The Great Greene Heist

by Varian Johnson

  While a certain gold-toothed, sunglass-wearing deliveryman walked toward the main office with a not-a-Scantron machine, Keith entered the gym with Alyssa Robbins by his side. She didn’t really like him, but he was in eighth grade and was a jock. She was a seventh grader and wanted to be noticed. It was a match made in heaven.

  “Hello, Gaby,” Keith said when they reached the flower table. “Whose idea was it for the flowers?”

  Gaby glanced toward the corner, then forced a smile. “You know how good ideas are. It’s hard to pin them on one person. It’s more of a group effort.” Her gaze dropped to the table. “I’m sure there’s one here for you.”

  “Of course there is,” Mrs. McCoy said, walking over to Gaby and Keith. “I see you found yours, Gabriela. And Keith, here’s yours.”

  The red rose, with its large and crisp petals, looked massive in Mrs. McCoy’s hands. The boutonniere was accented with baby’s breath and green leatherleaf, but the rose was the center of attention.

  “It’s hypoallergenic,” she said, stretching her hand toward him. “That means you won’t be allergic to it.”

  Keith cleared his throat and reminded himself to talk with some bass in his voice. “I know what hypoallergenic means.”

  He was lying, of course.

  Alyssa pointed to Keith’s chest. “What about the boutonniere I gave you?”

  Keith’s eyes went from the flower in Mrs. McCoy’s hands to the other flowers on the table. The other candidates’ flowers paled in size and color. Their flowers were adequate. His was tailored for a king. Or a president.

  “I’m sorry, Alyssa,” he said. “But I have to wear this one. I wouldn’t want to be different from the other candidates.”

  Bradley stood in the office, holding a rose similar to Keith’s. “Mrs. McCoy asked me to bring this. She said it’s hypoallergenic. That means you won’t be allergic to it.”

  Dr. Kelsey took the flower. “I know what hypoallergenic means.”

  He was lying, of course.

  Bradley began to walk out, but stopped and snapped his fingers. “Did they ever deliver the scoring machine?”

  “They just dropped it off,” Dr. Kelsey replied, fumbling with the flower. Finally, he pinned it to his jacket, proud that he only stuck himself twice. “I need to find Lincoln so I can get back to the formal. I want to keep my eye on things out there.”

  “Want me to find him and send him this way?”

  “Are you sure you don’t mind?” Dr. Kelsey sucked on his thumb. “You should be dancing. Having fun.”

  Bradley opened the door. “I promise, I’m having the time of my life right now.”

  As the gym filled with awkward boys and pretty girls, the DJ began pumping music through the speakers. From his corner, Jackson saw Bradley talk with Lincoln, then lead him out of the gym. He checked his watch and moved to a new corner, and tried to ignore how close Gaby and Omar danced to each other.

  “Decide to be a wallflower?” Keith asked as Jackson passed by the snack table en route to another corner.

  Jackson nodded at Keith’s boutonniere. “That’s a big rose. It matches your ego.”

  Keith glared. “What do you have planned? What are you trying to pull?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Jackson walked away, but Keith followed. “Even if you somehow got your hands on the Scantron machine, there’s no way you could have rigged it in a day,” Keith said. “According to Victor, it took the butterball five days to modify the old one.”

  “You’re right. There’s no way Hashemi could learn from his mistakes and rig a scoring machine within that time frame. It’s clearly impossible,” Jackson said, yawning. “And like I said, it’s not a Scantron.”

  Keith could feel doubt eating away at his confidence. “Even then, there’s no way you could switch out the —”

  “Relax, Keith.” Jackson patted his shoulder. “I’m sure you and Kelsey have it under control. You thought of everything, right?” He winked. “May the best woman win.”

  Jackson strutted off, leaving Keith with his mouth gaping open for the second time that day. He finally snapped it shut and marched toward the dance floor. He grabbed Wilton, mumbled a brief apology to Wilton’s date, and dragged him away.

  “I knew it!” Keith said, stopping at the snack table. “Jackson rigged the machine. Did Victor rebubble all those ballots like I asked?”

  Wilton rubbed his arm where Keith had grabbed him. “He wasn’t happy about it, but he did it. His hand looks like it got caught in a trash compactor.”

  “Like I care about Victor Cho. He should be glad I’m letting him keep his Chess Team.” He scanned the gym for Jackson Greene, but he had disappeared. “Go get the ballots and meet me in the atrium in ten minutes. We can hide behind that row of potted plants.”

  “Keith —”

  “I’ve got the keys to the main office and the copy room. All we have to do is wait for Lincoln to leave the room, then we’ll sneak in and replace the real ballots with ours. We’ll run the same con that Jackson was trying to pull — call for a recount and win once they hand-count the ballots.”

  “But why? Kelsey guaranteed you a win. What more do you want?”

  “You think I trust Kelsey? There’s no way I’m leaving this election up to him.” Keith grabbed Wilton’s arm again. “So come on —”

  “No.” He shrugged Keith off. “Go on your own if you want. The ballots are in my gym locker. But I’m not sneaking into the office. I’m through with all your crazy schemes.”

  Keith reeled back. “You’re supposed to be my right-hand man.”

  “No, I’m supposed to be your treasurer,” Wilton said. “But maybe I’ll be Gaby’s.”

  Lincoln sat in the copy room, the green plastic seat hard and cold beneath him, and stared as one ballot after another slipped through the machine. It was akin to watching water drip from a rusty faucet. In the middle of the night. After being awake for forty-nine hours.

  But Lincoln wasn’t going to complain. This was his job. His responsibility. Even though he wasn’t allowed to touch the machine, other than to load the feeding tray. Even though Dr. Kelsey had forbidden him from printing out the scoring results. Even though every minute spent in the copy room was a minute away from Megan Feldman.

  The key to the copy room rested on the table next to the scoring machine. It was Dr. Kelsey’s personal copy — he had demanded that Lincoln keep it in his sight at all times. And that’s exactly what Lincoln did, letting his gaze bounce between the key and the machine. He was so busy staring that at first he didn’t hear the tapping.

  It wasn’t until banging replaced the tapping that Lincoln shook himself from his slouch, grabbed the key, and raced out of the room. Once he saw who was standing beyond the main office windows, he ran faster.

  “Hey, Megan,” he said after he cracked open the office door. “What are you —”

  “I’ve been looking all over for you.” A charcoal-gray jacket rested loosely on her shoulders. “You promised me a dance, remember?”

  Lincoln wished he had popped a mint before opening the door. “Um … Yes. But the results aren’t done yet.”

  “How much longer? The DJ promised to play my favorite song.”

  “I don’t know….”

  “Let’s find out,” Megan said, already pushing her way inside the office.

  Lincoln followed her down the hallway. “I don’t think this is a good idea. Dr. Kelsey said —”

  “What? You think I’ll tamper with the results?”

  “No, of course not.” Lincoln opened the copy room door for her.

  Megan put her hands on her hips as she peered at the ballots. “What do you think? Maybe halfway though?”

  “Yeah. Maybe.” Her eyes were just too much — too clear, too crisp, too beautiful — to stare at, so Lincoln focused on the jacket around her perfect frame, and the small red flower tucked into the buttonhole on the lapel.

  “Come on,” she
said. “Load up the rest of the ballots, and let’s go.”

  “But I’m supposed to —”

  “It’s not like you need to be here the entire time.” She held out her hand, palm up. “Come on. Give me the key and load up those ballots.”

  “But —”

  “Lincoln. Key. Ballots. Now.”

  As he dropped the key into her hand, he hoped it wasn’t too sweaty. He hastily loaded the remaining ballots onto the feeding tray, then followed her out of the office. He watched her lock the copy room door, then he checked to make sure that the main office door locked behind them.

  Megan slid the copy room key into her jacket pocket, then slipped her arm into his. “I hope they haven’t already played the song.”

  He took two steps, then stopped. “Um … Maybe you’d better give me the key. Just in case you forget.”

  She reached into her pocket. “Sorry. What was I thinking?” She placed the cold, dry key in his hand. “I’d hate to lose that. No telling what would happen if the wrong person got their hands on it.”

  Lincoln nodded and stuffed the key into his pocket. As they turned down the hall toward the gym, he was so intent on not tripping, on not making a fool of himself, on not sweating all over Megan’s arm, he didn’t hear the hushed footsteps of one of Maplewood’s finest student-athletes carrying a book bag full of ballots across the atrium, the jingle of two keys in his pocket.

  Lincoln wanted to enjoy himself. To be happy. To have a night to remember.

  So did Keith.

  “They’re on the move,” Hashemi said.

  “We’ve got a problem,” Charlie replied, the music blaring all around him. His hands, his face, his entire body felt weighed down with sweat. “Jackson can’t shake Kelsey. He’s trying to be incognito, but he’s following Jackson like a shadow.” He started to move toward the center of the room. “Maybe I can make a diversion —”

  “Negative,” Jackson mumbled into his vest. He dropped to his feet and pretended to adjust his shoe. “Charlie, you have the equipment. You can’t be tied up. Think of something else.” Just as Kelsey approached, Jackson stood up and continued on.

  Charlie’s eyes burnt from the sweat pouring down his forehead. “Megan, can you stall?”

  A few seconds later, Megan’s voice floated over the boys’ earpieces. “Hold up a second. These heels are killing me.”

  As Lincoln mumbled a reply, Charlie said, “Bradley, I need you to make a diversion.”

  “What?”

  “Do something. Anything. I don’t care.”

  “But —”

  “Just make it happen. Now.”

  Bradley sighed. “Fine, I’m on it.” He quickly crossed the dance floor, passing Dr. Kelsey and Mr. Garcia, one of the unfortunate teachers drafted into serving as a chaperone. He hovered by the snack table and waited as Omar poured himself a glass of strawberry punch. Then, right as Mickey Mac hit the highest of high notes in the Sk8tr Boiz’s new number-one single, “U R 2 Much 4 Me,” Bradley closed his eyes and leapt into the table.

  Dr. Kelsey peeled his gaze away from Jackson as the sound of shattering glass echoed throughout the gym. “What in the world … ?”

  “I think someone tripped,” Mr. Garcia said, pointing to the lanky boy laid out in the corner, his hands cupped around his nose. Omar stood beside him, his suit drenched with red punch. What remained of the snack table lay scattered across the floor. “From the way it looks, he fell pretty hard.” He started toward the student, but stopped once he noticed that Dr. Kelsey wasn’t following. “Dr. Kelsey? Are you coming?”

  Dr. Kelsey took one final look at Jackson Greene, still standing in his corner. “Of course. Let’s see what’s going on.”

  As soon as Dr. Kelsey turned toward Bradley, Jackson bolted toward the gymnasium doors. “Charlie?”

  “Already on my way. I’ll meet you at the office.”

  Jackson burst out of the side doors of the gymnasium, almost running into Megan and Lincoln.

  “There you are,” Megan said, already slipping off the jacket. “I was so cold. Thank you for letting me borrow this.”

  “No problem,” Jackson said. He nodded at Lincoln, took the jacket, and kept moving.

  Charlie stood outside the main office, a small black bag hanging from his shoulder. “How about Bradley, taking one for the team?” He elbowed Jackson. “I picked him, you know.”

  “Focus today. Gloat tomorrow.” Jackson slipped the bump key into the lock and opened the door. As soon as it shut behind them, they raced toward the copy room.

  Keith paused as he heard voices outside the door. He had just started replacing the real ballots with his doctored ones. It was taking longer than he expected — he hadn’t counted on so many students voting for Gaby. (And by “so many,” he meant “everyone.”) But now, as the voices got closer, he worried that he’d taken too long. He looked around the room, hoping that a window would miraculously appear. Then he noticed the closet.

  Ballots in hand, he dove into the closet and yanked the door shut. Seconds later, he heard the copy room door creak open.

  “Switch out just enough to tip it in Gaby’s favor. And hurry. Lincoln won’t be dancing forever.”

  Keith stiffened. He knew that voice.

  Jackson Greene.

  So Jackson hadn’t rigged the machine, he thought. Jackson was doing exactly what he planned to do.

  He almost stepped out of the closet, but stopped himself. This was even better. After Jackson finished with the ballots, he’d swap them out with his.

  Focus today, he told himself, repeating a line that he’d heard somewhere before. Gloat tomorrow.

  So he sat back down and listened as Jackson noisily shuffled around the room.

  Finally, after what felt like hours, he heard Jackson say, “Okay, I think we’re good.”

  A few seconds later, the door clicked shut.

  Keith cautiously exited the closet. Not wanting to spend any more time in the room, he grabbed all the ballots from the machine, removed roughly 80 percent, then shuffled his doctored ones into the pile. He placed half in the queue to run through the machine and the others in the pile that had already been scored. If it turned out that Gaby won, he’d just call for a recount.

  He started the machine again, paused to straighten his boutonniere, then walked to the door.

  He inserted his key and —

  Nothing.

  The key didn’t turn.

  The knob didn’t turn.

  The door didn’t, wouldn’t, couldn’t open.

  Keith Sinclair was locked inside the copy room.

  Once Dr. Kelsey got Bradley to his feet and sent a student to get a mop and some towels, he turned back to the corner of the gym.

  Jackson Greene had disappeared.

  He grabbed his walkie-talkie. “Mr. James, where are you?”

  The line crackled alive. “Outside in the golf cart,” Mr. James said. “I’m, um … surveying the parking lot.”

  “I need you inside. We need to find Jackson Greene.”

  “Did he do something wrong?” Mr. James asked.

  Dr. Kelsey snorted. “He’s Jackson Greene. He’s always up to something, and with all the strangeness going on today, I wouldn’t put it past him to be involved.”

  “Maybe he just went to the restroom?”

  Dr. Kelsey started toward the gymnasium doors, but stopped when he saw Lincoln slow-dancing with Megan. “Mr. Garcia, as soon as this song ends, please escort Mr. Miller to the main office. I’ll meet you there in five minutes, as soon as I walk the halls.”

  Dr. Kelsey zipped through each hallway, moving faster than a man of his age, size, and health should. When he reached the main office, he couldn’t even acknowledge Mr. Garcia or Lincoln — he was too out of breath.

  He wiped the moisture from his forehead and raised the walkie-talkie. “Did you … find him?”

  “No, sir,” Mr. James replied.

  “Check the second floor. I know he’s here.”
Dr. Kelsey stretched his hand toward Lincoln. “My key.”

  His hand shaking like a leaf in a hurricane, Lincoln dropped the key into Dr. Kelsey’s hand. “I’m sorry. It’s just … Megan wanted to dance. And I —”

  “Are the results finalized?” a new voice asked.

  Dr. Kelsey turned around to see Gabriela and Charlie de la Cruz standing behind him. “When we saw Lincoln walking back, we assumed that the ballots had been tallied,” Gaby said.

  “Let’s go check.” Dr. Kelsey pulled a small ring of keys from his jacket pocket. He slipped the copy room key back on the key ring, then fished out the key to the main office. Although he didn’t want all these students in his copy room, he also wanted to keep tabs on Charlie de la Cruz. If Jackson really was up to something, Charlie was probably in on it as well.

  He unlocked the door. “Mr. Garcia, see if you can help Mr. James find Jackson Greene.”

  Gaby noticed Charlie flinch at the mention of Jackson’s name. “Something wrong?” she whispered.

  Charlie grinned so wide, his face practically disappeared behind his smile. “No problem. Not at all,” he said, following Dr. Kelsey into the office.

  At the copy room door, Dr. Kelsey couldn’t help but notice how shiny and sharp the key was — nothing like the dull, dirty one he’d been carrying around for years. He wondered if Lincoln had cleaned it for him while he was waiting.

  He rubbed his jaw as he looked at the ballots pouring through the machine. “Should be just about done.”

  “So it’s just about done?” Charlie repeated loudly, his mouth directed at his tie.

  “Um … Yes,” Dr. Kelsey said, frowning.

  Charlie smiled. “Good. I can’t wait to see the results.”

  Lincoln returned to his hard plastic seat. Dr. Kelsey planted himself in front of the scoring machine. Charlie and Gaby leaned against the wall. And they waited.

  Just as the last ballot ran through the machine, Bradley appeared at the door, his shirt covered in red punch and potato chip crumbs. He held a bouquet of flowers in his hands, as far away from his body as his arms would allow. “These were just delivered,” he said, entering the room. “They’re for you, Gaby.”