The Kid Who Ran For President (2 page)

I was sitting around the lunchroom at school with Lane and a bunch of kids. Everybody was talking about what they were going to do on New Year's Eve.

“Man, I'm gonna party all night,” said Spencer Bergeron. “We gotta watch the ball fall down, right?”

“It's just another night,” Ashley King said. “I'll be playing video games.”

“I know what I'm gonna do,” I said. “I'm going to be campaigning to be president of the United States.”

Everybody busted out laughing.

“Oh yeah, I'm sure,” said Merrick Jorgensen. “And I'm gonna fly to the moon on a unicycle blindfolded.”

“He's not kidding,” Lane chimed in. “He's really going to run for president.”

Somebody at the next table turned around to face us. It was Arthur Krantz, president of the Future Lawyers of America Club and just about every other dorky club in school.

If anybody looked like he was running for president, it was Arthur Krantz. He even wears a tie to school on days we don't have assembly.

When we were younger, all the kids called him “Smarty Pants Artie Krantz.” Now, of course, we're much more mature. We call him “Booger Boy.” I don't even want to get into the reason why.

Arthur was sitting with some other nerds at what we call “The Derf Table.” (That's Fred spelled backward.) We used to be friends when I was younger. That was before I figured out what a dweeb he was. He's hated me ever since I told him I didn't want to hang around with him anymore.

“What do you know about the presidency, Moon?” he sneered.

“A lot,” I shot back defensively.

“Oh yeah? If the president and the vice president die, who becomes president?”

“That's easy,” I said. “Chuck Norris.”

The kids at my table started giggling.

“Very funny, Moon! If the president and the vice president die, the Speaker of the House becomes president. You should know that.”

“And if the Speaker of the House dies,” I said loud enough for everyone to hear, “you go to Radio Shack and buy a new speaker.”

“Oh, big joke, Moon. Tell me, Mr. President, what do you have to do before you can declare war on another country?”

“I have to call CNN so they can get a camera crew out there right away.”

My table was howling. Frank was pounding the table with his fist and tears were streaming down his face. Nothing was funnier than getting Arthur Krantz all steamed up.

Arthur didn't give up. “What's the electoral college, Moon?”

“Everybody knows that. It's where you go to learn how to become an electrician.”

“Put an R in the middle of your name and it says what
you
are, Moon — a moron!”

“Well, that doesn't necessarily disqualify me from the presidency, does it, Booger Boy?”

“Thicko!”

“Spasmo!”

“Dappo!”

“Burger-brain!”

“Waste of oxygen!”

By that time, milk was spurting from Ashley's nostrils and Spencer had slid under the table. Arthur got up with his tray and stormed out in a huff.

“I think it would be cool to be president,” said Sarah Saladini when we had all regained our composure. “You take limos and helicopters every where you go.”

“Doesn't the president have his own plane?” Ashley asked.

“Yeah,
Air Force One
,” said Lane.

“My family went to Washington last year and we took a tour of the White House,” said Sarah. “Did you know it has its own barbershop, a tennis court, a bowling alley, and even a movie theater? The president can watch any movie he wants, anytime he wants.”

“Cosmic!” we all agreed.

“And there are six butlers and three chefs. So if the president feels like some food in the middle of the night, he just calls somebody and they bring it to him.”

“
Totally
cosmic!”

“That's not why I want to be president,” I said, standing up with my tray. “I want to be president so I can bring peace to the world, rescue the environment, and throw out the first ball at baseball games.
Adiós
, amoebas!”

I left them all snickering and throwing napkins in my direction.

 

After school, Lane started putting the campaign wheels in motion.

The first thing you have to do to run for president, he found out, is to make a petition with signatures of registered voters on it. In Wisconsin, you need 2,000 signatures to get your name on the ballot.

Lane and I went out to the middle of State Street after school and badgered every grown-up we saw until they signed the petition. It took a week to get 2,000 signatures. Lane sent the petition to the Division of Elections and didn't tell them how old I am. A week later I received a letter saying I was on the ballot in Wisconsin.

My folks are pretty oblivious about politics and stuff like that. Let me rephrase that. My folks are just plain oblivious.

Mom is a salesperson for a carpet tile company. She's spent the last twenty years trying to talk businesses into covering their floors with carpet tiles. She must be very persuasive. I see those carpet tiles every where. Mom enjoys her work, I suppose. I mean, why would somebody sell carpet tiles for twenty years unless they really liked it?

Dad sells boxes, those corrugated cardboard boxes you pack stuff in when you move. My grandfather sold boxes, too, and when he retired, he passed the business on to Dad.

I think my folks do pretty well. Their cars are always filled with hundreds of carpet tiles and cardboard boxes they have to deliver to customers.

Between the two of them, they know just about every thing there is to know about carpet tiles and cardboard boxes. I'm not sure how much they know about anything else. Mostly, they like to talk about carpet tiles and cardboard boxes, which don't interest me all that much.

When they come home from work they're both really beat. It seems like they use up all their thinking at the office so they don't have much energy for thinking at home. I was looking for a chance to break the news to them that I was running for president, and figured I would just casually slip it into the conversation around the dinner table.

The TV was on in the background. The TV is always on in our house, whether anyone's watching it or not. As she ate, Mom was reading a magazine called
Progressive Floor Covering
, which I guess is read by people in the carpet tile business because I never saw any regular people reading it. Dad was absorbed by the latest issue of
Box World Monitor
.

“How was work today?” I asked, trying to get a conversation started.

“Fine, dear,” Mom said cheerily from behind her magazine. Dad grunted.

“Mom, Dad, I've given it a lot of thought, and I decided that I'm going to run for president of the United States.”

“Not until you mow the lawn you're not,” Dad muttered.

“Sure. I'll mow the lawn first. Mom, if I ran for president, would you vote for me?”

“Of course, honey. You know we'd do anything for you.”

“Can I borrow five hundred dollars to finance my campaign, Dad?”

“No.”

“Did you ever run for anything when you were a kid, Dad?”

“Yeah, the bus.”

“So it's okay with you if I run for president?”

“Sure,” Dad grunted. “Whatever.”

“Hey, Mom, is it okay with you if I go outside and get hit by lightning?”

“As long as nobody gets hurt, dear.”

It went on like that for a while. Finally I cleared off my plate and went upstairs to do my homework. Their response wasn't what you'd call wildly enthusiastic, but I did at least have their blessing.

Family values is a big issue at election time, and it was important that my family be behind me.

“Yo, stranger!”

I was mowing the lawn when Abby Goldstein called out to me. I released the bar and let the mower sputter to a stop.

“Haven't seen you around much lately,” she said.

“I've been pretty busy, Ab.”

She looked a little hurt. Abby's my friend and she's a girl, so I guess you could call her my girlfriend. But that's as far as it goes, if you know what I mean.

We've known each other since we were in preschool together, and we've been almost like brother and sister growing up. Since I started hanging out with Lane Brainard lately, I've been seeing less and less of Abby.

“What's up, Judd?” she asked.

“Nothin'. I'm running for president.”

“Of the student council?”

“No, of the United States.”

Anybody else would think I was kidding, but Abby knew me.

“You are crazy, Judson Moon!” she said, with a big smile on her face. “Remember the time you attached your sled to Andrew Bisgaard's minibike?”

“Yeah, and we knocked down Mrs. Hastings's shed!” We both broke up laughing.

“Don't you have to be a lot older to run for president?” Abby asked.

“Lane says he knows a way around that.”

“I'll bet he does.” Abby seemed to wrinkle her nose up every time I mentioned Lane.

“You don't like him, do you?”

She sighed. “If you don't have anything nice to say about somebody, you shouldn't say anything at all.”

“He's not a bad guy, Ab,” I said, “once you get to know him.”

“It's okay, Judd. You're allowed to have more than one friend.”

“Thanks, Ab.”

“By the way, I think you'd make a
wonderful
president, Judson Moon.”

“You mean it?”

“Sure I mean it. Politicians are all phonies. It's so obvious that every thing they do and say is just to make people vote for them. You're a real person, Judd. People can see it in your eyes when you talk.”

I looked into Abby's eyes and put on my zombie face and voice. “You are under my power … vote for me … I will be your leader …”

“Do you really think you can win?”

“Nah! It's just a goof. You know me.”

“Remember the time you skateboarded down the center aisle of the auditorium, jumped on the stage, and hit Lindsey in the face with a pie while she was reciting the Gettysburg Address?”

“I was pretending to be John Wilkes Booth,” I recalled, laughing.

“The pie got all over her fake beard!”

“I couldn't help it,” I said. “It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

“Anything can happen, you know, Judd. This is America.”

“Yeah, what would I do if I actually won the election?”

“If you were president, would we still be friends?”

“Of course,” I told her. “We'll always be friends. You know that.”

She tightened up her mouth as if she was going to say something but changed her mind just before the words got out.

“I better finish the lawn, Ab.” I yanked the cord and the mower sprang to life. “I'll invite you to the White House,” I hollered over the roar. “It's got a bowling alley, you know.”

As I finished the next row and saw Abby walking away, I noticed she was dabbing her eye with her sleeve.