Page 54 of State of Alert

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The motorcade pulled up to the colorful façade of Cecil Elementary School on Cecil Avenue. The K-5 school had more than three hundred students, and it seemed most of them were outside waiting to greet him withWelcome President Cappuanosigns and balloons. The Secret Service had been there weeks ago to scout the location. Every person attending, even the children, had been fully vetted.

When he spotted his dark-haired brothers, wearing navy blue suits and matching ties, their hair slicked into submission, his bad mood immediately lifted. The rest of the kids wore yellow polo shirts with a logo on them with blue pants or skirts.

Smiling, he emerged from the back of the limo and received hugs from Brock and Brayden. “You guys look like future presidents.”

“We do?” Brayden asked, his little face wild with excitement.

“Definitely.”

While Nick’s detail cleared a path through the crowd, his brothers took his hands and led him into their school. He spotted his dad and Stacy off to the side and smiled at them asthey waved. Being the president sucked much of the time, but this was fun, and he intended to fully enjoy whatever they had planned for him.

He shook hands with the principal and met the mayor and several of the city’s school committee members, all of whom told him how honored they were to have him visit.

The boys led him on a tour of the school, pointing out their second-grade classrooms as well as the cafeteria and library before they ended up in the gym, where a stage had been erected at the far end and covered in presidential bunting.

Nick recognized members of the White House Press Corps mixed in with local TV reporters standing next to cameras in the back of the room. Maybe the good publicity from this event would offset some of the Joint Chiefs madness.

“Do you like it?” Brock asked of the setup.

“It’s awesome. Did you guys decorate the stage?”

“With some help from the teachers, Mom and Dad. We bought the… What’s it called again, Brayden?”

“Bunting.” Brayden giggled. “He can never remember that word.”

Brock shrugged sheepishly. “We had to buy it online because it’s only available in stores for the Fourth of July.”

“We have to wait here,” Brayden said. “The band is going to play a song for you.”

Sure enough, the school band launched into a choppy version of “Hail to the Chief.”

“That’s your song!” Brock said.

“Sure is,” Nick said, charmed by the effort put forth by the band.

“Let’s go,” Brayden said as each of them took him by the hand again to lead him down the center aisle between rows of chairs to the stage, where three chairs had been positioned. The student body, teachers, staff and guests clapped as they entered.

“You sit in the middle, Nick,” Brock said.

“We’re supposed to call himMr. President,” Brayden reminded his twin.

“Oh, sorry.”

“You should call me Nick. Always.”

Brock gave Brayden a smug smile.

The three of them were handed microphones by a man wearing a yellow school polo shirt.

“We flipped a coin to see who got to introduce you, and I won,” Brock said.

“Let’s get this party started,” Nick said.

“Hello,” Brock said into the microphone. When the crowd went silent, he said, “My name is Brock Cappuano, and this is my brother Brayden and our other brother Nick, who’s the president of the United States. He says we’re supposed to call him Nick, but you have to call him Mr. President.”

It was all Nick could do to keep from laughing out loud.

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