How Not to Run for President (16 page)

The auto plant wasn't the next stop. I stayed with the campaign through a school visit in Kalamazoo and a rally in Battle Creek outside a cereal company, but I kept a low profile just in case people believed what they were reading about me. I told the general I thought it'd be best if I stayed on the bus, and he didn't argue with me. Emma stayed on the bus, too, making calls and planning, and I gazed out the window at the big crowds, trying not to get upset about the fact I'd be going home soon—going home a total failure, that is.

Now I had finally gotten off the bus at the assembly plant, and I was waiting for Emma to tell me what to do. Governor Brandon was speaking in front of a huge crowd of autoworkers who held up union signs. They were chanting and pumping their fists. Most of them seemed to support her, but a few were heckling her, too.

Two men standing beside me were talking. “I don't know a thing about her,” the first one said, “but she seems to know what she's talking about.”

“Me neither, but I'm impressed so far,” the other guy said.

A woman leaned over. “Did you hear how she saved the Ford plant in Saint Paul?” she asked.

“Nah. really?”

“Oh, yeah. She went to the mat for those guys,” the woman said, and they all nodded, like this was a secret handshake test Governor Brandon had just passed.

“I'm not anti-union!” the governor was saying. “I'm pro-union! In fact, if it were up to me, everyone would have a union to represent their best interests. And you know who I'd start with? The working moms like the ones I've met here today,” she said.

Women in the crowd went wild.

“And then the working dads! Behind every good American car, there's a team of workers making it into the best quality on the road today. They might be moms, dads, aunts, uncles, grandparents, but they all deserve decent wages and health care for their families! Everyone needs to have a voice. Everyone needs to be heard, and I'm the only one out here running for president who's listening!”

When a few people recognized me, they gave me high fives. I held back. I couldn't help wondering whether everyone actually believed all those crazy stories about me. Maybe they'd been busy at work and hadn't heard the stories yet. Or maybe they had heard them but they were cutting me some slack.

Then again, some of them might believe my mom was spying for a Chinese company. So maybe not.

Emma pulled on my arm, holding me back from the wave of supporters heading for the makeshift stage in the parking lot to shake the governor's hand or exchange a few words with her. I was being swept along with the tide, but Emma strong-armed me to the side. “We're out of here,” she said.

“What about Kristen?” I asked. “Won't she notice?” I looked around. “Where is she, anyway?”

“I sent her on an errand to get me a specific kind of kiwi-mango-strawberry juice that's really hard to find,” Emma said.

“Sounds disgusting,” I said, making a face.

Emma snapped my arm with her finger. “It's not real, you idiot. I made it up to keep her away from us. She won't be back for fifteen minutes, at least.”

“Kiwi juice? That's your alibi? Okay,” I grunted as I tried to squeeze past two very tall, very strong men. “What about the Secret Service?” It seemed as if their ranks had increased lately, and I didn't recognize half of the new agents. That might be good. They might not know me, either. But Emma? They'd never let her out of their sight.

“Too busy making sure Mom gets through the crowd safely. They're worried about this one. Twice as many people showed up as they were expecting, and it's dicey,” Emma said.

“Yeah, but isn't that more reason for them to watch you carefully?” I argued.

“They think they're so smart with their code names. Ponytail. I mean, who is that fooling? No, we can get away. Watch this. Come on,” Emma said, leading me away from the chaos.

“Where are we going?” I asked. We hadn't had time to go over our plan because Stu and the general had spent the last twenty minutes before we arrived reviewing Operation Image repair with me. Emma and I hadn't had a second of time to talk in private. “Where's my stuff?” I asked Emma.

“I already dropped it where it needs to be. Just come on!” she urged. We made it toward the exit, and she suddenly stopped beside an extremely large beige SUV that kind of looked like a tank. It had big tires that were almost as tall as me.

“Well?” she said. “What are you waiting for? Get in.”

How?
I was wondering. “What is this?” I asked.

“It's called a road Stormer. Latest thing out of Detroit,” she said. “I think they make it here. I don't know, I asked for something really secure. They said it has some kind of armor in the doors.” She shrugged. “Sounded good enough to me.”

“Is this for us?” I asked. “How did you … ?”

“You said I had a lot of power. Well, I'm using it.” She climbed up into the SUV, using a little ladder that unfolded when the door was opened. I followed her. She talked to the driver for a minute, then sat down next to me. “I called a private car service, told them we're making a round trip so I can drop you off. I have access to my mom's credit cards, you know, in case of emergency.”

“But everyone's going to panic when they realize we're gone,” I said, shifting to get comfortable in the giant backseat. I felt like I was getting onto an amusement park ride and a bar should drop down to protect me. “These cars are terrible for the environment,” I said, fastening my seat belt.

“Yeah, but they're really cool,” Emma said. “Besides, this one uses ethanol. What, you want to show up back home in an old pickup or something? Okay, so I'll text Mom in a minute. She won't have time to read the text until the event's over, but when she reads it, she'll know we're okay,” Emma said confidently. “Don't worry, I've got it all figured it out.” She smiled. “They won't report us as missing, because it'll look bad for them. They'll just pretend we're on the bus until we all meet up again, and they can prove it. Anyway, I'll call her once we're in Fairstone. We can even send a picture of us with your mom if she needs more proof. They'll finish tonight's fund-raiser, then someone will come to haul me back. That gives us tonight to get this done.”

“How do we get everything on our list all done tonight?” I asked.

“We work fast. Just like everyone else in TV news.” Emma took out her phone. “I'm going to call some news stations.”

When we breezed through the Fairstone exit two hours later, I'd never been so glad to see a trollbooth in my life. We cruised through town, which looked really strange, as if I'd been away for months, not days, as if I was seeing it for the first time.

A white van was parked at the curb outside my house when we pulled up in front. I saw the initials of a Toledo TV station on the side. Other than them, there was an eerie quiet in the neighborhood. It felt like a ghost town.

We said hi to the reporter and the camera operator covering the story and walked up to the front door. I couldn't wait to see everyone. I didn't hear Sassafras barking, which was strange. We rang the doorbell. Nobody answered at first.

“Mom!” I called out, knocking on the door. “Mom, it's me, Aidan!”

I saw the curtains in the living room move a little. Seconds later, Mom threw open the door. “Aidan!” she shrieked, and threw her arms around me. “What are you … ? Who … ?”

I hugged her tight. As much as I'd been through, she'd had it even worse. “This is my friend Emma,” I said. “The governor's daughter. She's here to help me clear up a few things about our family. And me.”

“Hi!” Emma waved. “I really hate it when people attack my mom, too.”

“What about
them
?” Mom turned up her nose at the reporter and cameraman standing behind me.

“We're looking to help you retell your small-town story,” said the reporter. “We feel as though maybe the national media got it wrong over the past couple of days. Sure, it's good for the ratings, but is any of it true?”

My mom shook her head. “Nope.”

“When you look bad, we look bad,” said the reporter. “So, let's repair your image.”

“I like you,” said my mom, smiling a little.

“Where is everyone?” I asked, glancing past her. She was keeping the door closed behind her as if a tornado were trying to get inside.

“Christopher is out with friends. Dad's working a double shift, and—well, Sassafras is hiding at your grandparents' house, in the country.” She lowered her voice. “Dog-napping threats have been made.”

Great. My dog had joined the witness protection program. “First things first, Mom. Do you have my birth certificate? I have to prove I'm as old as I say I am.”

“Ridiculous. I'll just tell them,” Mom said. “Again.”

“Well, no offense, but you're not totally reliable right now,” Emma reminded her.

“Yeah, Mom. You have to come up with the actual piece of paper, and these nice guys will film it,” I said.

“But don't worry, Mrs. Schroeckenbauer,” said Emma. “We're going to set everything straight.”

I was shocked. Not only was she being nice, but she pronounced my last name right.

“Come on in, everyone, and have something to eat,” Mom said, “while I find that birth certificate.”

“This is really your house?” Emma asked when she walked in and started looking around.

“Yeah …” I said slowly. I waited for her insults.

“It's nice,” she said. “It makes me miss home.”

Our next stop was FreezeStar Field. The news van was right behind us, and Emma was busy making calls to various people, making sure our story was picked up by other stations. “Share the video of the birth certificate. Let everyone know he's only twelve,” she said. “He's not a liar.”

“Thanks,” I said as we climbed out of the Stormer.

“Don't thank me yet,” she said, heading down the embankment to the field. A game had just ended, and the scoreboard said, home: 3, away: 10. All my teammates were lined up to shake hands on the third-base line. T.J. was at the end of the line. He hated to lose at anything. My uncle robert was nudging him forward.

“Perfect. I can swoop right in for a gonzo interview,” said Emma. “Mind if I borrow the mike on this one?” she asked the reporter.

“No problem,” he said as she snatched it from his hands. “I guess.”

Emma motioned for the cameraman to follow her and hurried over to T.J. “Surprise!” she said.

He looked at her, completely confused, and then at the camera, and then at me, and he smiled. “Shrieking, I knew you couldn't make it in Washington. I knew you were going to blow it.”

“I wasn't
in
Washington,” I said. “Obviously.”

“And he didn't do anything wrong,” Emma said.

“Aidan?” Uncle robert asked. “Hey, bud!” He jabbed my shoulder with his fist. “I didn't know you were back!”

“Hey,” I said, punching his shoulder right back. I waved at Simon, who was jogging in from left field. “Shh, we're filming here, okay?”

Emma turned to the camera with a big, friendly smile. “This is Emma Brandon, with the Brandon for President campaign. We're back in Fairstone, Ohio, trying to clear up a couple of issues. We're giving people a chance to set the record straight. With me is T.J…. Somebody or other. That part's not important.”

“Lewis,” T.J. said. He wiped sweat from his forehead with the hem of his baseball shirt. Even though dusk was falling, it was a very hot night. “T.J. Lewis. My dad's the mayor.”

“Okay, then you probably know how important it is to tell the truth,” Emma said. “'Cause if you lie, it might make voters think that your
dad
lies.” She waited for the words to sink in. “Now. We all saw an interview you did for
Entertainment Nightly: Political Edition
. You said the team was winning, with Aidan the Clarinet Hero gone. But isn't it true that you've actually
lost
two games since Aidan left?”

The camera panned to the scoreboard and then back to T.J.

“Well, uh—” he stammered. “I guess.”

“And isn't it true that Aidan had the best stats on the team for fielding last year and is one of the best shortstops in the history of the FreezeStar Little League team?” she asked.

“Sure. Uh.” T.J. took off his ball cap and rubbed his head.

“Have
you
ever won the batting title?” Emma asked him.

Simon was standing next to me by then, and he leaned over. “She's good,” he said.

“No, I have—haven't, but—” T.J. stammered. “I probably will this summer. For the summer league.”

“Really? Because about that,” Emma said. “There are rumors that you may be using a juiced bat. Some people are saying that there's no way you can hit as far as you do with a normal bat. What do you say to that?”