The Kid Who Ran For President

by Dan Gutman

  “Booooo!” everybody hooted, but nobody was too upset. “Three lousy votes,” my dad said. “It means nothing.”

  A few minutes later, the ABC commentator stopped in the middle of a sentence and announced, “We are projecting the state of Maine and its four electoral votes will go to young Judson Moon!”

  Everybody yelled and screamed. “We’re winning!” my mom shouted. “We’re actually winning!”

  “Calm down,” Dad grumbled. “That’s just four lousy votes. They mean nothing.”

  Then the results started pouring in. CBS projected President White was the winner in Connecticut. NBC picked me to take New Jersey. President White picked up Vermont, Rhode Island, Florida, and New Hampshire. I won in New York, with its thirty-one big electoral votes.

  Senator Dunn won West Virginia’s five electoral votes, but he’s from West Virginia. I figure if you can’t win your own state, you must be really pathetic. Outside of West Virginia, he wasn’t doing very well. It was going to be White against Moon for all the marbles.

  Moon & June pulled ahead of President White in the electoral vote tally, but only slightly. The polls were now closed on the West Coast and it was looking like the election was going to come down to California and its fifty-five electoral votes.

  President White would win a state, and then I would win one. Every time a winner was projected, Mrs. Syers would shriek with glee or disappointment depending on whether or not we won the state. Dad was trying not to appear nervous. But he was pacing the floor and mumbling to himself, which he always does when he’s uptight.

  Lane was very calm and serious. He had his laptop computer with him and he kept recalculating the electoral vote totals every time one of the TV networks projected a winner for a state.

  By 11:30 P.M., the results were tabulated from every state except California. All four TV networks said the vote was still too close to call there. I was stuck at 217 electoral votes and the president had 164.

  “If we win in California, Moon & June is the winner by two electoral votes,” announced Lane. “If White wins in California, the election is thrown to the House of Representatives to decide.”

  The voting was over. It was out of our hands. There was no speech anybody could make, no hand anybody could shake that would make a difference. There was nothing to do but sit there and watch.

  Sitting there, I felt like I must be in the middle of a dream. This Judson Moon everybody was talking about was some other kid. It wasn’t me. It was too unbelievable to think that I was actually running for president of the United States. Or that I might actually win.

  It had to be a dream. Or maybe a nightmare. Sometimes it’s hard to tell one from the other.

  I was shaken from these thoughts when the CNN anchorman suddenly announced, “This just in!” with some urgency in his voice.

  Everybody stopped talking.

  “At 11:52 P.M., Eastern Standard Time, on November seventh, CNN projects the state of California will go to …”

  He paused for just a moment to take a breath. “Moon & June! Judson Moon will become the next president of the United States! For the first time in American history —”

  I didn’t hear the rest. A roar went up in the hotel room. Mom and Dad and Mrs. Syers were all over me, hugging me, kissing me. Car horns blared from the street outside.

  “Kings of the hill!” Lane shouted, jumping all over the couch like a maniac. “We did it, Judd! We’re kings of the hill!”

  I think Lane was happier than anybody. He grabbed me and thanked me for letting him run the campaign. “This is all I ever wanted,” he whispered in my ear. “Remember our deal? I’ll never tell you what to wear or say or do again. Now you’re in charge.”

  I shivered when he said that. I’m in charge.

  After the commotion had subsided a bit, we all tumbled downstairs to the ballroom where a few thousand people were waiting. When the elevator door opened, a spotlight found me and Mrs. Syers and a deafening roar exploded. Hundreds of red, white, and blue balloons fell from the ceiling. The band struck up “Shine On, Harvest Moon.”

  Men pummeled me on the back and women kissed me. Some people just reached out and touched me, like I was a religious object.

  Lane guided me to the podium and handed me a sheet of paper.

  “What does it say?” I asked.

  “It’s a pretty standard acceptance speech,” he said. “The usual patriotic stuff.”

  I looked out into the crowd. They wouldn’t stop cheering. I held up my hands. I shrugged my shoulders. I put my finger to my lips as if to say “Shh!” They kept right on screaming.

  I spotted Chelsea in the crowd, clapping as hard as she could without ruining her nails. On the other side of the room I saw Abby, smiling at me like a mom watching her kid at his first piano recital.

  It must have been fifteen minutes until the noise level died down enough for me to speak.

  “I shouldn’t be here,” I finally said into the microphone. “It’s way past my bedtime.”

  The ballroom exploded in another roar and I had to wait five more minutes for everybody to quiet down.

  “I have a prepared victory speech,” I said, “but I’m not going to use it.” I glanced at Lane and saw his eyebrows shoot up into his forehead.

  “First of all, I want to thank the people who got me here. Mom and Dad, of course. June Syers. Lane Brainard. All the volunteers and kids across America who worked so hard to make this impossible dream happen. And of course, all the people who voted for me.”

  I paused for a moment to let that sink in. Because I knew that what I was about to say was going to blow their minds.

  “I have a question for the grown-ups of America,” I said seriously. “Are you out of your minds? Are you expecting me to enforce the Constitution? I never even read it. I was absent from school that day.

  “You want me as commander in chief of the armed forces? What if somebody attacked the United States? Would you really want me in charge? I don’t know the difference between North Korea and North Carolina.

  “You expect me to sign bills into law? You expect me to appoint Supreme Court justices? I’m just a snot-nosed kid!”

  For once in my life, I wasn’t goofing. And it felt good.

  “To win this election,” I said, “I became everything I always hated. I turned into a liar, a fake, a fraud. The saddest part is, it worked.

  “America must be in really bad shape if you elected me president. You better get it together and find some qualified people to run this country or we’ll all be in big trouble.

  “In conclusion,” I said, “I hereby resign as president-elect of the United States of America.”

  Have you ever heard three thousand people gasp at the same time? It’s really cool. For a second, I thought all the air was going to be sucked out of the ballroom.

  It was so quiet you could have heard a pin drop in there, at least until my mom fainted and hit the floor with a thud.

  The press were all over me like ants at a picnic. “Does this make Mrs. Syers president?” somebody asked. “Will you reconsider? What about all the kids who worked so hard to get you elected? Are you finished with politics? What are you going to do with the rest of your life?”

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the press,” I announced, “I don’t even know what I’m going to do tomorrow, much less the rest of my life. To use the words of my running mate, June Syers, the future will tell us what will happen when it’s good and ready.”

  As I trotted off the stage, everybody was looking at me like they were dead fish in a fish store.

  The first person to come over to me was Lane, of course.

  “Once again, your political instincts are brilliant, Moon,” he said, clapping a hand on my back. “You make a much better candidate than you would make a president. Perfect career move.”

  June Syers rolled her wheelchair over to me. “Now I know for sure you’re crazy, Judson Moon,” she said.

  “You’re probably rig
ht, Mrs. Syers.”

  “Too bad you’re out of the race, though,” she continued.

  “Why?”

  “’Cause you’re just the kind of man I would vote for,” she said. Considering that she hadn’t voted since 1944, I was very flattered.

  “Hey,” Mrs. Syers said before rolling away. “You promised you’d kiss me on Election Night. So pucker up, big boy!” She wrapped her arms around me and for the life of me I can’t figure out how such a tiny little woman could squeeze so hard.

  Chelsea Daniels was sobbing uncontrollably, so Lane and I went over to comfort her.

  “Hundreds of thousands of silkworms are going to die a horrible death,” she bawled, “and I won’t be able to do a single thing about it!”

  Tears were running down her face, making little dark streams when they dissolved her makeup. Lane pointed to himself to let me know he would take care of Chelsea.

  “You know, Chelsea,” Lane said, “I’ve been thinking about you. Have you ever considered entering the Miss America pageant? You have the looks, the personality, and a cause you believe in. I think you can win, and I can help you do it.”

  “Really?” Chelsea said, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief and pulling herself together. “But I’m only twelve years old. Don’t you have to be eighteen or something?”

  “There are ways around that,” Lane said, flipping me a wink and leading her away. “Here’s what we have to do …”

  “So long, king of the hill!” I called after him.

  Abby came over to me with a big smile on her face. “I don’t know much about politics,” she said as she straightened my tie, “but that was a great speech!”

  “You really think so?”

  “Oh yeah. I told you you’d make a great president, Moon. I just think you make a better kid.”

  “You’re probably right,” I said. “Hey, Ab, I was wondering. Maybe you wanna come over tomorrow after school?”

  “And do what, Judd?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Play a game of Life maybe.”

  “Sounds fabulous!”

  Go back

  Nice try. That was pretty clever, going straight to the back of the book to see how the story turned out. But you don’t want to spoil the ending for yourself, do you? Now go back to the beginning and read the whole thing.

  There are no shortcuts in life.

  Learn what America’s youngest president does next in

  The weatherman had predicted rain in the Washington, D.C., area for Inauguration Day, but as I mounted the podium on the west side of the Capitol Building, the clouds parted to reveal a beautiful, sunny but chilly January day.

  As I looked out across the National Mall, I was struck most of all by the people. Thousands and thousands had jammed the grassy area outside the Smithsonian museums that line both sides of the Mall. They spilled out onto Independence Avenue and Pennsylvania Avenue. The sea of faces stretched all the way to the Washington Monument off in the distance.

  Flags were every where. Enormous ones flying from every building and tiny ones in the hands of little children. Marching bands played enthusiastically. “Yankee Doodle.” “The Battle Hymn of the Republic.”

  As I turned to look at the stands behind the podium, I spotted my mom and dad beaming at me and waving. I wasn’t sure how they were going to deal with me being president. All my life they had been in charge of me. Now I would be in charge of … everyone.

  My parents were standing next to Chelsea Daniels — dressed to kill, of course — and her parents.

  Mrs. Syers was sitting in her wheelchair behind me, her hands folded in her lap, looking very regal and proud. She had already been sworn in as vice president.

  Lane was up in the stands in a corner seat, with a smirk on his face. I wouldn’t have been able to get elected president of the student council at school without him, and he knew it.

  The rest of the bleachers were filled with dignitaries — senators, members of Congress, Supreme Court justices, the outgoing president, and all the living ex-presidents.

  At precisely noon, the chief justice of the Supreme Court leaned into his microphone and asked, “Mr. Moon, are you prepared to take the oath of office as president of the United States?”

  “I am, sir.”

  The chief justice held up a Bible, the same one George Washington had used when he was sworn in as our country’s first president back in 1789. Shivers went up and down my spine as I raised my right hand and repeated those thirty-seven words that change history:

  “I, Judson Moon, do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States, and will, to the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States.”

  I wasn’t old enough to vote. I couldn’t legally drive a car. I couldn’t take a sip of my dad’s beer. But I was president of the United States. I felt like I had to be in the middle of a dream. It couldn’t really be happening.

  Only in America!

  A twenty-one-gun salute echoed off the buildings and a cheer went up from the crowd. Balloons rose into the air. Doves were released. The Marine Band played “Hail to the Chief.”

  The former president, who was now just an ordinary citizen, shook my hand. “Good luck, President Moon,” he said solemnly as he handed me a large brown briefcase. “This is for you. Take good care of it, young man.”

  Nobody had told me the president was going to give me a gift. Considering that I had beaten him in the election, it was very gracious of him. I didn’t really like the color of the briefcase, but my mother always told me that when someone gave me a gift I should pretend I loved it, whether I really liked it or not.

  “Thank you, Mr. President,” I said. “I can hardly wait to use it.”

  The president looked horrified. The chief justice leaned over and whispered into my ear.

  “That briefcase,” he said, “contains the instructions for launching nuclear missiles in case there is an attack on the United States. Keep it by your side always.”

  Oops! One minute into my presidency and I had already goofed! I leaned back to the former president and told him that I hoped I would never have to use his “gift.”

  When the crowd settled down and everyone in the stands took their seats, I stepped up to the microphone. Lane had worked hard on my Inaugural Address.

  “My fellow Americans,” I said, hearing the words echo a second after I spoke them. “When I was running for president, I said you should vote for me because I didn’t know anything about politics. I didn’t know how to raise taxes. I didn’t know how to ruin the economy. I didn’t know how to get us into a war. I said you should vote for me because I didn’t know anything.”

  The crowd chuckled in appreciation.

  “Well, that was two months ago, and I’m very proud to say that … (Lane told me to pause here) I still don’t know anything!”

  The crowd roared in approval.

  “Let’s face it,” I continued, “I’m a kid. I’m going to need a lot of help from all of you. Kids and grown-ups. Men and women. Rich and poor. People of all races. Will you help me?”

  “YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!” the crowd thundered.

  “My fellow Americans. President Theodore Roosevelt gave the country what he called a Square Deal. President Franklin D. Roosevelt gave the country a New Deal. President Truman gave us a Fair Deal. Today I say this to America — Let’s make a deal.”

  Everybody went nuts.

  “Here’s the deal I offer America — I’ll help you all if you all help me. I’m not a Republican, so you Democrats have no reason to oppose me. I’m not a Democrat, so you Republicans have no reason to oppose me. But if we all work together, we can guide our nation together.”

  There was too much applause to continue, so I let it die down until everybody could hear me.

  “Together, we can clean up the environment,” I announced. “Together, we can educate children and take care of our senior citizens. Together, we can pu
t an end to crime, an end to poverty, an end to unemployment, an end to substance abuse, an end to peace in the world.”

  There was a gasp. I looked at my speech and saw that I had skipped a line.

  “I mean, we’re going to have peace in the world.”

  A thunderous ovation rolled across the Mall.

  “The twentieth century is over, the twenty-first is well under way. We’ve got a lot of work to do. So, America, I ask you, ARE YOU READY TO RUMMMMMBLE?”

  “YEAHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

  “Let’s get it on,” I concluded.

  They didn’t stop applauding for twenty minutes.

  Text copyright © 1996 by Dan Gutman. All rights reserved.

  Published by Scholastic Inc. SCHOLASTIC and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.

  This book was originally published in hardcover by Scholastic Press in 1996.

  This edition first printing, June 2012

  Cover art by Paper Dog Studio

  Cover design by Yaffa Jaskoll

  e-ISBN 978-0-545-35565-0

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.