Vote Page 6

  Blackmail! Beautiful. Now we’re not just some middle school game, but a real political beast. I beamed at Katie.

  Lynch said, “As long as I don’t see that little boy in this school again, we have no problem. Am I right?”

  “You’re right,” Katie and I said together. Lynch turned on her heel and left.

  Katie and I looked at each other and shared another of those silent moments in which we both acknowledged the awe of our stellar minds and devious natures. Markie had to bring us down to Earth. Sometimes he’s too smart.

  “I thought you don’t lie, Dutchdeefuddy. That’s what you said.” His forehead was scrunchy; he was thinking hard about what he’d heard.

  “I didn’t lie.”

  “You didn’t tell the truth.”

  “That’s not the same thing.”

  “Uh-huh.” He was doubtful. “And I thought you said it was wrong to tattle on people, but your friend said she’d tattle on the scary lady.”

  “That wasn’t so much about tattling as about sticking up for us.”

  “Uh-huh.” Still not buying it.

  “Look, Markie, politics are—”

  “—not always nice,” Katie said, and squatted down to be at eye level with Markie. “But only sometimes. We’ll try to do better tomorrow, okay?” She lifted her palm and he hauled off and high-fived her.

  Then she stood up and looked at me. “Right, Kev?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “And then maybe you can both win the ’lection.” Markie smiled up at both of us. “Sharing is good.”

  Oh, Markie, you’re such a nice person. And so not cut out for politics.

  “C’mon, let’s get to art class.” I shoved Markie back underneath my trench coat and mouthed “thank you” to Katie. She gave me a “whadda ya gonna do” shrug.

  We’re growing on each other.

  10

  The True Politician Enjoys the Growth Opportunities That Allow Him to Reassess His Position Based on the Needs of the Public

  I rolled out of bed Thursday morning, ready to pounce into the day like a tiger. Rrrrrrr.

  Markie was still sleeping. I headed to the kitchen, hoping we had some of that cereal that’s advertised as the Breakfast of Champions. I should probably ask Mom to stock up on that from now on.

  My folks wore serious looks. They were avoiding my eyes and jiggling their keys. Dad was not only clutching his briefcase but edging toward the door. I’ve seen surveillance tapes of bank robbers in less of a hurry.

  “Kevin,” Mom said, “I’ve got the consequences of the water-main break at the bookstore to deal with and your dad has an important meeting. Neither of us can stay home with Markie today.”

  I studied her. Mom likes Markie, but only in very small doses. I wondered if the water emergency was as much of an “accident” as she’d have us believe.

  I turned to look at Dad. His meetings are always important. In fact, when I was little, I thought there was a hyphenated word important-meeting.

  “No way am I taking Markie with me to school again,” I told them, and we all shuddered together at the thought. They hadn’t been pleased with my “irresponsible, sneaky and, frankly, reckless” decision (their words, not mine) the day before, but Mom had apologized for forgetting about him and sticking me with the responsibility and Dad had looked relieved to have escaped Markie duty. “And I can’t stay home and take care of him either. Not the day before the election.”

  What’ll we do with him? We looked at each other.

  The back door flew open to reveal Auntie Buzz holding an empty coffee cup.

  “I ran out of coffee and I’ll do anything—and I mean anything—for a cup.”

  “There you go! I’m out of here.” Dad slid past Buzz and sprinted toward his car. I bolted for the shower. Politicians must always know when another person is better suited to handle a problem. Mom could take this one.

  After my shower, I found I had the kitchen to myself. Buzz and Markie were gone. I read Daniel’s and Sarah’s notes on the fridge—he had early-morning hockey practice and she was meeting Doug for their anniversary breakfast. Sarah makes him celebrate their anniversary every week. I’m so glad that’s not the kind of girlfriend Tina is. I’ll be relieved to get this election over with so I can start paying more attention to her.

  I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat at the table, tipping the chair back and putting my feet up. Even the greatest of leaders need to take a little me time.

  I thought about the day ahead. I had a lot of vote-getting to do with only one day left before the election.

  “Kevin.” I was so surprised that I fell out of my chair. When I looked up from the puddle of coffee on the floor, I saw Milania leaning against the back door.

  I scrambled to my feet as she let herself in. She tossed me a roll of paper towels and I wiped up the coffee.

  “I came over to walk to school with you. We need face time.”

  “We do?”

  “We need to make plans.”

  “What kind?” It wasn’t my voice that asked Milania; it was Katie’s. I looked up from a handful of soggy paper towels to see Katie standing at the back door.

  I squeezed my eyes tight and shook my head, wishing I could trade them for Tina this morning. No such luck: when I opened my eyes, Milania and Katie were sizing each other up across the counter. I glanced at the clock. Too early for something like this, but almost too late to get to school on time.

  “We’ll talk and walk.” I all but shoved them out the back door. Politicians have to multitask.

  “So,” Katie said to Milania as we hit the sidewalk, “what about these plans you were discussing?”

  Normally I’d describe Katie as having the kind of interpersonal communication style the military teaches in interrogation classes, but today—maybe I was distracted trying to air-dry my coffee-drenched shirt—she sounded, I don’t know, human.

  “Look”—Milania cut to the chase—“I know you’re working with Cash on his campaign, but you’re going to lose.”

  “What makes you so sure Kev’s going to win?” Katie asked. “No offense,” she said to me. I shrugged.

  “Why do you think he won’t?”

  Ah! I’ve heard about this: answering a question with a question, putting your opponent on the defensive. Brilliant strategy, Milania.

  “Nice rebuttal.” Katie and I admire quick thinking even when it’s someone else’s. “You know I’m captain of the debate team, right?”

  “Right. And you know I’m captain of the state championship–bound basketball team?”

  I was walking between two über-competitive girls, suddenly the last place I wanted to be. I dropped back a few paces and listened; they’d forgotten I was there.

  “I’ve been working all week to win over the debate team, the show choir, the orchestra, the band and the foreign-language clubs,” Katie said. “They’re all planning to vote for Cash.”

  “I’ve got every sports team locked down for Kev.”

  Huh. Cash and I were almost … superfluous. Katie and Milania had the situation well in hand.

  “What’s your interest in the election?” Katie asked.

  “What’s yours?”

  “I want to make a difference in how the school is run.”

  Milania nodded. “I want to inspire girls to try out for sports because of our success and the amount of student support we’ve earned through our hard work and belief in our abilities.”

  Leave it to Katie and Milania to miss the point of politics. Good thing they’re strictly behind-the-scenes people. It’s personalities like mine—and, let’s face it, even Cash’s—that are made for the front line of political battle. He may be making a desperate attempt at popularity and I may be in it for the fame and glory that’ll make me look good in Tina’s eyes, but that’s what politics is all about. These girls haven’t paid attention to the media coverage of local and world leaders in, like, forever.

  I was glad when we got to scho
ol and I could ditch those buzz-kill humanitarians. No one cares about the heavy stuff they were talking about; the public wants promises and sound bites and streamers and confetti. Important stuff.

  Before I disappeared into the crowd, I looked back and saw them talking. They looked very serious. That’s not the kind of expression that makes the public vote for you. Good thing Cash and I were running and not them.

  I was so lost in my thoughts that I bumped into Connie, who’d been waiting for me at my locker. She was grinning ear to ear and biting her knuckles to contain her excitement. I was a little leery about dealing with so many amped-up girls this early in the day.

  “Hi, Kev. I felt really bad about how I dropped the ball on Monday because I was panicked about the science test on Tuesday. But on Wednesday, I campaigned for you. Well, JonPaul and I did.”

  “Oh, wow, Connie, that’s … Thanks.… I don’t know what to say.…”

  I always know what to say. But I was trying to sound gracious. And modest. And surprised, even though a part of me was always confident that JonPaul and Connie had my back. That kind of loyalty is the cornerstone of the successful candidate-voter bond.

  “What did you guys do yesterday?” I said.

  “JonPaul and I went to every social studies class and polled the students about their concerns and hopes and interests.”

  True politicians shape public thought, they don’t go looking for it.

  “We had them fill out questionnaires,” Connie told me, “and then we collated the data by age and gender. I stayed up late last night ranking the issues in terms of their importance to the student body and—”

  I nodded, pretending to listen and to read the pages on the clipboard she handed me. What I was really thinking was that carrying a clipboard is a good look, gives the impression of being smart and organized.

  I glanced up because Connie was still talking and eye contact is essential in proving your trustworthiness as a public figure. Over Connie’s left shoulder, I spotted Tina.

  Talking with Cash.

  What is with this guy?

  “Walk with me.” I pulled Connie behind me and headed toward Tina. I nodded in Connie’s direction and said, “Really? The voice of the people is fascinating. Oh, hi, Cash, didn’t see you there.” I didn’t say anything to Tina but I looked at her and sent the silent message with my eyes: everything I’m doing is for you because you smell good and your hair sparkles. She smiled back. Maybe Katie and I aren’t the only ones who can communicate silently.

  I realized I’d totally zoned out, staring at Tina, when Connie elbowed me and said, “Isn’t that right, Kev?”

  I nodded, never taking my eyes off Tina. “Oh yeah, absolutely.”

  “That’s really impressive.” Tina smiled at me.

  It would almost be worth being struck by lightning right this very instant to have my last sight on Earth be Tina’s face.

  But, wait, what’s impressive? I must have missed something Connie and Cash were discussing. So I did what I always do when I’ve lost the thread of a conversation; I turned to Cash and said, “Say more about that.”

  He looked dumbstruck. And a little terrified. I hoped I wasn’t going to be as scared when I figured out what we were talking about.

  “I was just saying to Cash”—Connie jumped in—“that candidates who really talk with and listen to their voters are the most effective leaders.”

  The bell rang and saved me—and Cash—from having to respond. We all headed off to class. I was carrying Connie’s clipboard summarizing the concerns and hopes and interests of our school.

  I could still smell Tina’s shampoo as I walked away, and the scent inspired me to carefully absorb the results Connie and JonPaul had given me. I tried to read them the rest of the day, but kept nodding off. It is really hard to keep your finger on the pulse of the people and stay awake. I was glad when the bell rang and I could finally head home.

  “Dutchdeefuddy.” Markie was sitting on our front stoop, waiting for me. “Auntie Buzz said I needed to sit quietly on the steps and wait for you to come home from school.”

  I bet she did. I’m the only one in this family who really gets Markie.

  “Wanna go sit in my fort?” He tried to hand me a water bottle from his panda backpack, but I was wise to that scheme and shook my head.

  “A fort sounds like the perfect retreat for a guy with my stress load.”

  We headed to the basement. I immediately shook my head again. Poor Mom—she means well, but she has no clue sometimes. She and Markie had built a fort out of pillows and blankets. I know what she was thinking: less mess and he can’t possibly hurt himself because everything is soft and hypoallergenic.

  But a real fort would be made of cardboard boxes and pieces of lumber from the garage and the old dog crate Dad bought for a quarter at a garage sale because he can’t pass up anything in perfect condition that only costs twenty-five cents, even though we don’t have a dog.

  At first Markie just watched me build while he colored pictures. I don’t hold it against him—my work ethic puts workaholics to shame when I’m really jamming.

  “Can I pound the hammer?” Markie said in the most hopeful voice I’ve ever heard.

  “No nails. Mom put her foot down when Daniel and I built a lookout platform on the stairs. She didn’t appreciate that it was the best angle for watching television.” I pointed from the TV to the stairs. “She was all whacked out about having to shinny over the edge of the platform and drop to the basement floor rather than using the steps. You can see the nail holes in the wall and the rip in the carpet where we wedged the support beam. She still talks about that project.”

  Markie nodded. We both have fun-free mothers.

  “She’s okay with nails outside, but”—I rolled my eyes—“why would you want a fort where you couldn’t see the television? We’re not heathens.”

  “Heeeee-thuns.” Markie liked the sound of that. “We’re not heeeee-thuns. Who is, Dutchdeefuddy?”

  “Hey, you home?” As if on cue, I heard Goober’s voice in the kitchen.

  “Down here,” I called.

  Goober thumped downstairs with a box of cereal tucked under his arm.

  “I get the toy at the bottom,” Markie squawked when he saw Goober digging in the box.

  “Do not.” Goober crammed a handful of cereal in his mouth and stuck his fist back in the box, searching for the special prize.

  “Do too. I live here now,” Markie announced.

  “See? I knew he was your kid. Got custody, did ya?” Goober was grinning. He handed Markie the cereal and Markie dumped it on the floor, looking for the prize.

  Before I could jump in to mediate their dispute—something I’m sure I’d be good at—JonPaul galloped down the stairs. Followed by Sam and two kids I’d never seen before.

  “I​hope​you​don’t​mind,” Sam said so fast that I felt like I needed an oxygen tank to catch my breath. At least she wasn’t still crying about her dead rodent. “But​Becca​and​Jared​came​too. My​cousins. They’re​staying​with​us. Their​parents​a​revoluntee​ring. Forth​at​program. The​one​that​helps​people. To​build​affordable​houses. They’re​on​the​housing​site​right​now.”

  “Cool. A civic-minded family who builds things. They’ve come to the right place.” I pointed to our fort. “Want some cereal? You don’t have to eat what Markie spilled on the floor. We have a fresh box in the kitchen.”

  “No thanks.” Becca and Jared smiled.

  Nice kids, maybe eleven and twelve. They took Markie outside to play baseball.

  JonPaul glanced over at Goober, who was out cold on the couch, a trail of cereal down his shirt.

  “Sam got the better end on the cousin deal.” Sam and I nodded. “Don’t wake him up.”

  The three of us tiptoed upstairs to the kitchen to make dinner. We used to have a little baking business together, so cooking is like second nature to us.

  JonPaul told us about hi
s new aerobic routine and how it was beneficial to his sleep patterns, I brought them up to speed on the campaign, and Sam chattered so fast no one really knew what her topic was.

  We probably should have talked more about what each of us was cooking. Because we wound up individually preparing a pan of lasagna, a wokful of chicken-and-vegetable stir-fry and a build-your-own-taco bar on the counter.

  Just when I was thinking we’d be eating leftovers forever, Mom and Dad, Sarah and her boyfriend, Doug, Daniel and a skater he was dating, whose name I couldn’t remember unless she was wearing her warm-up jacket, and even Buzz and Jack, the guy she was seeing, descended on the kitchen, ravenous.

  Goober woke to the sound of Buzz’s voice and flew up from the basement to stand way too close to her and offer to get her too many glasses of ice water. Becca and Jared brought Markie inside, washed the top layer of backyard grime off him and made him a plate.

  I looked around while everyone ate and talked. Probably discussing their concerns and hopes and interests, like Connie said voters do. Yup, my own little town hall meeting/potluck supper/brainstorm session. Disparate elements of the population coming together in a melting pot. After a baseball game. In the heartland. It just doesn’t get any more American than that. Unless you have apple pie for dessert.

  11

  The True Politician Goes Down Swinging

  Friday morning I woke up a little panicked because it was debate day.

  And election day.

  Man, we did not think this through: the stress of a debate and the anxiety of an election on the same day.

  After I was elected, I was going to instruct the student council to draft a policy covering just this eventuality. That’s the problem with, um, everything and everyone: lack of adequate preparation.

  Speaking of which: I never had gotten around to buying note cards or researching middle school needs or reading the poll questions Connie and JonPaul had come up with or whatever it was future presidents did in the hours leading up to a debate.