Freshman for President

  Chapter 18

  September

  Letter held at the Sage police station

  * * *

  Good Morning USA’s female anchor, Carly Crandall, was very beautiful. Milo told himself that didn’t make a bit of difference, not one bit.

  Relax, he told himself again. You’re used to good looking, articulate females. You hang out with Eden and Paige all the time and they’re pretty cute.

  “You can do this,” Eden had told him on the phone, right before he went on air, and he tried to convince himself that she was right. He could do this, all of it. He could wear stiff and scratchy clothes with a red tie and a little bit of makeup (applied despite his protests). He could sit on an uncomfortable chair in a television studio with lights bearing down on him. He could be coherent and polished on live television with a beautiful woman talking to him and smiling at him. Of course he could. This was not a problem.

  Not a problem. Not a problem. Not a problem. He followed the station employee out onto the set, repeating the refrain like a marching cadence that kept pace with his steps. He tried not to look at the cameras and all the people milling around them and pretend that this was just a normal living room with really nice furniture and a really pretty, really famous woman smiling right at him.

  He settled down onto the chair the station employee pointed out, and his parents sat on either side of him. Like obedient kindergartners on their first day of school, they all folded their hands in their laps, nervously looking at Carly, waiting, as the introductory music played in the background.

  Someone gave Carly a cue, and she smiled encouragingly at Milo as she started the segment. “Today on our show, we’re lucky to have the youngest-ever candidate for President of the United States of America, Milo Justin Wright. Milo and his parents are here in the studio with us today.”

  Milo glanced over at his parents to see how they were doing and then he wished he hadn’t because it was hard not to laugh. His dad grinned blankly, a deer in the headlights. His mom was trying to look thoughtful and serious, which apparently meant that you tipped your head at an odd angle and looked sort of like someone in the early stages of rigor mortis.

  “Welcome to the show,” Carly said.

  “Thank you,” said Milo and his parents at the same time. Milo caught himself folding his arms across his chest, which Eden had reminded him time and time again was a defensive posture, so he dropped them quickly.

  “So, Milo, tell us about your campaign.” Carly leaned in toward him. “It’s a little different from the campaigns of the other two candidates, isn’t it? For example, you can’t exactly quit your day job. You’re still enrolled in high school, aren’t you?”

  “That’s right,” Milo said. “I have school during the week so I don’t do much traveling, except on the weekends.”

  “Is it hard to keep track of everything you have going on?” Her voice was sympathetic.

  “Sometimes,” he admitted, thinking of the history paper debacle two nights ago. “But I have a great campaign team and they keep me on track. I’d be a mess without them.” This wasn’t going so badly. He glanced over at his parents, who were still smiling furiously. His dad started scratching his knee, then froze and folded his hands together again instead. His mother tipped her head a little more to the right. It looked like it hurt.

  Carly directed the next question to Milo’s parents. “So how do the two of you feel about having such an involved and ambitious son?”

  Milo’s dad looked as though he didn’t quite understand the question. Luckily, Milo’s mom wasn’t entirely speechless. “We feel very proud of him.” That was it. Carly waited to see if there was anything more, but there wasn’t.

  Milo started to grin. He’d never seen his parents this nervous before and for some reason it was making him less nervous.

  Carly asked them the next question. “Has Milo always had an interest in politics?”

  This time, Milo’s mom looked over at his dad to see if he wanted to answer the question. He still didn’t say anything, so Milo’s mom said, “Not really. This is the first time he’s run for office.”

  “Is that true, Milo? You’ve never run for anything before?”

  “That’s true,” Milo said. “This is my first campaign.”

  “Well, you’ve certainly picked an important one to start out with.”

  Milo smiled. Then, worried he was looking like his dad, he said, “I guess so.”

  “Of course, the biggest hurdle you face is your age, isn’t it? The Constitution says you have to be thirty-five to hold the office of president so you’re not quite old enough yet—”

  “But you’re never too young to make a difference,” Milo said, then cringed inwardly at the way he sounded, like a happy little character on a children’s television show. He tried to channel Eden for a moment and say what she would say. “What I mean is, there’s something to be gained by running the race. Of course I want to win, but it’s not all about the victory. It’s about the race itself. Can we get teenagers under the age of eighteen interested in the political process? Can we get adults to pay more attention to actual young people? All we have now is old people giving speeches to other old people. Can we make people interested in what we and other teenagers have to say?”

  “I think you’ve already succeeded at that. I’m told your website averages over half a million hits per day, Milo. That’s amazing.”

  “Thanks,” Milo said. “We’re really proud of the website and the virtual election we’re staging. And we’re proud of our campaign platform too.”

  “Summarize your campaign platform for me.”

  This was good. He was ready for this. It felt like coming across a question on a test that he actually knew how to answer.

  “We have two main purposes. The first is to stage the first-ever national vote for teenagers under the age of eighteen.” He gave another plug for www.writeinwright.com and explained about the packets and the procedure for schools to sign up. “And our second purpose is to take action and get teenagers involved through the main points of our platform.” He was about to launch into those points when Carly stopped him.

  “And how did you come up with your campaign platform?”

  “We conducted an informal online poll with teenagers that we’re in the process of verifying with school surveys. The poll gave us a starting place to find out what issues teens care about, and then we asked for their suggestions on how we could take action.”

  “So what are those main points?”

  “We want a reduction in standardized testing. We’ve started an online petition for that issue. We also want to help the environment and to help others, and we needed a specific way to do that. So we have a couple of . . . programs, I guess you’d call them.”

  “Tell us about the programs.”

  “We’re putting a lot of backing behind a charity called RecyclABLE, which is when teenagers who can drive go around and pick up recycling in areas where curbside pickup doesn’t exist. People who don’t have cars, or who can’t drive, can sign up to have their stuff picked up and driven to the nearest recycling center.”

  “And whose idea was this?”

  “Mine,” Milo admitted. It had come to him in a root-beer-float-and-fatigue-induced vision in James Pharmacy a week or so ago, right after he’d finished mowing Mrs. Walsh’s lawn. “There are a few people whose lawns I mow who made me think of it. They were willing to recycle once someone stepped up and made it easier for them. Plus, teenagers are always looking for an excuse to drive when they first get their license.”

  Carly laughed musically. “Are there any other programs?

  “Yes. There’s also one called Proms for a Cause, which is pretty awesome. I wish I could take credit for it, but I can’t. It was started by Josie Diamond and Brandon Lauritsen, teenagers from Phoen
ix. They’ve let us adopt it as part of our platform.” He explained briefly how Proms for a Cause worked.

  “It sounds like you have done quite a bit of research, and plenty of work.”

  “Yeah, I have. But it’s not just me. Eden James, the candidate for vice president, does a ton of work. So do the rest of our volunteers and our staff, and people are writing in to the website all the time with ideas. They’re the best.”

  “And isn’t the vice presidential candidate, Eden James, also your campaign manager?”

  “Yeah. She’s amazing.”

  Carly smiled. “We’ve also heard she’s your girlfriend,” she said, cheerily.

  Milo was momentarily speechless. This was a new one. Did they ask the other candidates things like this?

  Carly was waiting for him to respond. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His body was failing him entirely. His brain couldn’t think of any words, and he was blushing. He knew it. Blushing on national television. He looked over at his mom, who looked similarly stunned.

  “No, she’s not.” His voice squeaked a little. He tried not to think about that.

  “She’s not your girlfriend, or she’s not your campaign manager?” Carly raised her eyebrows at him.

  “She is my campaign manager. She’s not my girlfriend. I mean, she’s a girl and she’s my friend, but we’re not dating.” That was about as coherent as you could expect, he thought. He wondered what Eden would say about this whole thing. He’d have to call her after the interview to see if she’d been watching. Neither of them had ever rehearsed for that particular question.

  Maybe they should have.

  “We’ll have to have her on the show next time,” Carly told him.

  Next time? Milo wasn’t sure what she meant. He was still trying to gather his thoughts. He stared at Carly.

  Carly went on. “We’d like to have you come back to our show again, maybe to discuss the winner of the presidential election and how teenage America feels about him or her. Do you think you’d be willing to do that, Milo?”

  “Sure.” Then, remembering what Eden had told him about being confident, he added, “And I hope that it’s me we’re talking about.”

  Carly laughed and smiled and sat back. “Thank you, Milo. I hope so too.” She turned toward the front camera. “You’ve just heard from Milo Wright, the youngest person ever to run for President of the United States of America.” She paused, shifting gears. “Next up, the winner of our bridal makeover contest! You won’t believe your eyes.”

  The cameras clicked off. They were done. Carly shook their hands briefly and thanked them, and Milo’s mother appeared to be able to move again. His dad looked relieved. “You did a great job, Milo,” he said, as the handlers guided them off the set. “I have no idea how you managed not to freeze up there.”

  Milo’s mom linked her arm through his. “You were a natural.”

  “They only asked us those two questions,” Milo’s dad said. He grinned. “What a relief. I don’t know how you did it, son.”

  Just then, his mom’s cell phone rang. She looked at the number and handed it to Milo, mouthing the word, “Eden.”

  “Hello?”

  He could hear the grin in Eden’s voice. “Milo! You did great! How did it feel to be on live national television?”

  Now that it was over, Milo decided it had felt pretty good. He just needed to wash off the stupid makeup and get back into his real clothes.

  Chapter 19

  Early October

  Blog entry by Doug Clark, posted on Political Viewpoint’s website

  Why Wright’s Just Wrong

  The farce of the teenage candidate for president has become even worse. When Good Morning USA decided to legitimize this ridiculously cutesy story by giving it coverage on their show yesterday, they took this somewhat amusing situation to a different level.

  I know it was probably as simple as a station needing a human interest story, and some idiot staffer bringing the statistics for Wright’s website to their attention. But Milo Wright, his campaign manager, Eden James, and everyone who gives them attention, are making this race a joke. Every moment of news coverage devoted to them instead of to serious, concrete issues is a moment wasted.

  Milo Wright is not a viable presidential candidate. He cannot assume office. He does not have enough background, experience, or political savvy to make one bit of difference in the lives of Americans. All he can do is take attention from real candidates, real causes, and the real election.

  This site has not wasted any coverage or time on the Wright campaign. We have not wanted to legitimize this mockery in any way. After this very brief column, we will not mention it again. I implore other bloggers and news agencies everywhere: stop talking about Milo Wright’s campaign and start talking about something that matters: the real campaign and the real candidates.

  * * *

  The problem with pro-and-conning is that there are always pros and cons that no one, not even Eden James, can possibly anticipate. Back when they’d pro-and-conned the campaign and decided to go for it, they couldn’t have guessed most of what had happened so far. They’d had vague ideas—maybe some people wouldn’t be supportive—but there was no item on the con list that read, “An old man might throw a beanbag at you at the Flag Day celebration in Haventon” or “A major political blog might attack you and your campaign as a farce.” There was also no item on the pro list that said, “You might get to be on national television and actually become a little bit famous, even though people will pretty much give you nonstop grief about your appearance on the show.”

  Overall, Milo decided that doing the interview definitely belonged in the pro column. It was amazing what a little celebrity could do for a person. It turned out that being on TV was the best possible kind of publicity. People who thought Milo was a total joke, despite the interviews in the bigger papers that had been popping up, now found him intriguing. Everyone was asking him questions in the halls at school:

  “Did you have to wear makeup on TV?”

  “Did you ride in a limo?”

  “Are they really going to have you on again?”

  “Did they have you stay in some kind of hotel or something? Did they pay for your plane ticket?”

  “Of course I’m voting for you,” people would say, as though there had never been any doubt all along, as though they had shown interest in the campaign before the interview.

  He was the first celebrity Sage High had ever had, as Mr. Satteson liked to point out. (Mr. Satteson was beside himself with joy that one of his students was famous for taking on the civic responsibility of organizing the largest, most comprehensive teenage vote in history. That hadn’t kept him from giving Milo a “C” on his history paper about the different branches of government.) The TV interview had also created a huge surge in the number of schools requesting voting packets. They had another sizable surge in donations.

  Both of the other candidates, Senator Ryan and Governor Hernandez, were asked about Milo in interviews. They both said positive things about him. “Smart move on both their parts,” Milo’s dad said, watching the interviews. “They’re savvy enough to know they’re not going to score any points from picking on a kid.”

  The other side to Milo’s newfound celebrity was one he didn’t like to think about too much. People were talking about him now. Most of it was good. But some of it definitely wasn’t. Some of the political bloggers and pundits were scathing about his interview and about his campaign. There was one blogger in particular who seemed to hate everything about him and considered him a teenage blight on society and on politics. Milo’s face still burned when he thought about some of the things he’d read.

  Still, his being slightly famous had shut Logan Nash up temporarily, and Milo would take silence from the enemy in his backyard over silence from some blogge
r he would never have to see.

  * * *

  When Milo had gotten back from his trip, Eden had told him she had arranged a surprise for him that had to do with Homecoming Week. As the week went on, she got more and more mysterious about the whole thing. Milo hoped she wasn’t going to make him give a speech at halftime or something. The crowd would hate that.

  Finally, a couple of days before the homecoming game, Eden told him it was time for the surprise. Apparently, this meant they had to make a trip to the Sage Airport, a place Jack always referred to as a bus stop with a runway. (Milo called it a restroom with a tarmac.) The tiny building had no luggage belt, and passengers sat on folding chairs inside the cinderblock cube until a plane landed and someone from the desk yelled at them to head outside. You carried your own luggage, which had been checked by the same employee who was now yelling at you to get on board. He had also searched you, if he deemed it necessary, and made sure your ticket was in order. His name was Gary, and he had worked at the airport forever. There was usually another employee around somewhere, in and out, and that person changed from shift to shift and was referred to as Not-Gary. It didn’t matter if it was a man or a woman, someone young or someone old. They were simply Not-Gary.

  There weren’t any flights scheduled for the next couple of hours, so it was Gary himself who led Milo, Eden, Jack, and Paige out to the little hangar, leaving Not-Gary (today a forty-year-old woman) in charge.

  Eden gestured to the only airplane in sight, a tiny two-seater with propellers and lettering on the side. “This is it,” she said, beaming at Milo. “Surprise!”

  “Um . . .” Milo wasn’t sure what she meant. Was he going for a plane ride? He didn’t really like flying. Eden knew that. He’d only flown once in his life—for the interview in Los Angeles—and he’d been sick and nervous the whole time.

  “Read the side of the plane,” Eden said, still smiling.

  Milo did. “Air Force Fun?” He was supposed to ride in it. “No way, Ede.” The plane looked old, and way too heavy. It was a little metal slug with wings. It probably wasn’t even safe anymore. “Whose plane is this?”