How Not to Run for President by Catherine Clark

everybody.
    â€œWho’s this Mort?” asked Kristen.
    â€œOnly the greatest clarinetist Cleveland ever had,” I said. “He’s my clarinet teacher.”
    â€œOh.” She smiled politely. “Well, that’s very sweet.”
    â€œOne last thing, Aidan,” said Stu. “Please don’t tackle the governor this time around.”
    â€œRight. No problem. Not in the cards,” I said.
    â€œThen we’re set,” said Stu just as the lead Secret Service agent got back on the bus. He announced that we were good to go, and everyone got to their feet and started lining up in the aisle.
    Kristen glanced back at me. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but is that what you’re wearing?”
    I looked down at my red Ohio State T-shirt, cargo shorts, and sneakers. Wasn’t it obvious what I was wearing? “Um … yes?”
    â€œWell, uh.” She coughed. “Well, it’s just that we usually dress kind of nicely for these appearances, so …”
    â€œBut I’m not even officially appearing, onstage or anything, right? I’m just part of the crowd. Besides, shouldn’t I look authentic? Everyone will think I’m a phony if I show up in a suit and tie,” I argued.
    Not to mention the fact I hadn’t brought them. Why didn’t they give me a list of what to pack if they cared so much? I didn’t even own a suit and tie that fit. I glanced at Emma, to see how I compared. She had on shorts and a T-shirt, too, right?
    I did a double take. She was wearing a dress and fancy shoes.
    She must have gone into the bathroom and changed between the time we arrived and now. She was like a superhero with her own personal phone booth. How come she got to look polished and I didn’t?
    And why did I care? What was happening to me? This campaign was trying to turn me into a dweeb!
    Kristen tried to fix the collar of my T-shirt, which was kind of ridiculous since it didn’t actually have one. “Maybe we’ll have to schedule a shopping trip,” she said. “right after this event.”
    â€œYes, but Aidan has a good point. We don’t want anyone to think he’s gone all slick,” the governor said. “They’d never trust him or believe he was that everyday kid in Ohio.”
    â€œWhy does he get to wear what he wants?” Emma complained.
    â€œBecause he’s not the potential first daughter,” the governor said, “and you are.”
    â€œLucky for me,” I said. “That would be awkward.”
    Emma laughed, but Kristen completely ignored my joke. “We’ll tackle your wardrobe issues later,” Kristen said. “right now we need to get out there and meet the crowd!”
    â€œYou definitely have issues,” Emma said as she pushed past me to be second off the bus, behind her mother.
    I stuck out my tongue at her.
    â€œHow childish,” she commented.
    â€œHow rude-ish,” I replied.
    â€œThat is not even a word,” Emma said.
    â€œI know that,” I said just as she continued, “Don’t you know anything?”
    â€œKids. Kids! Knock it off. We need a unified front,” said the general. “We can’t show any weakness here. A weak front is a losing battle. Let’s go, everyone! Let’s go get those votes! Let’s attack from all sides, make sure no one forgets us!” He made it sound like we were landing in France and storming the Normandy coast, or whatever.
    As soon as the bus doors opened, a whoosh of hot air—and loud screams—came at me. “Bettina! Brandon! Bettina! Bran-don!” a giant group of fans was chanting. Fresh Idea Party signs were being waved, slogans shouted, pictures snapped.
    I felt ridiculous as I stepped off the bus behind everyone else. Who was I, anyway? Just some random kid they picked up along the way. Why was I even here? I could be home watching Baseball Tonight .
    Well, maybe not,