Freshman for President, Page 3

  “Didn’t you think of anything yet? You’re the campaign manager.” Jack stood up and wandered out of the living room toward the kitchen, presumably in search of more food.

  “The Wright Man for the Job?” Eden suggested. Then she shook her head. “No, too cheesy. And it’s kind of sexist, as if a woman couldn’t be president. How about The Wright Person for the Job?”

  “What about Write in Wright?” Paige asked. No one said anything. “Get it? Anyone who wants to vote for you will have to write you in on the ballot.”

  “I like it,” Milo said, slowly. “I like it a lot.”

  “We have a slogan,” said Eden. “That’s perfect, Paige.”

  “And we have cookies,” Jack said, returning from the kitchen, where he’d been foraging for food.

  They were in business.

  A few hours later, after Jack and the girls had all gone home, Milo added another item to the pros column: People will know who I am.

  Chapter 3

  June

  Press release from the campaign of Milo J. Wright, sent to all major newspapers and television stations in the USA (the ones Eden could find addresses for, anyway)

  I, Milo Justin Wright, formally announce my intention to run for President of the United States of America. Although I am only fifteen years old, and therefore cannot assume office should I win, I believe there is much to be accomplished in the running. There are several reasons why I am adding my name to the list of those running for president:

  First of all, teenagers under the voting age represent a large portion of the population of America. There are roughly fifteen million teenagers enrolled in high schools in this country, and no one listens to us. We are the ones who will have to live with the consequences of the laws you make today. There has to be a good way to find out what teenagers think and want. I hope to be a conduit for finding out those things.

  Second, there are issues that deal with teenagers—the increases in standardized testing, the environment, and the voting age, just to list a few examples—that are critical to those of us who are under voting age, and I want to give voice to teenage opinions on those issues.

  Third, there isn’t a lot to do in my hometown in the summer except mow lawns.

  This campaign is being financed through money acquired from the aforementioned lawn-mowing, but donations are welcome. We are and will remain unaffiliated with any political party.

  Thank you.

  * * *

  Deciding to run for president had been relatively easy. Writing the press release had been a piece of cake, and he’d even been able to throw in a few big words and numbers to make it sound official. It had taken a little work to find addresses for local and national newspapers and television stations and mail them copies of the press release, but they’d done it.

  Raising enough money to actually stage a presidential campaign was going to be a little more difficult.

  A few people sent them a few dollars, mostly friends of their parents who thought their “summer project” was cute, but it obviously wasn’t going to be enough. Milo’s parents had told him he couldn’t dip into his savings from last summer—he could only use the money he made this summer. Milo had complained, but his parents had held firm.

  He was willing to bet the other candidates didn’t have to answer to their parents.

  By the time school had ended and summer had started, they were already two weeks into the campaign. They had $215.00 saved up, though they owed Milo’s parents some of that for all the envelopes and stamps they’d used to mail out the press releases.

  Paige, the official campaign treasurer, called Milo with some numbers. “According to the latest figures, the other candidates have both spent millions of dollars on their campaigns. Obviously, that’s not an option for us. We’ll be lucky to get a few thousand dollars.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll come up with something.”

  “Okay.”

  “And I have good news. I have an interview scheduled for you at noon. My cousin Josh—you know, the one who writes the sports stuff for the Sage Gazette—said he’d be willing to interview you. So meet me at my house.”

  “All right.” Milo was glad they had at least one interview scheduled. The reaction to his press release had been lukewarm at best and reporters hadn’t exactly been knocking down his door. “And I’ll keep thinking about ways to earn more money.”

  “Maybe a Milo J. Wright calendar? It could be topless, yet tasteful.” He could hear the smirk in her voice.

  “Very funny.” Milo hung up the phone and looked at Jack, who was waiting for him by the door. “We’re going to have to mow a lot of lawns.”

  Jack and Milo’s business, J&M Mowing, was one they’d started the summer before, right after they’d finished eighth grade. Jack’s older brother Hank had gotten a real job and offered to sell Jack his lawn mower. Milo had talked his dad into getting a new lawn mower and giving Milo his old one. A dynasty was born.

  Their dynasty was restricted a little, since they couldn’t drive, but still—a dynasty was a dynasty.

  “Where are we going today?” Milo asked Jack.

  “We have the Shirleys’ and Mrs. Walsh’s lawns this morning.”

  “I have an interview at noon, so we’ve gotta be fast.”

  “Who’s the interview with?”

  “Paige’s cousin, Josh. He writes for the Sage paper. I guess she pulled some strings.”

  “Do you have to dress up or anything?”

  “I don’t think I’ll have time.”

  “An interview, huh? You’re not going to start doing a lot of those and leave me with all the mowing, are you?”

  “No way. You know me better than that,” Milo told him. “Not while the weather’s good, anyway.”

  He and Jack were both of the opinion that it took a pretty awful day outside to equal even the best day indoors.

  * * *

  Mrs. Walsh was one of their favorite clients. She was prompt and precise and very particular about her lawn. She liked it mowed every week, whether it needed it or not. She also liked to water her lawn the minute they finished, so they always knocked on her door to tell her they were done. “We’re finished,” Milo said, and she would say, “Now wait right here,” and run to turn on her sprinkler system. Then she would be back with their money and a lime Popsicle for each of them.

  Milo and Jack had talked about the fact that the lime Popsicles made them feel like little kids, but they didn’t have the heart to turn Mrs. Walsh down.

  They had finished mowing the Shirleys’ lawn and had just reached Mrs. Walsh’s house. Milo and Jack rattled into her yard with their mowers.

  “Your turn to start the backyard,” Jack reminded Milo, and Milo groaned. The backyard was huge and took about twice as long to mow as the front. They took turns starting out back while the other one mowed the front. Then, whoever was mowing the front yard came to help finish up.

  Milo pushed the mower into the backyard and stopped short. “Crud,” he grumbled to himself. Mrs. Walsh’s grandkids had apparently been over to visit because the yard was littered with bats, balls, and badminton birdies. The net the grandkids used for volleyball was still up, bisecting the yard. He’d have to take the net down and clean up the yard before he started. It would be a colossal pain.

  He sighed and started plucking birdies from the grass and tossing balls into the big black trash can on the deck where they were usually stored. The grandkids must have had some kind of mock Olympics, he decided, picking up a medal made of foil hanging on a string. And were those streamers over at the edge of the lawn?

  On the bright side, all this time cleaning up meant that Jack would finish up the front yard before Milo would even have time to start on the back.

  Milo was almost
finished with the cleanup when Mrs. Walsh arrived on the scene, wearing her stompy wooden clogs. She didn’t like flip-flops. “I abhor them,” was the way she put it.

  “Oh, dear! I must have forgotten to remind the kids to pick up!” she said, looking at the last remnants of the mess. She clonked across the deck and came out into the yard, stooping to pick up a lacrosse stick.

  “Don’t worry about that, Mrs. Walsh,” Milo said. She was pretty spry, but still, he didn’t want her doing the work. “I’m almost finished, anyway. Did you have a lot of grandkids in town this weekend?” Bringing up the grandkids would buy him another ten minutes at least. Jack would be here before he knew it.

  “Oh, yes,” Mrs. Walsh said, looking happy. “We had a big family gathering, the whole weekend long. Both my sons who live out of town came down to visit at the same time, and they both brought their families. And you know how I love that.”

  He dumped the last of the birdies into the basket Mrs. Walsh was holding out. “I think that’s it.”

  She smiled at him. “Don’t run off when you’re finished. I have something special for your treat today!”

  Milo had made it around the yard once when Jack arrived. “What have you been doing?” he yelled at Milo over the roar of the motor.

  “I had to clean up the yard first,” Milo yelled back. Jack rolled his eyes and started up the motor. The two of them crisscrossed the yard, watching out for each other, working together the way they always had, the lawn mowers loud in their ears and the smell and sound of summer and cut grass all around them.

  * * *

  When they both finished and had cut the motors, Mrs. Walsh waved at them from the back deck, where she was sitting on a lawn chair. Sticky and sweaty, Milo and Jack pushed their mowers toward her, ready for their pay and their lime Popsicles.

  “I made something special for you. Well, I made it for my grandkids this weekend, but I had some left over.” Mrs. Walsh held out a bowl to each of them.

  “All right.” Jack took one of the bowls from her. “Is this homemade ice cream?”

  “Of course,” she said. “Peach. We made it just last night.”

  “Wow, thanks, Mrs. Walsh,” Milo said.

  She smiled. “I’ll run inside and get my bowl. You two sit out here and relax for a minute.”

  Milo dropped like a rock into one of the lawn chairs lining the deck. “Maybe I should shower before the interview.” He checked to make sure Mrs. Walsh was out of sight, then pulled up the bottom of his T-shirt, ducked his head, and wiped the sweat off his forehead.

  Jack did the same. “I think that’s a good idea, Wright. You’re smelling even more foul than usual today.”

  “There’s no way you can smell anything over your own stinkage.”

  The screen door banged open and they both sat up straight. Mrs. Walsh came out to join them. “There’s plenty more inside if you’d like it,” she told them.

  “Thanks again,” Milo said. “This is great.”

  “So, what have you two been up to this summer?” Mrs. Walsh asked.

  “Milo’s running for president,” Jack offered.

  “President of what? Your class at school?”

  “No,” Jack said. “President of the United States.”

  It was the first time Milo discovered what a conversation-killer that could be. Mrs. Walsh looked at him, smiling as if she were waiting to be let in on the joke. Milo didn’t know what to do, so he popped another bite of peach ice cream into his mouth.

  After a few seconds of awkward silence, Mrs. Walsh recovered. “Well, I think that’s absolutely wonderful, Milo. We always talk about young people not caring enough, and look at you—running for president!”

  “Thanks, Mrs. Walsh.”

  “And how is it going so far?”

  “Well, we haven’t done much yet,” Milo admitted. “We’re trying to figure out how to get my name out there and what we want our platform to be. It’s been harder than we thought to get started.”

  “And more expensive,” Jack added.

  Milo didn’t want Mrs. Walsh to think they were hitting her up for cash. “We need some corporate sponsors,” he said hurriedly. “Some businesses or something like that.”

  “I know just the person,” she said. “My son. Patrick Walsh. He’s got plenty of money. You march right into his office and tell him what you’re doing and ask him to help sponsor you. This is such a worthy cause.”

  Milo wasn’t sure he ought to take her advice. In Milo’s opinion, Patrick Walsh wasn’t the nicest guy around. He had taken over the family grocery store when Mrs. Walsh’s husband had retired, had made a ton of money, and was pretty proud of himself. Milo’s dad, who had grown up with Patrick, couldn’t stand him either. “He used to be a good guy,” Milo’s dad said. “Now he pretends like he doesn’t even know any of us. He made all his money off of this town, he still lives in it, and he acts like he’s above it all.”

  Jack looked over and mouthed the word “Eden” at Milo, and Milo nodded. He’d been thinking about the same thing. When Milo, Jack, and Eden had been about eight, they’d been playing ball at Eden’s house. She had slammed a baseball right through Mr. Walsh’s front window. (This was back when Mr. Walsh lived in the old neighborhood, before he moved into the fancy new neighborhood on the other side of town.) Mr. Walsh had come outside and yelled at Eden, his face turning red. It hadn’t been pretty. It had been an accident, and they were just kids, but Mr. Walsh hadn’t been very understanding or forgiving. They’d all tried to avoid him ever since.

  Mr. Walsh didn’t seem anything like his mother.

  “Oh, that’s okay,” Milo told Mrs. Walsh. “We wouldn’t want to bug him. I thought we could try some of the stores and restaurants in town first.”

  “Well, that’s fine too, but you really should ask Patrick. He needs to donate a little more of that income.” She looked at Milo and saw the reluctance on his face. “Do you want me to ask him for you?”

  “No, no,” Milo said hurriedly. “I don’t want you to do that.”

  She looked at him with her knowing eyes. “Patrick needs to get involved with the youth in this town. He needs to get out of his shell.”

  “I promise I’ll ask him.” Milo decided he could add it to the long list of things he’d rather not do but had to now that he was running for president.

  Jack’s cell phone beeped, letting him know he had a text message. He looked down at it, then back at Milo. “We need to get moving. That was Paige. She was reminding me that your first interview is in twenty minutes.”

  “Oh, an interview!” Mrs. Walsh said. “How exciting.” She stood up and handed Jack the envelope with the lawn-mowing payment inside, then reached for their now-empty bowls. “I’ll take these inside. You run along. And, Milo, I wish you success. You’re too good to need luck.”

  Chapter 4

  June

  Transcript of interview conducted between Josh Fontes, reporter for the Sage Gazette, and Milo J. Wright, presidential candidate

  Milo: “Thanks again for doing this, Josh.”

  Josh: “No problem. We needed some kind of filler article anyway. [Pause.] No offense.”

  Milo: “Don’t worry about it.”

  Josh: “So, Paige gave me your press release, but I’d like to hear you tell us what’s going on in a more informal way.”

  Milo: “Um, yeah, okay. I’m running for President of the United States of America, with Eden James as my vice president on the ticket, and also as my campaign manager.”

  Josh: “Great. And you think this is a good idea because . . . ?”

  Milo: “There are a few reasons. Because we’ll draw attention to issues that people our age care about. And I’ll be a fresh voice in an election that everyone is already really sick of. Everyone always says and does the same things.
The system is getting corrupt. It needs someone with no history and no baggage to add something new to the process.”

  Josh: “Even though you can’t win? Because I hate to have to tell you this, but you’re not old enough or anything. Did you know that?”

  Milo: “Yeah, of course. But we—my campaign and I—still think it’s worth doing. I mean, actually winning and assuming office isn’t the only thing that can happen. I can still run, and I can still talk to people. We can still influence the election, hopefully in a good way. Even if I couldn’t ever take office, I can bring something new to the election this year.”

  Josh: “So what do you plan to do? Go on the campaign trail? Be the voice of the younger generation?”

  Milo: “Exactly. [Pause.] We’ve got a plan for talking to other kids our age and building a platform, and we’re hoping to get some attention from the media and also make it to some of the debates this fall. If nothing else, maybe my campaign will get the other candidates to talk to us. Best-case scenario—we might even win and they’d have to change the law for us so we could take office.”

  Josh: “So, have you always been civic-minded?”

  Milo: “Uh . . .”

  Josh: “Do you do a lot of community or public service?”

  Milo: “I don’t think so.”

  Paige: “You do, Milo. You help out coaching with junior soccer camp and you did all that stuff for your Eagle Scout project.”

  Milo: “Yeah, but that stuff is fun. That doesn’t count.”

  Josh: “Sure it does.”

  Milo: “All right.”

  Josh: “What’s the name of the soccer team you coach?”

  Milo: “The Purple People Eaters. [Pause.] They’re five-year-olds.”

  Josh: “Okay. [Pause.] I think that’s enough. I should be able to get an article out of all of this. Oh, yeah. Do you have a campaign slogan?”

  Milo: “Yeah. It’s Write in Wright.”

  Josh: “That’s good. It’s really catchy. Is there anything else you want to say?”