The Kid Who Became President Page 11

  I decided to attack.

  When Trujillo pushed the START button this time, I already had my finger on my LAUNCH button. I fired off ten nukes from my subs, another ten from my planes, and ten more from my ground-based launchers. I was pressing the LAUNCH button as fast as I could.

  Trujillo had only gotten off a few shots when he saw thirty of my nuclear missiles heading for Cantania. If just a few of them reached the ground, he would lose the game right then and there. He had no choice but to stop firing at me and devote his energy to defending his country.

  He was good. He zipped his shield around the screen expertly, picking off my missiles just before they would have hit the ground.

  Every so often he would manage to get off a shot at the United States. I ignored his missiles. I just kept firing. Playing aggressively, I had the upper hand, and he knew it.

  “You learn fast, President Moon,” Trujillo said as he stopped another one of my missiles. “But Cantania will still prevail.”

  He was trying to distract me. I kept firing. The screen was filled with nukes heading for Cantania.

  A little counter at the top of the screen indicated how many missiles each of us had left. Trujillo still had almost all his missiles. My counter was already down below fifty and falling with every push of my trigger.

  It occurred to me that if I couldn’t get through Trujillo’s defenses soon, I would run out of ammo. Then he could go on the attack, easily picking off American cities one at a time.

  Still, I stayed with my strategy. Every time he stopped one of my nukes, I launched three more. Trujillo’s planes were just circling around with nothing to do. He had to use all his concentration to defend Cantania.

  Finally, I managed to get one nuke past him, and half of Cantania turned gray. One more good shot and the game would be mine.

  After five minutes, I had only ten nukes left — three in my submarines, three in my bombers, and four in my ground-based launchers. I could have fired them one at a time, rotating them to try and confuse Trujillo. But he was so fast with his shield. I decided to just let them all fly in one all-out, last-ditch attack.

  I pushed the button and breathed a sigh of relief as the missiles left their bases. From my point of view, my game was over. If one of my nukes hit the target, I would win the game. If Trujillo stopped them all, he would win. It was out of my hands. I hit the trigger one last time just to make sure I was out of ammo. Nothing happened. My missiles were all gone.

  I’m not sure if Trujillo noticed that I had stopped firing. He was concentrating heavily on the screen. Those last ten nukes were streaking toward Cantania, plus ten or twenty I had fired earlier.

  Trujillo flicked his shield around the screen, blocking my nukes milliseconds before they would have reached their targets. He was like the goalie on a bad hockey team, stopping shot after shot on goal. He couldn’t keep it up forever, I figured. At some point, one of my shots would have to make it through.

  With just a few remaining nukes on the screen, one of them did get through. It was a sub-based missile I had launched from pretty far out in the Atlantic. Trujillo ignored it so he could stop my other missiles, and by the time he got his shield back to stop this one, it was too late.

  “Go, baby!” I shouted.

  The missile missed his shield by a pixel or two and crashed into Cantania. A big mushroom cloud rose over the country.

  GAME OVER, the screen read, as the American national anthem played. CANTANIA HAS BEEN DESTROYED. THE UNITED STATES RULES THE WORLD.

  I relaxed in my chair, exhausted from concentrating so hard. I looked over at Trujillo for the first time since the game began. He was sweating and breathing heavily. He threw down his controller in disgust.

  “Good game,” I said.

  I pressed the intercom button and notified the captain that Supreme Ruler Trujillo and I had completed our negotiations. Almost immediately, the door opened.

  “Captain,” I said calmly as I picked up my briefcase, “Mr. Trujillo and I have resolved our differences. Please notify our respective governments. There is no need for us to go to war. No need for soldiers to die. The crisis is over. Cantania’s forces will retreat.”

  “Never!” Trujillo shouted. Suddenly, he came up behind me and grabbed me around the neck so his forearm was wrapped tightly around my windpipe.

  “Give me the football!” he shouted in my ear.

  “What football?” I choked. “I don’t have a football.”

  “The briefcase with your nuclear codes!” he yelled. “Give it to me or I will kill you.”

  I let go of the briefcase and he took it with his other hand.

  “That’s a good boy,” Trujillo said, keeping a firm grip on my throat.

  “Mr. President!” the captain exclaimed.

  “Make one move and the president is dead!” Trujillo shouted at the captain. “I control the president of the United States and its nuclear arsenal. How does it feel, President Moon? Without your planes and guns and bombs, the United States is powerless.”

  “The minute you walk out of this room you’ll be killed,” I choked out.

  “I’m not afraid to die!” Trujillo gloated. “Can you say the same, President Moon? Because you’re going to be my human shield until we get back to Cantania. There I will parade you through the streets for the entertainment of my people.”

  “We had a deal,” I choked.

  “Did you really think I was going to give up because you beat me in a video game?” Trujillo laughed. “Foolish boy.”

  How stupid I was! How could I allow myself to be alone in a room with a ruthless dictator and no Secret Service agents to protect me in case he tried anything?

  At that moment the image of Agent John Doe flashed through my mind. He was still in the hospital after the attempt on my life. If only Doe were here, he would kick Trujillo’s butt. Wait!

  Doe had taught me the Secret Ninja Death Touch! It was the deadliest system of self-defense ever created! He told me it was only to be used in life-or-death situations. If this wasn’t a life-or-death situation, nothing was.

  I reached behind and pressed my thumb on that certain part of Trujillo’s body, the neurological shutdown point where you can disrupt an attacker’s nervous and circulatory systems.

  “Hey!” Trujillo shouted. “Get your hand off me!”

  “You get your hand off me,” I replied, as I pressed harder. The pressure of his arm around my neck loosened a bit as Trujillo struggled to push my hand away.

  I pressed harder. Trujillo gasped and a few seconds later fell backward. He slumped to the floor, slamming his head on the table on the way down. By the time he hit the ground, he was unconscious.

  Front page of the Washington Post, December 30:

  MOON BEATS TRUJILLO AT HIS OWN GAME: CANTANIAN LEADER HUMILIATED, FORCES RETREAT, WAR AVERTED

  After I beat Trujillo at the World War Four game, he was so humiliated that the citizens of Cantania overthrew him and installed a new government elected by the people.

  And me, well, when I arrived back in Washington on New Year’s Day, everybody treated me like I was Armstrong just back from the moon. (Neil Armstrong, that is.) People lined the streets for miles, cheering and clapping their hands. Hundreds of thousands of letters poured into the White House. Everybody loved me again.

  MOON IS HERO! the headlines shouted. Video game sales zoomed. Hollywood wanted to turn my life into a movie.

  “You must be butter, ’cause you’re on a roll!” Vice President Syers said when she hugged me at Andrews Air Force Base.

  “It was nothing,” I said modestly.

  “You did good, Moon. Real good.”

  “That’s all I wanted to do,” I replied.

  Even my dad, for once in his life, had something nice to say. “Well done,” he said as he clapped me on the back. Of course, Dad also says that when he orders meat in a restaurant, but I took it as a compliment.

  The most surprising reaction I got was from the First Lad
y. Chelsea had always treated me like I was a dork. But when I got back from my confrontation with Trujillo, she ran over, threw her arms around me, and kissed me right on the lips.

  “You were so brave!” she gushed. Even after I was able to pry her off me, she kept looking at me with goo-goo eyes.

  Jeez! I didn’t see what all the fuss was about. All I did was win a dumb video game.

  The first year of my presidency was just about over. There was only one thing left to do.

  Traditionally, every January the president of the United States stands before Congress to give what is called the State of the Union Address. It’s a speech in which the president talks about how things are going in the country. He discusses problems facing the nation and says what he thinks should be done to solve them. The speech is televised and just about everybody watches it.

  I called up Lane and begged him to come back and write the State of the Union Address for me, but he wouldn’t do it. He said I was doing a great job on my own, and I should keep doing it that way.

  I had never written a speech before. But I sat down and wrote this one myself. I spent a lot of time on it and wouldn’t let anyone else see it. Not my parents. Not Chelsea. Not even Vice President Syers.

  So there I was on January 9, standing alone behind the big podium inside the Capitol Building. In front of me, in a huge semicircle, sat a sea of elected officials. All one hundred members of the Senate. Four hundred and thirty-five members of the House of Representatives.

  Sitting behind me were Vice President Syers and the Speaker of the House. Up in the balcony were my parents and Chelsea with her folks. Secret Service Agent Doe was there, just out of the hospital and recovering nicely. White House Chief Usher Honeywell was there. I had even invited Miller the Killer.

  At exactly eight o’clock the red light on the TV camera went on and a hush fell over the huge room.

  “Well,” I began, “it has been an exciting year!”

  The crowd laughed good-naturedly and then broke into applause.

  “My fellow Americans, all I wanted when I accepted the presidency was to do good for America. Some things have worked out. Other things haven’t. I want you to know that I tried my best.”

  Again, the crowd broke into hearty applause.

  “I learned a lot this year. I learned a lot about what it means to be president of the United States. Being president isn’t about riding around in limousines and helicopters to get your picture taken. It’s about doing the right thing for the people.

  “This, I learned, isn’t as easy as I thought it would be. I learned that no matter what you do, a lot of people are going to be angry. Let me give you some examples. The president has to find a way to protect the nation’s forests and also protect the job of a man who makes his living cutting down trees. The president has to help the poor without penalizing people who worked hard to become rich. The president has to work to end prejudice and also protect a bigot’s freedom of speech. The president has to reduce people’s taxes without taking away the services people need.

  “These problems are so difficult and complicated, it may be impossible to solve them. I know one thing — I can’t solve ’em.

  “So, in the spirit of doing what is good for America, I would like to do one more good thing for my country as my first year as president comes to a close.”

  I paused and took a deep breath.

  “Effective immediately,” I said slowly, “I resign as president of the United States.”

  The crowd broke into loud guffawing.

  “That wasn’t a joke,” I insisted. “I mean it. I quit.”

  There was a loud gasp, then silence in the great hall. Not a sound. And then, two loud thuds were heard. It was my mom fainting and hitting the ground, followed almost immediately by Chelsea.

  “I learned a lot this past year,” I continued as medics rushed to revive Mom and Chelsea. “And the most important thing I learned was that I’m not ready for the responsibility of the presidency. That’s why I’ve decided to resign.”

  “You can’t!” somebody shouted.

  “But I did,” I said. “I’d like Vice President Syers to join me at the podium at this time. Mr. Honeywell, will you please help Mrs. Syers?”

  Honeywell hurried behind me to push Vice President Syers’s wheelchair down to the podium. He was about to return to his seat, but I asked him to stay.

  “Vice President Syers,” I said as I pulled out a Bible. “Will you raise your right hand, please, and repeat after me? I, June Syers …”

  “I, June Syers …”

  “Do solemnly swear …”

  “Do solemnly swear …”

  “That I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States …”

  “That I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States …”

  “And will, to the best of my ability …”

  “And will, to the best of my ability …”

  “Preserve, protect, and defend …”

  “Preserve, protect, and defend …”

  “The Constitution of the United States.”

  “The Constitution of the United States.”

  The crowd erupted into tremendous applause as Mrs. Syers smiled and waved.

  There was one last thing I wanted to do before stepping off the stage. I moved Honeywell next to President Syers.

  “My fellow Americans,” I said into the microphone, “I don’t know if I brought our nation together in the last year, but I do know this: These two fine people were brought together. And we are gathered here not just to swear in a new president, but also to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony. If anyone here sees a reason why this man and woman should not be wed, let them speak now or forever hold their peace.”

  “You go, girl!” somebody hooted from the balcony.

  I continued, “Do you, President Syers, promise to love, honor, and cherish this man, Roger Honeywell, as your lawfully wedded husband until death do you part?”

  “I do,” Mrs. Syers said happily.

  “And do you, Roger Honeywell, take this fine woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?”

  “I do,” Mr. Honeywell said proudly.

  “By the power vested in me as former president of the United States, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Mr. Honeywell, you may kiss the president, I mean, the bride.”

  When Mrs. Syers was finished smooching with Honeywell, she carefully struggled out of her wheelchair and rose to her feet, leaning on the podium for support.

  “Well, I guess I seen just about everything now,” she said. The crowd cheered for a full five minutes.

  “When I was a little girl,” Mrs. Syers went on, “if anybody ever said that an old, black, handicapped lady would someday be president of the United States, they would have been locked up in the loony bin. Don’t this beat all?”

  The crowd erupted into applause once again.

  “Over sixty years ago, Franklin Delano Roosevelt was standing here delivering his last State of the Union Address. Most of you weren’t around then or were too young to remember. But I remember. Roosevelt was my hero. He couldn’t stand up too good, either. He had polio, you see, and he was a sick old man by then. But he was a force, that man! He didn’t take no sass from nobody. He made people believe they could accomplish anything. Didn’t matter if they were rich or poor. Didn’t matter if they were black or white, young or old, man or woman, pretty or ugly, educated or not.

  “Well, I’m living proof that in the United States of America, anybody can go anywhere. Be anything. So you better be ready, America. ’Cause Roosevelt is back. And I’m him. Thank you.”

  And that was that.

  When I stepped off the podium, the reporters were all over me like a swarm of gnats. They wanted to know why I decided to resign when I had the highest approval rating of any president in American history. I just shrugged my shoulders. Sometimes a guy’s gotta do
what he’s gotta do.

  The next day, Mom, Dad, and I packed up our stuff and moved back to Wisconsin. I would be going back to my old school, back to my old friends, back to my old life as a regular kid.

  But, like I said, it had been an exciting year!

  Go back

  Hi, there, pea brain! You thought you were pretty smart, didn’t you — turning to the back of the book to see how the story turned out.

  Did you really think I was going to give away the ending so easily? Ha! You should be ashamed of yourself. Now turn back to page five and start reading.

  Anything worth doing is worth doing right.

  Learn how it all began for President Judson Moon in

  It was a bright, sunny Saturday morning. Lane showed up at nine o’clock, wheeling June Syers, who was holding an enormous basket of lemons on her lap.

  My folks were already gone for the day, attending seminars to help them sell more carpet tiles and cardboard boxes.

  “I hate suits,” I said, pulling at my collar.

  “You look outstanding,” Lane said. “Very presidential.”

  Lane and I set up a long table at the edge of the lawn and Mrs. Syers got to work making lemonade.

  I dug some long sticks of wood out of the basement and nailed cardboard to them. Lane has nicer handwriting than I do, so he painted three signs: MOON & JUNE FOR PRESIDENT, HELP US!; WE NEED $20 MILLION!; and LEMONADE 25 CENTS.

  “Twenty million dollars?” whistled Mrs. Syers. “I’m gonna need more lemons.”

  “It’s just a symbol,” Lane explained, blowing up balloons to hang on the booth. “Grown-ups get all misty-eyed when they see lemonade stands. It reminds ’em of the good old days.”

  “There were no good old days,” harrumphed Mrs. Syers. “The good old days is anything that happens before you’re old enough to see the world as it really is.”

  I live on a pretty busy street. Cars started pulling over right away and soon our lemonade stand was surrounded by people.