Freshman for President, Page 5

  But he didn’t need his mom’s help after all. Later, at dinner, when he passed Maura the bowl of spaghetti sauce, he said casually, “Maura, I was wondering if you could help me out by driving us around for the campaign once in a while. None of us can drive and we need to go to other cities and to events and stuff. Mom and Dad said it would be okay if we used their car, as long as you were driving.”

  “Hmmm.” Maura plopped a blob of sauce onto her spaghetti and handed him back the bowl. “Hmmm” had been her answer the last time he’d talked to her, when he’d told her he was running for President of the United States of America. She was his older sister, and he thought he deserved more than “Hmmm” as a response. Even a little healthy derision would have been nice.

  “I’ll pay for the gas, of course,” Milo told Maura. “With my lawn mowing money.”

  “Fine.” She stuck her fork into her dinner and started twirling. Milo watched the strands of spaghetti get shorter and shorter before the last little one flipped up and curled around the fork.

  “So is that a yes?” Milo had to get her to say the actual word before he would believe he’d talked her into it.

  “Yes,” Maura answered, not even looking at him. She put the forkful of spaghetti into her mouth. Her listlessness bothered Milo. He could tell it bothered his parents. They were exchanging glances again. He was sure that after dinner they would retreat to their room to speak in hushed tones about Maura. That happened a lot lately.

  But it was something that she’d said yes. Now he had a driver for his campaign, and his parents wouldn’t see Maura sitting on the couch as much. So everyone won, except maybe for Maura, but she didn’t seem to care much about winning or losing.

  Which is fine for the Purple People Eaters, but not so much for Maura, Milo thought.

  But there wasn’t much he could do about that right now, not that he could see. “This Saturday there’s the big Flag Day parade and stuff in Haventon. Could you take us to that?”

  “Fine.” Maura looked up at him for a minute. “Will it take all day?”

  “Probably all of the morning, and maybe part of the afternoon.”

  “All right. Remind me the night before, though. Otherwise I’ll probably forget.”

  * * *

  But she didn’t. Saturday morning, when Milo went to find her on the couch (where she slept sometimes) to tell her they were ready to leave, she wasn’t there. He hunted for her all through the house. Finally, he looked outside at the car. She was already sitting in the driver’s seat, waiting for him and reading a book.

  Meanwhile, Eden, Jack, and Paige were loading their stuff into the trunk. Milo hadn’t even known they were there yet. He grabbed his stuff, took one last look in the mirror to make sure nothing crazy was happening with his hair and that he didn’t have food on his face, and hurried out to the car to join them.

  “Hey, Eden. Hey, Paige.” He didn’t say anything to Jack. It was only 7:00 in the morning, and no one was allowed to talk to Jack until at least 7:30. It was for your own protection.

  “Ready?” Maura asked without looking at him. Milo couldn’t tell where she was looking. She wore a pair of giant sunglasses that made her look like an enormous fly. Those had been a new purchase when she’d gotten home. Milo wasn’t sure if she was trying to be in style or if she just wanted something that covered as much of her face as possible.

  “Yup,” Milo told her. “Are you?”

  She didn’t answer. Milo hadn’t expected her to, but the silence hung in the air. Then she nodded, and turned the key in the ignition.

  Eden gave a little cheer from the back seat. “We’re off! The Milo for President Campaign is on the road!” She sat back, smiling, but she couldn’t hold still for long. She leaned up between the seats and started talking to Milo. “Do you think your parents would let us decorate the car? Make it look official?”

  “I could ask.” Milo knew there was no way his dad would agree, but there was no use telling Eden that until he’d at least tried. He leaned back in his seat and looked out the window, trying to soak it in. He was a presidential candidate at the very beginning of his campaign, with his staff riding along with him, on his way to his first public appearance since announcing his candidacy.

  It felt a little bit cool, but then, it felt that way any time he was getting out of town with a bunch of his friends.

  Chapter 7

  June

  Billboards on the way to Haventon and the resulting conversations

  YOU’RE ONLY SIXTY MILES FROM HAVENTON, ARIZONA, FLAG DAY CAPITAL OF THE WORLD!

  Paige: “That doesn’t even make sense. The world doesn’t celebrate Flag Day. Only the U.S. does.”

  Eden: “Maybe other countries have their own Flag Days.”

  Paige: “It’s still stupid.”

  Eden: “You’re right.”

  Maura: [silence]

  STOP! GO BACK! YOU’VE MISSED WALSH’S GROCERY—THE BEST STORE IN SAGE, ARIZONA!

  Milo: “Do you think anyone has ever actually gone back?”

  Eden: “My dad has.”

  Jack: “He went all the way back to Sage to buy groceries?”

  Eden: “The billboard reminded him that he had forgotten to lock up his store.”

  Paige: “Did anything get stolen?”

  Eden: “No, but there were people standing at the counter hoping to buy things.”

  Maura: [silence]

  HAVENTON SPA NOW OPEN! COME PAMPER YOURSELF WITH LUXURY. MASSAGES, FACIALS, HAIR CUTS, AND COLOR . . . WE HAVE IT ALL.

  Jack: “Paige, you should get your hair colored again after we’re finished.”

  Paige: “Why? It looks fine the way it is.”

  Jack: “It does look good pink. But you could do it red, white, and blue for the campaign.”

  Eden: “Remember at the beginning of the year when Wimmer tried to tell you that you could get suspended for dying your hair different colors?”

  Paige: [laughing] “What an idiot.”

  Jack: “Wimmer missed the point. It’s not your hair that’s the distraction. It’s your eyes.”

  Paige: “Are you trying to pay me a compliment?”

  Jack: “Not trying. Succeeding. You’re the only person I know with eyes that are that green. They’re crazy.”

  Paige: “You haven’t succeeded yet. I have to accept the compliment.”

  Jack: “So . . .”

  Paige: “I accept the compliment.”

  Jack: “Do I get one in return?”

  Paige: “Don’t press your luck.”

  Maura: [silence]

  CHOOSE WHAT YOU WANT TO BE HAVENTON COMMUNITY COLLEGE OPPORTUNITY AWAITS YOU

  Eden: “What do you guys want to do with your life?”

  Jack: “Milo has always wanted to be President of the United States of America. It’s his lifelong dream. He’s been working toward it since he was born. Since before he was born.”

  Milo: “Shut up. You know what I’ve always wanted to be when I grow up. The same thing you want to be.”

  Paige: “What’s that? Clue us in.”

  Milo and Jack, together: “Professional athletes.”

  Paige: “Seriously?”

  Jack: “The only hard part was deciding which sport it would be. We knew we were definitely going pro in something.”

  Milo: “But, I guess we have to admit that the dream died a few years ago.”

  Eden: “When did you figure out that it wasn’t going to happen?”

  Milo: “It was the worst day ever. It was the day they had that huge twelve year old pitching in the Little League All-Star Game. Remember that guy?”

  Jack: “Oh, yeah.”

  Milo: “He struck me out every freaking time, and he was always spitting right before he pitched. I
’m pretty sure it was real chew. Either that or he was eating Tootsie Rolls. Plus, he had whiskers all over his face. Twelve years old and shaving! I almost peed my pants.”

  Jack: “I think I hung onto the dream longer than you did. I still held out hope until last year when Coach never moved me up to varsity. Not even once.”

  Milo: “Coach should play you more. And he should play you varsity.”

  Jack: “Of course he should. But I’m still never going to go pro.”

  Milo: “You never know. Maybe you’ll get to go pro and I’ll get to be president.”

  Jack: “Could happen.”

  Milo: “Paige, what did you want to be when you grew up?”

  Paige: “The same thing I want to be now.”

  Milo: “Which is . . .”

  Paige: “Famous.”

  Milo: “Famous for what?”

  Paige: “Either for winning the Nobel Prize or being a rock star. I’m leaning toward rock star.”

  Jack: “What about you, Eden?”

  Eden: “I’m not telling you.”

  Jack: “That’s not fair.”

  Milo: “If you don’t tell us, I’ll tell Logan Nash you have a crush on him.”

  Eden: “He’s the biggest jerk in Sage! I don’t have a crush on him!”

  Milo: “I know, but that doesn’t mean I can’t tell him that you do.”

  Eden: “You’re rotten to the core, Milo J. Wright. You have no sense of right and wrong. You have no morals.”

  Milo: “I know. That’s why I’d be such an awesome president.”

  Eden: “Fine. I’ll tell you. I wanted to be a zookeeper and a ballerina. The first-ever zoo-keeping ballerina. I’d live in New York, work at the zoo during the day, and dance with the Metropolitan Ballet at night. I had it all figured out.”

  Milo: “That’s so precious. And you thought we were crazy for wanting to be professional athletes.”

  Eden: “Yeah, yeah.”

  Milo: “Now what do you want to be?”

  Eden: “Now I want to be the most successful campaign manager in history. The one who was so amazing she managed to get a teenager elected President of the United States.”

  Milo: “Well played, Eden James. Well played.”

  Maura: [silence]

  * * *

  They skipped the parade and went straight to the park to set up. Their assigned spot turned out to be next to the Haventon College baseball team booth, where the team was selling cotton candy as a fundraiser. On the other side was a booth where kids could try to throw beanbags into milk jugs to win a prize. All the other political booths, for the candidates running for mayor of Haventon and other places, had prime spots further down the row.

  Eden was not happy about their location. “We got ripped off. All the other political groups are clear at the other end of the park.”

  “I don’t know that that’s a bad thing.” Jack was looking at the cotton candy. “I bet a lot of people will be coming through over here.”

  “I hope so,” Eden said. “Come on, Jack. Help us get this booth set up. You can buy yourself some cotton candy later.”

  Jack looked like he was about to rebel, so Milo said, “They’re not even selling it yet anyway, Jack. I think they wait until after the parade when there’s more of a crowd.”

  Jack muttered something about that being a tapestry and started lifting boxes out of the trunk. Paige went to help him.

  A few moments later, they stood back and reviewed their handiwork. Their booth didn’t look half-bad. Eden said that it looked a little amateurish since they’d had to hand-letter the banners themselves, but Milo thought that was fine. They were amateurs, after all; but at least they were amateurs with legible banner-painting skills.

  Paige was of the opinion that balloons made everything look more exciting, so she had grouped them everywhere. They also had stacks of Write in Wright fliers, ready to be distributed, and a bunch of pencils with the campaign slogan printed on the side that Eden had special ordered to hand out.

  Paige read one out loud. “Write in Wright: Because Our Generation Matters.”

  All around them, other people were busy setting up their booths and laughing and talking and getting ready. The baseball guys were singing along—badly—with their radio as they got the cotton candy machine started. The people at the beanbag booth were laughing and joking. Milo thought the whole day was starting to feel a little like a party.

  A few yards behind their booth, Maura sat alone in the shade of a tree, reading her book. At least that’s what Milo thought she was doing. It was hard to tell behind the sunglasses. He waved at her in case she was watching them, but she didn’t wave back.

  * * *

  Jack was right, sort of. When things got going, it turned out that they were in a prime location, with plenty of foot traffic walking past. But the political excitement they had to offer seemed to pale in comparison with the entertainment offered by the surrounding booths. People came to buy their kids cotton candy and to throw beanbags, and a lot of them slowed their steps when they saw Milo’s booth. But not a lot of people stopped to talk who were genuinely interested in what they had to say. In the three hours they sat in the booth, the following happened:

  • A group of giggling teenage girls walked past.

  • A few adults made snotty comments about “stupid kids” as they went by.

  • Jack purchased a cotton candy.

  • Some teenagers from the Haventon High marching band came up and talked to them for a while. They took some of Milo’s fliers and promised to spread the word.

  • The same group of giggling teenage girls walked past again.

  • Jack purchased his second and third cotton candy. He offered to share some with Milo, but Milo knew that Murphy’s Law would require that a beautiful, intelligent, sixteen-year-old girl with a convertible and political connections would walk up and want to talk to him the moment he had a mouthful of sticky pink sugar crammed into his mouth, so he refused. (Because Milo didn’t eat any of the cotton candy, of course that girl never showed up.)

  • A woman who taught history at Haventon High came by and talked to them for a few minutes. She mentioned something about this being an “interesting civic experiment” and took a flier when she left.

  • Jack won a small stuffed toy at the booth next to them. He gave it to Paige.

  • One of the baseball players helped them pick up their fliers when a sudden wind came up and they scattered across the grass.

  • Eden made a reconnaissance mission to check out the other politicians’ booths. She reported, with somewhat unholy glee, that they didn’t seem to be drawing very many people either.

  Milo had just finished talking to an earnest kid from Haventon High when an older man came up, a scowl on his face. “Just what do you think you’re doing?” he growled at Milo.

  “Running for president, sir,” Milo said, trying to smile. “Would you like to hear more?”

  “I certainly would not,” the man said, his voice rising. People near them glanced over, casually, letting their eyes flicker toward the booth and then back. A man started whispering to his wife. One of the cotton candy guys moved a little closer to hear what was happening over the whir of the machine.

  Milo was embarrassed—this wasn’t the kind of attention he wanted. He took a deep breath and tried to think of something to say. It took him too long. The man spoke again, his voice louder than before.

  “This had better be a joke,” the man told him. “Even then, it’s idiotic. You can’t stand there and pretend that you know one single thing about running this country. Or one single thing about anything. This is a joke, isn’t it.” It wasn’t a question. “Tell me.”

  Milo shook his head. He took another deep breath. “No, sir. It isn’t a j
oke.”

  He wasn’t sure what was going to happen next. Perhaps he would have to die for his principles. He felt slightly heroic for a moment, until the man spun, grabbed a beanbag from the game in the next booth, and threw it right at Milo’s face as hard as he could. A little gasp came from the crowd.

  Instinctively, Milo’s hand shot up and he caught the beanbag. He looked at it, then looked at the man. The man’s face was knotted with anger.

  “You’re making a mockery of America.” The crowd was hushed. The spinning cotton candy machine was the only sound until the child who had been about to take her turn at the beanbag booth let out a squeak. Before the man turned and walked away, he gave Milo one last, hate-filled glare.

  “Did that seriously just happen?” Jack asked in a low voice.

  “I think it did,” Milo said, holding the beanbag in his hand. The crowd was still quiet, staring at him. He tried to smile. He walked over and handed the beanbag to the little girl, who took it silently.

  Another older man was standing in the cotton candy line. He was looking intently at Milo. “That was Henry McDonald,” he told them, leaning closer to their booth. “He’s a war veteran. He takes his country very seriously.”

  “So do I, sir,” Milo said.

  The older man smiled at him. “You might have bitten off more than you can chew with this campaign, son.” The man’s voice was kind. He turned to pay for his granddaughter’s cotton candy.

  * * *

  Maura had been wandering around the other booths and missed the beanbag debacle. She came back to where they were sitting and dropped onto the grass behind the booth. “It’s hot,” she told Milo. “Did you bring any money? I need a SnoCone. They’re about to close up the booth.” Things seemed to be settling down at the park. A few people had drifted by after the beanbag incident, but not many. Milo was left with a bad taste in his mouth. He needed about eight huge SnoCones to take it away.

  He fished in his pockets. “Here,” he said, handing Maura a dollar.

  “Hey, you giving out money?” one of the guys from the cotton candy booth asked him. It was same guy who had helped them pick up their fliers earlier. The baseball team had shut off the machine and was starting to pack up too.