The Campaign

by Leila Sales

  “BECAUSE I SAID SO!” I wanted to yell at him, but I didn’t, because Dad says that’s not a convincing argument, and anyway, it’s rude to yell at strangers.

  “I’m not in public school,” the garbage man said. “I’m not an artist. Maybe I would be, if I wasn’t working all the time. Hah! That’ll never happen.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Okay, I get it.”

  “Kids!” the garbage collector muttered under his breath as he headed off.

  I went back inside.

  I was going to ask Janet what she thought about hiring more employees for the sanitation department so that the people who worked there would have more time off, but she was still surrounded by her crowd of admirers, so I didn’t bother. Instead I just wrote “Hire more garbage collectors?” on a blank page in my sketch pad and stomped over to My Friend Daniel.

  “What if not enough people care about art in public schools?” I asked Daniel.

  “Why wouldn’t they?” Daniel asked, his mouth full of pizza.

  “Because,” I said, “a lot of people only care about issues that directly affect them. Artsy kids care about arts in schools. Garbage collectors care about garbage. People who drive cars care about potholes.” I sighed. “How do you make people care about issues that don’t directly affect them?”

  “You don’t care about stuff that doesn’t directly affect you,” My Friend Daniel told me.

  I frowned at him. “Sure I do.”

  “No, you don’t. That’s why you don’t care about potholes, whatever those are. Because they have nothing to do with you.”

  “Yeah, okay,” I muttered. “Name one thing you care about that doesn’t have to do with you.”

  Daniel shrugged. “Nah. I only care about things in my own life. But I don’t feel bad about it. Lots of people only care about their own stuff.” He looked around the room. “Not Janet, though.”

  “How do you know?” I asked.

  “Because,” he said, rolling his eyes at me, “she’s running for mayor just so kids can have art class. And she’s not even a kid.”

  “You’re right,” I said, feeling a swell of pride for Janet even as I felt a swell of sadness that I was losing her to everyone else. “She cares a lot about other people’s stuff. I think that’s why she’d be a good mayor.”

  Now, how were we going to convince the rest of the world?

  CHAPTER 16

  Within a week, Jordan’s Hot House had been transformed into Janet for Mayor campaign headquarters. Along with every other artistic kid at Lawrenceville Middle School, I spent hours there every day after school, working to get Janet elected.

  Everyone helped one another out, but different people quickly took charge of specific aspects of the campaign.

  That’s what Jordan’s Hot House was like now. If we got hungry from working too hard, there was always the candy wall. If we got tired from working too hard, there were always the beanbag chairs. And if we just couldn’t work anymore, there were always video games.

  Everyone was in charge of something specific and important. Except for me. Mostly I helped out everyone else, and I answered a lot of questions. All the kids asked me for permission before they made any big decisions. Which was funny, because I didn’t know any more about running a political campaign than they did.

  It wasn’t just at Jordan’s that people had questions for me. It was at school, too. All of a sudden, kids who’d never wanted to talk to me kept approaching me at lunch or in the locker room or between classes to ask me for things.

  “I hope so,” I told everyone who asked me, and I wrote all their requests down on my sketchpad. I wanted to say yes, because I wanted to help them, and because I wanted them to join Janet’s campaign. But I didn’t actually know if Janet could do all of this. Did mayors control how much bosses paid their employees, or bus routes, or library budgets? And was there some reason why the current mayor hadn’t already done these things? They sounded like good ideas to me. But maybe there was some secret reason why they were bad ideas, and I didn’t even know it, and that’s why they hadn’t already happened.

  Could a mayor do even bigger things? Could she stop the use of fossil fuels, like Mr. Okereke wanted? Could she declare war? Could she save an endangered species? Could she send people to jail for calling other people weird?

  It suddenly occurred to me that, even though we were running for mayor, I didn’t a hundred percent actually know what the mayor did.

  I didn’t want to ask Mr. Valdez, even though he was the social studies teacher, because I assumed he’d say something like . . .

  But when I finally asked him, what he actually said was, “That’s a great question, Maddie.”

  Can you believe it?! I, Maddie Polansky, asked a great question! In school!

  “America is designed to have a system of checks and balances,” he said. “That means that different parts of the government limit one another’s power. If we lived in a monarchy, then the king or queen could just do whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted. They could outlaw anything, or require anything, and no one could stop them.”

  “But because we live in a democracy,” Mr. Valdez explained, “nobody has that sort of absolute power. Decisions are divided up among the lawmakers, the courts, and the executive branch—that’s the mayor. Other decisions are divided up between the national government, the state government, and the city government. And if any one part of the government oversteps its boundaries, then it’s up to the other parts to stop it.”

  That made sense in principle. Even if she did get elected, Janet couldn’t just do whatever she felt like. But it still didn’t tell me whether Janet could do any of the specific things that the kids in school kept asking me about.

  “Ugh, this is so easy,” Polly said when I mentioned that I was worried about this. “Just tell everyone that Janet will do exactly what they want, and then they’ll all support her.”

  “Yeah, but what if that’s a lie?” I asked. “What if she gets elected, and then it turns out she can’t do any of these things after all because of checks and balances?”

  “Well, by then it’ll be too late.” Polly flipped her hair. “She’ll already be the mayor, and even if they’re disappointed, there won’t be anything they can do about it.”

  I thought about my mom telling me that politicians sometimes made campaign promises and then didn’t stick to them when they actually took office. I didn’t see any difference between that and just outright lying.

  “Lots of people lie, or at least pretend to be something they’re not, in order to get people to like them,” Polly told me, exasperated. “It’s not a big deal.”

  Maybe that’s why people don’t like me. I’m no good at pretending.

  CHAPTER 17

  “I’m so nervous,” My Friend Daniel said, hopping from foot to foot. “I’m so nervous I’m so nervous I’m so—”

  “Stop it,” I said. “You’re being annoying, and you’re making me nervous.”

  We were at the park, close to the farmers market, about to kick off Janet’s very first campaign rally. Everything looked good, but looks could be deceiving.

  All of us had brought along parents, grandparents, or other potential Janet voters. I saw a bunch of people I recognized from the farmers market, like Mr. Okereke, the man with the climate change petition. Holly was selling T-shirts and bumper stickers to everyone who came by. Polly was going over Janet’s speech with her one last time. Dylan was recording everything, while Chloe was hunched over her phone, posting constant updates to social media. And everyone had questions for me.

  “Are there any more sign-up forms?” asked Deke.

  “Where’s the band supposed to set up?” asked Lucas.

  “Is there a chair for my grandpa?” asked Nicole.

  “In my bag, by the flagpole, and just take Molly’s,” I answered.

  “Who’s Molly?” Nicole said.

  “You know what I mean. Adrianne.”

  Nicole gave me a
weird look and then they all ran back to work.

  I wrote “Put more benches in the park so people can sit down” on my notepad.

  “I’m so proud to see how hard all you kids are working on this campaign,” Mom said, placing her hand on my shoulder. “What a terrific hobby Janet has found for you! She is just the greatest babysitter, isn’t she?”

  Okay, first of all? In no way was this campaign Janet’s idea. Second of all, a hobby?!

  “She’s a great babysitter,” Dad agreed, “but we’ll have to find a new one if she wins! I was just talking to some folks over there—I’m pretty sure one of them was a statistician, and she said Janet has a one in three chance of getting elected!”

  Translation: Dad had talked to some people at this rally; maybe they had jobs, but definitely not anything involving statistics; and Janet had a one in a million chance of getting elected.

  Great.

  “I hope this event gets started, because I have to leave pretty soon,” Mom said, checking her watch. “It’s week two of my ten-week class for parents on how to support your children in their passions, and I don’t want to be late.”

  I took that as my cue, and I hollered, “Lucas! Let’s do it!” And with that, the rally began.

  The band kicked things off by playing “America the Beautiful,” because it sounded political, and then “Call Me Maybe,” because they knew it really well and didn’t have time to learn new music. Even more people gathered around to hear them play.

  Next, Mr. Xian gave a speech about how important arts education was. Then it was Janet’s turn to talk.

  “Thank you to everyone who came out to support me on this beautiful fall day,” she said. “My name is Janet Teneman, and I am running for mayor!”

  Everyone in the park burst into applause.

  “I’m here to support the future of Lawrenceville,” Janet said. “I grew up here, and I love this town. I love the people here, and the parks, and the architecture, and the weather! I think Lawrenceville has the ideal ratio of cloudy to sunny days, don’t you?”

  There was some scattered applause, like people wanted to support Janet even though they weren’t totally sure how many cloudy days was ideal. I saw Polly mouthing words to Janet, and I guessed that the weather wasn’t supposed to be part of her speech.

  “This town is great,” Janet went on, getting back on track. “But my opponent wants to make it worse. We’re a diverse place with a lot of creative, motivated citizens. Think about the talented band you just heard. Look at that beautiful banner. Watch the amazing videos that are on my campaign website. Our schools are offering students the education and the support to create all of this and more.”

  I saw Mr. Xian nodding. He looked proud.

  “If my opponent gets elected, none of those skills will be encouraged anymore. Students will be taught exactly what’s on standardized tests and nothing else. But if you take anything away from this rally, I hope it’s that the kids of Lawrenceville are so much more than just test-takers and bubble-fillers. They are whole individuals with specific passions and knowledge and curiosity. And they deserve an education that treats them as the complete and distinct human beings that they are.”

  Everyone applauded—not just the kids but the adults, too. I felt a warm swell of pride. But then I saw Mr. Okereke shaking his head.

  “What?” I asked him.

  “It’s not enough, kid,” he told me. “She can’t win on that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “A political campaign can’t just run on maintaining the status quo. It’s got to run on progress.”

  “Huh?” I was annoyed. Janet was giving a great speech. This was a great rally. And Mr. Okereke was ruining it with his bad attitude.

  “Right now, all your girl is saying is that she won’t make things any worse,” he explained. “She’s promising to keep things the same. That’s the status quo. And it’s not what makes voters turn out. She has to convince us that she’s going to improve our situation. What’s more motivating: Fear that Lucinda will make our lives worse? Or hope that Janet will make our lives better?”

  I had no idea. All I heard was Mr. Okereke telling me that protecting arts education for students wasn’t enough.

  Which was basically what the garbage man had said, too.

  It was what a lot of people had said. That this thing, which was life-or-death for me and all the rest of the kids here, didn’t matter to them at all.

  “Do you think that people only care about issues that affect them directly?” I asked Mr. Okereke.

  “That’s true for some folks,” he said. “But not everyone. I care about the planet, remember, even though by the time climate change has progressed far enough that Lawrenceville becomes unlivable, I’ll be long gone. I’m not trying to save it for myself.

  “You can’t fight exclusively for things that make your own life better, know what I mean? That’s selfish and small-minded. Do not ever value the quality of your life over the quality of everyone else’s. You’re no more important than any other human being out there. Instead, you’ve got to fight for a better society, a society in which everyone can have access to a better life.”

  I looked at him.

  “Sorry,” he said. “When I’m not out here getting signatures for my petition, I’m a professor of political science at the college.”

  “I bet your class is really hard,” I told him.

  He laughed.

  Lucas was getting the band back into position so they could play another song. (Specifically, they were going to play “Call Me Maybe” again, because they really didn’t know that many songs.) But I put up my hand to stop him as I walked up to the front of the crowd, where Janet was finishing her speech.

  “We need to think bigger,” I told her, and I gave her my notepad.

  Janet took a quick look at it. Then she gave me a big smile.

  “Is that what you meant?” I asked Mr. Okereke.

  “Yeah, kid,” he said with a grin and a slow nod. “That’ll do it.”

  CHAPTER 18

  THE LAWRENCEVILLE GAZETTE

  ONE MONTH REMAINS IN RACE FOR MAYOR

  After a quiet start, newcomer Janet Teneman’s campaign for mayor of Lawrenceville is picking up momentum. A series of well-attended rallies have expanded her base, and she has put together a coalition of supporters with a broad range of backgrounds.

  “Janet says she’s going to hire more guys for waste management,” said longtime sanitation department employee Martin Gregory, age sixty-two. “That’s enough to get my vote, because do you even know how many hours a day I have to work? It’s crazy. Honestly, why am I even talking to you right now when I still have so much garbage to collect today? I have to go.”

  “I’ve never voted before,” said Pedro Hernández, a twenty-one-year-old student, “but I’m going to vote for Janet because I think it’s cool that she’s basically my age and she’s already running for office. I met her at an event last week. She really listened to me.”

  For other voters, however, Teneman’s youth is more of a hindrance than an asset. “She’s inexperienced,” said Rhianna Binker, a real estate agent, age forty-five. “Lucinda Burghart has been working in city government for years. Sure, she’s not perfect, but she’s a known quantity, and I trust her.”

  Although Teneman is gaining ground, Burghart is still polling significantly ahead. “We don’t need to talk about Janet,” said Burghart’s campaign manager, Richard Langston, who has run many local and statewide political campaigns in years past. “She’s a distraction, nothing more. The real story here is all the money that Lucinda Burghart is going to save the taxpayers of Lawrenceville.”

  The two candidates will go head-to-head for the first time at a debate, sponsored by the League of Women Voters, at 6:00 p.m. on Thursday.

  ________

  We did a lot of practicing with Janet before the debate. Molly was on the forensics team, so she pretended to be Lucinda, and Janet practiced rebuttin
g her. We watched lots of old presidential debates on the giant screen at Jordan’s for inspiration. And we kept a dodgeball at Jordan’s that anyone could throw at Janet at any time while asking a debate question, which Janet would have to answer as soon as she caught it.

  When the day of the debate arrived, we were so excited that we all showed up early to the auditorium. The atmosphere was electric and hyper, but once we tried to enter the auditorium, it took a steep nosedive.

  There were a lot of shocked gasps and grumbling. “That’s not fair!” someone yelled.

  “Why can’t the kids come in to watch the debate?” Janet asked.

  The security guard didn’t smile or look apologetic as he replied, “Because there’s limited seating inside, and the priority is to get voters in there. Furthermore, the children might be noisy. We need to make sure the audience is able to hear the candidates.”

  “I am a candidate,” Janet told him, looking annoyed.

  “We can be really quiet!” Polly shouted, and to prove it we all went perfectly silent.

  But the security guard did not seem impressed. “I don’t make the rules,” he said.

  “So who does?” Janet asked.

  He shrugged.

  “See, this is why Janet should make the rules,” I whispered to Daniel.

  “But they came all this way,” Janet tried. “I wouldn’t be here at all if it weren’t for them.”

  “If you want to take it up with the organizers, go ahead,” he said. “I’m just doing my job.”

  Janet went around to the back of the building, I guess to talk to some people about getting us in, while we stood in a huddle and waited. She came back to us a few minutes later looking pale. “The rules do say that nobody under eighteen is allowed in,” she said. “And guess who made the rules?”

  “Who?” we asked.

  “The city council,” she said grimly.

  It took a moment before I realized: “Lucinda’s on the city council!”

  “But that’s cheating!” My Friend Daniel exclaimed. “She’s keeping us out on purpose!”