The Great Greene Heist

by Varian Johnson

“Don’t let your mother hear you saying that. I’m still catching flack for letting you and Samuel spend so much time with your granddad.” He bit into a cookie. “How was I supposed to know he was turning you two into junior criminal masterminds?”

  “He taught you the same things.”

  “Yes, but I use my powers for good, not evil.” Donald Greene sipped his coffee. “You know your mom will be devastated if you get into trouble again.”

  “But I’m not —”

  “Don’t forget who you’re talking to. I was you before you were even born.”

  Jackson looked at his father. “So now what?”

  “You’re old enough to know right and wrong, and to deal with the consequences of your actions.” He picked up his last cookie. “Whatever you have cooked up, I hope it’s worth it.”

  Jackson shoveled a spoonful of cereal into his mouth and said, “It has to do with Gaby.”

  His father laughed so hard that tears formed in the corners of his eyes. “I wish your granddad were here — I’d love to see the look on his face. Here you are, barely thirteen, and you’re already breaking the Code of Conduct.”

  “What? I’m not —”

  “Rule Number Three: Never con for love.”

  Jackson coughed, spraying milk and cereal all over the table. He tried to swallow the remaining cereal in his mouth. “Dad, I’m not … It isn’t like that…. I don’t —”

  “Love. Like. It’s all the same.”

  Jackson grabbed a handful of napkins and began sopping up the milk. “Didn’t you steal Mom from that guy she was dating in college by orchestrating a fight between her boyfriend and the swim team?”

  “Allegedly.”

  “Dad …”

  “What can I say? Some rules are made to be broken.” He rose from the table. “And it was the equestrian team.”

  Jackson watched his father put his mug in the sink. “That’s it?” he asked.

  “That’s it,” he said. “The rest is up to you.”

  Jackson looked at his cereal, now more soggy than crisp. “You mind handing me that cookie?”

  His father frowned as he shoved the cookie into his own mouth. “Now what type of parent would I be if I allowed my kid to eat cookies for breakfast?”

  Gaby walked into the living room, her cell phone in her hand. The aroma of chicken and onions hung in the air — her mother was cooking arroz con pollo for dinner — but she was too nervous to worry about food. Her mother looked respectable in a white blouse and jeans. Her father, on the other hand, sported a T-shirt that struggled to stretch across his belly and a pair of sweatpants covered in green, brown, and black paint splotches. At least she didn’t have to worry about Charlie. He was out doing who knows what with Jackson.

  “I just talked to Omar,” she said. “He’ll be over in ten minutes.”

  Her father didn’t turn away from the TV. “Okay.”

  “You’re changing, right?”

  “What? In the middle of the sixth inning? The Indians are up.”

  “Daddy …”

  He sniffed his armpit. “Not too ripe. As long as the kid doesn’t try to hug me, I should be fine.”

  “Daddy!”

  “When did it become illegal for a man to wear what he wanted to wear inside his own house?”

  Gaby planted her hands on her hips. “Mom, will you make Dad change?”

  Elena de la Cruz glanced up from her paperback. “Hector, why must you torment your daughter so?”

  “ ’Cause it’s fun.” He flipped to another channel — a football game. Ohio State was throttling a team Gaby didn’t recognize. “You and Omar shooting hoops again? Remind him that he’s supposed to get the ball through the rim.”

  “Daddy!”

  “I’m glad you’re getting a chance to meet this boy, Elena,” her father said, rising from his seat. “He’s … nice…. Though, as my abuelo would say, that boy is mas lento que una caravana de cobos.”

  “A caravan of crabs? He’s not that slow.”

  “You’d think he’d be black and blue, as many times as you ‘fouled’ him the other day. And I could tell you were holding back. Trying not to show him up.” He tugged his daughter’s ponytail. “That’s why I like it when you play with Jackson. Neither one of you backs down.”

  Gaby’s mother closed her paperback. “Jackson was here? I didn’t realize you two had made up.”

  “We haven’t.”

  Her father grunted. “Could have fooled me, the way you two were playing and laughing.”

  “We weren’t laughing. And I can’t believe you were spying on me!”

  “When did it become illegal for a man to watch his —”

  “Daddy!”

  “Fine, I’m going.” He stood up and kissed Gaby’s cheek. “I want to look my best for this nice guy who doesn’t know how to dribble a ball.”

  Gaby collapsed on the couch after he left the room. “He’s impossible!”

  “He’s just giving you a hard time.” Her mother picked up the remote and muted the television. “So Jackson was over here the other day? Did you have fun?”

  Gaby nodded. “I forgot how much I liked playing with him.”

  “But not Omar?”

  “I’m not one of your patients, Mom. Stop trying to get into my head.”

  “Honey, I’m only trying to be your mother. Nothing more. But I have to be honest — the formal is in a week, and you haven’t asked me once to take you shopping for a new dress. This is your first real date, and you’re acting like it’s not a big deal.”

  “It’s just some stupid dance.”

  “Then why was it so important last year? You dragged me to three different malls, remember?” She stared at her daughter. “Was it because you went as a big group last year? Or was it because a certain boy was part of that group?”

  “Mom …”

  “Okay, okay.” She patted her daughter’s knee. “So why is Omar coming over? Are you two playing basketball again?”

  “Yeah, for a while. Then … Then I have to tell him something.” She picked up a pillow from the couch and fluffed it. “I’m going to ask Carmen to be my campaign manager.”

  Gaby’s mom nodded. “From what you say about Carmen, she’ll be a great manager.”

  “That’s not all.” Gaby focused on the pillow in her lap. “I’m going to tell Omar that I don’t like him. I mean, I like him, but as a friend. We can still go to the formal together, but as a group, with Lynne and Fiona and everyone else.”

  “That’s probably smart. It was pretty obvious that you didn’t truly like him.”

  “Really?”

  She smiled. “It doesn’t take a psychology degree to figure out who you actually like.”

  Gaby exhaled as she loosened her ponytail. “He kissed another girl, Mom.”

  “Well, yes. But as I understand it, it was just a slight —”

  “Mom!” She swung the pillow at her mother’s legs. “Are you seriously taking Jackson’s side in this?”

  “I’m not taking his side, mija. It’s just … Jackson’s mother and I had lunch last month. I think he’s really sorry for what he did. And even though he’s one of the smartest kids I’ve ever met, he’s still just a boy. And boys — especially thirteen-year-old boys — can be as dense as a box of rocks … especially when it comes to girls they like.”

  Gaby raked her hair over her face, creating a dark, shiny curtain. “What should I do?”

  “You’re a smart girl, Gabriela.” Her mother grabbed the remote and turned the television volume up. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

  They sat like that for a while — Gaby with her hair in her face, and Gaby’s mother watching a game she had no interest in — until the doorbell rang.

  Gaby pulled her hair back into a ponytail and went to the door.

  “Hello,” Omar said. “I mean, hola.”

  Gaby’s mother rose and introduced herself. “I’ve heard so many … nice things about you. What brings you o
ver?”

  “Gaby suggested that I come over so we could shoot some hoops. She missed quite a few threes the other day, so I thought I could give her some pointers. Then I thought we could maybe work on her campaign.” He looked sideways at Gaby. “That is, of course, if that’s what you want to do.”

  “Oh, I see,” Gaby’s mother said, her eyes on her daughter.

  “Plus, I figured Gaby and I could talk about colors for the formal. I ordered a tux, but —”

  “You ordered a tux?” Gaby reeled backward. “You know this isn’t prom, right? It’s just a dance.”

  Elena de la Cruz placed her hand on her daughter’s shoulder and gave it a small squeeze. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”

  Gaby looked into Omar’s eyes. He was nice. So nice. Too nice for what she was about to do. “Let’s shoot some hoops.” She opened the door. “And then, after, let’s talk. About everything.”

  As Gabriela de la Cruz stood in her driveway, showing a nice — but mediocre — basketball player how to really play, Keith Sinclair sat in the Whetstone branch of the Columbus Metropolitan Library System (which, unlike the Shimmering Hills Library, was open seven days a week). As much as it pained him to admit it, Keith knew he wasn’t as smart as Jackson Greene. But as Keith saw it, with all the money, strength, and soon-to-be power he possessed, he didn’t need to be overly crafty.

  Keith reached for his cell phone as it vibrated on the table.

  Keith texted his location, then sat up and smoothed the wrinkles from his shirt. Although the boy walking into the library didn’t know it yet, he was about to get the offer of a lifetime.

  All he had to do was sell out Jackson Greene.

  With fewer than five days before the election, things seemed to be going extremely well for Jackson and his crew — or, as Bradley secretly called them, Gang Greene.

  It had taken all weekend, but they had bubbled in ballots for all 371 Maplewood students (they had Gaby winning by a believable but respectable margin). And though Jackson had yet to see the proof, Hashemi claimed he was almost finished with the modifications to the not-a-Scantron machine. Even Victor, usually a wellspring of complaints and gripes, had offered to pay for a celebratory dinner for the group after the election.

  Things were going so smoothly, Jackson gave the team Monday afternoon off. Hashemi decided to take a much-needed trip to the electronics store to pick up coding books for the universal translator he was building for the Tech Club. Sure, he was slightly behind schedule — the program was still in beta — but he was confident that with a few tweaks, it would be the most advanced translation program ever created.

  When he returned to the shed, he paused upon noticing the open door. The padlock was lying on the ground. He glanced at his watch. He was sure that Jackson was still at school — the Botany Club was in the middle of fall pruning — and no one else had a key to the shed.

  He pushed the door open, then dropped his bag of manuals.

  The worktable containing the schematics, the ballots, and the machine was bare — except for a small, folded note.

  Hashemi read the note, then whipped his head toward the pegboard where all the keys for the job resided.

  Empty.

  Hashemi fished through his book bag, finally getting his fingers around the MAPE. He punched the only number he had ever dialed into the phone.

  “Charlie, we’ve got a Code Blue.”

  Jackson arrived at the shed to find the door still gaping open. Charlie, Hashemi, and Bradley huddled around the worktable in the middle of the room.

  “It’s gone,” Charlie said as Jackson entered. “It’s all gone.”

  Jackson’s gaze bounced around the room. “Everything?”

  “Well, not my action figures,” Hashemi said. “But everything for the election job is gone.” While he hated being ransacked, he was thankful that the thief had left his memorabilia unharmed.

  “So now what?” Bradley asked.

  “So now we get ready to kiss up to President Keith Sinclair,” Hashemi said. “Without the keys, we can’t get into the main office and the copy room. Without the not-a-Scantron, we can’t switch out the machine. Without the ballots, we can’t ask for a recount.” Hashemi plopped onto a stool. “It’s over.”

  Jackson patted Hashemi’s shoulder. “Don’t be so down. As my grandfather used to say, ‘Diamonds are created under extreme pressure.’”

  “So are explosions,” Hashemi mumbled.

  “Remind me to teach you how to respond to a pep talk.” Jackson turned to Charlie. “Anyone heard from Victor?”

  Charlie shook his head. “We’ve been trying to contact him all afternoon.”

  Bradley took in a gulp of air. “Do you think Victor sold us out?”

  “Maybe. If the offer was good enough.” Jackson popped his knuckles. “It had to be Keith.”

  “Whoever it was, you’ll find out soon enough,” Hashemi said as he handed him the note he had found on the table. “You’re supposed to meet him in a hour.”

  Keith sat at a picnic table at Fitzgerald Park, surrounded by kids playing on the swings and jungle gym. From his seat, he could hear the cheers from the basketball court on the other side of the park — the very court where he had lost to Jackson four months ago.

  Funny how things change, Keith thought as Jackson marched toward the picnic table. Although Jackson sported his usual tie and blazer, his trademark grin was absent from his face.

  “Surprised?” Keith asked after Jackson sat down.

  “No. It had to be you.” Jackson brushed a stray leaf from the wooden table. “What did you offer Victor?”

  “I promised him that I wouldn’t cut the Chess Team’s budget.”

  “And do you plan to keep that promise?”

  Keith shrugged. “Depends on how much the Gamer Club’s new AV equipment costs.”

  Jackson tugged at his collar, loosening his red tie. “What do you want?”

  Even though Keith had a specific reason for calling Jackson here — a worthy, perhaps even honorable reason — he couldn’t help but blurt out: “I wanted you to know who beat you.”

  “You haven’t won yet.”

  “I have your Scantron machine —”

  “It’s not a Scantron machine.”

  “Whatever. I have the machine, the ballots you guys spent so much time filling out, and the keys to every room and file cabinet you need to crack. Even if you could replace all those things in time — which I know you can’t — you don’t have the money to do it.” Keith grinned. “Admit it. You’re beat.”

  Jackson rose from the table. “If you just wanted to gloat, you’re wasting my time.”

  “Wait. Maybe I do have something to offer.” Keith watched as Jackson sank back into his seat. “I think it’s time to call a truce.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “I’m serious.” Keith forced himself to meet Jackson’s gaze. “If I wanted to be mean, I could have taken all of Hashemi’s silly dolls —”

  “Action figures.”

  “Call them whatever you want. I could have taken them and everything else in that shed. But I didn’t. I chose not to. I didn’t want to escalate things like you always do.”

  “You know the rules,” Jackson said. “Hashemi’s stuff is off-limits. If you had actually taken it …”

  “Not everyone lives by your silly Code of Conduct,” Keith reminded Jackson. “But I did, this one time, because I’m tired of fighting. So here’s the deal. If you promise not to retaliate — if you let me be Student Council president and promise not to show me up at any other events — I’ll give the Botany Club enough money for seed and fertilizer and whatever other crap you need.”

  Jackson studied Keith. “How do I know you’ll keep your word?”

  “You don’t. But I respect you, Jackson. You’re smarter than you look. And quite frankly, I’m tired of dealing with you.” Keith paused as a roar escaped from the basketball courts. “If I can buy your cooperation with the Botany Club, so
be it.”

  “What about the other clubs?”

  “Why do you care?” Keith asked. “You’re getting what you want. Isn’t that enough?”

  Jackson remained quiet for a few minutes. He may have been a master planner, but he hadn’t counted on this. It was actually quite smart of Keith — if he was telling the truth.

  Another roar came from the basketball courts. Jackson still remembered how he felt when he passed Gaby the ball for the last shot of the Blitz. He had trusted her, and she had delivered.

  “Good luck with the election,” Jackson said, rising from his seat. “You’ll need it.”

  “You know you can’t win.”

  “Maybe I don’t have to. From the way it sounds, plenty of people are lining up to vote for Gaby,” he said. “Have you thought about what would happen if you lost the election? If Gaby beat you? Talk about embarrassing.”

  Keith crossed his arms. “That’s not going to happen.”

  Jackson pulled his tie back into place. “Like I said before — good luck.”

  Two hours later, Jackson stood in front of Charlie, Hashemi, and Bradley. His Earl Grey tea, long cold, sat abandoned on the worktable.

  Hashemi slammed his fist on the table. “The next time I see Victor —”

  “You’re not going to do anything,” Jackson said. “We don’t work like that.”

  “But he —”

  “Victor isn’t the problem here. We have four days, no money, no machine, no keys. Nothing.” Jackson looked every one of them in the eye. “But I have a plan. It’s risky. And if we get caught —”

  “I’m in,” Charlie said.

  “Me too,” Hashemi said. “Nerds aren’t supposed to sell out other nerds. It’s in the handbook.”

  Jackson turned to Bradley. “What about you?”

  “If it wasn’t for you guys, I would have spent the last three weeks at home by myself. So yeah, I’m in.”

  Jackson nodded at the group. “Hash, if I got a new machine by Wednesday afternoon, what could you do with it?”

  “I couldn’t rig it like I did the old one.” Hashemi looked at a schematic on his laptop, which he luckily had with him at the time of the shed robbery. “I had to rebuild the motherboard on the other one. There’s no way that I can do that in two days.”