The Kid Who Became President Read online

  Lane and I looked at each other. It was a crazy idea, but we agreed that it had to be better than continuing to let Chelsea waste money on herself. Lane put her on the next plane to Florida.

  Front page of the Washington Post, June 30:

  MOON’S DAD RUNS BOX BIZ

  FROM WHITE HOUSE!

  As the months went by, I began to get used to the routine of being president. My days were busy, going from one appointment to the next.

  Official luncheons. Receptions. Award ceremonies. Formal dinners. Classes with Miller the Killer. Doing my homework. Meeting with Vice President Syers. Jogging with Secret Service Agent Doe. Shaking hands and shaking more hands. I shook so many hands that my right hand would throb and ache by the end of the day.

  Is that all there is? I wondered as I sat at my desk in the Oval Office one morning. I had been president for eight months, but I still hadn’t done anything important, anything that really mattered to the United States.

  Oh, sure, I had fun at the annual Easter egg–rolling contest on the White House lawn. And throwing out the first ball to open baseball season at Camden Yards in Baltimore was really cool. But something was missing. Lane could tell I was feeling down when he came in for our usual morning meeting.

  “Cheer up, Moon,” he said. “You’ve lasted a lot longer than President William Henry Harrison.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “Harrison was elected president in 1840,” Lane said. “He was inaugurated in the pouring rain, then he caught a cold and died a month later.”

  That didn’t make me feel any better.

  “I want to do some good for this country,” I told Lane. “I didn’t accept this job just to get my picture taken.”

  “Well, you’re going to have to do some good,” Lane replied. “Did you see today’s economic report?”

  “No.”

  “The leading economic indicators are slipping,” he said. “The consumer price index is up. Unemployment’s up. Inflation’s up. Housing starts are down. Retail sales are down. The stock market is down.”

  All that meant nothing to me. “You might as well be speaking Chinese,” I said.

  “The economy is on a downswing,” Lane translated. “You’ve got to do something or your approval rating will take a downswing, too.”

  “Why do I have to fix the economy?” I asked. “I didn’t break it.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Lane replied. “You’re in charge. And the American people care more about the economy than they do about anything. Crime, drugs, education, and the environment aren’t as important to people as how much cash they have in their pockets.”

  The economy. I never understood what that meant, except it had something to do with money. It made no sense to me. All I knew was that the economy was doing great when I became president and everybody was happy. Now, suddenly, it wasn’t so hot anymore and people were getting upset.

  “What if I raise the minimum wage?” I suggested. “People will have more money to spend.”

  “Some people will,” Lane agreed. “But the companies that pay those wages will have less money and they’ll have to fire employees. Unemployment will go up, and that’s bad.”

  “Then let’s lower the minimum wage.”

  “If you do that, you’ll throw millions of people into poverty,” Lane said. “That’s worse. You have to understand, Moon. Everything is connected with everything else. If the stock market goes up, the bond market goes down. If interest rates go down, inflation goes up.”

  By that time, my eyes had glazed over. Luckily, Vice President Syers rolled in, pushed, as usual, by Chief Usher Honeywell. I was glad to see her, because if anybody could figure out this economic mumbo jumbo, it was Vice President Syers.

  “Thank you, Roger,” Mrs. Syers said sweetly as Honeywell locked the brake on her wheelchair. “You are very welcome, Vice President Syers,” Honeywell replied as he left.

  “Roger?” Lane asked Mrs. Syers. “Since when is Chief Usher Honeywell called Roger?”

  “Ever since his mama named him,” she snapped.

  “Vice President Syers,” Lane said, “I’m sure you’ve seen the latest economic news. Have you got any solutions?”

  “Boys,” she said, “you’re wastin’ your time worryin’ ’bout such nonsense.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Lane asked.

  “Look, we got close to three hundred million people in this country,” she explained. “If ya do one thing, fifty million of ’em’ll hate ya. If ya do the opposite thing, fifty million others’ll hate ya. If ya do something for the poor, the rich’ll hate ya. If ya do something for the rich, the poor’ll hate ya. If ya try to clean up the environment, business people’ll hate ya. If you try to help business, environmental people’ll hate ya. No matter what ya do to help somebody, it’ll hurt somebody else, and they’ll hate ya.”

  “So in other words,” I said, “we should do nothing, because then nobody will hate us.”

  “I didn’t say that,” Mrs. Syers continued. “See, I got a plan that’ll make everybody happy.”

  “What is it?” I asked, leaning toward her.

  “It’s simple,” she whispered, as if she didn’t want anyone else to hear. “Make everything free.”

  “Huh?” Lane asked.

  “You heard me. Free. Don’t sell nothin’ no more. Give it all away.”

  Lane looked at Vice President Syers like she was from another planet.

  “Vice President Syers,” he said, “with all due respect, ma’am, if everything was free, how would the economy run? How would people provide for their families? How would anyone earn money to pay their bills?”

  “If everything was free,” Vice President Syers explained, “nobody would need money. Nobody would have bills.”

  She had us there.

  I still didn’t understand the first thing about economics, or what I could do to help the nation’s economy. But to tell you the truth, I’m not sure anybody else does, either.

  When Chelsea returned from visiting the hurricane victims in Florida, I didn’t really want to see her. I wasn’t in the mood to hear about her designer clothes, her hair, the parties she wanted to throw, and all that other silliness she was always jabbering about.

  When she walked into the Oval Office, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Chelsea was wearing old gray sweatpants with a rip at one of the knees, cheap flip-flops, and a University of Florida T-shirt. Her hair wasn’t carefully arranged. It was tied back in a ponytail with a rubber band. She wasn’t wearing any makeup. She looked like a completely different person.

  “Chelsea?” I asked, not completely convinced it was her. “Wh-where are your clothes?”

  “Moon, I can’t believe you would concern yourself with clothes at a time like this,” she scolded me. “I gave my clothes away. How could I think about clothes when the poor people of Florida don’t even have a place to live?”

  My mouth dropped open.

  “And you care?” I asked, disbelieving.

  “Moon, I’ve seen human suffering that you wouldn’t believe,” she said seriously. “I spoke with people who lost everything they had. I held in my arms babies who lost their parents. I met people who are living in rowboats. These people need help, Moon, and right away. I’m coordinating the rebuilding effort to get Florida back on its feet. From now on, that’s all I care about.”

  “What about that dinner party tonight for the Miss America finalists?” I asked.

  “I won’t have time for hosting dinners or parties anymore, Moon. Life is short, and there are more important things to do.”

  She pulled a bunch of bills from her pocket and handed them to me.

  “If you gave all your clothes away,” I asked, “what are these for?”

  “Food,” she said. “Emergency medical supplies. Diapers. Books. Crutches. Wheelchairs.”

  Most people, I figure, don’t change much over time. If they’re good and honest people, it’s not very likely that they’ll sud
denly turn mean and deceitful. Mean and deceitful people, I always assume, do not wake up one morning and suddenly become good and honest.

  But people can change, and I suppose sometimes people can change dramatically. For the first time in her life, Chelsea must have seen something that shocked her to her senses. She must have realized that all her silly problems and the things she cared about were trivial compared with the real problems and concerns people in distress face.

  For me, the resentment and anger I’d always felt toward Chelsea melted away instantly. Standing there in her ratty clothes, she seemed prettier than ever.

  “I can’t tell you how much this means to me,” I said, “and to our country.”

  I felt a sudden overwhelming urge to give Chelsea a hug and a kiss. I leaned toward her and closed my eyes.

  I shouldn’t have. She punched me in the nose.

  “You’re still a dork, Moon,” she said. And then she walked out of the Oval Office.

  When the press found out that Chelsea had devoted herself to helping the hurricane victims, she was ridiculed more than ever. One headline shouted:

  CHELSEA CARES!

  (YEAH, RIGHT!)

  Another claimed:

  FIRST LADY GIVES AWAY WARDROBE,

  CLEARS CLOSET SPACE FOR NEW DUDS

  Nobody believed that Chelsea genuinely cared about anyone but herself. They were sure that she was only pretending to care about the hurricane victims because she had been criticized for being selfish.

  Many people believed that I had forced Chelsea to go to Florida so I would look good. Of course, if they knew Chelsea at all, they would know that I couldn’t force her to do anything she didn’t want to do.

  Even if I had forced Chelsea to go to Florida, the strategy backfired. My approval rating was dropping like a rock. Every day there was another article saying I was weak, or stupid, or powerless, or spineless. The economy was in terrible shape, and people were really mad. Everything that went wrong was my fault. People would throw stuff at my limo as I drove by.

  Any time of the night or day, I could look out the second floor windows of the White House and see the growing number of protesters at Lafayette Park across the street. They made huge banners to be sure I could read their messages: MOON IS A LIAR! I LOST MY JOB BECAUSE OF MOON! GO BACK TO 7TH GRADE! MOON IS A M-O-RO-N!

  “Get rid of Moon soon!” they’d chant, loud enough to be heard from my window. “Get rid of Moon soon!”

  Every day at exactly twelve o’clock, hundreds of people would stand shoulder to shoulder across the street from the White House. At a signal, they would turn their backs to me and shout, “Moon President Moon!” Then they’d all pull their pants down.

  After a while, the daily “Noon Moon” got to be so annoying that I had all the shades in the White House pulled down just before twelve o’clock.

  It seemed like only yesterday that I was on top of the world. America loved me. Everyone was so excited about having a young person lead the nation in the new millennium.

  Now, according to the polls and what I saw across the street, it was just the opposite. I couldn’t believe what was happening. I had to get a reality check.

  Ladies and gentlemen, it said on computer screens all across America, welcome to the second #FiresideTweets with the president of the United States.

  Hello America, I typed as “Hail to the Chief” came out of the speaker. I welcome your questions and comments.

  A few seconds later, words came scrolling up the screen:

  PNut: Moon sucks! #FiresideTweets

  JFish: I hope you choke, Moon! #FiresideTweets

  Merryman: Chuck a moon at Moon. #FiresideTweets

  ZZZTrans: You let us down, you jerk! #FiresideTweets

  wanda: I HATE YOU!!!! #FiresideTweets

  Does anyone have any QUESTIONS? I typed.

  JackNJill: Yeah, when are you going to resign? #FiresideTweets

  IScream: Whatever happened to your campaign promise to abolish homework? #FiresideTweets

  UScream: You’re a fake and a phony. #FiresideTweets

  RoyJoy: Why don’t you go back to school, little boy? #FiresideTweets

  Does anyone have anything NICE to say? I typed.

  drada: No! #FiresideTweets

  NAIDECK: Yes, Hitler was a lot worse than you. #FiresideTweets

  Sputnik: I love Chelsea. #FiresideTweets

  I sighed as I shut down the computer. It was late and I was tired. I thought I’d ask Honeywell to bring me a little snack before I went to bed.

  When I stepped out of the Oval Office, I gasped.

  Honeywell was there, all right. But he wasn’t alone. Vice President Syers was with him. Honeywell was leaning over her wheelchair, and they were kissing!

  I knew Honeywell and Vice President Syers liked each other, but I didn’t think they liked each other like that! I guess I never even thought old people kissed and stuff.

  When he saw me looking at them, Honeywell quickly pulled himself away from Vice President Syers. He looked very embarrassed.

  “Uh, Mr. President,” he stammered. “Can I get you anything before you retire for the evening, sir?”

  “What are you two doing?” I asked, even though it was pretty obvious.

  “What’s it look like?” Vice President Syers said. “We’re neckin’!”

  “I can’t believe you’re necking with a White House usher!”

  “Why not?” she said. “I’m over eighty years old, and I’ll neck with anyone I want!”

  I couldn’t argue with that. I just asked them to turn out the lights when they were through, and I went to bed.

  As soon as Lane walked into the Oval Office, I knew something was up. His shoulders were a little stooped. He didn’t have the usual spring in his step. He didn’t look me in the eye.

  “I suppose you saw today’s paper,” he sighed, tossing it on my desk. The headline read:

  V.P. CAUGHT IN LOVE NEST

  WITH WHITE HOUSE USHER!

  “Moon,” Lane continued, “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry? For what? It’s not your fault.”

  “I’m sorry about everything,” Lane said. “I was supposed to guide you through the presidency. Help you. Protect you. If I had done my job well, none of these things would be in the papers. Your approval rating should be through the roof. The people should love you. It’s my fault. I let you down. I failed.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Lane!” I argued. “You’re doing the best job you can.”

  “It’s not good enough,” he said seriously. “I’ve given this a lot of thought, and I see only one way out of this mess.”

  He handed me a sheet of paper:

  Dear President Moon,

  Effective immediately, I resign my position as chief of staff to the president of the United States.

  Sincerely,

  Lane Brainard

  “You’re quitting?!” I asked, my voice rising in panic.

  “It’s the only way, Moon,” Lane replied softly.

  “You can’t quit!” I shouted. “I need you. How am I going to know what to do unless you tell me? I’m lost without you, Lane!”

  “You’ll be better off without me,” he insisted.

  “You’re abandoning me!”

  “I’m doing this for you, Moon,” Lane said firmly. “Tell the press you fired me. Tell them I’m incompetent. They’ll blame me for everything that’s gone wrong. This will deflect the criticism away from you. I’m doing this to save your presidency, Moon. Part of the job of a presidential adviser is to protect the president.”

  “You protect the president by quitting?”

  “Yes, if necessary.”

  I begged Lane to reconsider, but nothing I said would convince him to stay. When I realized that, I hugged Lane, we wished each other well, and he walked out of the Oval Office.

  I would be on my own now until I got a new chief of staff. But how would I find anyone I trusted as much as I’d trusted Lane? I took a deep breath
and went around behind my desk. I wasn’t supposed to stand in front of the window for security reasons, but I didn’t care. There were people out there. Tourists with cameras. Mothers with strollers. Groups of kids on school trips. Protesters exercising their freedom of speech.

  Freedom. I envied them. Those people out there could say whatever they wanted. I couldn’t. If I said one stupid thing, it would be on the front page of every newspaper in America the next day. The people outside could go wherever they wanted. I couldn’t even go to a store and buy a candy bar without causing a riot.

  Sure, the White House had a movie theater, a pool, video games, and a bowling alley. But I hardly ever had time to use them. And none of my friends were around to share them with me.

  I thought about what my classmates back home were doing at that moment. They were at school, maybe at recess, playing basketball on the playground. I could hardly remember the last time I played basketball. I could hardly remember the last time I just played.

  When school let out, they would ride their bikes home. They’d be hanging out at each other’s houses, watching TV, playing video games, playing on sports teams, taking music lessons.

  Then there were the kids who were being punished for one reason or another. They must be sitting in their rooms with nothing to do. They couldn’t have any fun after school because they were grounded.

  Being president of the United States, it seemed to me, was sort of like being grounded for four years.

  I was miserable. Lane had resigned. Chelsea was off helping hurricane victims. I was a terrible president. And the public hated me. I had really tried to do good things for America, but from the moment I had been sworn into office everything just seemed to go wrong. Unless something incredible happened, my presidency was in deep trouble.