The Campaign Read online

  Copyright © 2020 by Running Press Kids

  Interior and cover illustrations copyright © 2020 by Heather Burns

  Cover copyright © 2020 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.

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  First Edition: September 2020

  Published by Running Press Kids, an imprint of Perseus Books, LLC, a subsidiary of Hachette Book Group, Inc. The Running Press Kids name and logo is a trademark of the Hachette Book Group.

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  Library of Congress Control Number: 2019950313

  ISBNs: 978-0-7624-9624-2 (hardcover), 978-0-7624-9625-9 (ebook)

  E3-20200723-JV-NF-ORI

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  A Note From the Author

  Chapter One: A COZY DINNER FOR THREE

  Chapter Two: DRUMROLL, PLEASE!

  Chapter Three: A HISTORY LESSON (BUT NOT ABOUT U.S. PRESIDENTS)

  Chapter Four: THE PROBLEM WITH CINNAMON ROLLS (OR, WHY THIS WEDNESDAY I’M TOTALLY NOT IN THE MOOD FOR MINE)

  Chapter Five: SMACKDOWN (OR, IT’S A FREE COUNTRY. HAVEN’T YA HEARD?)

  Chapter Six: WAKE UP AND SMELL THE HOT CHOCOLATE

  Chapter Seven: BIRDS OF A FEATHER DON’T ALWAYS FLY TOGETHER

  Chapter Eight: TICK TOCK

  Chapter Nine: TWO NOSES (PLUS AN ADDITIONAL TWO) TO ONE GRINDSTONE (AND YOUR SECRETS ARE SAFE WITH ME)

  Chapter Ten: NOT ALL PRINCIPALS LIKE BREAKFAST BURRITOS

  Chapter Eleven: WANNABES AND GONNABES

  Chapter Twelve: ASK NOT WHAT YOUR TEAM CAN DO FOR YOU; ASK WHAT YOU CAN DO FOR YOUR TEAM

  Chapter Thirteen: GOOD NEWS… OR NOT?

  Chapter Fourteen: “AH LA VACHE!” (IN ENGLISH: “OH MY COW!”)

  Chapter Fifteen: THE TIME HAS COME TO KICK SOME BROOKSIDE YOU-KNOW-WHAT!

  Chapter Sixteen: I’M FINE… FINE. FINE. FINE. FINE. FINE.

  Chapter Seventeen: IF IT LOOKS LIKE A DOG AND BARKS LIKE A DOG, IT STILL MIGHT NOT BE A DOG

  Chapter Eighteen: LIGHTS. CAMERA. START TALKING. (OR, SOME THINGS ARE BETTER LEFT UNSAID) (OR: #BEACHBOUND)

  Chapter Nineteen: FOR EVERY ACTION, THERE’S A REACTION (AND IN THIS CASE, LOTS OF THEM!)

  Chapter Twenty: A WHOLE LOT OF WRONGS DON’T MAKE IT RIGHT (OR, THE BATTLE OF THE EX-BESTIES)

  Chapter Twenty-One: “PLUS ÇA CHANGE, PLUS ÇA RESTE” (IN ENGLISH: “THE MORE THINGS CHANGE, THE MORE THEY STAY THE SAME”)

  Chapter Twenty-Two: AMANDA’S “LOVE LETTER” TO THE SEVENTH GRADE OF LIBERTY MIDDLE SCHOOL

  Chapter Twenty-Three: PARTY LIKE A ROCK STAR. OR A SEVENTH-GRADE CLASS PRESIDENT!

  Chapter Twenty-Four: ON THE SLEEPOVER SCALE, THIS ONE’S A TEN

  Chapter Twenty-Five: AN INSIDER’S VIEW (OR, MY MOM HAS HER MOMENTS)

  Chapter Twenty-Six: WHY IS THIS SOCCER GAME DIFFERENT FROM ALL OTHER SOCCER GAMES? OR AT LEAST THE LAST ONE AGAINST BROOKSIDE?

  Acknowledgments

  Discover More

  Praise for The Campaign

  For

  BECCA AND ADAM.

  WITH ALL MY HEART,

  L.B.F.

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  A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  Dear Reader,

  I hope you enjoy reading about Amanda’s campaign to be president of her class. In the story, Amanda’s mother, a member of Congress, encourages Amanda to keep a notebook about past presidents of the United States to learn about ways in which they led our nation. As her mother points out, they all played a role in shaping our nation, but sometimes made decisions and acted in ways that were not in the best interest of all people. She encourages Amanda to focus on their accomplishments as a way to help her better understand how to be a good and effective leader. She also suggests that Amanda continue to study past presidents to gain a more complete and thorough understanding of their legacies and the role they played in the history of our nation. I hope each of you will do your own research that leads to a deeper, more comprehensive understanding of our nation’s history.

  Keep reading, keep learning, and most of all, enjoy The Campaign!

  Laurie Friedman

  Chapter One

  A COZY DINNER FOR THREE

  Amanda, please sit up straight.”

  My spine straightens instantly. Years of practice is my secret. Slouching at the Adams’s family dinner table is not permitted. But reading the newspaper is. Same goes for eating takeout straight from the container. Mom spears a chunk of kung pao chicken with her chopsticks, then passes the front section of today’s Washington Post to Dad. There’s an article in it she wants him to see. I don’t have to look to know it’s about politics. In my house, it’s always about politics.

  Mom is a congresswoman from Virginia. The Honorable Carol Adams. She, Dad, and I live in Arlington, which is right across the Potomac River from Washington, d.c., where she works on Capitol Hill, doing her part to run our nation’s government. My father, Harry, helps run her. That’s their little inside joke about what he does. They think it’s funny. I think it makes Mom sound like a puppy out for a morning walk.

  But that’s another story. About puppies. Okay. I won’t make you wait for it.

  Here’s an important fact to know about me. My family is small. Just Mom, Dad, and me. No brothers. No sisters. Not even a dog or cat. I’ve tried everything I could think of to get a pet, even telling Mom her approval ratings would skyrocket if she was photographed holding a cute little furry puppy. I thought it was a genius plan. Too bad for me it didn’t work. One thing I’ve learned over the years: some campaigns are more successful than others. But I haven’t given up. One of my goals is to finish seventh grade with a puppy by my side.

  My mantra: I will get a puppy.

  Anyway, back to Dad. He has spent his entire professional life managing one political campaign after another to get my mom to where she is today. Now he runs her office. It’s his job to make sure she’s where she needs to be, saying what needs to be said, and looking good while she says it. That last part is important, at least to Mom. She’s one of those never-a-hair-out-of-place types, especially if she’s on camera or speaking in front of an audience. Which is most days. Dad’s job also includes making sure all of the phone calls Mom receives (anywhere from a few to thousands in a single day) get answered and that her staff gives the right answers.

  Even though my parents live together and work together, they never argue. Almost never. The only thing they ever argue about is who has the most important job. Dad says it’s Mom. Mom swears it’s Dad. Truth is, my parents are a dynamic duo that never quits. Like now.

  They’re both eating shrimp lo mein with chopsticks while reading the Washington Post. For an only child, that sounds like dinner might b
e a lonely time. Au contraire. (It’s a term I learned in French class that means: nope, you got it wrong.) The great thing about parents who read during dinner is that they don’t stop my under-the-table scrolling through Instagram or texting with my best friend, Meghan Hart.

  Amanda: Something BIG to tell you tomorrow!

  Meghan: What is it?! Tell me now.

  Amanda:

  Meghan: KK. Something BIG to tell you too!

  I pause and wonder what Meghan’s big thing is. Could be she’s getting her braces off, which I didn’t think she needed in the first place. Meghan has naturally straight teeth and the biggest smile (even with braces on) of anyone at our school. Seriously, it’s a thing. If there were a superlatives category in the yearbook for “Biggest Smile,” Meghan would win.

  And tomorrow, her smile will be bigger than ever when she hears what I have to say.

  That’s because it’s life-changing stuff. Not just for me. For her, too. I really want to tell her now. But what I have to say is the sort of thing that’s meant to be said in person.

  Meghan knows I’m running for president of our seventh-grade class at Liberty Middle School. It’s pretty much the only thing I’ve talked about for days now. But what Meghan doesn’t know is that I’m planning to ask her to run as my vice president. Seriously, who else would I ask? I close my eyes and imagine her reaction. I see squealing. Screaming. Hop-around hugging. My fingers move like race cars nearing the finish line as I text her.

  Amanda: Meet me outside Mrs. Lee’s class.

  Meghan: Before homeroom?

  Amanda: YES! NEWS is BIG!

  Meghan: KK. CU then.

  “Amanda, how was your day at school?” Mom asks.

  My eyes shoot up from my phone. Apparently the Washington Post isn’t as interesting as I thought it was. “Um… good… I mean… well, you see…” I fumble, suddenly unsure how to tell my parents the news I’ve been waiting all day (actually since last week) to share with them. It’s not that I don’t want to tell them; I just know they’ll have a LOT to say on this topic.

  They both narrow their eyes at me. I’m not a fumbler, and they know it.

  Dad puts down his paper. “Amanda, what’s going on?” he asks.

  I chew on my lower lip and study Dad. The day I had to have emergency surgery to remove my appendix, he was a nine on the parental concern scale. When I wanted to go to the mall for the first time without him or Mom, and just Meghan, he was a six. As the child of a politician and a politician’s chief strategist, I’ve learned to gauge people’s reactions. Right now, the interest level in his voice is officially a four. But that can go up fast. There’s no more delaying. I clear my throat. “I have an announcement to make…” My voice trails off. Dad’s interest level in my life is about to go from four to TEN. Which isn’t good.

  “Amanda, spit it out!” Mom leans across the table toward me, like she can’t wait another second. Patience was never her thing.

  I tuck a long red curl behind my left ear. “I’m running for office,” I tell my parents. “I want to be the next president of the seventh grade at Liberty Middle School.”

  The sound of chopsticks clattering to the table fills our dining room. Mom’s and Dad’s brows shoot up higher than the Washington Monument (which is 555 feet 5⅛ inches tall, to be exact).

  “Amanda, that’s wonderful news!” Mom flashes me her TV smile. It’s the one she gives to say she supports an idea. Like more affordable health care. She’s big on that.

  I look to Dad. When it comes to campaigns, he can’t help himself. Dad is a planner, a strategist, an endless source of good advice. His wheels are spinning. I can see it.

  “Amanda, first rule of a campaign: choose your words carefully,” Dad says.

  “Huh?” I ask, confused.

  “Don’t say you want to be the next president of the seventh grade. Say you’re going to be the next president of the seventh grade,” Dad says. “And you will be. Politics is in your DNA. Elections have been part of your life since you were a baby.”

  That much is true. The first word out of my mouth was mama. The second, dada. And the third, fourth, and fifth—have you voted? In preschool, my parents didn’t read me books before bed. They told me stories of important political figures and how they made a difference. I went to kindergarten with buttons to give out, my mom’s smiling face plastered all over them. I don’t remember a time when she wasn’t running for office and Dad wasn’t planning a campaign to get her elected. So now it makes sense that I’m running for office, too.

  “Amanda, you’re going to make a wonderful president,” Mom says.

  “If you’re going to run for president, you’re going to need two things,” adds Dad.

  My brain reels with possibilities. A new wardrobe. A smarter phone.

  But Dad says nothing about either. “The first thing you’ll need is a running mate.”

  I roll my eyes. Dad knows there’s only one person I would ever ask to be my vice president. “I’m going to ask Meghan.”

  Dad nods his approval, then moves on. “Next thing you’ll need for a successful campaign is a notebook.” He rises from his seat at the table and walks in the direction of the office he and Mom share. When he returns, he hands me a shiny red notebook. “The best politicians are informed ones. If you want to be president, you’ll need to read and make notes about past presidents and what they’ve done to make a difference. Let them be your inspiration.”

  I bite my lip to keep from laughing out loud. Dad might know a thing or two about national politics. But middle school? Not so much.

  “Um, Dad, I’m pretty sure no past presidents of the seventh grade at Liberty Middle School will provide the kind of inspiration you’re talking about.” I try to give him back the notebook. It’s the last thing I need to get elected.

  “Amanda, think big!” booms Mom. “Your father doesn’t mean past presidents of the seventh grade at Liberty Middle School. He’s talking about past presidents of the United States.”

  Now I can’t help but laugh. On the dumb ideas scale, this one is a ten.

  “There’s a lot you’ll be surprised to learn about some of our past leaders,” adds Mom, ignoring my laughter.

  Um. Yeah. I’m sure there’s a lot to learn about our nation’s former presidents. But how it’s going to help me get elected president of my class is a mystery.

  I use my chopsticks to push aside chunks of red pepper and celery in search of any remaining chicken in my take-out carton. There isn’t any, so I pop a peanut into my mouth and take my time chewing it. I’m entering dangerous territory with my parents and need to choose my words carefully.

  “Knowing a few trivia facts isn’t going to help me win my class election. You might think it will, but it won’t.”

  “Amanda.” My parents say my name together in their “we’re the parents” voice, which is my least favorite of all their voices. It’s just not fair, the whole two-on-one thing.

  “Seriously, do I have to keep a notebook about past presidents?” I ask.

  “Yes!” Two voices ring out as one.

  “Amanda, all of our presidents played a role in shaping our nation. That doesn’t mean they always made good decisions and acted in the best interest of all people. Focus on their accomplishments as a way to learn how to be a good and effective leader.” Mom gives me an encouraging smile like I’m about to go on an interesting journey.

  But I’m not so sure about that. Keeping a notebook about our presidents while trying to get elected myself isn’t exactly a priority. Plus I have a big question. “There are like forty-something United States presidents,” I remind my parents.

  Dad makes a tssk sound. “Forty-five,” he states, like I should know the exact number.

  “Right.” I shrug as though he’s helped make my point. “So where would I even start?”

  “That’s simple,” says Dad. “Always start at the beginning.”

  MY CAMPAIGN INSPIRATION NOTEBOOK

  I,
Amanda Adams, am being forced to keep this silly notebook by my campaign-crazed parents who refuse to accept the fact that no one has ever been elected president of anything with the help of an inspiration notebook. But since I have no choice, here goes.

  George Washington

  BORN: February 22, 1732, Westmoreland County, Virginia

  DIED: December 14, 1799, Mount Vernon, Virginia

  SIGN: Pisces (Positive traits: imaginative, compassionate, intuitive. Negative traits: pessimistic, lazy, oversensitive.)

  PARTY: Federalist (Huh? No one has ever even heard of that party.)

  STATUS: Married to Martha Dandridge Washington

  KIDS: None of his own; stepfather to Martha’s two kids (John and Martha)

  YEARS OF PRESIDENCY: 1789 to 1797

  PRO: Good letter writer (he wrote over 20,000 of them)

  CON: Owned slaves (this often gets glossed over)

  NICKNAME: Father of His Country

  FAVORITE FOOD: Hoe cakes (Like pancakes but made on the back of a hoe or a shovel. Look it up if you really want to know more.)

  DOG OR CAT LOVER: DOGS!

  To be honest, if I could do it my way, I’d stop right here. But on the chance my parents snoop (and it’s a high chance) to see what I’ve written, I know Mom and Dad will be looking for me to make some “deeper connections” about George’s personality, background, and character that made him a good president. So without further ado… here are a few notebook-worthy facts about our nation’s first president.

  One: George Washington wasn’t afraid of a little hard work.

  His father died when he was eleven. He had some older stepbrothers, but they were off at school, so young George had no choice but to help out his mother at home. He went to a local school where math was his favorite subject. At fifteen, his formal education stopped, and at seventeen he was already working full time as a surveyor. (Something about land and maps. I’ll save you the trouble of looking it up.) But in addition to being a farmer, then a soldier, then president, George spent his whole life continuing to read and learn.