The Campaign

by Leila Sales

  Janet ran a hand through her hair. She looked utterly lost.

  Polly spoke up. “It’s okay, Janet,” she said. “We’re not mad at you. We can wait outside and listen to the debate online.”

  We all nodded reluctantly. We’d been looking forward to watching Janet debate. We’d been excited to cheer her on, and a lot of kids had wanted to see the evil Lucinda in person for the first time. My Friend Daniel had literally been rehearsing the mean look he was going to give her during the whole debate.

  But Polly was right that this wasn’t Janet’s fault, and if we kept being angry about it, we’d just make Janet feel guilty.

  So we all agreed that it was fine. “We’ll be cheering you on out here,” Michaela said.

  “You’ve got this in the bag,” Theo added.

  Janet still looked sick, though.

  I pulled her aside. “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “I’m scared!” she blurted out—but in a whisper, so no one else could hear.

  I thought back to how nervous I’d felt when I had asked Lucinda that one question at the town hall. I got why Janet would feel scared. “But you’re so good at speaking in front of crowds,” I reassured her. “You’ve been doing tons of rallies and fundraisers, and everyone loves you.”

  “Yes,” she said, “but that’s different. Everyone goes to those to listen to me, not to argue with me. Those rallies are filled with my supporters, but the audience for this debate is going to include a lot of people who want to see me lose. They want to see Lucinda make a fool of me. And I’ll be in there all alone!”

  “You won’t be all alone,” I tried to reassure her. “Your parents will be in the audience, right? And your friends?”

  “But none of you will be there.” Janet gestured to all of us kids. “And you’re the ones who really believe that I can win.”

  Janet was spiraling. She was sweaty and shaky, and if I didn’t do something fast, she was going to work herself into such a state of nerves that Lucinda would be able to beat her without even trying.

  “Janet,” I said with more confidence than I felt, “you’ve practiced so much for this. You’re ready. Whenever the moderator asks you a question, just imagine that it’s one of us tossing you the dodgeball. Just answer it like you’re talking to us.”

  “I don’t know if I can do it,” she said, knotting her fingers together.

  I didn’t know if she meant that she couldn’t debate or couldn’t be mayor, but either way, I knew that her doubts were unfounded. “You’re smart and a good listener,” I told her. “People open up to you and want to tell you their problems. And you genuinely care about their problems, and you work to help fix them. You have good ideas, but you’re open to everyone else’s good ideas, too. Most people aren’t like that, Janet.”

  It’s true that she was usually a good listener, but in that moment she didn’t seem to be listening to me at all. It was like she’d locked herself into her own little closet of stage fright and nobody could reach her in there.

  I checked the time. “The debate starts in twenty minutes,” I said. “You should go.”

  Janet nodded numbly and staggered inside. I watched her go.

  “I need to get into that debate,” I whispered to myself.

  But how?

  CHAPTER 19

  I refused to let Lucinda’s biased rules stand in my way—or in Janet’s. I was going in there whether I was allowed to or not.

  I watched the crowd of adults who were waiting to get into the auditorium for the debate, and then, when I felt as ready as I could, I slipped into line with them. I tried to blend in, which is hard to do when you’re a foot shorter than everyone else. I watched the security guard quickly check the bags of the people who were in line in front of me, then wave them through.

  When I got to the front of the line, he said, “Sorry, no kids allowed inside.”

  But this time I was ready. I stood up straight and pretended to be like Lucinda—someone who believed she was always right; someone who believed she always deserved to get her way. “My aunt told me you might say that,” I replied coolly, “and she said you had instructions to make an exception for me.”

  “Do I?” he said. “Who’s your aunt?”

  “She’s running for mayor,” I went on, “and she’s on the city council. She made the rule that no children are allowed at the debate, which makes sense, because children are usually so noisy and disrespectful. But she wants me there. She said she’d given you special instructions about it. Didn’t you get them?”

  The security guard scratched his neck.

  “Don’t tell me I need to call my aunt about this,” I said. “The debate starts in just a few minutes, and she’ll be extremely annoyed if she has to interrupt her pre-debate meditation ritual just to come let me in. You know, this is the same ritual she’s been using since she was in the Olympics.”

  He let out a big breath. “It’s just you, right? You don’t have a crew of friends who you’re going to try to bring in with you?”

  I gave him my best withering look. “Of course not. Like I said, other children are so noisy.”

  And he stood aside and let me in.

  Yes!

  I darted down the hall, weaving my way around the slower-walking adults, and found a seat a few rows back from the stage—close enough that I could see, but hopefully not so close that Lucinda would notice me.

  A few minutes later, the moderator silenced the room so she could get started.

  A big round of applause greeted them as they took the stage. Lucinda looked confident and a little bored. Janet was wide-eyed and terrified.

  Genesis said, “Let’s get started with a broad question: Why do you think that you would be a good mayor for Lawrenceville? Ms. Burghart, please start us off.”

  Lucinda grinned like a crocodile. “Let me start by thanking the League of Women Voters for hosting us. And thank you to Genesis, of course—always a pleasure to speak with you. And enormous thanks to everyone in the audience, and those listening at home, for taking the time out of your busy lives to think about the future of our city.” She paused, then added begrudgingly, “And of course, thank you to my opponent for being here.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “I am the right pick for Lawrenceville because I have many years of experience. I know how this city runs, and I know how to get things done. I have the best interests of Lawrenceville taxpayers in mind at all times. I’m going to cut government funding for all sorts of unnecessary city services, which means I’m going to save money for everyone in this room. Now, many people don’t know this about me, but I am in fact an Olympian.”

  “And as an Olympian,” she went on, “I understand self-reliance, hard work, and constant improvement. That is what I’ll bring to this city. Thank you.”

  Everyone around me cheered, even though Genesis Lee asked them to hold their applause until the end. And then it was Janet’s turn.

  I winced. Janet was gripping the podium and breathing funny.

  “I grew up here?” Janet went on. “I . . . want to help people?”

  The crowd was growing restless. The couple sitting next to me was whispering and giggling.

  “Do you need to take a break, honey?” Lucinda asked Janet with a sickly sweet concern. She put on a baby voice to say, “I know your first debate can be vewy scawy!”

  Ugh!

  I stood up and made eye contact with Janet. Her gaze settled on me, and her mouth opened in a little o of surprise. I mimed tossing her a dodgeball, and her face relaxed into a smile. She mimed catching it.

  This did not go unnoticed by Lucinda. “What is this?” she snapped. “Will somebody please escort this little girl from the audience?”

  “We have rules here for a reason,” Lucinda went on, her face flushed. “Children are disruptive, as you can clearly see. They are not members of the electorate—they can’t vote, and this process is reserved for all of us who can.”

  “You know what?”
Janet spoke up loudly. “The reason why I should be mayor is because I fundamentally disagree with what Lucinda just said.”

  The audience fell silent again, and Janet went on, her voice strong now. “My opponent treats some people like they matter more than others. She seems to think adults matter more than children, and rich adults who can vote matter most of all. I disagree. We are all people, and all of us are equally entitled to respect and opportunities.

  “I originally got into this race because Lucinda intends to cut funding for arts education in schools. And while that may save some people some money, it will cost other people their happiness, their purpose, their future. And the people who will lose out? They don’t have any power. They don’t have a say. So I’m here to fight for them.”

  She meant me. Me and all the other kids gathered outside. I pictured them listening on their phones and cheering, and I wished we could all be in one place, cheering together.

  Janet went on. “People open up to me. They always have, and they’ve been doing so more and more since I started this campaign. They tell me their problems, because they know that I care about them and that I’m going to work to make their lives better.

  “Everyone in this audience has good ideas for improving Lawrenceville. You want this city to be more handicap-accessible. You want it to be easier to recycle and compost. You want a library that’s not stuck in 2005. You want better buses and bike lanes and roads, so you can get around. I want to hear all your ideas and all your concerns. Even—especially—if you don’t have any power. And that is why I’d be a good mayor.”

  I could barely hear the moderator telling the audience members to be quiet over the sound of their applause. Janet winked at me. I winked back at her. That was exactly what I’d told Janet was special about her! She’d heard me after all!

  Lucinda’s face was bright pink. “Oh, really?” she finally got out. “How exactly are you going to pay for all these pie-in-the-sky ideas? City buses and recycling programs don’t fund themselves. You know who does fund them? The taxpayers! The very people here in this room! Who are already giving up quite enough of their hard-earned dollars to the government, thank you very much!”

  “Here’s how,” Janet said. “I’m going to bring more businesses into Lawrenceville. The new businesses will pay city taxes, and that’s how we’re going to afford all these programs. Because you know what?” She looked out at the audience, calm and clear. “There should be more businesses in Lawrenceville. There should be more employment opportunities here. I got good grades and graduated from college, yet my best hope of finding work in this town is becoming the mayor. It shouldn’t be like that. There should be enough jobs in this town for everyone who wants to work!”

  Wow. I was so proud of Janet, I thought I might burst.

  “Next question,” the moderator said once the applause had quieted down. “Ms. Teneman, you were accused of cheating when you were a student at Lawrenceville High School. Ms. Burghart has been quoted as saying, ‘Once a cheater, always a cheater.’ How do you respond to that? What would you say to someone who is reluctant to vote for you because of your history?”

  Lucinda nodded firmly a number of times and raised her eyebrows at the crowd like, No way she’s gonna be able to talk her way out of this one, folks!

  Fortunately, we had practiced this question. Janet shot me a smile, and I could tell she remembered what we’d discussed.

  “When I was fourteen years old, I plagiarized an essay for English class,” Janet said. “As a result, I failed the class and made it up in summer school. I was suspended. I wrote a letter of apology to my teacher. I made a bad choice, and I deserved to be disciplined for it.

  “I learned a lot from that experience, and I have never cheated at anything again, because I’ve never forgotten the shame of it. One of the things I learned is this: People can change. If you let someone get away with bad behavior, they won’t change. But if you hold them responsible for it—if you can get them to understand what they did wrong and why and how to do it differently—then they can change and grow and improve. I did.”

  The couple next to me, who’d been giggling before, was nodding thoughtfully now. I slipped them both “Janet for Mayor” buttons, and they grinned and took them.

  “Ms. Burghart, your response?” the moderator said.

  Lucinda was already shaking her head so hard I thought it might fall off. “No,” she said. “People don’t change. My opponent is the same lazy girl who takes the easy way out because she doesn’t want to actually do the work. She said herself that she hasn’t even held down a proper job since she graduated! And I am the same goal-oriented straight shooter that I was when I competed in the Olympics.”

  I thought that the way Lucinda had made her point was nasty and rude, but I also thought that maybe both she and Janet were a little bit right. There were some parts of me that I couldn’t imagine ever changing, qualities that were so much a part of me that I wouldn’t want them to change even if they could.

  But there were some ways in which I was already different from the Maddie I’d been just a few weeks ago. Today I felt like I was part of a community, like I was excited to reunite with the rest of the kids and talk about the debate with them and figure out what our next steps were. Today I felt like someone who mattered, someone who people relied on. Janet had always been there for me, to cook for me and drive me around and be my paid friend, but today, in her time of need, I was here for her.

  So I thought that Janet had a point. People could change and grow and improve. Maybe I already had.

  CHAPTER 20

  After the debate, I wanted to talk to Janet right away and tell her what a good job she had done, but she was surrounded by a crowd of people congratulating her or asking her to do certain things if she became mayor. I stayed out of the way, because I didn’t want to get between Janet and anyone who could vote for her.

  When most of them had moved on, I started to approach Janet, but then another guy swooped in.

  “Great work up there tonight,” he said to her. “I wanted to introduce myself. My name is Chris Prince, and I’m a political strategist.”

  Janet shook his hand. “Good to meet you.”

  “I ran Enrique Peñate’s reelection campaign a few years ago,” Chris told her, “as well as Governor Tuchman’s. I was on staff for Senator Bradley’s campaign as well.”

  “Wow,” Janet said.

  “I have to say, I’m not a fan of Burghart’s policies,” Chris went on. “I was disappointed when it looked like no one was going to challenge her, so I’m glad that you entered the race. And I’ve been impressed by the job you’re doing, especially for a first-time candidate. You’ve really got people paying attention. And I suspect you’re going to have a lot of new fans after your performance in this debate.”

  “Thanks,” Janet said.

  “Listen,” he said, “I don’t want to overstep here, but I’d love to talk to you about managing your campaign.”

  “You want to manage my campaign?” Janet said, sounding flattered.

  He nodded seriously. “I think you stand a chance, but it’s an uphill battle, and you’re only going to win with the right strategy. I hear that you’ve been running your campaign out of a children’s restaurant with an all-volunteer team. But this is the big leagues, and it’s time to get serious. If I came onboard, I’d suggest hiring at least one other full-time staff member and renting office space. I know it would require a bigger budget, but I have a lot of ideas for donors you haven’t tapped into yet.”

  I walked away. I’d heard enough.

  This guy, Chris Prince, was a political pro. He wanted to come in and help Janet beat Lucinda. And he seemed like he could actually make it happen. He had the experience, the connections, the confidence. He was exactly the sort of resource we needed on our side.

  And yet I wished he’d just disappear.

  I walked outside to where the rest of the kids were dancing around, holding up “Janet f
or Mayor” signs, passing out stickers, and getting contact information from everyone who was coming out of the auditorium.

  “Yay!” I said, plastering a smile on my face. “Sounds great!”

  But all I could think of was that soon Chris would be in charge of all of this. All the questions and compliments and updates would go to him, not me. And that should have been a good thing, because he knew what to do with all of it, and I didn’t.

  After all, I reminded myself, winning was the most important thing, and Chris knew how to win a political campaign. He’d done it before. Winning was what mattered, I told myself, so who cared how we got there?

  Still, I felt sad. And dumb. I’d just started feeling useful to Janet, to the campaign, to the city and all the kids in it. I’d felt like people needed me for a little while, and it had been a good feeling.

  But now I was realizing that had all been in my mind. Nobody really needed me. Not even Janet.

  We celebrated for a long time outside the auditorium, and I kept wishing everyone would stop so I could go home. Janet had done really well in the debate—everyone agreed—but I was exhausted from trying to act happy about it when really, selfishly, I mostly just felt bad for myself.

  I texted my parents to ask them to get me, but my mom was at a retreat about “intuitive parenting,” and my dad had somehow turned off the electricity in our house and was trying to figure out how to turn it back on, so they both told me to just wait for Janet to be ready to leave.

  Finally, the other kids left, and Janet finished talking to all her fans. “It’s that time, Mads,” she said to me, and we got in her car and headed toward home. Janet talked almost the whole way while I aimlessly drew circles in my notebook. “What an amazing event,” she kept saying. “Wow. We prepared so well for that! I had an answer ready for almost every question she asked. Not the one about Mayor Peñate’s new zoning restrictions. I don’t know much about that, and Lucinda knows a lot. I’m going to have to study up on it. But everything else, right? The room literally broke into applause when I talked about my plan to open up a community center. They didn’t clap that hard for anything Lucinda said.”