STATUS: Married to Martha (same name, different Martha than GW’s) Skelton Jefferson
CON: Owned slaves (guess independence only went so far)
NICKNAME: Father of the University of Virginia (that means he started it)
YEARS OF PRESIDENCY: 1801–1809
NUMBER OF LANGUAGES SPOKEN: 6
NUMBER OF LETTERS WRITTEN: 19,000
NUMBER OF BOOKS COLLECTED: 6,487
FAMOUS QUOTE: “I cannot live without books.”
HOBBIES: Inventing, mockingbird keeping, astronomy, architecture, violin playing, gardening, math, fossil hunting, and (obviously) book collecting
I’ll admit that when Mom and Dad first suggested I keep a presidential inspiration notebook, I thought it was a pretty lame idea. But after what happened at school today, I’m kind of like… Uh, yeah. I can use all the help I can get! I mean, how could Meghan have decided to run against me without talking to me? Not to mention picking Bree to be her vice president and asking the J’s to work on her campaign. The whole thing stinks (worse than Ben Ball). But I don’t want to think about Meghan or Bree or the J’s or Ben. Right now, it’s all about TJ. Hopefully, our nation’s third president and one of the authors of the Declaration of Independence can provide some serious inspo because I, Amanda Elizabeth Adams, need it!!! Okay. Here goes.
One: Thomas Jefferson was all about serving his country.
He was president, vice president, secretary of state, and a congressman. He was governor of his home state, Virginia, where he also served in the legislature and held a bunch of other offices, too. Like seriously, he served his country and state for over fifty years.
Bottom line: TJ was committed. SO AM I! But is Meghan?!? It’s kind of weird she never told me she had an interest in running for president. What made her decide she wanted to be president? Is she committed like TJ? Like me? Or is she in it for a different reason?
Hmmm… something to think about. But not right now.
Two: Thomas Jefferson was an author.
At age thirty-three, he was one of the youngest delegates to the Second Continental Congress in Philadelphia, and he was appointed to a committee of five people to draft the Declaration of Independence. In case you’re not sure what the Declaration is all about, Google it. But if you’re too lazy or too busy or your mom took away your cell phone or your brother or sister is hogging the computer, trust me when I tell you it’s probably the most important document about human rights ever written. It’s the one that says: “all men are created equal.”
Bottom line: Equality is big. And important. Like brushing your teeth before bed. Or sleeping in on Saturdays. Except it’s even bigger and more important than either of those things.
SOOOO… if all men (and women) are created equal, doesn’t that make owning slaves wrong? Easy answer… YES!
Three: Thomas Jefferson was seriously into science.
As a kid, he liked to explore the land and learn about all of the natural wonders in the world around him. As an adult, he was a scholar in lots of scientific areas. Math. Botany. Medicine. Astronomy. Archaeology. Meteorology. Agriculture. And surveying. (What is with these presidents and their land and maps?!)
Bottom line: TJ and I have something in common. We both love science. Maybe that makes me a good candidate for president??? But it means Meghan is a good candidate, too. She likes science as much as I do. UGGH! My quest for inspiration continues…
Four: Thomas Jefferson stood up for what he believed in.
Like really stood up. TJ went on a hunger strike to show support for the citizens of Boston when the British government closed the Boston Harbor in response to the Boston Tea Party. That story is kind of long and too much to write about here, but the point is that he stopped eating and asked others to join him.
Bottom line: It’s cool that TJ was into that “one for all and all for one” sort of thing, but I don’t think asking the citizens of Liberty Middle to go on a hunger strike will get me elected.
Five: Thomas Jefferson’s face is on a lot.
His face (and it’s a pretty serious one) is on every nickel out there and on the two-dollar bill. There’s even a memorial for him in Washington, D.C. And the memorial isn’t just about his face. Inside, there’s a nineteen-foot statue of his whole body made of pure bronze!
That’s it! The inspiration I’m looking for! My face needs to be EVERYWHERE. On posters all over Liberty Middle School. I even have an idea for a campaign slogan: “Face It. Amanda Adams Is the Best Choice for President!”
I can see it! I’ll make buttons that look like nickels with my face on them instead of Thomas Jefferson’s. My heart beats faster in my chest. The good kind of faster, like I’m excited about something. For the first time all day, I feel like my campaign is finally on the right track.
Then, just as quickly as that good feeling arrived, it disappears. Is your first idea for a campaign slogan your best idea? Or should you brainstorm dozens of them? And what’s the point of even thinking about slogans or buttons when I still don’t have the main thing I need to run…
A vice president!
Chapter Six
WAKE UP AND SMELL THE HOT CHOCOLATE
I blink open my eyes and look at the clock on my nightstand. It’s only 5:32 a.m. Officially, I don’t have to be up for another fifty-eight minutes. But I have a big decision to make. Who is going to be my vice president? Since I can’t count on Meghan, I need to find the right person for the job. Mrs. Lee says I have until the end of the week to make my decision. Today is Thursday, which means I don’t have time to waste.
I throw back my covers and hop out of bed. When I slide my feet into my favorite slippers, immediately I think of Meghan. She has the same puffy slippers in the exact same shade of cotton candy pink. We bought them together at the mall and decided they were like friendship bracelets… except for our feet.
Just thinking about her makes me a weird mix of sad and mad.
Best friends are supposed to do things like buy matching friendship slippers. What they’re not supposed to do is run against each other in class elections.
I look at my reflection in the mirror over my dresser and give myself a little pep talk.
In less than five minutes, I’m at the kitchen table with a steaming mug of microwave hot chocolate (topped with extra marshmallows), a plate of toaster waffles, a bright blue Sharpie, and a pad of paper. I nibble the edges off a waffle, then uncap the Sharpie and write POSSIBLE CHOICES FOR VP across the top of the pad.
After Meghan, my closest friends are the girls on my soccer team. I know I can count on them to support my campaign and help me get elected. They will be my J’s. But it still leaves the question of who will be my veep.
I wash down a bite of waffle with a swig of hot chocolate.
Then I visualize the strongest players on the field. Callie Weaver, right midfielder, is known for her speed. Emily Peters, our number one forward, never gives up. And Blake Smith, striker, knows how to score and create opportunities for other players to score. I neatly write out all three names and study my list.
POSSIBLE CHOICES FOR VP
Callie Weaver
Emily Peters
Blake Smith
The question is, who would be the best vice president? The answer is simple. Callie. She’s just as fun and sweet as she is fast. She’s super into soccer, but I have a feeling she’d be into class government, too. One thing is certain: I won’t know until I ask.
“Penny for your thoughts,” a voice says from behind me, and I jump.
“Dad! You scared me!” I grab my mug of hot chocolate to make sure it doesn’t go flying off the table. “What are you doing up?”
He shoots me a curious look. “I was about to ask you the same question.”
There’s no denying the truth with Dad. Even if I tried, he’d get to the bottom of it faster than Meghan and I can eat through a roll of Girl Scout Thin Mints.
“Campaign troubles,” I say.
Dad pulls
out a chair and sits down next to me at the table. He studies me like he’s trying to figure out what the issues are without me having to tell him. Dad prides himself on being a campaign clairvoyant. If there even is such a thing, I guess he’s it. He motions to my mug of hot chocolate. “You know your mother would not approve of all of those marshmallows.”
His voice sounds stern, but I see the twinkle in his eyes.
“Good thing Mom isn’t here,” I say cautiously.
Dad smiles. “The marshmallows will be our secret. How about you rustle me up a cup of that hot chocolate and tell me your campaign troubles. Let’s see if we can’t solve them.”
I’m back at the table in no time and push the steaming mug with extra marshmallows in it toward Dad. If anyone can help, he can.
“What’s going on?” he asks, getting right to the point.
I take a deep breath and the whole thing tumbles out. What happened with Meghan, Bree, the J’s, and how I still don’t have a vice president.
Dad slowly sips his hot chocolate, then speaks. “Amanda, years ago your mother ran for city councilwoman and one of her closest friends decided to run against her.”
“Who?” I ask. I don’t remember any of Mom’s friends ever running against her.
Dad gives me a small smile. “You’ll be surprised to hear this. It was your Aunt Julie.”
“Aunt Julie?!?” I ask, shocked. She’s my non-aunt aunt. My mom’s friend who is more than a best friend but not family so I call her my aunt anyway.
“The very one,” says Dad.
On the listening scale, my ears are a ten. “But they’re still best friends. What happened?”
Dad sits back in his chair. “When Mom found out Julie was running, she wasn’t happy about it. She would have preferred Julie be there to support her, not run against her. But sometimes candidates don’t have a choice about who opposes them. Mom debated how to handle the situation. Finally, she decided the best thing to do was to talk to Julie.”
I get what Dad is saying. That I should talk to Meghan. I tried. It didn’t go well. I lean across the table toward Dad. “What did Mom say?” I ask.
“She said she planned to run a fair and upstanding campaign and hoped Julie would do the same. No mudslinging.”
“You mean no saying bad things about the other candidate?”
“Exactly,” Dad says. “Running a clean campaign is just as important as an effective one. And Mom and Aunt Julie agreed no matter the outcome of the election, they’d always be friends.” He looks at me like he’s trying to gauge if I understand what he’s saying.
I do. “You mean friendship is more important than an election.”
Dad nods.
I get what he’s saying, but there’s something he doesn’t know. “I already talked to Meghan. And it didn’t go well.”
“If at first you don’t succeed…”
“Try, try again,” I say, finishing his sentence.
Dad nods. “And establish some ground rules.”
“Like no mudslinging.”
Dad gives me a thumbs-up. “That’s an excellent start. Moving on to your vice president.”
I push my pad of paper across the table at Dad, then tell him about all of the girls on the list. “I’m going to ask Callie.” I tilt my chin up, confident in my decision. “She’d be great.”
Dad clucks. It kind of makes him sound like a chicken. Except he’s not one. If Dad were an animal, he’d be a dolphin or chimpanzee, the quiet but smart type.
“Amanda, I’m sure your teammates would all be excellent choices. But have you given any thought to choosing someone different from you?”
An image of Ben Ball’s face flashes in front of me. No way. Not happening.
“Hear me out,” says Dad like he can read my mind. “There’s value in choosing a running mate who could bring something different to the table. Someone who could help you get votes from other student groups.”
Other student groups! Votes! I haven’t even thought about those things yet. “Um, Dad, I think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself here. I need to pick a vice president first.”
“All I’m saying is that you shouldn’t be afraid to go with the unexpected choice. Is there a person you can think of who might fall into that category?”
Ben’s snort-laugh plays in my head like a loop. Yep. There’s a person who falls into that category. But I’m not picking him! The way to NOT get elected is to have Ben Ball by my side cracking jokes that aren’t funny.
“Just think about it,” says Dad.
“Sure,” I say. I have thought about it. And the last person I would ever pick to be my running mate is Ben Ball.
Chapter Seven
BIRDS OF A FEATHER DON’T ALWAYS FLY TOGETHER
As soon as I get to school, I hunt down Meghan. But not in a hunter-stalking-her-prey kind of way. More in the spirit of “we need to talk.” Dad’s story about Mom and Aunt Julie running against each other resonated (one of this week’s vocab words) with me.
I can’t stop Meghan from running against me. But I can have a real heart-to-heart with her—just the two of us—and tell her that our friendship is more important than any election and we just need some ground rules so we both run fair, clean campaigns.
Finding her is easier than I expected. There she is, standing right next to Bree Simon, on top of one of the benches in the area officially known as the seventh-grade benches. They’re wearing matching bubblegum pink T-shirts that say VOTE HART AND SIMON in big raspberry-colored hearts, and just about every seventh grader I know is crowded around them.
Meghan raises a megaphone to her lips. “Free donuts!” she announces. I try to tune out the clapping and cheering as my eyes scan the crowd. That’s when I see it. All of the J’s are wearing the same T-shirts Meghan and Bree have on, and they’re the ones giving out the donuts, which happen to have pink sprinkles on them, the same color as their T-shirts.
I focus on Meghan, using every ounce of best-friend ESP I can muster. Look at me. Look at me! I will her eyes to move in my direction, and it works. Her gaze meets mine, and her cheeks turn pinker than her T-shirt. She gives me a small smile, almost like she feels bad. Then she looks away, whispers something to Bree, and passes her the microphone.
“Vote Meghan Hart for class president!”
Bree’s voice echoes through the crowd. She raises a donut high above her head like it’s a symbol of the Hart-Simon campaign, and the crowd goes wild.
There’s more clapping and cheering and it’s obvious to me that sprinkle-covered donuts + cool T-shirts + Meghan and Bree for class officers = an unbeatable combo.
My plans for talking to Meghan swirl away faster than water going down a flushed toilet. I can’t talk to her now. Not with every seventh grader I know (except for me and Frankie Chang, who is more like a fourth or fifth grader) chomping away on campaign-themed breakfast pastries and cheering on the Hart-Simon ticket. This campaign doesn’t even officially start until next week, and already I’m sunk.
On so many levels!
This morning Dad said how important it is to run a clean campaign.
Pre-campaign donuts don’t exactly fall into that category. I don’t even think candidates for office are allowed to bring food to school. Plus, those T-shirts didn’t just create themselves. Someone had to design and order them. And it’s not like Dunkin’ Donuts just happened to have one hundred pink sprinkle donuts on hand this morning.
Suddenly, it all becomes clear to me. Meghan’s plans to run for class president have been in the works for a while. And she’s in it to win it. Even worse, she’s doing a pretty good job of it.
Until this morning, she was my best friend who was also my opponent. Now, she’s what’s officially known as a frontrunner. That’s a word that I’ve heard used a lot of times in my house. It means the candidate who appears most likely to win the election, and if the cheering crowd gathered around Meghan is an indication of things to come, I’m in big trouble.
&
nbsp; Even though I see Principal Ferguson barreling his way over to the donut giveaway like he’s about to shut it down, Meghan’s pre-campaign efforts have already made a BIG impact.
The damage has been done. “This is bad,” I mumble. “Bad. Bad. Bad.”
“Yep,” says a voice from behind me. “It is.”
I don’t have to turn to know that the speaker is Ben Ball. “Adams, have you tried a donut?” He dangles one in front of my nose. The aroma is sugary sweet and delicious. But I swat it away angrily.
Ben tssks. “Now, now. Aggression never helped any candidate get elected. Don’t get mad. Get even.” He leans closer, then adds, “And you better hop to it. Or this campaign thing of yours will be over before it starts. Make a decision yet on a running mate?”
I open my mouth to speak. No words come out.
Ben stuffs his mouth with my opponent’s donut.
I shove my books into my locker and slam shut the door. The world’s longest school day in the history of school days is over. Finally!
It was a lot of work avoiding all the people I didn’t want to talk to today. Like Meghan. And Ben Ball. And Mrs. Lee. Grrr! I never thought my favorite teacher would be someone I wanted to avoid. She and Ben both wanted to know who I’d picked for my VP.
But I had nothing to tell them because I still don’t know. Mrs. Lee even reminded me that tomorrow is the deadline. As if I could forget!
NEWS FLASH: AMANDA ADAMS IS OFFICIALLY STILL VEEPLESS!
I sprint from my locker to the gym. All I want to do is to put on my soccer cleats and get out on the field with my team. Today, I have a lot on my mind besides blocking goals.
When I get to the field, Callie Weaver is already there. She’s always one of the first to arrive, because she’s the fastest one on our team, and because she has last-period gym, which means she’s already right where she needs to be for practice. She’s running her warm-up laps around the field and I fall into place beside her.
The Campaign Page 4