Freshman for President Page 24

  He also doubted that the other candidates had parents who were wearing pajamas and dozing off on the couch in campaign headquarters, or friends who had fallen asleep amid their unfinished homework. He didn’t think curfews had decimated his opponents’ ranks at midnight. He also didn’t find it likely that either Senator Ryan or Governor Hernandez would be eating a giant bowl of ice cream while watching the returns. They were probably too stressed to eat.

  Milo was plenty stressed, but he was also a growing teenage boy and nothing could really keep him from eating. He lifted the spoon from the bowl to his mouth almost automatically, over and over, as he watched the TV. Pictures of his opponents kept popping up as the votes were announced. It was a close race.

  Milo could imagine Senator Ryan and Governor Hernandez watching the news, discussing every development, gritting their teeth every time the new numbers were tallied, closing their eyes now and then to take in the news, bad or good or in between.

  In that way, they were all the same. Milo was watching, talking, gritting. And they were the same in another way, too. Whoever was announced as the new President of the United States would be a first.

  Governor Hernandez would be the first woman and the first Hispanic to assume the highest office in the land.

  Senator Ryan would be the first of his religion.

  Milo would be the first teenager. The first teenager to win the presidential election. Ever. In the history of the United States of America.

  If he won. When he’d started this, he’d wanted to become someone. He’d wanted a turn in the spotlight, a chance to be the main player instead of the sidekick. Well, he’d had his chance. He’d been front and center. There had been plenty of spotlight, people knew his name now, and he’d had a shot at something big. If Milo won the under-eighteen vote, he’d be the first teenager to ever accomplish anything like that.

  What would he be if he lost? He wasn’t sure.

  * * *

  Jack was asleep (and drooling) on the couch. Paige had put a pillow against Jack’s shoulder and fallen asleep, too. Eden was sitting on the floor near them, valiantly trying to keep her eyes open during the returns, but her head kept lolling back against Paige’s knees and then jerking back up again.

  Milo looked at them affectionately. They were so tired after working so hard for all these months that even Jack’s Smorgasbord O’ Sugar hadn’t been enough to keep them awake.

  “Go home, you guys,” Milo said, shaking Paige’s shoulder gently. “Spencer says it’s looking good. Get some sleep.”

  Jack and Paige didn’t argue much, but Eden put up more of a fight. “Are you sure? I want to see this thing through to the end.”

  “You already have,” Milo said. “Plus, one of us should be coherent for the party tomorrow. I’ll call you if I hear anything. Or you call me if you hear anything.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know yet. Hang out. Start writing my presidential memoirs.”

  She smiled at him, and he almost hugged her, but he didn’t. Instead, he settled for putting his arm around her briefly. She left with Jack and Paige, and then it was just Milo and Maura. His parents had gone to bed.

  “That was pathetic,” Maura said, watching him. “You should have kissed her.”

  “Knock it off.”

  “So what are you going to do now?”

  “I think I’m going to write one last blog post for the website. What about you?”

  “I’m going to keep watching these returns.” She grabbed a package of Hostess cupcakes and flopped on the couch. “And do even more damage to my system trying to stay awake.”

  Milo cleared a spot at the dining room table and opened up his laptop. He took a deep breath and started to type. On the sofa across the room from him, Maura sat watching the returns on television.

  On the surface, it looked like any night from the past five months: Maura on the couch watching TV, Milo working on campaign stuff at the dining room table. Only the members of the Wright family and those close to them could know how things had changed.

  Chapter 31

  November 5

  Early Morning

  Blog post from Milo J. Wright

  The Morning After

  Hey everyone,

  This is Milo. I wanted to post this before all the results were in. These are the last few hours of my being a presidential candidate. Pretty soon, we’ll find out if they have to change the Constitution to let me take office, ha ha. We all know that scenario is pretty unlikely. But this is America. Anything can happen, right? That’s what everyone keeps telling me.

  I guess I want to talk about that a little bit. I think what I learned most from this election is that, yeah, in America anything can happen—but more important, I learned that in life, anything can happen. I don’t think I ever knew that before. Crazy, awesome stuff happens that you never even dreamed about, like getting to be on national television, or having a bunch of amazing people support you through thick and thin. But the worst stuff imaginable can happen too. Some pretty horrible stuff has happened to people I care about. But you still have to hang in there and keep trying.

  I always thought it was so funny when reporters would ask me how I could think I knew anything about real life since I was a teenager. I would give them some stupid answer like, “Well, what I lack in experience I make up for in enthusiasm.” Now I wish I could go back and tell all those reporters, “Guess what. Teenagers know all about real life. We’re living it right now. Our lives aren’t any more or less real than yours are. So don’t use that phrase on us.”

  This never would have happened without so many of you. Spencer, our web guru, made it all happen and got things rolling. Our regular bloggers—Jason, Lea, Samara, Timothy—you always had something worth saying and I learned a ton from you. As you all know, it was the back and forth between you that helped us come up with our ideas about education reform and reducing standardized testing. Thanks to the committees and groups across the country who started RecyclABLE programs in their communities and to all the recycling companies who were willing to help us out with that. Thanks to McCall for heading up that project. And Brandon and Josie, thanks a ton for letting us make Proms for a Cause part of our platform and for all the work you’ve done in taking it national. I can’t believe I’ve been able to meet so many amazing people with so many great ideas.

  Finally, thanks to the people commenting on this blog and participating in the website and the teenage vote. You have made this experience unbelievable. I know Eden agrees with me. We just want to thank all of you for sharing part of your very real lives with us and with our campaign.

  * * *

  pencer called right before 4:00 a.m. Milo grabbed the phone and answered it on the first ring. “Hey, Spencer.”

  “Hey, Milo.” Spencer paused. Milo didn’t like the sound of that pause. “Milo, I’m so sorry. I got this last batch counted, and a bunch of them were from Governor Hernandez’s home state, from New Mexico. She carried the last schools big time. I should have realized that might happen before I told you it was a done deal.”

  “So I lost.”

  “Only by half a percentage point.” Spencer sounded exhausted. “I counted over and over—the rest of the team did too. I woke up my mom and dad and made them do it too, and I had the auditor check it all, of course. It was so close. But yeah, by half a percentage point.”

  Milo didn’t know what to say.

  “I’m really sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault. Don’t worry about it. We all did the best we could.”

  “Are Eden and Jack and everyone there with you?”

  “No, I sent them all home,” Milo said. “They were exhausted.”

  “Wait, so you’re alone?”

  “Well, my parents are asleep here somewhere, b
ut Maura’s still up.” She was looking at him searchingly. He turned his face away.

  “I’m sorry,” Spencer said, letting out a sigh. “I feel like I dropped the ball.”

  “That’s not true. You’ve done the best job anyone could have asked for.” He tried to inject a little enthusiasm into his voice. “You’re coming over for the victory party, right?”

  “Sure. If that’s okay.”

  “Of course it’s okay. You should be here.”

  “Should I wait until tomorrow to post the results?” Spencer asked. “I mean, I guess it is tomorrow, but should I wait a while? Until after the party or something?”

  “No. You might as well get it over with. But let me be the one to tell Eden, okay?”

  “Sure thing. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

  Milo hung up the phone.

  “Was that Spencer?” Maura asked.

  “Yeah. I lost by half a percentage point.”

  “Oh, man. So close.” She looked at him closely. “You’re okay, right?”

  “I don’t know yet. Yes. No.” Milo couldn’t tell. It was as though a large part of his mind was refusing to believe it was over. It didn’t make sense to him yet. All the work and all those months of campaigning, and he’d lost by half a percentage point?

  The smaller part of his mind that was working told him this was sort of funny, in a sick kind of way. But he didn’t feel like laughing. He didn’t feel like crying. He felt a lot like nothing.

  Which was exactly what he’d tried not to be.

  “I feel stupid,” Milo said, finally. “That guy in the park, that blogger, all the people who said I shouldn’t run for president were right. I’m like that idiot Icarus. His dad kept telling him not to fly too close to the sun, but he didn’t listen. He got carried away, and then he got burned.”

  Maura was still watching him closely, the way they’d all watched her all those months. The difference with her was that she wasn’t trying to be subtle about it. “Are you going over to Eden’s?”

  “I think I’m going to call her instead. I don’t want to wake up her dad or anything. It’s four a.m.”

  “You know what I said earlier, about things with the two of you not staying the same?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s true. They won’t stay the same. You shouldn’t just let things happen to you. You should go for something if you want it.”

  Even though he felt like nothing, Milo couldn’t let that pass. “I do go for things, Maura. I just ran for President of the United States. Cut me some slack.”

  “You’re right. Sorry.”

  A sound from the television caught their attention. “They’re about to announce the final results!” Maura exclaimed, turning up the volume with the remote. Milo listened in spite of himself. He knew he had no chance of winning this vote. He couldn’t even win the one he’d put together himself.

  “We have the final results of the presidential election,” said a haggard-looking reporter. “With the last results from Oregon finally in, we are able to confidently project that Governor Hernandez will carry Oregon, giving her enough votes to win the electoral college. As we’ve said all night, the popular vote has been close, but not close enough to be in question. Governor Hernandez is the new President of the United States. A press conference is expected shortly.”

  A few seconds later, Milo’s face appeared on the screen. “And, surprising pollsters, teenager Milo Wright gathered an impressive 760,542 votes. Although Milo was not an official candidate, the interest in his campaign was such that those doing exit polls kept an informal tally of their own on Milo Wright.”

  The words were barely out of the reporter’s mouth when Milo’s cell phone rang. It was Eden.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Milo! Can you believe it?” She sounded happy. “Over seven hundred thousand registered voters wrote in your name, Milo. Wrote in our names! And that wasn’t even an official count. The actual count was probably even higher!”

  “It is pretty cool.” He tried to sound enthused.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Spencer called and we lost the online election by half a percentage point,” he told her.

  “Are you kidding me?” she asked, but what threw Milo off was her tone of voice. She sounded even happier. “We were that close? This is amazing!”

  “But we thought we were going to win that election.” Milo was still confused. “And we didn’t.”

  “But we were close—really close—to the candidate who did win the actual election, too. I mean, of course it would have been great to win. But this is good too.”

  Milo didn’t say anything. He was coming to the realization that he had let himself count on the teenage vote too much. He didn’t feel the way Eden did. He didn’t care that they had been close to winning—he’d wanted to win.

  “Milo? Are you still there?”

  “You’re right. But I guess I’m still a little bummed we didn’t win the online vote.”

  “Yeah.” They were both quiet.

  Milo broke the silence first. “I think I’m going to try to get some sleep now.”

  “I’ll see you in a few hours, right? At the party?”

  “Yeah.”

  Eden cleared her throat. “Milo, thanks for letting me be your running mate. Thanks for all of this.”

  “Thank you.” It wasn’t nearly enough, Milo knew as he said it, but he didn’t know what else to say.

  He hung up the phone and turned to Maura. “I’m going to bed,” he said flatly. It was over. There was no anticipation, no winners’ adrenaline to hold his exhaustion at bay anymore. He didn’t know how he was going to get through the non-victory party in a couple of hours.

  Maura seemed as though she were about to say something, but Milo spoke first. “Could you wake me up in time to go to the party? You’ll be around, right?”

  “I’ll be here.”

  Chapter 32

  November 5

  5:00 a.m.

  Milo, wake up. Wake up.”

  “Mfmhhmmmgrrrr.”

  “Milo, you want to take this call.” Maura pulled the blankets away from him and shoved the phone into his hand.

  “Hello?” Milo said, sleepily.

  “Hello, Milo.” The voice on the phone was a female voice that he couldn’t quite place. Then it hit him. It was Governor Hernandez. President Hernandez.

  It was the President of the United States.

  “Congratulations,” he blurted out, sitting up straight.

  “It’s usually traditional for the defeated party to call and concede the election to the winner,” said Governor Hernandez with a smile in her voice, “but I thought you might not have my phone number.”

  “I sure don’t.”

  “Did you get the results of your election?”

  “Yeah.” Milo paused. “And you won that one too.” He tried not to sound bitter, not let her know how much it hurt. “But only by half a percentage point,” he said, trying to make a joke out of it.

  “You ran a fine campaign. I wanted to congratulate you on that, and on the impressive numbers you pulled together as well.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I have something else to tell you. Did you know that voter turnout among the eighteen to twenty year olds was the highest it’s been in twenty years? A lot of people are attributing that success to you. You’ve made a difference, and you should feel good about what you’ve done.”

  “Thank you,” Milo said again. He was starting to actually mean it. “And you’re the one who should feel really proud. You’ll do a great job. If I weren’t running, and if I could vote, I would have voted for you.”

  She laughed a little.

  “I know that’s kind of a lot of ifs,”
he admitted, laughing too. Then he blurted out, “Gov—I mean, President Hernandez, is it all right if I ask you something?”

  “Certainly.”

  “You’ve lost campaigns before, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “How do you keep from feeling like it’s all pointless? I mean, I can tell myself that we made a difference and that a lot of people did vote for me and Eden, but in the end I still lost. And a lot of other people will see it that way, too.” He could just see the text now on that stupid blog: “Wright Loses His Own Election: A Victory for America.”

  “People will see what they need to see in it,” Governor Hernandez told him. “Some people will see it as pointless, and some people will see it as inspiring. You’re the one who’s going to have to decide what you see in it.”

  He could hear someone in the background talking to her.

  “Milo, I have to go. But thank you for your congratulations, and as someone who’s lost several elections before, I do have something to say to you.”

  “Yes, President?”

  “Remember that we become who we are because of the times we lose as well as the times we win.”

  “Thank you, President.”

  “You’re welcome, Milo.”

  The phone call ended. Milo held his phone for a moment and looked at it, wondering if that had really just happened.

  “That wasn’t a joke, was it?” Maura asked him.

  “No. It was really her.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah.” Milo reached for his running shoes and pulled them on. “I need the keys.”

  “Where are you going?” Maura handed him the keys.

  “Somewhere.”

  “You know you still don’t have your learner’s permit, right?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Milo said. He looked down at his shoes. “I guess I’ll just run.”