The Kid Who Ran For President Read Online Free Page A

in your face malfunction and you forget how to talk.
    â€œJudson,” I finally choked out. “Judson Moon.”
    â€œHi, Judson Moon,” she said. I recorded in my mental memory bank that Chelsea Daniels had actually spoken my name. The words “Judson Moon” had passed through her lips.
    â€œCan I ask you a question, Chelsea?”
    â€œI’m kinda in a hurry …”
    â€œIt’ll only take a minute. See, I’m running for president …”
    â€œWhat, of the student council?”
    â€œNo. Of the United States.”
    She stared at me, then laughed. “Yeah?”
    â€œAnd every president has to have a First Babe. I mean First Lady.”
    â€œYeah …?”
    â€œI was wondering if you might be my First Lady.”
    â€œIs this going to be on YouTube or something?” she said, looking around for a camera. “Who put you up to this?”
    â€œNobody.” I reached into my backpack and pulled out one of the petitions Lane and I had been circulating. She looked it over.
    â€œWe don’t have to date each other or anything, do we?” Chelsea asked, wrinkling her nose.
    â€œNo, of course not!” I assured her. “I might ask you to attend some functions with me. Parties and stuff …”
    â€œParties?!” she said, brightening. “Formal parties where I would get dressed up and there would be photographers and stuff?”
    â€œPossibly,” I said.
    â€œCool!” she said, finally smiling at me like I deserved to be on the same planet as her. “Do you think I would look better in a blue or a pink silk dress at the inauguration?”
    It was as simple as that. I had my First Babe.

Talking June Syers into being my vice presidential running mate wouldn’t be as easy as talking Chelsea Daniels into being my First Lady.
    When I got to Mrs. Syers’s stoop, she wasn’t there. I was just about to call the police when she wheeled out of her apartment door onto the porch.
    â€œHey, Mr. President!” she yelled. “How goes the campaign?”
    â€œMrs. Syers! I was worried. Where were you?”
    â€œAin’t an old lady allowed to use the bathroom?” she complained.
    â€œI want to ask you a serious question, Mrs. Syers.”
    â€œA boy your age shouldn’t even have any serious questions yet.”
    â€œWould you consider being my vice president?”
    â€œYou crazy, Judson Moon. You always been crazy. You were a crazy baby. You’re a crazy kid. And you gonna be a crazy grown-up, too.”
    â€œMaybe, but I still would like you to be my running mate.”
    â€œJudson Moon, ain’t you got some homework that needs doin’? Shouldn’t you be out playin’ ball with your friends? Why do you want to get yourself messed up with this stuff?”
    â€œC’mon, Mrs. Syers. It’ll be fun!”
    â€œFun? Don’t you know that bein’ president is just about the worst job in the world? Everybody hates you no matter what you do. You can’t go anywhere. They watch your every move. You say one wrong word or do one wrong thing and everybody jumps all over you. Then in four years they kick you out on your behind. Maybe eight. What do you need that for?”
    â€œI don’t expect to win or anything,” I explained. “I just think it will be a hoot to run for president. And I can’t think of anyone I’d rather do it with than you, Mrs. Syers.”
    â€œAin’t never been a lady vice president.”
    â€œThere’s never been a twelve-year-old president, either,” I pointed out. “Everything that’s ever been done had to be done by somebody first , didn’t it?”
    â€œWhy do you want me, anyhow? Why don’t you pick some pretty boy politician?”
    â€œBecause you’re the only grown-up I know who isn’t stupid,” I admitted.
    â€œWell, you’re right about that. But I’m too