How Not to Run for President

by Catherine Clark

  “I don’t have one,” I said.

  “Your parents will,” she said. “Once we get to Fairstone, this will all be easy.”

  “How are we going to get to Fairstone—without the rest of them?” I asked.

  “It’s just like when we were playing baseball. You totally underestimate me.” She continued making notes on her list.

  1. Birth cert.

  2. E. interviews T.J.

  “Your friend can help us, right?”

  “What friend?” I asked.

  “The one who came to say good-bye, gave you that awful candy,” Emma said.

  “Simon?”

  “Yeah. Him.” She nodded. “When we get a second of privacy, can you call him? Okay, good.” She started writing again.

  3. Get Simon to help. Not sure how yet.

  4. Factory serenade.

  5. On-camera interview with company rep. “Kids?”

  Emma and I nearly bonked heads as we both looked up to see Kristen standing over us. She was like our own personal rain cloud. “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “Oh.” Emma quickly covered the notebook with her arm. “Nothing, really.”

  “Just doing some, you know. Hangman.” pretended I had a noose around my neck and did an imaginary jerk on the imaginary rope. It wasn’t that far off from the truth of how I felt.

  “He lost badly,” said Emma. “What’s going on up there?” She pointed to the front of the bus.

  “Lots of strategy stuff. We need to get this train back on the track,” said Kristen.

  “Well, you’re good at that,” said Emma. “What’s our next stop, since we had to skip the fair?”

  Kristen consulted her BlackBerry. “I’m not sure about this, because things are constantly changing. Looks like we might have something in Kalamazoo? Anyway, that’s not the big push. The big one is our visit to an auto plant near Detroit.”

  Emma nodded. “Sounds like a plan. Do you happen to know which one we’re going to?”

  “I’m not sure, but I can go check,” said Kristen.

  “Would you, please?” Emma asked.

  “Sure. And I love those good manners,” Kristen said. “Be right back.”

  “That’s where we’ll take off,” Emma whispered to me after Kristen left us. “Just be ready when I tell you to run.”

  The auto plant wasn’t the next stop. I stayed with the campaign through a school visit in Kalamazoo and a rally in Battle Creek outside a cereal company, but I kept a low profile just in case people believed what they were reading about me. I told the general I thought it’d be best if I stayed on the bus, and he didn’t argue with me. Emma stayed on the bus, too, making calls and planning, and I gazed out the window at the big crowds, trying not to get upset about the fact I’d be going home soon—going home a total failure, that is.

  Now I had finally gotten off the bus at the assembly plant, and I was waiting for Emma to tell me what to do. Governor Brandon was speaking in front of a huge crowd of autoworkers who held up union signs. They were chanting and pumping their fists. Most of them seemed to support her, but a few were heckling her, too.

  Two men standing beside me were talking. “I don’t know a thing about her,” the first one said, “but she seems to know what she’s talking about.”

  “Me neither, but I’m impressed so far,” the other guy said.

  A woman leaned over. “Did you hear how she saved the Ford plant in Saint Paul?” she asked.

  “Nah. really?”

  “Oh, yeah. She went to the mat for those guys,” the woman said, and they all nodded, like this was a secret handshake test Governor Brandon had just passed.

  “I’m not anti-union!” the governor was saying. “I’m pro-union! In fact, if it were up to me, everyone would have a union to represent their best interests. And you know who I’d start with? The working moms like the ones I’ve met here today,” she said.

  Women in the crowd went wild.

  “And then the working dads! Behind every good American car, there’s a team of workers making it into the best quality on the road today. They might be moms, dads, aunts, uncles, grandparents, but they all deserve decent wages and health care for their families! Everyone needs to have a voice. Everyone needs to be heard, and I’m the only one out here running for president who’s listening!”

  When a few people recognized me, they gave me high fives. I held back. I couldn’t help wondering whether everyone actually believed all those crazy stories about me. Maybe they’d been busy at work and hadn’t heard the stories yet. Or maybe they had heard them but they were cutting me some slack.

  Then again, some of them might believe my mom was spying for a Chinese company. So maybe not.

  Emma pulled on my arm, holding me back from the wave of supporters heading for the makeshift stage in the parking lot to shake the governor’s hand or exchange a few words with her. I was being swept along with the tide, but Emma strong-armed me to the side. “We’re out of here,” she said.

  “What about Kristen?” I asked. “Won’t she notice?” I looked around. “Where is she, anyway?”

  “I sent her on an errand to get me a specific kind of kiwi-mango-strawberry juice that’s really hard to find,” Emma said.

  “Sounds disgusting,” I said, making a face.

  Emma snapped my arm with her finger. “It’s not real, you idiot. I made it up to keep her away from us. She won’t be back for fifteen minutes, at least.”

  “Kiwi juice? That’s your alibi? Okay,” I grunted as I tried to squeeze past two very tall, very strong men. “What about the Secret Service?” It seemed as if their ranks had increased lately, and I didn’t recognize half of the new agents. That might be good. They might not know me, either. But Emma? They’d never let her out of their sight.

  “Too busy making sure Mom gets through the crowd safely. They’re worried about this one. Twice as many people showed up as they were expecting, and it’s dicey,” Emma said.

  “Yeah, but isn’t that more reason for them to watch you carefully?” I argued.

  “They think they’re so smart with their code names. Ponytail. I mean, who is that fooling? No, we can get away. Watch this. Come on,” Emma said, leading me away from the chaos.

  “Where are we going?” I asked. We hadn’t had time to go over our plan because Stu and the general had spent the last twenty minutes before we arrived reviewing Operation Image repair with me. Emma and I hadn’t had a second of time to talk in private. “Where’s my stuff?” I asked Emma.

  “I already dropped it where it needs to be. Just come on!” she urged. We made it toward the exit, and she suddenly stopped beside an extremely large beige SUV that kind of looked like a tank. It had big tires that were almost as tall as me.

  “Well?” she said. “What are you waiting for? Get in.”

  How? I was wondering. “What is this?” I asked.

  “It’s called a road Stormer. Latest thing out of Detroit,” she said. “I think they make it here. I don’t know, I asked for something really secure. They said it has some kind of armor in the doors.” She shrugged. “Sounded good enough to me.”

  “Is this for us?” I asked. “How did you … ?”

  “You said I had a lot of power. Well, I’m using it.” She climbed up into the SUV, using a little ladder that unfolded when the door was opened. I followed her. She talked to the driver for a minute, then sat down next to me. “I called a private car service, told them we’re making a round trip so I can drop you off. I have access to my mom’s credit cards, you know, in case of emergency.”

  “But everyone’s going to panic when they realize we’re gone,” I said, shifting to get comfortable in the giant backseat. I felt like I was getting onto an amusement park ride and a bar should drop down to protect me. “These cars are terrible for the environment,” I said, fastening my seat belt.

  “Yeah, but they’re really cool,” Emma said. “Besides, this one uses ethanol. What, you want to show up back home in an
old pickup or something? Okay, so I’ll text Mom in a minute. She won’t have time to read the text until the event’s over, but when she reads it, she’ll know we’re okay,” Emma said confidently. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it all figured it out.” She smiled. “They won’t report us as missing, because it’ll look bad for them. They’ll just pretend we’re on the bus until we all meet up again, and they can prove it. Anyway, I’ll call her once we’re in Fairstone. We can even send a picture of us with your mom if she needs more proof. They’ll finish tonight’s fund-raiser, then someone will come to haul me back. That gives us tonight to get this done.”

  “How do we get everything on our list all done tonight?” I asked.

  “We work fast. Just like everyone else in TV news.” Emma took out her phone. “I’m going to call some news stations.”

  When we breezed through the Fairstone exit two hours later, I’d never been so glad to see a trollbooth in my life. We cruised through town, which looked really strange, as if I’d been away for months, not days, as if I was seeing it for the first time.

  A white van was parked at the curb outside my house when we pulled up in front. I saw the initials of a Toledo TV station on the side. Other than them, there was an eerie quiet in the neighborhood. It felt like a ghost town.

  We said hi to the reporter and the camera operator covering the story and walked up to the front door. I couldn’t wait to see everyone. I didn’t hear Sassafras barking, which was strange. We rang the doorbell. Nobody answered at first.

  “Mom!” I called out, knocking on the door. “Mom, it’s me, Aidan!”

  I saw the curtains in the living room move a little. Seconds later, Mom threw open the door. “Aidan!” she shrieked, and threw her arms around me. “What are you … ? Who … ?”

  I hugged her tight. As much as I’d been through, she’d had it even worse. “This is my friend Emma,” I said. “The governor’s daughter. She’s here to help me clear up a few things about our family. And me.”

  “Hi!” Emma waved. “I really hate it when people attack my mom, too.”

  “What about them?” Mom turned up her nose at the reporter and cameraman standing behind me.

  “We’re looking to help you retell your small-town story,” said the reporter. “We feel as though maybe the national media got it wrong over the past couple of days. Sure, it’s good for the ratings, but is any of it true?”

  My mom shook her head. “Nope.”

  “When you look bad, we look bad,” said the reporter. “So, let’s repair your image.”

  “I like you,” said my mom, smiling a little.

  “Where is everyone?” I asked, glancing past her. She was keeping the door closed behind her as if a tornado were trying to get inside.

  “Christopher is out with friends. Dad’s working a double shift, and—well, Sassafras is hiding at your grandparents’ house, in the country.” She lowered her voice. “Dog-napping threats have been made.”

  Great. My dog had joined the witness protection program. “First things first, Mom. Do you have my birth certificate? I have to prove I’m as old as I say I am.”

  “Ridiculous. I’ll just tell them,” Mom said. “Again.”

  “Well, no offense, but you’re not totally reliable right now,” Emma reminded her.

  “Yeah, Mom. You have to come up with the actual piece of paper, and these nice guys will film it,” I said.

  “But don’t worry, Mrs. Schroeckenbauer,” said Emma. “We’re going to set everything straight.”

  I was shocked. Not only was she being nice, but she pronounced my last name right.

  “Come on in, everyone, and have something to eat,” Mom said, “while I find that birth certificate.”

  “This is really your house?” Emma asked when she walked in and started looking around.

  “Yeah …” I said slowly. I waited for her insults.

  “It’s nice,” she said. “It makes me miss home.”

  Our next stop was FreezeStar Field. The news van was right behind us, and Emma was busy making calls to various people, making sure our story was picked up by other stations. “Share the video of the birth certificate. Let everyone know he’s only twelve,” she said. “He’s not a liar.”

  “Thanks,” I said as we climbed out of the Stormer.

  “Don’t thank me yet,” she said, heading down the embankment to the field. A game had just ended, and the scoreboard said, home: 3, away: 10. All my teammates were lined up to shake hands on the third-base line. T.J. was at the end of the line. He hated to lose at anything. My uncle robert was nudging him forward.

  “Perfect. I can swoop right in for a gonzo interview,” said Emma. “Mind if I borrow the mike on this one?” she asked the reporter.

  “No problem,” he said as she snatched it from his hands. “I guess.”

  Emma motioned for the cameraman to follow her and hurried over to T.J. “Surprise!” she said.

  He looked at her, completely confused, and then at the camera, and then at me, and he smiled. “Shrieking, I knew you couldn’t make it in Washington. I knew you were going to blow it.”

  “I wasn’t in Washington,” I said. “Obviously.”

  “And he didn’t do anything wrong,” Emma said.

  “Aidan?” Uncle robert asked. “Hey, bud!” He jabbed my shoulder with his fist. “I didn’t know you were back!”

  “Hey,” I said, punching his shoulder right back. I waved at Simon, who was jogging in from left field. “Shh, we’re filming here, okay?”

  Emma turned to the camera with a big, friendly smile. “This is Emma Brandon, with the Brandon for President campaign. We’re back in Fairstone, Ohio, trying to clear up a couple of issues. We’re giving people a chance to set the record straight. With me is T.J…. Somebody or other. That part’s not important.”

  “Lewis,” T.J. said. He wiped sweat from his forehead with the hem of his baseball shirt. Even though dusk was falling, it was a very hot night. “T.J. Lewis. My dad’s the mayor.”

  “Okay, then you probably know how important it is to tell the truth,” Emma said. “’Cause if you lie, it might make voters think that your dad lies.” She waited for the words to sink in. “Now. We all saw an interview you did for Entertainment Nightly: Political Edition. You said the team was winning, with Aidan the Clarinet Hero gone. But isn’t it true that you’ve actually lost two games since Aidan left?”

  The camera panned to the scoreboard and then back to T.J.

  “Well, uh—” he stammered. “I guess.”

  “And isn’t it true that Aidan had the best stats on the team for fielding last year and is one of the best shortstops in the history of the FreezeStar Little League team?” she asked.

  “Sure. Uh.” T.J. took off his ball cap and rubbed his head.

  “Have you ever won the batting title?” Emma asked him.

  Simon was standing next to me by then, and he leaned over. “She’s good,” he said.

  “No, I have—haven’t, but—” T.J. stammered. “I probably will this summer. For the summer league.”

  “Really? Because about that,” Emma said. “There are rumors that you may be using a juiced bat. Some people are saying that there’s no way you can hit as far as you do with a normal bat. What do you say to that?”

  “Uh, hold on a second. That’s not true,” said T.J.

  I couldn’t believe she was accusing him of cheating at baseball. Wasn’t that going a little too far?

  “It may be true,” Emma said. “As far as we know. And there you have it, ladies and gentlemen. The view from the bench.” She smiled, then turned off the mike. “And that’s a wrap.”

  “A wrap? You didn’t give me a chance to say anything!” T.J. whined.

  “Exactly. Now you understand how this works,” said Emma. She handed the mike to the reporter, then turned to me and Simon. “You guys ready for phase four?”

  “Of course,” said Simon. The three of us headed up to the giant SUV, where the driver was waiti
ng for us. “All we have to do is go past my house and pick up my drums.”

  “Nice interview of T.J.,” I said to Emma after we climbed in and were headed down the road, with Simon giving directions to the driver. “How did you get to be such a good reporter?”

  “Please. What did we watch all those news shows with the general for? We know how to do this,” said Emma.

  It was almost nine when we finally arrived at the FreezeStar factory: me, Emma, Simon and his drums, Christopher, and my mom. Fireflies were lighting up the dark spaces between streetlights.

  The plant was massive. It was the length of a dozen football fields and about as wide. It looked sort of like a gray fortress, and we looked like little ants standing outside the chain-link fence surrounding the building.

  I got out my clarinet, and Simon adjusted the snare drum around his neck. “Christopher, keep texting so we can get a crowd here,” I said. He nodded, slouched in the backseat. “And Mom, stay put in the car and stay safe until we come get you.”

  “Okay, if you say so, but if I see any trouble, I will be out of here in a second to save you,” she said.

  “Mom, it’s going to be fine,” I assured her, closing the door.

  “What do we do now?” Simon asked. “March or something?”

  We both looked for Emma, to find out the game plan. She walked around from the other side of the SUV, holding a flute.

  “Where did you … ?” I asked.

  “You never saw it, but I do travel with my flute.”

  “Okay, but I don’t know any trios,” I said.

  “Yeah, me neither,” she said. “But I figured there’s strength in numbers.”

  We started with what we all knew from memory: the theme from The Simpsons.

  So there we were: me wearing my baseball cap, playing the clarinet outside the company gates. Simon, still in his FreezeStar baseball uniform, playing drums, marching beside me. And Emma, the candidate’s daughter, who’d insisted on dressing nicely because it would make her less suspicious, in front of the FreezeStar plant.

  “If there was ever a photo op, this is it,” the reporter said. He had the cameraman take several shots of us, playing as we marched on the sidewalk and standing on a bus bench to make our sound travel farther.