How Not to Run for President Read Online Free

Shrieking!” he said, gloating. “Way to make our town look bad.”
    â€œWhat? I didn’t make the town look bad,” I said.
    â€œMaybe not, but you made yourself look terrible.” He guffawed. “You tried to kill the president,
    Shrieking.”
    â€œI didn’t—and she’s not—”
    â€œYou were almost arrested. Ha!” He laughed. “That would have been so cool, seeing you dragged off to jail. My dad would have locked you up.”
    I simmered. He didn’t know anything. The mayor doesn’t do the locking up. The warden does, or, in our small town, probably the sheriff. T.J. didn’t even understand the legal system. If anyone would be headed to jail in the future, I was guessing it would be him.
    â€œAt least I can play an instrument,” I said. “At least I can read music—”
    â€œYou know what?” he said. “Your playing? Your tackling her? It’s going to be all over YouTube.”
    I tried to pretend this wouldn’t bother me. “So what?” I asked.
    â€œSo, I’m going to enjoy it. Every single minute of it,” he said, grinning.
    This was about to go on record as one of the worst days of my life.
    I heard the marching band start playing by the hardware store, and I hustled over to take my position. Maybe no one would notice me from now on—if I were lucky.

“I’ve seen better swings on a porch, Aidan!”
    A lot of insults get hurled in Little League batting practice. You get used to them. Maybe that one doesn’t sound so bad, but it was coming from my uncle .
    Because Uncle robert is a high-school gym teacher, he has the summers off, so he was coaching our summer league at FreezeStar Field. It was a step up from having T.J.’s dad as coach. He’d quit because he was too busy being mayor, or so he said. I never saw him do much but stand around and try to look important.
    Anyway, it was a nice change, even if Uncle robert could be insulting at times. It worked out perfectly, because my younger cousin, Liam, would be old enough to play at this level next year. I’ve always wished my dad could coach, but he can’t, because he works the night shift. He shows up for practice when he can, like this evening. I always want to do really well when he’s around.
    I hit some nice grounders off the next couple of pitches, but then a pitch went wild and I had to duck before the ball bonked my helmet.
    â€œThanks a lot!” I yelled to Colin, our third-best pitcher.
    â€œLime brain!” he shouted back at me.
    Sometimes I can’t tell if the point of baseball is winning or just surviving.
    T.J. was up next, so I handed him the bat, but he tossed it on the ground by the dugout. I should have remembered. He always uses his very own special bat, the one he won’t let anyone else touch.
    â€œYou don’t usually get a crowd for a practice. What gives?” my dad asked as I joined him in the home dugout.
    â€œWe’ve got a celebrity coming. Governor Brandon’s on her way.” Uncle robert kept throwing a baseball into his glove, over and over. “Her staff called me, said she wants to drop by and see the company-sponsored team.”
    While they talked, T.J. was booming hits over Colin’s head, deep into the outfield.
    â€œSo that’s why all the news vans are parked over there?” my dad asked. “For a photo op? Typical woman,” he added. “Wanting all the attention.”
    â€œWhat?” asked Uncle robert. “Why would you say that? She’s running for office. She needs to be in the news every day, for good reason.”
    â€œWell, Flynn doesn’t do that,” Dad muttered.
    â€œBe serious. Everyone in the race does that!” Uncle robert cried. “Besides, Flynn’s never met a camera he didn’t like.”
    â€œAnd neither have you,” Dad said to Uncle robert, who was combing his