'd like you to be my First Babe — I mean Lady.”

Chelsea didn't say a word. Then I heard sniffling. Then crying.

“Are you okay, Chelsea?” I asked.

“This is the greatest day of my life!” she sobbed. “I'm just so
happy
! I never really wanted to be Miss America anyway.”

“So you'll be First Lady?”

“Yes,” Chelsea said, sniffing and pulling herself together. “But after the way you've treated me, Judson Moon, I have certain requirements that must be met.”

“Requirements?”

“Number one. As First Lady, I'll have to throw lots of parties,” she said. “Whenever I want.”

“Okay,” I agreed. “That's no big deal. First Ladies entertain at the White House all the time.”

“Number two,” Chelsea continued, “I must have an unlimited budget for clothing, cosmetics, and hairstyling.”

“Uh, ask Lane how much the president gets paid,” I instructed her.

“Four hundred thousand dollars a year,” she reported back a few seconds later. “I looked it up on the Internet.”

“Whew!” I whistled. “Okay, you can have as much money as you need. The First Lady has to look her best, I guess.”

“Number three. You must agree
never
to ask me out on a date or try to kiss me or anything.”

“What makes you think I would ask you out or kiss you?” I replied. “
All
boys want to ask me out and kiss me.”

“I promise I won't ask you out or try to kiss you,” I agreed.

“Good,” Chelsea said happily. “As long as we're in agreement. So when is Inauguration Day, Moon?”

“January twentieth.”

“That's only five weeks away!” she said in a panic. “I've got to go!”

“Why?”

“To pick out my dress, silly! I don't have a
thing
to wear!”

The weatherman had predicted rain in the Washington, D.C., area for Inauguration Day, but as I mounted the podium on the west side of the Capitol Building, the clouds parted to reveal a beautiful, sunny but chilly January day.

As I looked out across the National Mall, I was struck most of all by the people. Thousands and thousands had jammed the grassy area outside the Smithsonian museums that line both sides of the Mall. They spilled out onto Independence Avenue and Pennsylvania Avenue. The sea of faces stretched all the way to the Washington Monument off in the distance.

Flags were everywhere. Enormous ones flying from every building and tiny ones in the hands of little children. Marching bands played enthusiastically. “Yankee Doodle.” “The Battle Hymn of the Republic.”

As I turned to look at the stands behind the podium, I spotted my mom and dad beaming at me and waving. I wasn't sure how they were going to deal with me being president. All my life they had been in charge of me. Now I would be in charge of …
everyone.

My parents were standing next to Chelsea Daniels — dressed to kill, of course — and her parents.

Mrs. Syers was sitting in her wheelchair behind me, her hands folded in her lap, looking very regal and proud. She had already been sworn in as vice president.

Lane was up in the stands in a corner seat, with a smirk on his face. I wouldn't have been able to get elected president of the student council at school without him, and he knew it.

The rest of the bleachers were filled with dignitaries — senators, members of Congress, Supreme Court justices, the outgoing president, and all the living ex-presidents.

At precisely noon, the chief justice of the Supreme Court leaned into his microphone and asked, “Mr. Moon, are you prepared to take the oath of office as president of the United States?”

“I am, sir.”

The chief justice held up a Bible, the same one George Washington had used when he was sworn in as our country's first president back in 1789. Shivers went up and down my spine as I raised my right hand and repeated those thirty-seven words that change history:

I wasn't old enough to vote. I couldn't legally drive a car. I couldn't take a sip of my dad's beer. But I was president of the United States. I felt like I had to be in the middle of a dream. It couldn't really be happening. Only in America!

A twenty-one-gun salute echoed off the buildings and a cheer went up from the crowd. Balloons rose into the air. Doves were released. The Marine Band played “Hail to the Chief.”

The former president, who was now just an ordinary citizen, shook my hand. “Good luck, President Moon,” he said solemnly as he handed me a large brown briefcase. “This is for you. Take good care of it, young man.”

Nobody had told me the president was going to give me a
gift.
Considering that I had beaten him in the election, it was very gracious of him. I didn't really like the color of the briefcase, but my mother always told me that when someone gave me a gift I should pretend I loved it, whether I really liked it or not.

“Thank you, Mr. President,” I said. “I can hardly wait to use it.”

The president looked horrified. The chief justice leaned over and whispered into my ear.

“That briefcase,” he said, “contains the instructions for launching nuclear missiles in case there is an attack on the United States. Keep it by your side always.”

Oops! One minute into my presidency and I had already goofed! I leaned back to the former president and told him that I hoped I would never have to use his “gift.”

When the crowd settled down and everyone in the stands took their seats, I stepped up to the microphone. Lane had worked hard on my Inaugural Address.

“My fellow Americans,” I said, hearing the words echo a second after I spoke them. “When I was running for president, I said you should vote for me because I didn't know anything about politics. I didn't know how to raise taxes. I didn't know how to ruin the economy. I didn't know how to get us into a war. I said you should vote for me because I didn't know
anything.
”

The crowd chuckled in appreciation.

“Well, that was two months ago, and I'm very proud to say that … (Lane told me to pause here) I
still
don't know anything!”

The crowd roared in approval.

“Let's face it,” I continued, “I'm a kid. I'm going to need a lot of help from all of you. Kids and grown-ups. Men and women. Rich and poor. People of all races. Will you help me?”

“
YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!
” the crowd thundered.

“My fellow Americans. President Theodore Roosevelt gave the country what he called a Square Deal. President Franklin D. Roosevelt gave the country a New Deal. President Truman gave us a Fair Deal. Today I say this to America — Let's make a deal.”

Everybody went nuts.

“Here's the deal I offer America — I'll help you all if you all help me. I'm not a Republican, so you Democrats have no reason to oppose me. I'm not a Democrat, so you Republicans have no reason to oppose me. But if we all work together, we can guide our nation together.”

There was too much applause to continue, so I let it die down until everybody could hear me.

“Together, we can clean up the environment,” I announced. “Together, we can educate children and take care of our senior citizens. Together, we can put an
end
to crime, an
end
to poverty, an
end
to unemployment, an
end
to substance abuse, an
end
to peace in the world.”

There was a gasp. I looked at my speech and saw that I had skipped a line.

“I mean, we're going to
have
peace in the world.”

A thunderous ovation rolled across the Mall.

“The twentieth century is over, the twenty-first is well under way. We've got a lot of work to do. So, America, I ask you, ARE YOU READY TO RUMMMMMBLE?”

“YEAHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

“Let's get it on,” I concluded.

They didn't stop applauding for twenty minutes.

 

Somebody ushered me into a ridiculously long limousine for the parade down Pennsylvania Avenue, which leads directly from the Capitol to the White House. My mom and dad were already inside the car.

“Great speech, sweetie!” Mom said, giving me a hug.

“Except for that part about ending world peace,” grumbled Dad.

I looked through the window as the limo pulled away. There were people everywhere. Military men in uniform saluted as I passed by. Kids had climbed trees along the route to get a look at me. I waved, and so did Mom and Dad. Their pictures had been all over the media, so just about everybody recognized them.

At 14th Street, a few blocks from the White House, I could hear people chanting, “Walk! Walk! Walk!”

Lane had told me that in recent years the new president usually got out of the limousine at some point and walked part of the way along the parade route.

I was prepared. I leaned down and picked up my skateboard.

“You're not really going to do this, are you?” my dad asked.

“I sure am, Dad.”

“It's not dignified for the president of the United States to skateboard down the street,” Dad complained. “I forbid you to do it.”

“Who's the president, Dad?” I asked as I opened the door. “You or me?”

Dad looked stunned. I had never spoken to him like that. But this was
my
day, and I wasn't going to let my parents ruin it.

The crowd roared when I hopped out of the limo and glided onto the pavement. Five or six Secret Service agents, who were in the car behind mine, quickly jumped out and jogged after me nervously.

The cool breeze felt great. I waved to everybody. I couldn't resist hamming it up a bit. I grabbed the back bumper of the limo and let it pull me down the street. I did a kick-flip and waved to the people behind me. I skated over to the line of people at the curb and put out my hand for them to slap. Then I circled back and did the same thing with the people on the other side of the street. I was having a ball.

Soon, the White House came into view. I had seen pictures of the building, but I'd never been there. Up close, it was even bigger and more beautiful than I had imagined.

A bunch of soldiers with rifles saluted me and I saluted them back. The president, Lane had reminded me, is the commander in chief of the Armed Forces. The soldiers led me up the East Gate steps. The huge front door opened. A very distinguished-looking elderly gentleman with perfectly combed white hair and a dark suit stood at attention.

“President Moon,” he said with a bow, “welcome to your new home.”