Free How Not to Run for President by Catherine Clark

was doing really well as governor, so she decided to throw her hat into the ring.”
    â€œWhich one?” I asked.
    â€œWhich … ?” She looked confused.
    â€œHat.”
    â€œIt’s an expression, dummy.”
    â€œNever mind,” I said. “So what else can you tell me about Minnesota or your mom’s campaign? I mean, someone might ask me.”
    â€œWell, tons. For instance, this year we’re what’s called a ‘swing state’ when it comes to voting, so that’s going to work great for my mom,” she said.
    â€œYou play swing music? You ride swings a lot?” I asked. She didn’t say anything, so I kept talking. “What’s the difference between swing and battleground? They kept calling Ohio a battleground on the news. And what are normal states called?”
    â€œNormal states are red or blue,” she said.
    â€œThat makes no sense. Oh, wait. I get it. red, white, and blue.”
    â€œNo. There are no white ones.” She rolled her eyes. “They either go Democratic, which is blue, or republican, which is red. But some change back and forth.”
    â€œMaking them purple,” I say.
    She shook her head. “Minnesota’s usually been blue when it comes to presidents, but lately it’s not so predictable. But battleground. That’s fought in the trenches.”
    â€œWe don’t have trenches,” I said. “And if we did, do you really think your mom would crawl into one?”
    â€œIt’s a metaphor. Obviously.”
    â€œOh.” I was quiet for a minute. “So how come your mom is running as an Independent?” I finally asked. “Couldn’t she pick a color?”
    â€œNo, because she’s always been someone who didn’t vote along party lines,” Emma said. “Sometimes she was on the republican side and sometimes the Democratic. She wanted to create a third side.”
    â€œMaking a square? I mean, um, triangle?” I asked.
    Emma gazed at me for a second. “I think I know what my mom should start focusing on.” She cracked her gum.
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    â€œImproving schools,” she said. “Especially the ones in Ohio.”
    â€œHa-ha,” I said. “Very funny.” Should I bother telling her that I had been middle-school student of the month back in February? “You know what my clarinet teacher always says?”
    â€œYou sound horrible?” she asked.
    â€œNo. He says flute players are a dime a dozen,” I told her.
    She narrowed her eyes at me, visibly stung. I smiled at her. So there. She wasn’t the only one who could dish it out.
    â€œWell, well, I see you two are getting along swimmingly.” Stu suddenly appeared beside me. I jumped. He moved quickly and quietly, like a stealth mouse or something. Up close, his hair was so spiky, it looked like it could cut you if you tried to touch it. “That’s excellent, excellent.” Stu gently moved my clarinet to the floor and dropped into the aisle seat beside me. “All right. I have a few questions for you, Aidan.”
    â€œAnd so do I.” The general appeared, looking down at me.
    I felt myself slink down in my seat a little. The general didn’t have to do much to intimidate me. Just looking at me would do it.
    â€œFirst off, how in the world do you actually say Schroeckenbauer?” asked the general, mangling it.
    â€œIt’s actually pronounced Shrek-en, not Shrocken.” I thought about how T.J. called me “Shrieking.” Should I mention that? Probably not.
    â€œOkay, okay. Good. Sorry about that,” said Stu. “Now, your parents both work for FreezeStar, which is great, real gold material for us. Your older brother is a sports star, and you have a dog. All true?”
    â€œMostly,” I said. “My mom is on leave from FreezeStar, though.”
    â€œRight, right. So that’s one unemployed parent. No