Bottom line: If you want to be president, you have to be willing to work hard (ugh… I can’t believe I’m about to write these next words) and be a lifelong learner.
Two: George Washington had good manners.
I know… who cares how he held his fork? But it was more than that. At age fourteen, young George wrote out a copy of 110 Rules of Civility and Decent Behavior in Company and Conversation. These were some very old rules written in France in 1595. But honestly, some of the stuff they had to say (even though they said it in a really old-fashioned, stuffy sort of way) still makes sense today.
Like do not laugh too loud or too much at a public spectacle. And be not apt to relate news if you know not the truth thereof. In other words, don’t laugh at people when they do something dumb and don’t gossip. Apparently, George lived his whole life according to these rules and was known for trying to be a gentleman.
Bottom line: Not a bad idea to be well-behaved if you want to be president.
Three: George Washington was all about the future.
He was a commander in the army that fought hard (and for a long time) in the war against the British. Why? Because he saw a brighter future for America. He also presided over the Constitutional Convention. No doubt, that was a lot of work, but George did it because it was important to him to come up with a way of governing our country that would make sense for generations to come. He was president TWICE! That’s right. He did such a fine job the first go-round that he was reelected, and the second time, he spent a lot of his time in office making sure our nation (which back then was just the states on the East Coast) grew and expanded west.
Why? Because he believed the future of our nation was all about growing it from small and powerless to BIG AND POWERFUL!
Bottom line: Being a leader means doing things that make your country (or in my case, my grade) better than it was before you took office.
Four: George Washington wore a lot of hats
I know. In all those old pictures, he always has on that dark funny-looking one.
But what I mean is that he played a lot of roles. In addition to being our nation’s first president, he was a son, a brother, a husband, a father, a grandfather, an army commander, a surveyor, a land owner, a planter, a hoe-cake eater, a letter writer, and… wait for it (because this is the big finale)… George Washington was a dog lover. He had more than thirty of them! In fact, some things I read said that he had as many as fifty dogs in his lifetime. That’s a lot of dogs!
Bottom line: If you want to get elected president, GET A DOG! Or fifty of them.
Dear Mom and Dad,
If you read this (which I have a feeling you will), I need a dog. Our nation’s first president had a whole bunch, and he got elected to office twice. All I need is one! Do your part to help me get elected. Please get me a dog!
Love,
Amanda
P.S. The election is right around the corner, so there’s no time to waste!!!
Chapter Two
DRUMROLL, PLEASE!
Amanda, move it!”
The clickety-clack of Mom’s heels impatiently tapping against the brick foyer by the front door drifts up the stairs and into my room. She’s got places to be, people to see, things to do. I get that. But today is a big day for me, too. I take my time smearing my lips with Cherry Sugar lip gloss, the new color Meghan and I bought at the mall last weekend, then look into the mirror over my dresser to inspect the result. Little flecks of red, pink, and gold shimmer up at me. I sniff the air. Mmmm! Cherry Sugar smells as good as it looks.
“AMANDA!” On the impatience scale, Mom is officially a nine.
“Coming,” I yell. I pull on my new hoodie, the cute pink one that Meghan spent most of last Saturday helping me find. I told her I needed just the right article of clothing to announce my candidacy as class president, and this hoodie is perfect! It says GIRL POWER on the back and screams “leader.” Just what I need for today. I grab my backpack and head downstairs.
Mom herds me out the door like a stray sheep. She shoves a protein bar into one of my hands and a water bottle into the other. In case you had any illusions that she’s the kind of parent who wakes up and makes pancakes shaped like Mickey Mouse ears, with chopped fresh fruit on the side, let me dispel them here and now. She’s not. Neither is Dad. He’s already in the driver’s seat with the motor running. I close the door behind me and start on my breakfast. It’s a short drive to Liberty Middle, which means I have to eat fast.
“Good morning,” Dad says in his “Mom and I have important business today” voice.
They’re not the only ones. “This morning I’m going to make my candidacy for seventh-grade president official,” I inform my parents. Dad glances in the rearview mirror, waiting for me to elaborate. “In homeroom, Mrs. Lee is passing out the forms for anyone who wants to run. All I have to do is to fill it out and, voilà, I’ll be a candidate,” I explain.
Mom turns around and gives me a thumbs-up. “Amanda, I’m thrilled for you. Declaring your candidacy is the first step of any campaign. And it’s an important one. The declaration of your candidacy sets the tone for the rest of your campaign. It’s critical that you show your constituents who you are and what kind of a leader you’ll be.”
“Yep. I’m on it,” I say to Mom, who is sort of overthinking this whole running-for-president-of-my-class thing. It’s not exactly like running for the United States Congress. And over half of the seventh grade went to elementary school with me. People know me.
But declaring my candidacy is only one thing on my agenda today.
The other is talking to Meghan. Dad pulls into the drop-off lane and my stomach rumbles. It’s a mix of water, protein bar, and anticipation. Minutes from now I’m going to secure my vice president, then after that we’ll tell the rest of the world, or at least everyone in our grade, our plan to become their class leaders. I hop out of the car, charge through the doors of the school, and hurry toward the area outside Mrs. Lee’s room, where Meghan and I agreed to meet.
I see her from a distance and wave, hurrying in her direction. I’m practically bursting to talk to her. When I get to her, my mouth falls open, but no words come out of it.
Meghan has a new haircut.
“Wow!” I say. Her thick brown hair has been cut into shoulder-length layers. Not the kind that just hang around your face. She has the kind that actually make a face look better than it would without them. Like Roxie Scott, the weather lady on TV. “You look amazing,” I add. “I didn’t know you were getting your hair cut. That must have been your big news.”
Meghan smiles, but it isn’t her normal, extra-big smile. It’s actually kind of small.
“Um, not exactly,” says Meghan.
Then I notice something else. In addition to her new haircut, Meghan has on a sweater I’ve never seen before. Sparkly silver. With cool new sneaks to match. I zip my GIRL POWER hoodie to my chin. Somehow it doesn’t seem as cute now as it did this morning. I take the ponytail holder from my wrist and wind it around my curls to make them neat, like Meghan’s sleek new do. Suddenly, I have this bad feeling, like maybe I should find out Meghan’s news before I tell her my own. “So what’s your big news?” I ask.
Meghan shifts from one foot to the other. “You first,” she says.
“You,” I say.
“No, you,” she shoots back.
We giggle at the same time.
“Okay. Rock, Paper, Scissors,” says Meghan. “Three rounds. Winner goes second.”
We both stick out our hands. Round one goes to me. Rounds two and three to Meghan, which means it’s my turn to talk. I clear my throat. “Drumroll, please.”
Meghan pats her hands against her thighs.
“You know how I told you I’m going to run for president of our class?” I wait, but Meghan doesn’t answer. She just makes an mmm-hmm sound, so I continue. “Well, I wanted to know if you want to run with me. As my vice president. It’ll be amazing! You and I will be in charge of the wh
ole grade, which means we get to plan the community service project our class does and pick the theme for the seventh-grade dance in the spring. How fun does that sound?”
I exhale, equal parts relieved and mad at myself for being nervous in the first place. There’s only one answer Meghan could possibly have. I flash her my biggest smile and wait for it. We both take French, so it’s possible her answer will be “Oui! Oui!”
“Well… you see… I… um…” Meghan sounds like I did last night when I was having trouble telling Mom and Dad that I’m running. I fumbled and I’m not a fumbler. One of the many things Meghan and I have in common is that she isn’t, either.
On the alarmed scale, I’m a six. “You want to be my vice president, don’t you?”
Meghan shakes her new layers off her face. Are there highlights in them? I’m sure I see an unmistakable strand of blond.
“Amanda… you see… the thing I wanted to tell you is that…”
Whatever it is, I’m pretty sure she doesn’t want to tell me. “Meghan, spit it out!” I know I sound just like Mom. But I can’t help it. I’m her daughter, after all, and I have to know. NOW!
Meghan puts her shoulders back. The first bell rings. Kids are walking into their homerooms and giving us funny looks. I stand there, waiting for Meghan to tell me her news.
“Girls, are you coming?” Mrs. Lee is holding the door open for us to walk inside.
Neither of us move. I glance at Mrs. Lee. Her face squishes up like she senses something is off. A cold fall breeze cuts through the warmth of my hoodie. Every morning, Meghan and I are always the first ones in Mrs. Lee’s classroom. That’s because we LOVE homeroom.
We LOVE that we have Mrs. Lee as our advisor. Not only is she the coolest teacher at Liberty Middle School, but she also teaches science, which Meghan and I have together fifth period. It’s our favorite class. We both LOVE science and doing experiments in Mrs. Lee’s lab.
And we LOVE that we have the same homeroom and get to start every day together.
When Meghan and I got our schedules at the beginning of the year, we squealed like our celeb crushes (mine is Shawn Mendes and hers is Harry Styles, who she likes a lot, but not nearly as much as her real crush, quarterback of the football team and eighth-grade uber hottie Caleb Johannsen) had handed them to us.
“Meghan, we have homeroom AND lunch AND Science AND French together!” I said.
“That’s so cool!” said Meghan, then she blushed. “I heard Caleb is switching from Spanish to French this year. What if he has French with us?!?”
We both squealed some more at the possibility that Meghan might have a class with her crush. He’s the hottest guy in the eighth grade, and Meghan is always talking about him. Literally, we’ve spent whole sleepovers discussing his blue eyes and how they sparkle like swimming pools on a sunny day. Of course, I’ve been sworn to absolute secrecy to never tell anyone how Meghan feels about Caleb. Which I would never do. One: because Meghan is my best friend. And two: because on the secret scale, this one is a ten. Meghan would die of embarrassment if anyone besides me knew how she felt.
Mrs. Lee motions to us to come inside the classroom. “Girls, let’s go.”
Every single morning since the school year started, Meghan and I have raced into her classroom ahead of everyone else so we can grab the two desks right in front of hers. We always squish them so close together that Mrs. Lee jokes we’re like twins joined at the hip, except that we’re joined by desks. But now, we just stand there, neither of us moving a muscle.
“So, do you or don’t you want to be my vice president?” I ask, silently willing Meghan to go with the do option.
She sighs. “Amanda, I can’t be your vice president.”
Light bounces off a sparkly patch on Meghan’s sweater and I blink. “Why not?” I ask.
Meghan’s cheeks turn pink as she answers. “Because I’m running for president of the seventh grade, too.”
“What?” I’m confused. Then it hits me like a soccer ball aimed straight at my head. My best friend isn’t going to be my vice president. She’s going to be my opponent.
Chapter Three
A HISTORY LESSON
(BUT NOT ABOUT U.S. PRESIDENTS)
At this point, you might be asking yourself some pretty big questions.
Like when and why and how did Amanda Elizabeth Adams and Meghan Louise Hart come to be best friends? And if they’re such good friends, how is it possible that Meghan decided to run for president of the seventh grade at Liberty Middle School when Amanda had already told her she was running?
Well, that last one is a great question.
In fact, as Amanda sits in Mrs. Lee’s homeroom listening to her explain how to fill out the form stating one’s intent to run for class president, she’s asking herself that same thing.
It makes absolutely NO sense to Amanda why Meghan would do that!
She searches her brain for an answer, but can’t think of one, so she turns her attention to the other question. The one about when and why and how she and Meghan became friends.
That question is much simpler for her to answer.
Amanda Elizabeth Adams and Meghan Louise Hart became best friends on the first moment of the first day of first grade at Patriot Elementary when Mrs. Hudson lined up her class alphabetically. Amanda was at the front of the line because her last name is Adams and Meghan was somewhere in the middle because her last name is Hart. But Meghan didn’t want to be in the middle, so she offered Amanda a quarter, two purple marbles, and a snack-sized Kit Kat (left over from the previous Halloween) to switch places with her. Amanda said she’d do it, but only if Meghan gave her the Hello Kitty Watch on her wrist. Meghan took it off, Amanda put it on, and the two switched spots in line. From that moment on, they were BFFs.
That’s the short answer. Now here’s the Wikipedia version.
WIKIPEDIA
THE FREE ENCYCLOPEDIA
The Friendship of Amanda and Meghan
How It Started
Amanda Adams and Meghan Hart became best friends in Mrs. Hudson’s first-grade class at Patriot Elementary School. Their relationship was described as one that got off to a rocky start. Day one, Amanda and Meghan got into a fight. Something about a watch. Meghan claimed it was hers. Amanda said Meghan gave it to her. They were pulling and tugging the watch back and forth like they were playing a game of tug-of-war. And they were yelling things like “It’s mine!” and “No, it’s mine!” when Mrs. Hudson said, “The watch is mine. At least for now.” She took it and put Amanda and Meghan together in the time-out corner. When twenty minutes (the official length of Patriot Elementary School time-outs) had passed, they were both smiling (their faces covered in chocolate from the Kit Kat bar they’d shared) and chatting so much that Mrs. Hudson threatened to put them right back in time-out if they couldn’t be quiet.
The Early Years
Throughout elementary school, Amanda and Meghan’s friendship strengthened. In second grade they made a pact to eat one food every day that turned their tongues blue or purple. If their mothers said anything like “No more popsicles!” the girls would politely remind them that they had to eat the popsicles because they’d made a pact. In third grade, Amanda and Meghan made a girl cave under Meghan’s bed and used it for all sorts of things. Telling scary stories. Eating potato chips before dinner. And quietly hiding Amanda there when it was time for her to go home. They had sleepovers every weekend of fourth grade. And in fifth grade, they formed a running club (they were the only members) and decided to run a marathon. Their training started with one lap around Amanda’s block. Then two. Once, they made it six times around, but when Amanda’s dad told them that once around their Arlington block was 0.3 miles, they did the math and realized they would have to run around it 87.3 times to equal a whole marathon. So they switched their running club to a TV-watching club.
Off to Middle School
Sixth grade was a new adventure for Amanda and Meghan. They started Liberty Middle School
and grew in what Amanda’s mother called “natural different directions.” Whatever that means. Point is, Amanda loved sports and made the soccer team. Meghan, who could sing before she talked (at least that’s what she’d always claimed about herself) was cast as the lead in the sixth-grade play. That year, they spent time apart. Sometimes it worried Amanda that maybe it was a sign of things to come. But when Amanda asked her father if he believed in signs, he said, “No, only polls. And even those aren’t always accurate.” So Amanda disregarded any and all signs, and off she went, along with Meghan, to seventh grade.
The Here and Now
For the two friends, the school year started pretty well (in Amanda’s opinion). She and Meghan had homeroom, lunch, Science, and French together. There were classes they didn’t have together. And Amanda was still on the soccer team. She had practice every day after school while Meghan was off at drama club. That meant there were times Meghan couldn’t have told Amanda something BIG (like that she was planning to run against her for president of their class!). But there were plenty of other opportunities when she could have told her. Like every day during homeroom, lunch, Science, or French. Or every night when they talked or texted. But Meghan never said a word. On the contrary, Amanda only found out this very morning when she asked Meghan to be her vice president and a “highlighted-and-layered-haired, sparkly sweatered, and cool sneaks wearing” version of Meghan told Amanda she was running against her.
In homeroom, Amanda filled out the student government form her favorite teacher gave her and under the question Why do you think you’d make a good president of the seventh grade? Amanda didn’t write the answer she’d planned to write, which was: Because my best friend Meghan Hart is running with me as vice president and we always have the BEST ideas, which means things like the community service project and the seventh-grade dance will be more amazing than ever. Instead, she gripped her pencil so tight it left a mark on her finger and wrote: Because I have the BEST ideas, which means things like the community service project and the seventh-grade dance will be more amazing than ever. And when she got to the question Who will be your VP running mate? she wrote: TBD. When she handed the form to Mrs. Lee, Amanda asked if she could get back to her on the question of who her vice president would be. Mrs. Lee gave her a smile (the kind you give a person who you feel sorry for) and told her she could have until the end of the week to let her know her answer.
The Campaign Page 2