The Kid Who Ran For President Read Online Free Page B

old. Maybe thirty years ago …”
    â€œYou are not too old. You’re strong as an ox. And thirty years ago a female candidate would have been a joke. But now there are lots of them.”
    â€œYou don’t take no for an answer, do you, Judson Moon?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œOh, all right. Vice presidents don’t do nothin’ more than sit on a porch anyway. And somebody’s gotta keep an eye on you, Judson Moon. I been doin’ it all your life. Lord knows your momma ain’t never home.”
    â€œSo you’ll do it?”
    â€œI’ll do it. I’ll do it.”
    â€œMrs. Syers, I could kiss you!”
    â€œSave it for election night, Romeo.”
    And so I had my First Lady and my running mate.

“It’s time to talk turkey,” Lane said as we settled into the couch in my basement for our next strategy session. He was thrilled that Chelsea agreed to be my First Lady and June Syers said she’d be my running mate. But he had other things on his mind.
    â€œWe’re going to need money,” Lane said. “A lot of money.”
    â€œI’ve got about two hundred dollars in my savings account,” I offered. I was saving that money up to buy a video game system, and hoped Lane would tell me we wouldn’t need it.
    â€œYou’re kidding, right?” he said. “You think you can run for president on two hundred bucks?”
    â€œMaybe I can borrow a little more from my folks.”
    â€œTwo hundred dollars won’t even buy you a good suit , Moon!”
    â€œWait a minute,” I interrupted. “You didn’t tell me I would have to wear a suit.”
    â€œOf course you’ve got to wear a suit. Presidential candidates always wear suits.”
    â€œI hate suits,” I complained. “I had to wear a suit for my uncle’s wedding. It was awful.”
    â€œThen you’ve already got a suit.”
    â€œSo I don’t have to buy one. That’s two hundred dollars we saved right there.”
    â€œMoon, we’re gonna need twenty million.”
    â€œTwenty million … dollars ?” I gulped.
    â€œThat’s just to get started. We’ll need more as we get closer to Election Day.”
    â€œWhat costs so much that we need that kind of money?”
    Lane ticked off all the things that cost money in an election campaign — commercial time on TV and radio, airfare, office space, staff, telephone bills, printing. Plus bumper stickers, T-shirts, balloons, banners. I guess that’s why you don’t see poor people running for president.
    â€œHey, I’ve got an idea,” I said enthusiastically. “Why don’t we get a sponsor for the campaign?”
    â€œWhat do you mean, a sponsor?”
    â€œYou know, like McDonald’s or Nike or some other big company. They give us twenty million dollars and I could tell people to eat at McDonald’s.”
    â€œAre you out of your mind, Moon? What are you going to say at your inauguration — I do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States, and everybody should eat more Egg McMuffins?”
    â€œAthletes endorse stuff,” I said sheepishly.
    â€œWell, politicians don’t. At least not legally.”
    â€œWasn’t Herbert Hoover sponsored by that vacuum cleaner company?”
    â€œHoover was his name , brainless!”
    â€œLighten up, Lane. I was kidding about Hoover. So we need a lot of people giving a little money each, right?”
    â€œNow you’re getting it. And it’s got to add up to about twenty million.”
    â€œOh, well, I didn’t want to be president so badly anyway.”
    â€œYou give up too easily, Moon. I know how we can raise twenty million dollars with two phone calls.”

Lane opened up his laptop and Googled “The Cap Times,” which is the name of our local newspaper. He found the phone number, picked up the phone,