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I was walking between two über-competitive girls, suddenly the last place I wanted to be. I dropped back a few paces and listened; they’d forgotten I was there.

“I’ve been working all week to win over the debate team, the show choir, the orchestra, the band and the foreign-language clubs,” Katie said. “They’re all planning to vote for Cash.”

“I’ve got every sports team locked down for Kev.”

Huh. Cash and I were almost … superfluous. Katie and Milania had the situation well in hand.

“What’s your interest in the election?” Katie asked.

“What’s yours?”

“I want to make a difference in how the school is run.”

Milania nodded. “I want to inspire girls to try out for sports because of our success and the amount of student support we’ve earned through our hard work and belief in our abilities.”

Leave it to Katie and Milania to miss the point of politics. Good thing they’re strictly behind-the-scenes people. It’s personalities like mine—and, let’s face it, even Cash’s—that are made for the front line of political battle. He may be making a desperate attempt at popularity and I may be in it for the fame and glory that’ll make me look good in Tina’s eyes, but that’s what politics is all about. These girls haven’t paid attention to the media coverage of local and world leaders in, like, forever.

I was glad when we got to school and I could ditch those buzz-kill humanitarians. No one cares about the heavy stuff they were talking about; the
public wants promises and sound bites and streamers and confetti. Important stuff.

Before I disappeared into the crowd, I looked back and saw them talking. They looked very serious. That’s not the kind of expression that makes the public vote for you. Good thing Cash and I were running and not them.

I was so lost in my thoughts that I bumped into Connie, who’d been waiting for me at my locker. She was grinning ear to ear and biting her knuckles to contain her excitement. I was a little leery about dealing with so many amped-up girls this early in the day.

“Hi, Kev. I felt really bad about how I dropped the ball on Monday because I was panicked about the science test on Tuesday. But on Wednesday, I campaigned for you. Well, JonPaul and I did.”

“Oh, wow, Connie, that’s … Thanks.… I don’t know what to say.…”

I always know what to say. But I was trying to sound gracious. And modest. And surprised, even though a part of me was always confident that JonPaul and Connie had my back. That kind of loyalty is the cornerstone of the successful candidate-voter bond.

“What did you guys do yesterday?” I said.

“JonPaul and I went to every social studies class and polled the students about their concerns and hopes and interests.”

True politicians shape public thought, they don’t go looking for it.

“We had them fill out questionnaires,” Connie told me, “and then we collated the data by age and gender. I stayed up late last night ranking the issues in terms of their importance to the student body and—”

I nodded, pretending to listen and to read the pages on the clipboard she handed me. What I was really thinking was that carrying a clipboard is a good look, gives the impression of being smart and organized.

I glanced up because Connie was still talking and eye contact is essential in proving your trustworthiness as a public figure. Over Connie’s left shoulder, I spotted Tina.

Talking with Cash.

What is with this guy?

“Walk with me.” I pulled Connie behind me and headed toward Tina. I nodded in Connie’s direction and said, “Really? The voice of the people
is fascinating. Oh, hi, Cash, didn’t see you there.” I didn’t say anything to Tina but I looked at her and sent the silent message with my eyes: everything I’m doing is for you because you smell good and your hair sparkles. She smiled back. Maybe Katie and I aren’t the only ones who can communicate silently.

I realized I’d totally zoned out, staring at Tina, when Connie elbowed me and said, “Isn’t that right, Kev?”

I nodded, never taking my eyes off Tina. “Oh yeah, absolutely.”

“That’s really impressive.” Tina smiled at me.

It would almost be worth being struck by lightning right this very instant to have my last sight on Earth be Tina’s face.

But, wait, what’s impressive? I must have missed something Connie and Cash were discussing. So I did what I always do when I’ve lost the thread of a conversation; I turned to Cash and said, “Say more about that.”

He looked dumbstruck. And a little terrified. I hoped I wasn’t going to be as scared when I figured out what we were talking about.

“I was just saying to Cash”—Connie jumped
in—“that candidates who really talk with and listen to their voters are the most effective leaders.”

The bell rang and saved me—and Cash—from having to respond. We all headed off to class. I was carrying Connie’s clipboard summarizing the concerns and hopes and interests of our school.

I could still smell Tina’s shampoo as I walked away, and the scent inspired me to carefully absorb the results Connie and JonPaul had given me. I tried to read them the rest of the day, but kept nodding off. It is really hard to keep your finger on the pulse of the people and stay awake. I was glad when the bell rang and I could finally head home.

“Dutchdeefuddy.” Markie was sitting on our front stoop, waiting for me. “Auntie Buzz said I needed to sit quietly on the steps and wait for you to come home from school.”

I bet she did. I’m the only one in this family who really gets Markie.

“Wanna go sit in my fort?” He tried to hand me a water bottle from his panda backpack, but I was wise to that scheme and shook my head.

“A fort sounds like the perfect retreat for a guy with my stress load.”

We headed to the basement. I immediately
shook my head again. Poor Mom—she means well, but she has no clue sometimes. She and Markie had built a fort out of pillows and blankets. I know what she was thinking: less mess and he can’t possibly hurt himself because everything is soft and hypoallergenic.

But a real fort would be made of cardboard boxes and pieces of lumber from the garage and the old dog crate Dad bought for a quarter at a garage sale because he can’t pass up anything in perfect condition that only costs twenty-five cents, even though we don’t have a dog.

At first Markie just watched me build while he colored pictures. I don’t hold it against him—my work ethic puts workaholics to shame when I’m really jamming.

“Can I pound the hammer?” Markie said in the most hopeful voice I’ve ever heard.

“No nails. Mom put her foot down when Daniel and I built a lookout platform on the stairs. She didn’t appreciate that it was the best angle for watching television.” I pointed from the TV to the stairs. “She was all whacked out about having to shinny over the edge of the platform and drop to the basement floor rather than using the steps. You can
see the nail holes in the wall and the rip in the carpet where we wedged the support beam. She still talks about that project.”

Markie nodded. We both have fun-free mothers.

“She’s okay with nails outside, but”—I rolled my eyes—“why would you want a fort where you couldn’t see the television? We’re not heathens.”

“Heeeee-thuns.” Markie liked the sound of that. “We’re not heeeee-thuns. Who is, Dutchdeefuddy?”

“Hey, you home?” As if on cue, I heard Goober’s voice in the kitchen.

“Down here,” I called.

Goober thumped downstairs with a box of cereal tucked under his arm.

“I get the toy at the bottom,” Markie squawked when he saw Goober digging in the box.

“Do not.” Goober crammed a handful of cereal in his mouth and stuck his fist back in the box, searching for the special prize.

“Do too. I live here now,” Markie announced.

“See? I
knew
he was your kid. Got custody, did ya?” Goober was grinning. He handed Markie the cereal and Markie dumped it on the floor, looking for the prize.

Before I could jump in to mediate their
dispute—something I’m sure I’d be good at—JonPaul galloped down the stairs. Followed by Sam and two kids I’d never seen before.

“I​hope​you​don’t​mind,” Sam said so fast that I felt like I needed an oxygen tank to catch my breath. At least she wasn’t still crying about her dead rodent. “But​Becca​and​Jared​came​too. My​cousins. They’re​staying​with​us. Their​parents​a​revoluntee​ring. Forth​at​program. The​one​that​helps​people. To​build​affordable​houses. They’re​on​the​housing​site​right​now.”

“Cool. A civic-minded family who builds things. They’ve come to the right place.” I pointed to our fort. “Want some cereal? You don’t have to eat what Markie spilled on the floor. We have a fresh box in the kitchen.”

“No thanks.” Becca and Jared smiled.

Nice kids, maybe eleven and twelve. They took Markie outside to play baseball.

JonPaul glanced over at Goober, who was out cold on the couch, a trail of cereal down his shirt.

“Sam got the better end on the cousin deal.” Sam and I nodded. “Don’t wake him up.”

The three of us tiptoed upstairs to the kitchen to make dinner. We used to have a little baking business together, so cooking is like second nature to us.

JonPaul told us about his new aerobic routine and how it was beneficial to his sleep patterns, I brought them up to speed on the campaign, and Sam chattered so fast no one really knew what her topic was.

We probably should have talked more about what each of us was cooking. Because we wound up individually preparing a pan of lasagna, a wokful of chicken-and-vegetable stir-fry and a build-your-own-taco bar on the counter.

Just when I was thinking we’d be eating leftovers forever, Mom and Dad, Sarah and her boyfriend, Doug, Daniel and a skater he was dating, whose name I couldn’t remember unless she was wearing her warm-up jacket, and even Buzz and Jack, the guy she was seeing, descended on the kitchen, ravenous.

Goober woke to the sound of Buzz’s voice and flew up from the basement to stand way too close to her and offer to get her too many glasses of ice water. Becca and Jared brought Markie inside, washed the top layer of backyard grime off him and made him a plate.

I looked around while everyone ate and talked. Probably discussing their concerns and hopes and
interests, like Connie said voters do. Yup, my own little town hall meeting/potluck supper/brainstorm session. Disparate elements of the population coming together in a melting pot. After a baseball game. In the heartland. It just doesn’t get any more American than that. Unless you have apple pie for dessert.

Friday morning I woke up a little panicked because it was debate day.

And
election day.

Man, we did
not
think this through: the stress of a debate and the anxiety of an election on the same day.

After I was elected, I was going to instruct the student council to draft a policy covering just this eventuality. That’s the problem with, um, everything and everyone: lack of adequate preparation.

Speaking of which: I never had gotten around to buying note cards or researching middle school needs or reading the poll questions Connie and JonPaul
had come up with or whatever it was future presidents did in the hours leading up to a debate.

And an election.

But that’s good, I pep-talked myself as I brushed my teeth and flashed a big practice smile in the mirror. I’m best when I don’t have too much time to think. Oddly enough, for a smart guy, thinking doesn’t always work for me.

If I had enough self-confidence, I was sure I’d automatically come up with those talking points and sound bites and other memorable speechy things candidates are known for.

I checked to see that Dad was staying home from work to take care of Markie. I did that by reminding him seven times over breakfast and by hiding his car keys.

“I’m not complaining,” Dad said, “because what’s not to love about Markie”—who was making motorboat noises in his cup of milk—“but didn’t his folks say a
few
days? And hasn’t it been, like,
seven hundred
?”

“Feels that way, doesn’t it?” Mom asked. “Not that we don’t love having you, honey,” she said to Markie, who gave a renewed motorboat roar in his milk cup as thanks.

I waved a cheery and, for the last time, non-presidential goodbye and headed to school.

Headed to my date with destiny. Or was it fate? One you meet and one you date. I can never keep track.

Getting Cash to wear the paper bag over his head so no one could see his perfect profile was going to be the trickiest part of the day. Ha ha ha. I crack myself up, I really do.

Humor. I’ll have to remember that the voters love a good laugh. I am Mr. Funny, so it shouldn’t be hard to amuse them during the debate.

I reminded myself I had no reason to worry. It’s not like anyone was really paying attention to elections. The voter turnout would be low. Public apathy, which everyone in the media talks about like it’s a bad thing, was probably going to be the watchword of the day.

Oh, how very very wrong I was.

Because there was a bunch of kids—the phrase
teeming throng
would not be out of line here—waiting on the school steps and, when they saw me, they surged forward, shouting questions. Believe me, that experience is a lot more interesting
to watch on television than it is to see up close and personal.

“What are you planning for the eighth-grade class trip?”

“Do you have any thoughts about how to combat the image of today’s youth as selfish and entitled?”

“How will you work effectively with the student council?”

“Will you appoint a vice president from a lower grade so there’s a more seamless transition next year?”

“When will the influence-peddling, favor-selling, crooked racket of elected officials stop?”

That last question had been shouted by an adult reporter who’d apparently shown up at the wrong place. “City hall is half a mile away, sir, the
other
building with the flag out front,” I said.

My head started spinning. People weren’t bored and apathetic. They were obsessed, kind of angry and expecting solid answers and genuine change.