The Election-Day Disaster

by Ron Roy

  “Do you know where they are?” KC asked.

  Sergeant Royce closed his eyes for a second. “I don’t know about Corporal Henry,” he said. “But I think Ditz and West took their motorcycles and went fishing.”

  The kids thanked Sergeant Royce and left the guard hut.

  KC pulled the piece of green plastic from her pocket. “Did you notice the sergeant’s face when he saw this?” KC asked Marshall. She waved the plastic strip.

  “No,” Marshall said.

  “He looked like he’d seen it before,” KC said. She glanced at Marshall. “Like maybe when it was part of an octopus costume.”

  “So … I’m confused,” Marshall said. “How could he have seen the green costume? He wasn’t one of the three guards on duty last night.”

  KC put the strip back in her pocket. “Maybe the octopus was Sergeant Royce,” she said.

  Marshall stopped walking. “Huh? Why would he want to make the president look bad before Election Day?”

  “I don’t know, Marsh,” KC said. “It’s just a possibility. And I’m still thinking about Simon.”

  “But he told us he doesn’t know how to put pictures on the Internet,” Marshall said.

  KC shook her head. “That’s not exactly what he told us,” she said. “Simon said his aunt’s computer had crashed. He never said he didn’t know how to do it.”

  The kids went back to the president’s private apartment. Yvonne was in the kitchen brushing Natasha. The greyhound looked as if she enjoyed the attention.

  “Hey, kids, what have you been up to?” Yvonne asked.

  “Trying to find out who took those pictures of the president,” KC said.

  Yvonne finished with Natasha and gave her a doggy treat. “What a terrible thing to do,” she said. “The vice president was just in here to get some juice. She said they’ve been getting phone calls all morning at campaign headquarters. And the polls have slipped even more. Right now, Melrose Jury is ahead.”

  “I know,” KC said. “We just saw the president.”

  “We have to find the rat who took those shots,” Marshall said.

  The word rat reminded KC of why they’d come looking for Yvonne.

  “I liked your costume,” KC said. “And Simon looked great as Templeton the rat.”

  “Yeah, he was cute in it, wasn’t he?” Yvonne said.

  “Did he make the costume himself?” KC asked.

  “I helped him put it together, but the idea was his,” Yvonne said. “I guess he found the costume online and went from there.”

  “Oh, do you have a computer at home?” KC asked innocently.

  “I used to, but it broke down a few weeks ago,” Yvonne said. “That’s why I told Simon to bring his own laptop when he came to visit.”

  “Simon has his own computer?” KC asked. “Here, in the White House?”

  “Honey, my nephew doesn’t go anywhere without his laptop,” Yvonne said. She brushed Natasha’s silky ears. “He’s constantly sending e-mails and pictures to his friends.”

  6

  KC’s Big Plan

  KC dragged Marshall into her room and closed the door behind them. “Did you hear that?” she asked. “Simon has his own computer. I think Templeton the rat has been naughty.”

  “And I think Wilbur the pig is letting her imagination run away with her,” said Marshall. “Again.”

  “Oh pooh,” KC said. “Can you stay here for supper tonight? I have a plan. And I need you to help me.”

  “What kind of plan?” Marshall asked. “The kind where we end up in jail?”

  KC grinned. “You heard what Yvonne said about Simon sending pictures. But he told us he couldn’t send pictures! He lied, and I want to know why.”

  Marshall let out a hoot. “Oh, I get it,” he said. “You’re going to ask Yvonne to cook for us so we can get her nephew in trouble. Cool move, KC—really nice.”

  “Are you going to help me or not?” KC demanded. “I happen to know there’s Choca-Moca ice cream in the freezer.”

  Marshall sighed. “Okay. The things I do for you!”

  KC laughed. “The things you do for chocolate!”

  Yvonne packed a picnic basket and handed it to Simon. Marshall carried a pitcher of red juice and glasses. KC followed with napkins, paper plates, and a blanket.

  It was very warm for November. The sun had sunk below the trees, but there was still plenty of light on the lawn.

  KC finished her first piece of chicken. She wiped her fingers on a napkin. “Your aunt told us you send a lot of e-mails to your friends,” she said sweetly.

  Simon had his mouth full, so he just nodded.

  “She also told us you e-mail pictures,” KC added. “But you told us you couldn’t because Yvonne’s computer was down.”

  Simon stopped chewing. His face turned as red as the juice on his lips.

  “You forgot to tell us you brought your own laptop with you,” KC went on.

  Simon swallowed. “Okay, I lied about that part, so shoot me,” he said. “I sent some pictures to my buddies so they’d believe I was hanging out with the president. But I didn’t send any pictures like the ones on TV!” Simon stood up and threw his napkin on the blanket. “Someone else did that.” He stomped away.

  “Gee, that went well,” Marshall said. He reached for another drumstick.

  “Thanks for all your help,” KC said.

  “You did fine without me,” Marshall said. “Now where’s that Choca-Moca you promised?”

  “Do you believe Simon?” KC asked. “I mean about not sending those pictures we saw on TV?”

  “Yeah, I do,” Marshall said.

  KC collected the dirty napkins. “I believe him, too,” she said quietly.

  Just then they heard a loud engine roar on the other side of the hedge where they’d placed their blanket. KC stood on tiptoe and looked over the bushes. “It’s Arnold on his motorcycle,” she said.

  “I want a motorcycle when I turn sixteen,” Marshall said. He watched Arnold jog toward the guard hut, carrying his helmet. “Only I wouldn’t wear a green helmet like his. It makes him look like a bug or something. I’d get a shiny red one.”

  “Oh my gosh!” KC yelled.

  “Okay, maybe not red,” Marshall went on. “Purple is cool, too.”

  KC grabbed Marshall by the arm and dragged him down onto the blanket.

  “Marshall, listen!” KC hissed. “Think back to last night when we first saw the green octopus. There was something about that costume that wasn’t right. Can you remember what it was?”

  “Everything,” Marshall said. “Plastic strips, stuffed arms that looked like green sausages, black shoes …”

  “Yes! Shiny black shoes!” KC said. “Like marines wear here at the White House. Like Arnold wears every day.”

  “What made you think of Arnold’s shoes now?” Marshall asked.

  “Because I saw his green motorcycle helmet,” KC said. “It was exactly like the one the octopus wore last night. That was Arnold in the green costume, and I just remembered his black shoes!”

  Marshall stared at KC. “Arnold is the octopus?” he whispered.

  KC nodded. Her eyes slid toward the guard hut. “I’d give anything to hear what he and Sergeant Royce are talking about.”

  “Well, you can’t, so forget—”

  KC stood up and grabbed Marshall’s sleeve. “Come on, and stay below the hedge!”

  “Where are we going?” he squeaked. “Oh, I know. I see jail time in my future. Who needs high school or college?”

  With KC leading, the kids scooted from the hedge to the side of the guard hut. The window was too high for either of them to be able to peek inside.

  KC looked around. She smiled when she spied a trash barrel. Using hand signals, she got Marshall to help her place it under the window.

  Marshall held the barrel while KC climbed up and kneeled on the top.

  Leaning against the building for balance, KC peeked through the screen. Arnold and Sergea
nt Royce were facing each other, talking. Sergeant Royce’s face was red. Arnold’s face looked pale.

  “Well, what’s going on in there?” Marshall whispered.

  KC turned to answer and the trash barrel tipped. KC fell off. The metal barrel clanged loudly as it hit the ground.

  Sergeant Royce’s face appeared in the window.

  “What are you kids doing out there?” he asked. He sounded angry.

  KC stood up and rubbed her bottom, where she’d landed hard. She couldn’t think of a thing to say.

  Marshall was frozen like a statue a few feet away.

  “Please come in, Miss Corcoran and Mr. Li,” Sergeant Royce said.

  7

  The Octopus Speaks

  KC and Marshall walked around to the door. “Nice going,” Marshall whispered. “KC, this reminds me of when Hansel and Gretel walked into the witch’s hut.”

  Sergeant Royce opened the door. “Have a seat,” he said. “I hope you like stories, because Corporal West has one to tell you.”

  KC and Marshall sat at the table across from Arnold. He was in full uniform, and his digital camera was on the table in front of him.

  “I didn’t know your last name was West,” KC said to Arnold.

  Arnold nodded. His face had gone from pale yellow to pink, like a sunset.

  Sergeant Royce sat in the remaining chair. He crossed his long legs. “Okay, get it off your chest, Corporal West,” he said.

  If KC hadn’t been so upset, she would have laughed at the accidental poem.

  Arnold took a deep breath. “I had forgotten all about the Halloween party until your mom asked me to bring the washtubs outside yesterday,” he said to KC. “Then I saw Marshall’s costume, and I got an idea. I went to my apartment and made a costume out of some of my old Marine Corps socks and a plastic garbage bag.”

  “An octopus, right?” Marshall asked.

  Arnold blushed even deeper. “I know it was kind of lame,” he said. “But it’s the best I could come up with. I figured my motorcycle helmet would do for a mask.”

  Arnold stole a glance at Sergeant Royce. “The sarge assigned Ditz, Henry, and me to watch the gate,” he went on. “After all the guests were inside, I asked Ditz and Henry to cover for me so I could come in here and get into the costume. Sergeant Royce was here, and he was nice enough to go along with it. See, I had my digital camera and I just wanted to get a few pictures of everyone dressed up.”

  KC nodded. “That’s why my mom told us there were three guards at the gate, but Lauren Tool only saw two,” she said.

  Arnold looked at KC. “I planned to e-mail the pictures to my kid brother, Dez,” he said. “After I took the pictures, I came back in here, got out of the costume, and went back to the gate. I was only gone about fifteen minutes.”

  “I’ll take over, Corporal West,” said Sergeant Royce. “I went along with West’s idea to slip into the party, snap a few pictures, and slip out again. I saw no harm in it. But when I saw the pictures on TV, I knew something had gone wrong. And by the time you kids showed up earlier today, I knew the president was in trouble.”

  Sergeant Royce went on, “Corporal West was out of town fishing, and didn’t see a TV or newspaper,” he said. “He had no idea what was going on until I called.”

  “But the pictures showed the president dunking a kid and pinning a wart on Dr. Jury’s face,” Marshall said. “He’d never do those things!”

  Arnold wiped his face with a dark green handkerchief he pulled from his pocket. “When I sent the pictures to my brother, he had an idea,” Arnold said, shaking his head. “A really stupid idea.”

  “He changed the pictures, right?” KC said.

  Arnold nodded. “Just for a laugh. He has this editing software that our father gave him for Christmas. It lets you change pictures and make new ones. Dez and I e-mail each other goofy pictures of the family all the time. He thought I’d get a kick out of seeing the president dunking a kid.”

  Arnold had a sick look on his face. “I never thought Dez would e-mail the pictures to his friends,” he said. “I guess that’s how they got all over the Internet.”

  Arnold wiped his forehead with the handkerchief again. Letters on the green cloth caught KC’s eye.

  “Could I see your handkerchief?” she asked.

  Arnold handed it over.

  “Look, Marsh,” KC said. She put her finger on the initials USMC, for United States Marine Corps. Then she turned the handkerchief upside down. Now the initials were a backward C, then W and S, then an upside-down U that looked like an n.

  “We saw the initials on one of the socks you used on your costume,” KC said.

  Sergeant Royce stood up. “Corporal West, you need to talk to the president as soon as he’ll see you,” he said. “For your sake, I hope he believes your story.”

  Arnold hung his head. “Yes, sir,” he muttered. Arnold stood up and looked at KC. “I’d do anything for the president.” Then he walked out of the guard hut.

  8

  Who Will Be President?

  KC had a hard time getting to sleep that night. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw those fake pictures that showed the president doing awful things.

  When KC finally slept, she had a nightmare. In the bad dream, the green octopus had been elected president.

  KC woke up tangled in her blankets. She bolted up, thinking one of the octopus’s tentacles had grabbed her.

  But there was no tentacle wrapped around her foot. KC glanced at her bedside clock. It was almost eight o’clock. “Rats, I’ll be late for school!” she muttered. Then she realized today was Sunday.

  KC got dressed and walked to the kitchen. Simon was sitting at the table eating a piece of toast. His laptop was open, and he was pecking at the keys with one finger.

  Yvonne was standing at the kitchen sink with her back to them. KC could tell that she was crying.

  “Yvonne, what’s wrong?” KC asked.

  Yvonne turned around. She was holding a damp paper towel to her face. “The president was just here for his coffee,” she said. “He told me I should think about looking for another job. He said he and you and your mom might be moving out of the White House after Christmas!”

  KC sat down, stunned. She knew that when a new president moved into the White House, it happened in January.

  “How could this happen, all because of a couple of pictures?” Yvonne went on.

  Before KC could answer, they heard a knock on the kitchen door. Yvonne opened it to find Marshall standing there, out of breath. Behind him in the hallway stood Arnold, looking pale.

  “I ran all the way,” Marshall said. “Turn on the news. They’re talking about the president.”

  KC turned on the small TV in the kitchen.

  “This is Donny Drum, and I’ve got your news! Overnight, the president’s poll numbers have gotten worse. With the election two days away, it seems certain that we will soon have a new president in the White House. Well, the candidates aren’t talking, but we’d love to hear your comments! What do you think, viewers?”

  Yvonne, KC, and Marshall stared at the TV set. No one moved.

  “I have an idea,” Simon said.

  KC looked at him and turned down the volume. Marshall sat next to KC.

  “We go see that Drum guy,” Simon said, tipping his chin toward the TV. “We tell him we know exactly how those fake pictures got onto the Internet. We can bring him copies of the real pictures Arnold took. We’ll tell him he’ll be the only one with the real story, but he has to promise to put it on TV today.”

  KC shook her head, confused. “But it was Arnold and his brother,” she said. “How do we—”

  “We get Drum to put Arnold on TV, and Arnold can tell how his brother did it,” Simon said. He looked at his aunt and grinned. “This will be huge. By tonight, the whole world will know the truth!”

  KC nodded. “It’s worth a try,” she said. “Let’s talk to Arnold.” She jumped up and opened the kitchen door.

/>   Donny Drum’s Sunday-night story was so big it replaced the football games. KC, Marshall, the president, and Lois were watching it on the TV in the president’s study. On the screen, Donny Drum was saying, “This is Donny Drum, and I’ve got your news!” He was interviewing Arnold and his brother, Dez West.

  Dez looked into the camera and told the world how he had changed two innocent pictures. “I sent them to a couple of my friends,” he said. “I thought that would be the end of it. I’d never do anything to hurt the president. Neither would my brother.”

  “So it was all just a joke among brothers,” Donny Drum said, smiling into the camera. “What do you think of this, viewers? How will you vote on Tuesday? Should we keep President Thornton in office for another four years?”

  When KC and Marshall walked into Thornton campaign headquarters with the president and KC’s mom, three hundred people stood up and cheered. The computers and telephones were gone. In their place, the tables were covered with food and things to drink.

  The sad and worried faces had also disappeared. Now everyone was smiling. One woman was openly crying with joy.

  It was Tuesday, November 4—Election Day. The clock on the wall said the time was nearly midnight. Most of the votes were in, all across the United States.

  The president thanked his staff and volunteers. “It’s not over yet,” he said, trying hard to keep the smile off his face. “Dr. Jury could still win this election.”

  A large TV screen had been hung high on one wall. The volume was low, but one of the volunteers turned it up. Donny Drum’s big white teeth grinned down at the room. Behind him were scoreboards showing that most votes had been cast for President Thornton.

  “Well, you’re seeing the same thing I’m seeing,” Donny Drum said to his viewers. “It seems President Zachary Thornton will be our leader for the next four years. He has millions more votes than his opponent, Dr. Melrose Jury.”

  Someone handed Donny Drum a note. He read it quickly, then turned back to the camera. “Folks, I believe Dr. Melrose Jury has something to say to President Thornton.”

  Donny Drum’s face disappeared. A different camera showed Dr. Jury picking up a telephone. Dr. Jury was smiling at the camera as he asked to speak to the president.