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My parents watch the inauguration with me, their hands on their hips. I can hear the question on their lips, but it is not allowed. In fact, no parental contact is allowed. Unless we initiate the conversation, no conversation can happen.
But I feel bad for my mother and father, who loved me and were not quite as beastly as the rest of the parents. So I say, “I voted for Kelsie and Luke,” because I know it is what they wanted to hear.
Kelsie Sanchez, the candidate from the Political party, was running on a ticket of Basic Equality. Her running mate, Luke Steel, was one of the most pro-adult freedom politicians to hit since the Revolution. Together, they would have made our world better, easier, freer. Even though I am on the top of the world, my parents and little sister are not, and I can’t help but want them to be protected.
I can feel my parents breathe a little sigh of relief. Kelsie and Luke are the favorite of every adult, especially parents. Those whose kids voted for Kelsie and Luke can congratulate themselves on raising good children that love them.
But Luke and Kelsie are not being inaugurated as we speak. No, no. Standing there is Carl Parker and Annabeth Aggerman. Carl is stupid, a bumbling idiot. You can tell just by the way he holds himself that he is there because he is attractive. And he is. But he should be voted as one of Teen Magazine’s 100 hottest guys, not be running (and winning) for the president of the united states.
The real brains behind this operation is Annabeth Aggerman. She’s pretty too, but only because she’s wearing expert make-up and her hair is dyed blonde and straightened and her clothes probably cost a hundred thousand dollars. Her parents ignored her, mistreated her, gave her money, and told her to leave them alone. Now that she’s been elected vice president, she’s taking that rage out on all the parent’s in America.
And instead of sadness, for the first time, I feel fear.
“Lynn?” I say, as soon as my best friend picks up the phone.
“Carson! I don’t know what to do!” Lynn’s voice is panicked.
“What are the other laws that Annabeth was promising? What other laws can they add? Aren’t our parent’s miserable enough?”
Lynn breaks into sobs. Her mother is ill. Breast cancer. Nothing too ominous under normal circumstances, but now? Her hiccups come loud, even through the phone. Lynn hiccups when she cries. I know that she’s thinking the medical care given to her mother by teenagers won’t help anything. But mostly, now that there are these new rules, will her mother be offered any care at all?
“Shh, shh. It’s all gonna work out.”
Lynn mumbles something and then goes back to crying.
“Carson, it’s on!” My mother calls, then clamps a hand over her mouth. She has talked to me, a crime punishable by jail, and I’m supposed to report her. If I don’t, and the authoriteens find out, I can go to jail, too. I never had to worry about it before, but now that these new people have been elected, I’m worried if I don’t report her, I may go to jail, and then what would happen? No one knows, I tell myself. Because I can’t leave. The houses with teenagers in them are much better protected than the ones who aren’t.
I turn to the TV. Annabeth is talking. “Adults ruined our lives, yes?” There is a big huzzah from the crowd. “Now, we take over the white house and place justice where justice is deserved! We make sure we know what is happening in this world. We are strong and confident teens, and we are going to enforce our laws! Welcome, my friends, to the Parker-Aggerman, TeenTeam: Fight for our rights, Adolescent Party! And it will be a party! Chips and dip in the white house for everyone who voted!”
I hear Lynn sobbing. But then I realize Lynn has hung up, and it’s my parent’s and my seven-year-old sister Lia that are crying.
This all came about three months ago, when I was thirteen. A couple of high school kids in Arizona had come up with this idea to rebel. To overthrow the government, to make our own rules, to get back at our parents. It was summer. They had cousins spread out all over the country, and friends to tell, and everyone told everyone. The word spread like lightning.
Anyone in high school was a part of it. The second you graduated, you were out. However, nobody graduated, since there was no more school (all learning you wanted could be done by going TeenTalk.net where teenagers educated other teenagers). So that meant there were more and more of us, while the number of adults and littler kids didn’t change at all.
This senior, Vinnie, was the first one to hear it. She told everyone in high school. Then September came, and, since I had turned fourteen in august, I was no a high schooler.
They told me, since I was a freshman, that I was patrolling my house, and helping all the other teenagers in my neighborhood patrol the non-teen houses. I’ve always been good, so I did what I was told.
I don’t remember much about that night, except that the Peterson’s, who lived three houses down, were so surprised when I barged in their house, having are already locked my own family up, and shut all their doors and windows. My family was all asleep, since I’d made them lemonade and slipped ambient in it.
Then, the teenagers from Arizona took temporary office and made these horrific laws. Adults couldn’t even ride in the same bus as children. They had to pay children for not punishing them, our form of taxes. And so much else. I sat upright. I had a plan.
I called Lynn, and we talked.
“You know what to do when something bad happens?”
Lynn said no.
“Well, Lynn, what’s the opposite of bad?”
“Right,” I took a deep breath, wondering if this was stupid. “So if we do something the opposite of the bad thing…”
“Then it’s good!” Lynn exclaimed, happy.
“Yeah. I’m proposing a counter-revolution. A revolution of the Revolution.”
All I heard were Lynn’s happy squeals. We discussed our plan for a little while, and then, at last, I hung up.
They, us, the teenagers, they called it the Revolution. But for the first time, I was about to something truly revolutionary.