The Great Greene Heist

by Varian Johnson

  Sweat trickled down Lincoln’s arm. “Um … I think that’s an excellent idea,” he said.

  “Since the Honor Board is responsible for the election process, you’ll have to take part in the first dance as well.” She stepped closer to him. “You are coming to the formal tonight, right?”

  “I … I didn’t plan on it.”

  “Why not?”

  He gulped. “I don’t have a date.”

  Megan patted his arm. “That’s okay. When it comes time for the inaugural dance, you can just dance with me.”

  “What do you mean, it’s broken?!” Lincoln said, his voice as loud as the groaning, grating sound emanating from the scoring machine. “It can’t be broken!”

  Mrs. Goldman turned off the machine. “Looks like you’ll have to wait until Monday to announce the results.”

  “Maybe I can score the ballots by hand.”

  “I doubt Dr. Kelsey will allow you to miss class just to count the ballots.”

  “Maybe the office helpers can chip in. That kid Bradley — he’s pretty dependable.”

  She shook her head. “Our office helpers have more important things to do than score election ballots.”

  “But the cheerleaders … There’s a new tradition….” He furrowed his brow. “You said this was a new machine, right? Can we get the old one back?”

  “Lincoln, I don’t think —”

  “Please.” His voice cracked. “This is really, really important.”

  She sighed. “Let me get the number.” She slipped on her glasses and peered at the label on the machine. “Don’t get your hopes up. It’s almost impossible to get something delivered before the end of the day. Especially on a Friday.”

  After she jotted the number on the back of her hand, Mrs. Goldman returned to her desk with Lincoln a few steps behind. Bradley looked up from the counter (where he was engaged in the all-important task of color-coding paper clips) but didn’t speak as Mrs. Goldman updated Dr. Kelsey on the status of the machine. Then she called the leasing company.

  “Hello,” she said. “This is Alicia Goldman from Maplewood…. That’s right, you guys delivered a machine to us today. It seems that the machine is broken…. Yes, I understand, but perhaps you could return the old one.” She nodded as someone on the other end of the phone spoke, then put her hand over the receiver. “He’s checking with the delivery person now.”

  As Lincoln crossed his fingers and toes, he thought about Megan’s tousled hair, dimpled cheeks, and perfect smile. He could almost see himself dancing with her. That was a lot better than going to Stewart Hogan’s house to play Ultimate Fantasy IV. Stewart couldn’t find a date to the formal either.

  “Oh, I see,” Mrs. Goldman said, snapping Lincoln back to the present. “You can’t deliver it until six o’clock? Okay, thank you.”

  She hung up the phone and turned to a shell-shocked Lincoln. “It looks like we’re going to have to wait until Monday.”

  Bradley cleared his throat. “Why can’t they deliver it tonight?” he asked. “Everyone will be here for the formal.”

  “Not me,” Mrs. Goldman said. “And neither will Ms. Appleton.”

  “But once it’s here, I can handle running the machine myself,” Lincoln said. “It’s my duty — no, my responsibility — to tally those votes. People are depending on me.”

  Mrs. Goldman rolled her eyes as she looked at Dr. Kelsey. He frowned, tapped the rim of his reading glasses, then finally nodded. “Go ahead and call them back,” Dr. Kelsey said. “I’ll sign for the machine tonight.”

  Dr. Kelsey returned to his office, and Lincoln left to find Megan. Mrs. Goldman picked up the phone. “I swear, everyone at that company seems familiar,” she said as she punched the keypad. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say the person on the other end of the phone sounded just like one of the Greene boys.”

  Keith couldn’t help but smile as he walked — no, strutted — to the office. It was minutes before the last bell, and all the candidates had been asked to meet with Dr. Kelsey. This could only mean one thing. He was about to be named the next Student Council president.

  He paused at the door and took a few deep breaths. He wanted to compose himself to make sure he looked confident. Regal. Presidential.

  He turned as he heard footsteps behind him. “Hey, Gaby,” he said. He opened the door for her. “Ladies first. It’s the least your president can do.”

  She huffed. “Isn’t that a bit cocky?”

  “Not cocky. Confident. It’s one of my many presidential features.”

  They stepped into Dr. Kelsey’s office, joining the candidates for the other offices. Keith had to stand close to Gaby so they could all fit inside. Not that he minded.

  “I think that’s everyone,” Dr. Kelsey said. He wiped his nose, then stuffed the linen handkerchief into his jacket pocket. “How many of you are attending the formal?” After everyone raised their hands, he said, “Good. Because due to a malfunction with the scoring machine, we won’t be able to announce the results until tonight.”

  Keith tensed up. “What’s the problem?”

  “The district supplied a faulty machine this morning. They’ll deliver our old one back to us this evening.”

  “But —”

  “It’s under control. Lincoln Miller will scan the ballots himself.”

  “But … but …”

  “Okay, see you all tonight,” Dr. Kelsey said, waving his hand dismissively.

  As everyone filed out of the room, Keith remained in place, staring at the top of Dr. Kelsey’s head.

  “Close your mouth,” Gaby said as she pushed past him. “You’re drooling all over your presidential features.”

  Keith slammed his fist into his locker, making the metal ring throughout the hallway.

  Wilton took a timid step toward him. “Dude, calm down. You’ll find out tonight.”

  “Jackson’s behind this.” He hit the locker again. “Are you sure you and Victor cleaned everything out of that shed?”

  Wilton looked around. “Maybe we shouldn’t be talking about this out in the open.”

  “Did you get it all or not?”

  Wilton quickly nodded. “We got everything,” he whispered. “The ballots. The machine. All the keys.”

  “Are you sure?” He undid his padlock and opened the door. “You have to be absolutely —”

  Keith froze — not blinking, not even breathing — as he gazed inside his locker.

  It was empty, except for a lone ballot.

  Keith grabbed the ballot and stared at the message written across it.

  Keep it. There are 371 more

  where this came from.

  Contrary to the words scrawled across the walls of the boys’ bathroom, Dr. Kelsey was indeed a smart man. He hadn’t wanted to say anything in front of the students, especially Keith, but the problems with the scanner stunk of Jackson Greene.

  Dr. Kelsey leaned back in his chair and slipped his hands behind his head. He could call off the election, delay things until Monday.

  Or he could let things unfold. Roderick Sinclair’s generous donation had already been deposited into his account. The way he saw it, he had little to lose and everything to gain — like the chance to expel a certain student.

  He’d caught Jackson Greene once before. How hard would it be to catch him again?

  As soon as Megan entered the back room of Basilone’s Lock and Key, she made a beeline for Jackson Greene.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Don’t you feel a little guilty?”

  “About what? Rigging the machine? Breaking into the copy room?”

  Megan shook her head. “I’m fine with that. But we’re not just breaking a few stupid rules. We’re leading people on. I’m leading someone on.” She shuddered. “It’s a bit disgusting.”

  “Lincoln?”

  She nodded.

  “Think about it this way,” Jackson began, spinning his pencil between his fingers. “You’re not leading Linc
oln on — you’re just promising to dance with him. Nothing more, nothing less. You like him enough to dance with him, right?”

  Megan thought for a second. “Sure. I’d dance with just about anyone.”

  There was a loud crash at the other end of the room.

  “My fault,” Hashemi yelled as he knelt to pick up some scattered electronics. “Just dropped a laptop battery on my foot. But I’m okay. No broken bones. I’m still in good enough shape to dance tonight…. You know, if anyone wants to dance … Not that I’m trying to force anyone to dance with me …”

  Jackson leaned into Megan. “Since you like dancing so much, maybe you could find time to dance with a few other guys as well.”

  Megan rolled her eyes. “Boys. So cute, yet so stupid.”

  Jackson called the group together. “Hash, you want to explain how we’re going to communicate tonight — assuming nothing’s broken?”

  “Nothing’s broken,” he said. “Like I said, my foot —”

  “I was talking about the equipment.”

  “Oh, of course. So yes, thanks to Megan, we have a state-of-the-art communications system. It’s designed to ignore background noise and amplify the voice speaking into the microphone. I’ll be able to monitor you all and patch you in to the other team members.” Hashemi held up a small earpiece. “I found these at The Spy Zone. The earbud is tiny, hardly detectible. And this …” He waved a small square of black plastic. “This is the microphone. It’ll be linked via Bluetooth to a cell phone you’ll carry in your pocket.” Hashemi tucked the microphone in the breast pocket of his shirt. “Bradley and I tested them out a few minutes ago. They work perfectly, and the battery will last at least six hours.”

  “Phones?” Jackson asked.

  Hashemi pulled a thin flip phone from his back pocket. “It isn’t fancy, but it’ll get the job done.”

  Samuel looked at his brother. “You know what will happen if Kelsey finds you with a cell phone.”

  Jackson smirked. “Then I guess he’d better not find it.”

  “And what am I supposed to do with the microphone?” Megan stood and poked Hashemi’s breast pocket. “I’m wearing a dress. It’s strapless.”

  Bradley raised his hand, but after Jackson flashed him a look, he dropped his arm. “Maybe Megan doesn’t need one. We’ll know where she is,” Bradley said.

  Jackson shook his head. “We all have to stay in contact. It’s too risky.”

  “Well, I’m not changing my outfit,” she said.

  “Maybe I can make it into some type of necklace,” Hashemi offered. “I just need to get my hands on some copper wire to —”

  “Hold up,” Megan said. “Let me see the microphone again.”

  After Hashemi handed her the microphone, she bounced it in the palm of her hand and gauged its weight. “It’s pretty small…. I think I can find somewhere to hide it.”

  Hashemi frowned. “The microphone has to be close to your mouth in order to pick up your voice.”

  “I know,” she replied.

  “So you can’t put it in your purse or anything like that,” he continued.

  “She knows,” Jackson said.

  “So where are you going to hide it?” Hashemi asked. “If your dress is strapless, you won’t have anywhere close enough to your mouth to put it….”

  And then, finally, Hashemi got it.

  “The things I do for you guys,” Megan mumbled. “Where’s your bathroom, Ray? Let’s see if this’ll work.”

  Ray led her to the bathroom. Hashemi’s face was still as red as spaghetti sauce when he returned. “Smooth, Hashemi,” Ray said, trying not to laugh. “Real smooth.”

  Hashemi buried his head in his hands. “I am such an idiot.”

  “Focus, Hash.” Jackson sat back down. “Will you be able to track us?”

  Hashemi nodded. “I’ll be in the van. Watching your every move. And hiding from Megan.”

  Jackson gave him a sympathetic pat on the back, then turned to Charlie. “Do you know if Megan coordinated with the cheerleaders and Mrs. McCoy?”

  “Each candidate’s gift will be waiting for them when they arrive.”

  “And the Robot in Disguise?”

  Samuel stood. “Me and Ray have it covered.”

  “One last thing,” Jackson said. “Everyone remember the signal for a Code Red?”

  He waited until everyone nodded. “Good. Meet you at the school at six.” He tucked his pencil behind his ear. “Let’s go steal an election.”

  Jackson walked up the long, cracked concrete path to the gymnasium. His brother’s three-piece charcoal suit was nearly a perfect fit. His shoes were so polished that he could see his reflection (he’d checked), and his cuff links shined in the evening light. Although his brother had tried to convince him to wear a bow tie, Jackson remained faithful to his own tastes, and instead wore a striped red tie.

  One look at Charlie’s neon-blue bow tie and vest convinced Jackson that he had made the right choice.

  “Like it?” Charlie asked. “Dad let me borrow it.”

  “It’s a classic,” Jackson said. He fiddled with his cuff. “So how does she look?”

  “Good. Perfect. She’ll have Lincoln eating out of her —”

  “I wasn’t asking about Megan.”

  “Oh? Oh.” Charlie glanced toward the open doors of the gym. “She’s inside. Why don’t you see for yourself?”

  “In a second.” He pulled his sleeve back over his cuff. “I kind of lied when I said you were a floater. I need you to run point.”

  Charlie felt himself jerk backward. “Wait…. What?”

  “You’re right about Kelsey. He’ll be on me all night. You have to run the team.”

  Charlie waited for the smile to crack on Jackson’s face. It never came. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

  “Hashemi’s not the only one who performs better under pressure.” He punched Charlie’s shoulder. “Now, if you’ll excuse me….”

  Jackson left a wide-eyed Charlie de la Cruz on the sidewalk and entered the gym. To the left, members of the Botany Club sat at a foldout table underneath a sign that said FLOWERS FOR THE CANDIDATES.

  Although Gaby stood at the table with her back to Jackson, he recognized her immediately. She wore a long flowing dress — jet black with touches of silver and lace. Her hair was curled and pinned to the top of her head, showing off her long, graceful neck.

  “Need help with that?” he asked as she picked up one of the corsages.

  Gaby hesitated, then allowed him to take the corsage. “You look nice.”

  “So do you. But you always look nice.” He focused on the corsage, working to fasten it to her dress without touching too much of her skin. Stealing the Riggins Middle School goat had been less nerve-wracking.

  “Maybe you should let me do that,” Winnie, one of the Botany Club members, said.

  Jackson flashed Gaby an inquisitive look.

  “No, it’s okay,” Gaby said, her cheeks warming. “I think he’s almost got it.”

  He finished pinning the corsage without sticking her or himself. “Where’s Omar?”

  She nodded toward the lone basketball goal that remained unfolded. A handful of boys stood underneath, while Omar, in full tuxedo — cummerbund and all — slipped and slid across the floor, trying his best to dribble in his loafers.

  “Maybe the tux will improve his jump shot.”

  “Jackson …”

  “I’ll be nice. I promise.” He stepped away and looked at the corsage. “It goes well with your dress.”

  “A red chrysanthemum.” She glanced at his lapel. “And you’re wearing a flower as well?”

  “It’s called a pimpernel.”

  “Scarlet?”

  “Maybe I just wanted to match you.” He smiled. “And let’s be honest — if you’re going to wear a pimpernel, it may as well be scarlet.”

  She waved toward the table. “Why do I get the feeling you’re behind this?”

  “Like I
said — you deserve flowers.”

  Gaby glanced toward the basketball goal, where Omar had just launched a missile that ricocheted off the rim, almost taking out the punch bowl. “What would have happened if he bought me a corsage?”

  “I guess you would have had to make a choice.”

  Gaby stepped closer to Jackson. “Just what are you saying, Jackson Greene?”

  Before he could respond, Jackson heard a beep in his ear, then the crackle of static. Finally, a voice came through the earpiece. “This is Hashemi, checking in. Jackson, you there?”

  Jackson sighed. “Let’s talk later,” he said to Gaby. “There are … too many people around.”

  He left her standing by the practically empty flower table, her face a mixture of surprise and confusion, and walked off to a secluded corner of the gym. He unbuttoned his jacket and patted his vest pockets, just to be sure the cell phone and mic were hidden from view. “Charlie, this is your baby. Run us through.”

  “Uh, okay,” Charlie said, his voice quiet but steady. “Everyone check in.”

  “I’m inside the gym,” Jackson said. “Waiting for mark number one.”

  “Bradley here. Walking toward the main office. Looking for mark number two. I also passed by Megan. She probably can’t respond, but she’s with the cheerleaders.”

  “Hashemi, does the tracking work?” Charlie asked, his voice louder.

  The team heard the clicking of keys through their earpieces. “Affirmative. We’re up and running. I can see you all.” Hashemi cleared his throat. “I bet you’re all so comfortable. Standing up. Able to stretch. Able to move.”

  Charlie groaned. “Hashemi …”

  “I mean, I’m not complaining. Why go to a dance, where there are girls and music, when I can sit on a milk crate in a van with a hot laptop balanced on my knees?”

  Charlie laughed. “I hate to interrupt your plea for sympathy, but mark number one is approaching the gym. Jackson, any last words?”

  Jackson slipped off his jacket and threw it over his shoulder. “Hash, tell Ray to deliver the package.”