The Kid Who Became President (9 page)

There
must
be something yummy in the refrigerator, I figured. The door to the fridge was enormous, about the size of a garage door. I had to use all my strength to open it.

The light went on and I walked into the fridge. Just about every food you can imagine was in there. I had my choice of cakes and pies, steaks, burgers, chicken, everything. I rubbed my hands together to keep them warm.

And then the door shut behind me and the light went out.

 

Front page of the
Washington Post,
June 23:

 

FOREIGN RELATIONS CHILL

AS MOON LOCKS SELF

IN WHITE HOUSE FRIDGE

I was locked in the White House refrigerator for about an hour — in the dark — until I found an emergency alarm switch. Security guards came running from all over and pulled me out, shaking and shivering. I've had more embarrassing moments in my life, but I couldn't think of any.

After the state dinner disaster, more bad news arrived. First, a horrific hurricane ripped through Florida, tearing the state up. There was billions of dollars' worth of damage. Thousands of people lost their homes. A photo on the front page of the
Washington Post
showed somebody's
house
actually flying through the air. That's how bad the storm was. Lane said I should go to Florida to show the people down there that I was concerned.

Next to the photo of the flying house was an article about First Lady Chelsea Daniels. That was the second bit of bad news.

 

FIRST LADY HAS WORTHY CAUSE:
HERSELF

 

the headline read. The
Philadelphia Inquirer
also had an article about Chelsea, with the headline:

 

FIRST LADY PUTS FIRST LADY FIRST

 

It seems that some investigative reporters had followed Chelsea around for a week to see what she did all day. They found out that she pretty much went from store to store, spending a fortune on designer clothes for herself.

“This looks bad,” Lane said. “There are people who lost everything they owned in the hurricane, and here's the First Lady, who only cares about how she looks.”

As Lane and I were reading the article, Chelsea happened to flounce into the Oval Office and fling more bills on my desk.

“Ta ta, boys,” she said.

“Did you happen to see today's paper?” I asked before Chelsea could leave.

“Why read the papers?” she asked. “They only print bad news.”

I showed her the
Washington Post
headline. She glanced at it briefly and slammed it on my desk angrily. “How
dare
they write such lies about me!” she exclaimed. “Why don't you have these newspapers shut down, Moon? You're the president.”

“We have freedom of the press in this country,” I informed her. “Newspapers can write whatever they want. Maybe you should read the Bill of Rights.”

“I don't read bills,” Chelsea said. “I just give them to you to pay.”

That got Lane mad. “Not only do you waste the president's money,” he shouted at Chelsea, “you make him look bad.”

“Don't blame
me
if Moon looks bad!” Chelsea shot right back. “
I
didn't get sick at a dinner party and lock myself in a refrigerator!
I
didn't drown any Secret Service agents! I'm the only thing that makes Moon look
good
around here.”

She had a point, I had to admit. Just about everything I did seemed to backfire, create negative headlines, and hurt my approval rating.

“Chelsea,” Lane said more gently, “in the past, First Ladies have devoted themselves to good causes. Barbara Bush worked for literacy. Rosalynn Carter helped the mentally ill. Nancy Reagan fought drugs. Michelle Obama fought childhood obesity. It would make
you
look good — and the president, too — if you had a cause like those First Ladies.”

While Chelsea pouted and Lane fumed, I looked at the newspaper. Suddenly, I got an idea.

“Hey, instead of
me
going to Florida to console the hurricane victims,” I suggested, “why don't we send Chelsea?”

“Moon, that's brilliant!” Lane piped up.

“Ugh!” was Chelsea's response. “Hurricane victims are such a
downer
. And they're filthy. Why can't I go to Milan and comfort the victims of the spring fashion shows?”

“Don't you realize how dumb you seem?” Lane exploded. “The American people think you're a brainless, selfish airhead.”

Chelsea just stared at Lane. I don't think anyone ever talked to her that way. She's so pretty and rich, people always let her get away with things that regular people couldn't, I guess. She looked shocked.

“What if I went down to Florida,” she said meekly, “and delivered designer clothes to the hurricane victims?”

“You're kidding, right?” Lane asked, dumb-founded.

“Have you ever seen hurricane victims on TV?” Chelsea asked excitedly. “They look terrible, all dressed in rags. I'll go down there and deliver clothes to the people whose clothes blew away in the hurricane! Just because they have no homes is no reason they can't make themselves look fabulous.”

Lane and I looked at each other. It was a crazy idea, but we agreed that it had to be better than continuing to let Chelsea waste money on herself. Lane put her on the next plane to Florida.

 

Front page of the
Washington Post,
June 30:

 

MOON'S DAD RUNS BOX BIZ

FROM WHITE HOUSE!

As the months went by, I began to get used to the routine of being president. My days were busy, going from one appointment to the next.

Official luncheons. Receptions. Award ceremonies. Formal dinners. Classes with Miller the Killer. Doing my homework. Meeting with Vice President Syers. Jogging with Secret Service Agent Doe. Shaking hands and shaking more hands. I shook so many hands that my right hand would throb and ache by the end of the day.

Is that all there is?
I wondered as I sat at my desk in the Oval Office one morning. I had been president for eight months, but I still hadn't done anything important, anything that really mattered to the United States.

Oh, sure, I had fun at the annual Easter egg–rolling contest on the White House lawn. And throwing out the first ball to open baseball season at Camden Yards in Baltimore was really cool. But something was missing. Lane could tell I was feeling down when he came in for our usual morning meeting.

“Cheer up, Moon,” he said. “You've lasted a
lot
longer than President William Henry Harrison.”

“What happened to him?”

“Harrison was elected president in 1840,” Lane said. “He was inaugurated in the pouring rain, then he caught a cold and died a month later.”

That didn't make me feel any better.

“I want to do some
good
for this country,” I told Lane. “I didn't accept this job just to get my picture taken.”

“Well, you're going to
have
to do some good,” Lane replied. “Did you see today's economic report?”

“No.”

“The leading economic indicators are slipping,” he said. “The consumer price index is up. Unemployment's up. Inflation's up. Housing starts are down. Retail sales are down. The stock market is down.”

All that meant nothing to me. “You might as well be speaking Chinese,” I said.

“The economy is on a downswing,” Lane translated. “You've got to do something or your approval rating will take a downswing, too.”

“Why do
I
have to fix the economy?” I asked. “I didn't break it.”

“It doesn't matter,” Lane replied. “You're in charge. And the American people care more about the economy than they do about
anything.
Crime, drugs, education, and the environment aren't as important to people as how much cash they have in their pockets.”

The economy.
I never understood what that meant, except it had something to do with money. It made no sense to me. All I knew was that the economy was doing great when I became president and everybody was happy. Now, suddenly, it wasn't so hot anymore and people were getting upset.

“What if I raise the minimum wage?” I suggested. “People will have more money to spend.”

“Some people will,” Lane agreed. “But the companies that pay those wages will have less money and they'll have to fire employees. Unemployment will go up, and that's bad.”

“Then let's
lower
the minimum wage.”

“If you do that, you'll throw millions of people into poverty,” Lane said. “That's worse. You have to understand, Moon. Everything is connected with everything else. If the stock market goes up, the bond market goes down. If interest rates go down, inflation goes up.”

By that time, my eyes had glazed over. Luckily, Vice President Syers rolled in, pushed, as usual, by Chief Usher Honeywell. I was glad to see her, because if anybody could figure out this economic mumbo jumbo, it was Vice President Syers.

“Thank you, Roger,” Mrs. Syers said sweetly as Honeywell locked the brake on her wheelchair. “You are very welcome, Vice President Syers,” Honeywell replied as he left.

“Roger?” Lane asked Mrs. Syers. “Since when is Chief Usher Honeywell called Roger?”

“Ever since his mama named him,” she snapped.

“Vice President Syers,” Lane said, “I'm sure you've seen the latest economic news. Have you got any solutions?”

“Boys,” she said, “you're wastin' your time worryin' 'bout such nonsense.”

“I beg your pardon?” Lane asked.

“Look, we got close to three hundred million people in this country,” she explained. “If ya do one thing, fifty million of 'em'll hate ya. If ya do the opposite thing, fifty million others'll hate ya. If ya do something for the poor, the rich'll hate ya. If ya do something for the rich, the poor'll hate ya. If ya try to clean up the environment, business people'll hate ya. If you try to help business, environmental people'll hate ya. No matter what ya do to help somebody, it'll hurt somebody else, and they'll hate ya.”

“So in other words,” I said, “we should do nothing, because then nobody will hate us.”

“I didn't say that,” Mrs. Syers continued. “See, I got a plan that'll make everybody happy.”

“What is it?” I asked, leaning toward her.

“It's simple,” she whispered, as if she didn't want anyone else to hear.
“Make everything free.”

“Huh?” Lane asked.

“You heard me.
Free.
Don't sell nothin' no more.
Give
it all away.”

Lane looked at Vice President Syers like she was from another planet.

“Vice President Syers,” he said, “with all due respect, ma'am, if everything was free, how would the economy run? How would people provide for their families? How would anyone earn money to pay their bills?”

“If everything was free,” Vice President Syers explained, “nobody would
need
money. Nobody would
have
bills.”

She had us there.

I still didn't understand the first thing about economics, or what I could do to help the nation's economy. But to tell you the truth, I'm not sure anybody else does, either.