The Campaign

by The Campaign (retail) (epub)

  “I will be.”

  But Emily shakes her head like she isn’t convinced. “Look, Amanda, it’s no secret that things have gotten pretty nasty between you and Meghan.”

  I blow out a breath. Ever since Meghan told me she was running against me, I’ve felt a mix of emotions. But what I’m feeling now is anger. Meghan keeps trying to one-up me. And now I’m the one who’s paying the price. My own team doesn’t even want to support me. I think about what Mom would do in this situation and straighten my shoulders.

  “I’ve done my best to run a clean campaign. I can’t control what other candidates do, and tomorrow I’ll do my very best at the game. But I need your support, too,” I say in the I-hope-I-can-count-on-you voice I’ve heard Mom use over and over again. “I can be a great goalie AND president of our class.” My eyes lock with my teammates. “Can I count on you? All of you?”

  There are murmurs. Then head nods.

  Finally, an answer. “Fair is fair,” says Callie. “Just block anything and everything that comes your way, and if you do, you have our support.”

  The word if is a scary one. Not quite what I wanted, but something is better than nothing. And blocking goals is my thing. I’m good at it. That’s why Coach Newton made me goalie even though I’m only in seventh grade. And tomorrow, I’m going to be great at it.

  “I got it!” I say confidently, then jog off. Tomorrow, it’s all about what I can do for my team. And come voting day, it’s going to be about what my team can do for me.

  Chapter Thirteen

  GOOD NEWS… OR NOT?

  I close the door to my bedroom and open my laptop. I type in the words John F. Kennedy. Coach Newton got me thinking about our nation’s thirty-fifth president. I want to look up his famous line, “Ask not what your country can do for you; ask what you can do for your country.” But before I can read the results of my internet search, my phone rings.

  It’s Ben. “I have good news,” he says, then tells me about the twenty-four unaffiliated kids in our class that he got to promise to vote for Adams and Ball as their class leaders.

  “Are you kidding?” I squeal into the phone, then get up from my chair and happy dance around my room. “Seriously, Ben, great job! Great, great, great, great, great job!!!”

  “Thanks,” he says when I’m done with my greats. “But that’s not all. I got the seventh-grade guys on the football team to promise to change their votes. And the seventh graders on the boys’ soccer team agreed to support us, too.”

  I sink back into my chair. My fingers tighten around my phone. Something feels off here. “Ben, you’re telling me that every seventh-grade boy on both the football and soccer teams promised they’d vote for us?”

  “Bingo,” says Ben.

  Why would the football players, who were walking around campus today with pink, heart-shaped VOTE HART AND SIMON stickers stuck all over them, suddenly change their allegiance?

  “Are you sure?” I ask, pretty certain Ben got this wrong.

  He laughs into the phone. “Of course I’m sure.”

  My brain spins. None of this makes sense. “How’d you do it?”

  “Ahh,” says Ben, like finally I’m asking the right question. “The promise of my uncle’s signature papaya smoothie is stronger than you can imagine. And don’t worry,” he adds before I have a chance to remind him of Mr. Ferguson’s no-food rule. “Everything was done as a gentleman’s agreement. No paper trail can be traced back to us. All people have to do is stop by the food truck and mention the secret code phrase: I’m voting Adams and Ball.”

  I can practically feel Ben grinning into the phone. And I have to admit, I’m smiling, too.

  “Wow!” I say. “That was easy. All you had to do was promise free food to get the votes.” I snap my laptop shut and prop my feet on my desk. “But it worked. So great!”

  “Um, yeah, Adams, so there’s one small detail I haven’t shared with you yet.”

  My stomach rumbles, and I’m overcome by an ominous (a vocab word that means something bad or unpleasant is about to happen) feeling that whatever Ben is about to tell me isn’t going to be something I want to hear.

  “Ben…”

  He clears his throat into the phone. “As you know, the game against Brookside tomorrow is a big one.”

  Of course, I know that. “Why are you reminding me?” I ask.

  “Everyone will be at the game tomorrow,” says Ben. “The boys’ soccer team. The football team. They’ll all be there cheering on Liberty against our archrival.” He pauses, then adds, “All you have to do is make sure Brookside doesn’t score, and their votes are yours.”

  I gulp. That was Ben’s good news? To tell me that the outcome of tomorrow’s game rests on my goalie shoulders? The only thing scarier than facing Brookside on the field is knowing that everyone in the stands will be counting on me to make sure they don’t win the game. And that stopping them from scoring is the only way I can win the votes!

  “Adams, you there?” Ben asks.

  “Yeah,” I say. “But stopping Brookside is a pretty tall order.”

  “Do you want the votes?”

  Of course I do. “I’ll do my best, but…” My voice trails off. I don’t like thinking about what comes after the but. It goes something like this… but if I fail, we’re sunk. Toast. Doomed. Washed up before we even got started.

  “Just get out on that field tomorrow and don’t let those nasty heathens score and we’re golden. You can do it!” Ben sounds more like a cheerleader than a vice presidential hopeful.

  “Sure,” I say. Then I hang up.

  I sure hope I can do it.

  MY CAMPAIGN INSPIRATION NOTEBOOK

  John F. Kennedy

  BORN: May 29, 1917, Brookline, Massachusetts

  ASSASSINATED: November 22, 1963, in Dallas, Texas, by Lee Harvey Oswald

  SIGN: Gemini. Traits: Thoughtful, articulate, entertaining, likeable.

  PARTY: Democrat

  STATUS: Married to Jackie Kennedy

  KIDS: Two of them

  PRESIDENCY: He became the 35th president of our nation in 1961

  NICKNAME: JFK (Short and sweet!)

  PETS: When JFK was president, the White House was like a zoo. During his administration, there were five horses, two parakeets, two hamsters, a cat, a rabbit, and five dogs at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.

  COOL SKILL: He was a speed reader. He could read 1,200 words a minute, which is about 900 words a minute faster than most people read.

  PLACES YOU CAN STILL FIND HIM: On the half-dollar

  BIGGEST PRESIDENTIAL CHALLENGES: World peace and equal rights for all Americans.

  KNOWN FOR: Being the youngest man elected president

  ALSO KNOWN FOR: Being an inspiration to the nation

  JFK wasn’t president for long. Sadly, he was assassinated just three years into the job.

  But while he was president, the world was a pretty crazy place. And he did lots of things to make it better. Cool things. If I had the time, I’d write about them here. Especially what he did in Cuba and to promote civil rights. But I don’t have time. I have a lot of homework. AND a game tomorrow. So, if you want to look up JFK (You should!), you’ll be amazed by what you read. The one thing I will say about him is that he said a lot of inspiring things, and right now I could use some serious inspiration (not only to win an election, but also a soccer game!).

  So here goes.

  Inspiring quote #1: “Ask not what your country can do for you; ask what you can do for your country.”

  Sound familiar? Yeah. I know. JFK said this in his inaugural address.

  He challenged all Americans to contribute to the greater public good. Which I guess is no different than all players on a team working together for the win.

  Inspiring quote #2: “Every decision starts with the decision to try.”

  JFK faced lots of challenges during his presidency. He called his domestic program the New Frontier, and he made lots of promises to try to do things that had
never been done. Like getting the first human on the moon. And getting important civil rights legislation passed.

  I think JFK knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but he wasn’t afraid to try. I also think he knew he might fail, but that all he could do was his best.

  Inspiring quote #3: “Only those who dare to fail miserably can achieve greatly.”

  I’m pretty sure JFK wasn’t the only one who said this. I think his brother, who was a senator, did too. And maybe some other presidents as well. Honestly, it sounds like something Dad would say. Or Mom. (Because Dad would have told her to say it.)

  I get what it means: with big risk comes big reward. Running for president of my class against my best friend who has a very popular running mate is risky. So is being the starting goalie in seventh grade when lots of the girls I’m playing against are a year older and much bigger. But Coach Newton put me there for a reason.

  What I need to remember is this: If you don’t take a big chance, you won’t win.

  That’s what I’m going to do tomorrow. When that final bell rings, I’m marching onto the soccer field and doing my best to make sure my team wins. I look in the mirror and give myself a pep talk. One I think JFK would have approved of.

  I’m going to take a chance. I’m going to win. Go, Amanda! Go!

  Chapter Fourteen

  “AH LA VACHE!” (IN ENGLISH: “OH MY COW!”)

  I stare at the back of Madame Moreau’s head as she writes French expressions and the English translations on the board. Most of the expressions seem pretty useless. For example, “Ah la vache.” Translated, it means “Oh my cow.” Seriously?! Is there really a time when someone in France would have the need to say that?

  Not that it matters. Right now, I have other, more important things on my mind.

  Like the game against Brookside. I glance up at the clock in the front of the classroom. Only twelve minutes left of seventh period, then the school day ends and the game starts. I can honestly say that on the nerves scale, I’m way past ten. It’s because this game against Brookside is the only thing everyone has been talking about.

  ALL. DAY. LONG!

  It started at breakfast, which actually took place in our kitchen as opposed to in our car. Dad scrambled eggs and Mom made a special protein smoothie for me. I didn’t even know Mom knew how to make protein smoothies. “Amanda, I’ll be at your game today,” she said.

  I gave her my best fake smile, like I was glad she’d be there. Which, to be honest, I’m not. The last time she came to one of my soccer games was last year when we played Brookside. And we lost. Call me superstitious, but she’s not exactly our good luck charm.

  Plus, having her there is a distraction. At least for me. That’s because everyone in the stands will be looking at her and asking if they can take a selfie with the congresswoman from Virginia, then pointing to me because I’m the daughter of the congresswoman from Virginia. I get why people think taking a selfie with a congresswoman is cool, but Mom isn’t Kim or Kanye.

  “I’ll be there too,” Dad added, putting more scrambled eggs and a piece of toast on my plate. “And I can’t wait to see our goalie in action.”

  “Thanks,” I said, unsure what else to say.

  Then, in homeroom, Mrs. Lee read an announcement about the soccer game after school and reminded everyone to come out and support the team against Brookside.

  When she said the name of our archrival, the classroom filled with boos, and Mrs. Lee whipped out a little blue-and-white pom-pom (I didn’t even know she had one). “Go Liberty Girls’ Soccer Team!” she said and pointed her cheering apparatus straight at me. “We’re lucky to have our starting goalie in our midst. Amanda, anything you’d like to say?”

  All eyes in the classroom settled on me, and I gulped. NO pressure there.

  “We’re going to kick some Brookside—”

  Mrs. Lee cut me off before I could say what it was that we were going to kick. But she didn’t look mad, and everyone was giving me fist bumps, so I flashed a smile.

  “Go Liberty!” I said, hopeful I sounded confident.

  The game against Brookside was the topic du jour. That’s French for the only thing anyone was talking about all day.

  At lunch, the J’s were like… we’ll see you at the game today.

  And on my way to seventh period, I passed a group of seventh-grade football players who actually stopped me and said they were counting on me to stop Brookside.

  “Got it,” I said as I headed into French class.

  Everyone knows it takes a team to win or lose a game, but I feel like this game is all on me. The thought makes my stomach knot up like a pretzel. I wonder if there’s a French expression for that. Madame Moreau keeps writing, and my eyes wander.

  Two rows up and one desk over is Meghan. In the desk next to her is Caleb Johannsen. Meghan is doing what she pretty much does every day in French class—crossing her right leg over her left. Then switching to left over right. Tucking her hair behind her ears. Straightening her mechanical pencils on her desk—anything to make it seem like she’s not doing what she’s really doing, which is looking at Caleb to see if he’s looking at her.

  No one else in the class would know what she’s doing. Especially not Caleb.

  But I know. Because there was a time when Meghan was my best friend and we knew EVERYTHING about each other. Now it’s like we’re practically strangers who barely even speak to each other. And today, I have the most important soccer game of my life.

  Meghan knows how important it is that we beat Brookside.

  Before this campaign started, she would have called me before school to be sure I was wearing my lucky socks. But today, the only thing she said to me about the game was “Good luck.” And that was in homeroom after Mrs. Lee made her announcement and everyone was wishing me good luck.

  Now, all she’s doing is sitting there pretending she’s not looking at the boy she has a crush on while I’m sitting here FREAKING OUT about the game. My armpits are sweaty, and I haven’t even started warm-ups. I exhale, maybe too loudly, and Madame Moreau turns around. So does Meghan. Our eyes meet, and she flashes me a small smile, then twists back around in her seat.

  Madame Moreau points to the first expression written on the board. “Translated, Ah la vache means ‘Oh my cow.’ But really it is the French way of expressing surprise or excitement.”

  I raise my hand and Madame Moreau calls on me. “What’s the opposite of Ah la vache?” I ask. There must be an expression for expressing dread. As in, I’m officially dreading this game.

  “That’s a good question, Amanda.” Madame Moreau purses her lips, which are painted an unflattering shade of fake fruit orange. It takes a while, but finally she answers.

  “You could say Zut alors. Translated, it means darn it.”

  The bell rings. Darn it. It’s GAME TIME! In my entire thirteen-year life, I’ve never been more nervous. I take my time gathering my books, wishing I could turn back the clock and still be sitting at the breakfast table with Mom and Dad, eating eggs and toast. When a shadow covers my desk, I look up.

  It’s Meghan who flashes me a smile. “Good luck at the game. I’m sure you’ll do great,” she says sweetly. Then she adds, “I know you’re probably nervous. But your nerves always disappear as soon as the game starts.”

  I exhale, feeling more confident than I have all day. Meghan is right. That’s exactly what happens. “Are you going to be there?” I ask, suddenly realizing how much I want her to be.

  “Sure,” Meghan says. “Everyone will be there.”

  I gulp. Zut alors. And my game-day nerves shoot up to an all-time high.

  Chapter Fifteen

  THE TIME HAS COME TO KICK SOME BROOKSIDE YOU-KNOW-WHAT!

  Let’s go Liberty!”

  Our team cheer echoes out from our pregame huddle and everyone who came to watch us play our nemesis shouts it right back.

  I glance over the top of Callie Weaver’s head and into the stands. I didn’t think it was p
ossible to cram so many people into the old metal risers that surround the Liberty Middle School field. The crowd on Liberty’s side is overflowing. But there are just as many people on the opposite side of the field who came to cheer on Brookside. If this is what middle school soccer in Virginia is like, I can only imagine how it must feel to play in the World Cup.

  I bend down to do a final check of the laces on my cleats. It’s nice to think people care about our soccer team. But right now, I can’t help but wish fewer did—especially people who are depending on me to shut down Brookside.

  “Girls, we can do this,” says Coach Newton. “Give it everything you got.”

  When I finish with my cleats, I look up and see that every eyeball of every member of the team is on me.

  “Amanda, you ready?” asks Julie Jacobs, our team captain.

  “I got it,” I say (for what feels like the hundredth time today). The Brookside team is big and strong. I get that it’s up to me to prevent them from scoring. But for me, beating Brookside is about more than just winning this game. It’s about winning the election, too. Which is what’s making me SOOOOO nervous. Except now isn’t the time for nerves or to think about the election. I just have to stay focused on the game.

  “Let’s do this!” I shout; then all eleven of us—the starting players on our team—sprint out to take our positions on the field.

  I take mine in front of the goal, and before the game starts, my eyes scan the crowd.

  I locate Mom and Dad. Ben too. We make eye contact and he raises a militant fist in my direction. I know what it means. Win the game. Win the election.

  My eyes keep moving over the crowd. I see Mrs. Lee. I’m not sure if my favorite teacher is here because she (a) is a big soccer fan, (b) wants to use her Liberty Middle School pom-pom, (c) is here to cheer me on, or (d) all of the above. Whatever. It’s kind of comforting to see her face in the crowd.