Dolley Madison never owned a cell phone. She never had a lawn service or a fancy car. But she was my hero. I hurried over and gave her a big hug.
José grinned at her. “Dude, you did it! You saved the painting!”
I wondered, could a First Lady be a dude?
I gazed at the painting. It truly was beautiful. But it was still missing one thing—George Washington. He stood beside us, shaking his head in amazement. “Mrs. Madison, thank you for what you’ve done. But I’m not worth all this trouble.”
“You built this country,” I told him.
“And set up the framework for everything,” added José.
“And now that frame is empty,” said Annie.
George looked off into the distance. “I wanted to serve all the people of this nation. But now I see there are things I could have done when I had the chance.”
Dee put her hand on his arm. “Building a country is hard work.”
He said, “But my perfect home . . . is not perfect.”
“My home, it is not perfect either,” said Annie. “My parents love me, but they argue too much.”
José shrugged. “My brother and I barely know our father.”
“Sometimes I wish I had a brother and sister,” I told him. “And more shoes.”
“But you know what?” said Annie. “It still is home. My parents left our country because they want this to be my country.”
“That’s right,” I said. “And my mom and dad vote in every election, because their voice counts.”
“And people wait in line every day to come see your portrait,” said José, “even when it’s hot and muggy or really, really cold!”
“I don’t understand,” said George. “Why?”
Looking at Annie and José, I said, “Let’s show him.”
I walked over and stood in front of the painting. José stepped in next to me, and Annie lined up beside him.
I told George, “This is a new portrait.”
“It is a picture of America,” said Annie.
“Dude,” said José, “you know why they spell it U.S.? Because it’s us—all of us!” He did a little dance move and grinned.
Watching us, George threw his arms out wide. “Now this . . . this is a beautiful portrait!”
I said, “We’re all here because of a home you helped to build, more than two hundred years ago.”
Annie chimed in. “It’s a good house.”
George smiled at us. “Should you ever decide to run for office, you can count on my vote. And now, it’s time for me to go back where I belong. I miss my painting and the wall where it hangs.”
José nodded. “It would be nice to be a part of those walls.”
As George stepped toward the painting, Annie cried out, “Wait! Don’t leave without us!”
“I must,” said George. “Duty calls.”
Annie said, “Then at least take something to remember us by.” Pulling out her notebook, she hugged it to her chest, then handed it to George. “I want you to have this.”
I knew how important that notebook was to Annie. I had something important too. Reaching up around my neck, I unfastened the clasp on my pendant. Cupping the pendant gently in my hand, I gave it to George. “This is for you.”
José shuffled his feet, then reached into his pocket and got his silver coin. “This is yours. Take it.”
George handled the gifts carefully, lovingly. Then he gave us one last smile. “Thank you, all of you. It’s been an honor to welcome you to the White House, a home where we all belong.”
He tucked the gifts into his jacket, close to his heart, then resumed his pose and stepped back into the painting.
The light flickered. Suddenly, we were standing in the East Room, and the painting was back on the wall. Ms. Letter entered, leading our tour group.
“And, as I was saying, this wallpaper is magnificent! Don’t you agree?”
The other kids nodded, looking bored. But to the three of us, the White House was anything but boring. It was a home—our home, and we couldn’t wait to see more.
Just then a door flew open, and Mr. Flower came running in. Spotting us, he breathed a sigh of relief. “I found you! I thought I’d lost you, and my job, and my mind. But you are all here!”
José did a little dance step and said, “Don’t forget the rule.”
“What rule?” asked Mr. Flower.
“Chill, dude.”
Then something amazing happened. Mr. Flower smiled! It was shaky, it was nervous, but it was definitely a smile.
“Security can make a person so insecure!” he said. “But I love this house. And I just want everyone to be safe. And sound. And happy, at home with George—uh, I mean, with President Washington.”
Annie and José smiled. I could tell they felt the same way I did. When we first came to the White House, we had felt strange and out of place. Now we knew the truth. We belong. All of us belong.
I glanced over at the painting. George looked down on us, posing gravely. And then, could it have been my imagination?
George winked at us.