Free Vote by Gary Paulsen Page A

cereal down his shirt.
    “Sam got the better end on the cousin deal.” Sam and I nodded. “Don’t wake him up.”
    The three of us tiptoed upstairs to the kitchen to make dinner. We used to have a little baking business together, so cooking is like second nature to us.
    JonPaul told us about his new aerobic routine and how it was beneficial to his sleep patterns, I brought them up to speed on the campaign, and Sam chattered so fast no one really knew what her topic was.
    We probably should have talked more about what each of us was cooking. Because we wound up individually preparing a pan of lasagna, a wokful of chicken-and-vegetable stir-fry and a build-your-own-taco bar on the counter.
    Just when I was thinking we’d be eating leftovers forever, Mom and Dad, Sarah and her boyfriend, Doug, Daniel and a skater he was dating, whose name I couldn’t remember unless she was wearing her warm-up jacket, and even Buzz and Jack, the guy she was seeing, descended on the kitchen, ravenous.
    Goober woke to the sound of Buzz’s voice and flew up from the basement to stand way too close to her and offer to get her too many glasses of ice water. Becca and Jared brought Markie inside, washed the top layer of backyard grime off him and made him a plate.
    I looked around while everyone ate and talked. Probably discussing their concerns and hopes andinterests, like Connie said voters do. Yup, my own little town hall meeting/potluck supper/brainstorm session. Disparate elements of the population coming together in a melting pot. After a baseball game. In the heartland. It just doesn’t get any more American than that. Unless you have apple pie for dessert.

11

The True Politician Goes Down Swinging
    Friday morning I woke up a little panicked because it was debate day.
    And
election day.
    Man, we did
not
think this through: the stress of a debate and the anxiety of an election on the same day.
    After I was elected, I was going to instruct the student council to draft a policy covering just this eventuality. That’s the problem with, um, everything and everyone: lack of adequate preparation.
    Speaking of which: I never had gotten around to buying note cards or researching middle school needs or reading the poll questions Connie and JonPaulhad come up with or whatever it was future presidents did in the hours leading up to a debate.
    And an election.
    But that’s good, I pep-talked myself as I brushed my teeth and flashed a big practice smile in the mirror. I’m best when I don’t have too much time to think. Oddly enough, for a smart guy, thinking doesn’t always work for me.
    If I had enough self-confidence, I was sure I’d automatically come up with those talking points and sound bites and other memorable speechy things candidates are known for.
    I checked to see that Dad was staying home from work to take care of Markie. I did that by reminding him seven times over breakfast and by hiding his car keys.
    “I’m not complaining,” Dad said, “because what’s not to love about Markie”—who was making motorboat noises in his cup of milk—“but didn’t his folks say a
few
days? And hasn’t it been, like,
seven hundred
?”
    “Feels that way, doesn’t it?” Mom asked. “Not that we don’t love having you, honey,” she said to Markie, who gave a renewed motorboat roar in his milk cup as thanks.
    I waved a cheery and, for the last time, non-presidential goodbye and headed to school.
    Headed to my date with destiny. Or was it fate? One you meet and one you date. I can never keep track.
    Getting Cash to wear the paper bag over his head so no one could see his perfect profile was going to be the trickiest part of the day. Ha ha ha. I crack myself up, I really do.
    Humor. I’ll have to remember that the voters love a good laugh. I am Mr. Funny, so it shouldn’t be hard to amuse them during the debate.
    I reminded myself I had no reason to worry. It’s not like anyone was really paying attention to elections. The voter