Eleven

“They sentenced me to twenty years of boredom, for trying to change the system from within.” Leonard Cohen’s deep voice blares from my headphones as I sit in a director’s chair behind the huge MTV bus on the UW campus, waiting for the makeup artist to come and give me a touch-up. “First We Take Manhattan” has become sort of an anthem for me over the course of the campaign, and if ever there were a time when I’m in need of a fight song, it’s right before going into battle with Jake Bennett.

I’ve got my eyes closed, and I’m singing along softly to the music. I’m so into it that when I finally open my eyes, I’m visibly startled to see Jake himself standing in front of me, chuckling quietly. I feel my cheeks flush and wonder how long he’s been standing there, watching my little performance.

“Don’t stop on my account,” he says, barely able to control his mirth.

I glare at him as I switch the CD player off and remove my headphones.

“What are you listening to, anyway?” he asks as he folds his body into the director’s chair next to me and grabs my CD player.

“Hey!” I cry in protest, but he’s already popped it open and is studying the CD inside.

“Leonard Cohen,” he observes. “Interesting.”

I reach over and snap the CD player shut, then yank it back from him. “Interesting?” I repeat.

“Yeah,” he says. “I figured you’d probably be listening to…I don’t know, Britney Spears or Jessica Simpson or something.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” I challenge him.

“Nothing,” he says with a wave of his hand. I decide to let it go.

“So…you ready for our big debate?” he asks as the makeup artist pats my face with a powder puff.

“It’s not a debate,” I tell him. “It’s a bipartisan show of support for the youth vote.”

“Call it whatever you like,” he says, hoisting himself out of the director’s chair. “I just hope you’re ready.”

“Oh, I’m ready!” I call as he walks away. The makeup artist gives me a sympathetic smile as she reaches for her mascara wand.

As soon as my makeup is finished, I jump up and rush to the other side of the bus, where our part of the Rock the Vote special is scheduled to be filmed. A small crowd has gathered to watch the taping. Jake is already there, chatting with Aurora, the MTV reporter. They’re laughing, and she keeps clutching his arm as he shoots her flirtatious smiles. Oh, please, I think, rolling my eyes. Give me a break.

The two cease their conversation when they see me. “Hey, Julia,” Aurora says, her voice still containing a few traces of laughter. “How are things going?”

“Couldn’t be better.” I smile politely as she hands me a big MTV News microphone.

“Okay, are you guys ready to go?” she asks excitedly.

I smile and nod, then shoot Jake a threatening glance while she’s not looking. He returns it with a glare of his own.

“All right, let’s go,” Aurora says to the cameraman, and he begins to count us down. At “2,” the audience starts cheering wildly.

“Hello, University of Wisconsin!” Aurora yells over the cheering, which just causes the volume to increase. When the yelling and whooping finally dies down, she says, “We’re here on the road with two of the young faces of this political campaign—Jake Bennett and Julia Rowan. They’re here to tell you why your vote is so important this election year. Julia?” She turns to me expectantly.

“Thanks, Aurora,” I say with a smile. “It’s great to be here on the beautiful campus of the University of Wisconsin.” This brings another expected cheer from the audience. “I don’t know if you voted in the last election,” I continue. “Maybe you just didn’t care about politics, or maybe, like me, you were too young. But whether you voted or not, we all saw how close this race can get, and now we know just how much every vote counts. That’s especially true for people our age, because we’re not just casting a vote for this person or that person—we’re voting for our future. The way you vote will affect all kinds of issues that are relevant to your life both now and in the future—things like the economy, social security, health care and the environment. So educate yourself on these issues, get registered, and don’t forget to go out and vote in November!”

The audience cheers briefly, and then Aurora segues over to Jake.

“You know, Julia’s right,” he begins, flashing me a smile. I’m right? I wonder. Since when?

“This campaign does come down to the issues that concern you,” he continues. “Like jobs, for instance. Many of you will be graduating in a few years, and you’ll be looking for your first job. And you need to know that Charlie Rowan has no concrete plan to create new jobs for hard-working Americans. In an economy that’s already sluggish at best, this means you’ll be graduating into the toughest job market in American history.”

I stare at him, my mouth gaping open in horror. I can’t believe the blatant lies he’s just told.

“My father does too have a plan to create new jobs!” I cry before I can stop myself.

“Really?” Jake says in a falsely pleasant tone, turning to me. “I’d love to hear it.”

Suddenly, I can’t think of a thing to say. I know my father has such a plan; I’ve heard him talk about it hundreds of times in town hall meetings and over lunch with workers in diners. But now that I’m under pressure, I can’t seem to remember a single detail of it.

We stand there in silence for a few seconds before Jake says, “That’s what I thought. Now why is it that Charlie Rowan’s only daughter doesn’t know about his plan to create new jobs? It’s because there isn’t one.

“Furthermore,” he continues, “all of Rowan’s projected social spending programs will ensure that when you do eventually find a job, you’ll have to fork over a substantial portion of your paycheck in taxes.”

I know this isn’t true either, but after what’s just happened, I can’t bring myself to try and refute it. I can only stand, amazed, and wonder how “bipartisan support of the youth vote” suddenly turned into a vicious debate. Not even a debate, actually, since I’m barely able to defend myself. It’s more like an attack.
I glance over at Aurora to see if she’ll help bail me out here, but she’s gazing at Jake in rapt attention. Perfect. All I can do is pray that his little spiel will be over soon.

Finally, mercifully, I hear Aurora’s voice again. “Thank you so much, Jake and Julia, for stopping by. Remember everyone, get out and vote on November 6. Make sure your voice is heard!”

As soon as the camera guy gives us the signal that we’re off the air, I turn to Jake.

“What the hell was that about?” I demand furiously.

“What?” He stares at me blankly.

“Don’t ‘what’ me!” I exclaim. “Why did you have to try and turn this event into some kind of debate? I thought we were supposed to be showing bipartisan support!”

“It’s a campaign, Julia,” he spits. “There’s no such thing as bipartisan. And if you can’t handle that, I’d suggest you get out now.”

Aurora is looking back and forth at us in silence, as if she’s watching a tennis match. I hand her my microphone, give her a curt “thank you,” and, with a glare at Jake, spin on my heel and storm off.

As I march down State Street toward the state capital where my father is holding a rally with the governor, I’m fuming. I don’t know what’s upsetting me more—the fact that Jake just attacked me in front of millions of people on TV, or the fact that he got away with it because I didn’t know what to say to defend myself. Regardless, I decide it’s time I had a serious talk with my dad.

The rally is just finishing when I arrive, and I wait patiently for my father to shake hands with what seems like every person in the crowd. Finally, we’re all filing onto the campaign bus. As soon as he sits down in his favorite seat (one of the couches near the front), I approach him before anyone else can and say, “Dad, we need to talk.”

“Sit down,” he says, motioning to the couch opposite him. I perch on the edge of the seat, tapping my foot angrily. “What’s wrong, Julia?” he asks, concerned.

“Well, you know this whole me not talking about politics thing?” I begin. He nods. “Yeah, well it’s just not going to work.”

“What happened?” he asks.

“Jake Bennett happened, that’s what!” I cry, jumping up from my seat and pacing the floor in front of him. “He made a total fool of me—on television—because I didn’t know what your plan was to create new jobs!”

“Are you talking about that MTV thing?” my dad asks, confused. “How did the issue of jobs even come up?”

“He brought it up,” I say. “He turned the whole thing into this big attack on you, and I couldn’t say anything to stop him!”

“Hmm,” my dad says, his brow furrowing. “That’s not how that was supposed to go.”

“I know it’s not how it was supposed to go,” I insist. “But what could I do?”

“Julia,” he says, his voice softening. “There’s nothing you could have done. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I know,” I say again. “And I know that you guys have told me time and time again that I’m not supposed to talk about politics. But what if someone else brings it up? And not just Jake! What if someone says something to me at a rally, and I don’t have an answer? Don’t you think I should be educated on the issues, just in case?”

“You’ve got a point,” my dad says thoughtfully. “Let’s talk it over with Suzette.”

Great, I think as my dad catches Suzette’s attention and motions for her to come join us. This is the one issue on which Suzette has remained firm, and I have my doubts that we’ll be able to change her mind.

As Suzette settles onto the couch beside my dad, I sit back down and repeat to her a calmer version of today’s events.

When I finish relaying my tale of woe, my father turns to her and says, “I think it’s time that Julia be educated about every detail of this campaign’s platform so she knows how to respond should she come under any more attacks like that in the future. And I also think it’s time we allow her to start talking about political issues at her rallies. After all, we can’t have this Bennett kid running around to college campuses, spreading lies about our campaign, and then leave Julia with no means to defend herself or us.”

As Suzette considers all this, I hold my breath in suspense.

“All right,” she says, and I exhale loudly, a smile spreading across my face. “That’s a very good point,” she tells my father. Turning to me, she says, “You’ll begin studying first thing tomorrow morning. That way, you should be ready in time for your next rally in Iowa City.”

“Thanks, Suzette! Thanks, Dad!” I exclaim, jumping up from my seat. “You won’t regret this!” I give my dad a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“You’re welcome, honey,” he says. “I know you’ll make us proud.”

As I’m heading to the back of the bus to tell Chris the good news, I can’t help but think of Jake. He may have won today’s battle, I tell myself, but little does he know, the war has just begun.