Vote

by Gary Paulsen

  And an election.

  But that’s good, I pep-talked myself as I brushed my teeth and flashed a big practice smile in the mirror. I’m best when I don’t have too much time to think. Oddly enough, for a smart guy, thinking doesn’t always work for me.

  If I had enough self-confidence, I was sure I’d automatically come up with those talking points and sound bites and other memorable speechy things candidates are known for.

  I checked to see that Dad was staying home from work to take care of Markie. I did that by reminding him seven times over breakfast and by hiding his car keys.

  “I’m not complaining,” Dad said, “because what’s not to love about Markie”—who was making motorboat noises in his cup of milk—“but didn’t his folks say a few days? And hasn’t it been, like, seven hundred?”

  “Feels that way, doesn’t it?” Mom asked. “Not that we don’t love having you, honey,” she said to Markie, who gave a renewed motorboat roar in his milk cup as thanks.

  I waved a cheery and, for the last time, non-presidential goodbye and headed to school.

  Headed to my date with destiny. Or was it fate? One you meet and one you date. I can never keep track.

  Getting Cash to wear the paper bag over his head so no one could see his perfect profile was going to be the trickiest part of the day. Ha ha ha. I crack myself up, I really do.

  Humor. I’ll have to remember that the voters love a good laugh. I am Mr. Funny, so it shouldn’t be hard to amuse them during the debate.

  I reminded myself I had no reason to worry. It’s not like anyone was really paying attention to elections. The voter turnout would be low. Public apathy, which everyone in the media talks about like it’s a bad thing, was probably going to be the watchword of the day.

  Oh, how very very wrong I was.

  Because there was a bunch of kids—the phrase teeming throng would not be out of line here—waiting on the school steps and, when they saw me, they surged forward, shouting questions. Believe me, that experience is a lot more interesting to watch on television than it is to see up close and personal.

  “What are you planning for the eighth-grade class trip?”

  “Do you have any thoughts about how to combat the image of today’s youth as selfish and entitled?”

  “How will you work effectively with the student council?”

  “Will you appoint a vice president from a lower grade so there’s a more seamless transition next year?”

  “When will the influence-peddling, favor-selling, crooked racket of elected officials stop?”

  That last question had been shouted by an adult reporter who’d apparently shown up at the wrong place. “City hall is half a mile away, sir, the other building with the flag out front,” I said.

  My head started spinning. People weren’t bored and apathetic. They were obsessed, kind of angry and expecting solid answers and genuine change.

  If the public is this demanding, no wonder politicians are unresponsive and distant.

  I broke away and slipped into the nearest restroom for a few seconds of solitude. I was leaning against the sink, my head down, when I heard the door open. I lifted my face to see Katie standing behind me. I did a quick spot check: yup, urinals. I hadn’t accidentally wandered into the wrong john. Katie had followed me there deliberately.

  “Please tell me you’re not going to be as trite and cliché as to attempt to cast aspersions on Cash’s character today,” Katie said.

  “Of course not,” I said disgustedly. At least not until after I looked up what aspersions meant.

  Which reminded me: I’ve got to start carrying around note cards, a clipboard, a thesaurus and a dictionary once elected. To handle moments just like this. No wonder politicians have big support staffs with them; they carry the supplies, leaving the candidate’s hands free for shaking and waving.

  “I’m glad to hear that. Because I’ve been—Cash has been—working too hard all week to fall victim to a cheap political tactic like trash talk.”

  “That was Tuesday’s plan, but I’m over it now.”

  “Relieved to hear that.” She threw a look over her shoulder toward the door, on the other side of which were the restless voters. She sighed. “Tough crowd.”

  “How’d Cash do when he got to school and faced them?”

  “He grinned and waved, and then everyone stopped hurling questions at him and tried to shake his hand. He signed a lot of autographs, took a bunch of pictures. Crowd control: A-plus. Message delivery: fail.”

  “What’s it been like working on his campaign?”

  She dropped her eyes. “It’s been fine.”

  “Uh-huh. Did you volunteer to work for him because he’s cute or because you wanted to get on my nerves?”

  “A little of both. Why did you run?”

  “I wanted to impress Tina and being student-body president sounded awesome.”

  “What about now?”

  “After hearing all those questions and realizing people really want things to change around here, now I want to see if I have what it takes to really do something good for the school.”

  “Me too.”

  “What about Cash?”

  “I don’t want to throw him under the bus, because I think he means well, but Cash spent more time deciding which head shots to use on the flyers than he did studying the position statements I wrote.”

  “Yeah, well, as long as we’re being honest with each other: I’m pretty sure I’ve got the personality to lead, but I think I might not be the most dedicated guy there ever was. I like coming up with plans, but I’ve never been so good at, you know, implementing them.” I thought she’d smirk at my confession, but she looked thoughtful.

  “Crazy as this sounds,” she told me, “if we could splice the two of us together, we’d be the perfect candidate. I’m focused, you’re personable and glib. We both come up with great ideas, but I’ve got that stick-to-it quality and you’ve got energy.”

  “Cash is lucky to have someone like you behind him.”

  Katie eyed me. I held my hands out, palms up, in the universal sign that means “I’m not lying, I’m not hustling and I’m not messing with you in any way.” She nodded. “Thanks. I guess all we can do is hope for the best today because—”

  “—it’ll be over soon,” we finished together. And then laughed and headed out to face the voters.

  12

  The True Politician Comes Out Swinging

  The lunch bell had just rung and the debate was minutes away from starting, but I was back in the boys’ restroom, standing in front of the hand dryers. I’d flipped a spout so the air blasted upward. The better to dry the flop-sweat pit stains I’d developed over the morning.

  The only good part of the day had been that I’d run into Tina as she was leaving school for a dentist appointment. She’d squeezed my hand and wished me luck. I was dizzy from her touch but glad she was out of the building. I wanted to avoid having her see me blow the debate.

  Because, all morning, everyone I’d seen had a million questions for me—the students in this school wanted to elect someone effective and hardworking. Well, some did. Some just wanted to vote for the cute guy. Either way, things didn’t look promising for Kev.

  The restroom door slammed open, Cash rushed in and headed to the hand dryer to my right. A second later, four sweaty underarms were on the business end of streams of warm air.

  “Voters scare me,” Cash said. “Are they petting your hair too?”

  “No.”

  “Oh. Has anyone patted you on the butt?”

  “Negative.”

  “Huh. Hugs? Are you getting a lot of hugs?”

  “Nope.”

  “Why are you so sweaty, then?” He hit the button with his elbow so his dryer started again.

  “People keep asking me hard questions. They want to know what I think. And what I’m going to do. And how I can help the school. And how I’ll inspire the students to make a difference.”

  �
�Running for office is not what I thought it would be.”

  “You and me both.”

  We looked at each other glumly, arms over our heads. Then Mr. Crosby poked his head in the doorway and called over the roar of the dryers, “Candidates, you’re on.”

  Cash and I checked each other’s armpits and agreed that the other was visibly dry. We nodded, shook hands, took a deep breath at the same time and trudged to the cafeteria.

  He entered to a shriek of girl voices. I was greeted by some seventh grader who bellowed: “Kevin, are you going to liaison with the school board about the new boundary proposals so that our student body isn’t hacked up randomly?”

  Milania body-checked the kid into the wall and flashed me the okay sign, assuring me there would be no more sniper questions. She wrangles votes and handles rowdy audience members. Nice. Is this how Secret Service agents start out?

  I know Katie was there to support Cash, but I searched for her in the crowd. She looked nervous, chewing her thumbnail and pacing. We caught each other’s eyes and exchanged waves; I felt better.

  Cash and I joined Mr. Crosby at the end of the cafeteria where three podiums and mikes had been set up.

  “Greetings, students,” Crosby said. “Keep eating, we’ve got a tight schedule. You can have lunch and become better-educated citizens at the same time. I’d like to welcome you to the first-ever school-wide president-of-the-student-body debate, prior to the first-ever special election. You. Are. Making. History.”

  It’s Mr. Crosby’s greatest hope that, at some point in our lives, every one of his students will have the chance to Make History. He was a lot more jazzed about the election on Friday than he had been on Monday. Too bad Cash and I couldn’t say the same thing.

  “All right, gentlemen.” Crosby looked at Cash and me. “You’ve been given the same first question ahead of time. You will each answer and then I will ask you another two questions based on the context and substance of your prior answers.”

  We nodded. I fought rising nausea. Cash got pale.

  “Let’s flip a coin; Cash, since you’re the new kid in town, you call it.” Mr. Crosby balanced a quarter on his thumb, ready to flick it in the air.

  “Call what?” Cash’s voice cracked, he was so nervous.

  “Heads or tails. To see who goes first,” Crosby explained.

  “Oh, right. The one where you can see his face. That side.”

  I heard Katie moan. She and Milania were standing next to each other off to the side. Milania patted Katie’s shoulder encouragingly as she scowled at Cash.

  The coin landed heads up. Crosby turned to Cash and read from the note card in his hand.

  “How do you plan to be of maximum service to your school, keeping in mind that, as a leader, you will be encouraging your classmates, teachers and parents to follow your example?”

  Cash looked like he’d never heard that question before. Like he’d never heard English before. Katie cleared her throat loudly, trying to get his attention. He stood frozen behind the podium, staring at the mike.

  Seconds ticked by. I think time actually stood still. I felt myself start to sweat again. No one was chewing, or even breathing, it seemed, waiting for Cash to speak.

  “I’m going to need an answer.” Crosby gave Cash a nudge.

  Katie gave the fakest fake sneeze in the history of people trying to get someone to notice them. Cash finally looked in her direction. She held up a cue card with the words “COMMUNITY OUTREACH.” He seemed to come back to life. But just barely.

  “Oh yeah, um, reaching out. That’s what I’ll do. To the community. Once I’m president. Because that’s, uh, really important?” Cash looked at Katie. She nodded and circled her finger in the air, meaning “keep going.”

  Cash opened his mouth. Nothing came out. He turned and looked at me. I tipped my head, urging him to continue. “What else?” I whispered without moving my lips. “How will you reach out? Details.”

  He cleared his throat and stared down at the podium as if the answers might be written in the wood. Then back at Katie, who was scribbling on another cue card.

  “You know what I think?” Milania’s voice boomed out suddenly and the audience jumped in surprise. “I think Katie should be up there too. Vote for Katie!”

  Thanks, Milania, way to back the candidate you struck a deal with. But I didn’t necessarily disagree with her.

  Neither did Cash. He looked relieved and broke into a smile.

  There was a collective “awwww” from the female part of the population. As in “Isn’t that the cutest face that’s ever been seen in the history of the human head?”

  “That’s a great idea,” Cash told the audience. “Vote for Katie! Because she’s really smart. Or me. Because I’m already running. Or Kev. Because—because he’s running too.” He did a double thumbs-up.

  I just stared at him. In all the time they’d worked together, had Katie failed to tell Cash how elections work? Maybe he got confused by the idea of a political party, thought it was a “the more the merrier” kind of thing.

  I looked over at Katie, who was shaking her head at Milania and frantically waving another cue card at Cash. He’d stepped from behind the podium and was surrounded by some girls.

  Crosby made an attempt to get the debate back on track even though he was visibly rattled by the violation of the political code.

  “Ahem.” He cleared his throat and shuffled his note cards. “Motion from the floor noted. And declined. Because the ballots have already been printed. The field of candidates stands as is—Cash Devine and Kevin Spencer.”

  Um, wow, ringing endorsements of my candidacy all over the place.

  Crosby wiped the sweat off his forehead and faced me. “Kevin? It’s your turn to answer the question.”

  Everyone turned to look at me. I stuck my hands in my pockets—sweaty palms do not win the voters’ confidence—and felt something crumple. I pulled out a piece of paper and smoothed it on the podium.

  Markie had drawn a picture of us and our fort and slipped it in my pocket. I know it was us because there was a tall stick figure and a short one and they were holding hands and smiling, standing next to something they’d built. Together. I felt warm all over from Markie’s reminder of what we’d accomplished and the satisfaction of constructing something so amazing that was all our own. And I thought of Sam’s cousins Becca and Jared, and why they were in town with their folks.

  “Helping people build affordable homes,” I blurted out.

  I looked over at Katie. She nodded: keep going.

  “That’s my platform if I’m elected president. We’ll raise money in each classroom with coin collections. And the proceeds will fund the eighth-grade class trip, which will be to a housing site to help build houses.”

  “Very nice.” Crosby leaned forward on his podium. There was a murmur of interest from the audience. Even Milania looked impressed. I exhaled. Crosby started to ask me the second question but the bell rang and lunch was over.

  I received a ton of high fives as everyone left the cafeteria. Mr. Crosby shook my hand. “You surprised me, Kev. You usually do, but this was in a good way.”

  Milania stomped over. “You didn’t say a word about support for the girls’ basketball team.”

  “You suggested everyone vote for Katie.”

  “Oh, you noticed that?” But she laughed and said, “I’d be stupid if I didn’t cover all the bases. No hard feelings, right?”

  “Nah. You got caught up in the moment. Understandable.” I thought of something: “Hey, did you get your flour-baby grade?”

  “You were right: Markie helped me ace the project. I pulled an A. Thanks.”

  “Markie’s very helpful.”

  She handed me a basketball schedule with the home games underlined. So I wouldn’t forget my end of the deal.

  The cafeteria was empty. Except for Katie, who was sitting on the floor, her knees drawn up and her forehead resting on her kneecaps.

  I slid down
the wall next to her. “Well, that was interesting.”

  She raised her face and studied me. “Nice job. By the way, that’s a great idea. Almost as good as something I’d have come up with.” But I knew she was teasing.

  “Thanks. Do you have any guess how things’ll turn out?”

  “The election is two and a half hours away—” she started.

  “—and kids have short attention spans—”

  “—so people might forget about voting—”

  “—and we’ll just be a leaderless school.” I finished our sentence.

  “A nonviolent anarchy.”

  We fist-bumped each other in hope.

  No such luck. Before we left school that day, Mr. Crosby got on the PA system and congratulated us on the biggest voter turnout ever.

  We. Had. Made. History.

  Yay.

  I guess.

  13

  The True Politician Studies, Evaluates and Benefits from What Others Would Consider a Setback

  I staggered home from school and crawled into bed. Markie’s folks had picked him up while I was at school leaving a legacy of election chaos. The house seemed dead and empty without him. I could have used his sage advice. Markie always sets me straight. He’s like a minion of truth.

  I was determined not to think about the election outcome, so I read until I fell asleep. The next day, I showed up at my weekly Saturday morning lacrosse game and then I worked at Amalgamated Waste Management, where I rinse out Dumpsters, from twelve-thirty to five. Then, from five-thirty to nine-thirty, I was at the storage facility cleaning out deserted lockers.

  You’d expect, after all that activity, and stink, I’d be so exhausted I wouldn’t be able to think. But you’d be wrong. I was still worried about how it was all going to work out.

  So I did what I always do when I don’t know what I’ve done except that I’m sure something about it was wrong and I don’t know what to do next: I went to talk with Mom and Dad.

  They were in the living room; Mom was reading and Dad was working on some spreadsheets.

  “We need to talk.”

  A wave of dread crossed their faces.