The Gollywhopper Games

by Jody Feldman

  Gil wasn’t about to argue with her. He sat. “My mom’s a nurse, too.”

  “She’s probably not a school nurse, though.”

  Gil laughed and let her tend to his knee through the rip in his jeans. “Thank you,” Gil said. “For everything.”

  Francine helped him up. “Now you hold on to that ticket, you hear?”

  Gil nodded, tried out his knee. It only stung a little bit. He raced back to his stuff, hoping it was still there. Hoping he still had a place in line.

  CHAPTER 4

  The wind had blown his sleeping bag a little, but all his gear was there. Gil took a deep breath, folded his yellow card, shoved it into the depths of his front pocket. He flopped down, looking toward the stadium, toward the masses in front of him, until a laugh shot out from behind him.

  Gil turned and focused on long, white-blonde hair, then shocking pink fingernails.

  The girl spun around, as if she knew his eyes were boring holes into her willowy shoulders.

  He looked down. Picked at a thread on his duffel.

  “Hi!” Gil heard her say. “Hello-o? Are you deaf?”

  Gil looked up. “Who, me?”

  “Yeah, you. I don’t have eyes in the back of my head, so I’m usually talking to whoever I’m looking at. Maybe I’ll call you Freckles.”

  Gil smiled.

  “Or Dimples.”

  Gil smiled harder, scrambled to his feet.

  “Anyway, hi! I’m Bianca LaBlanc. Do you like it? My name, I mean. My real name is BetsiJo Hammermeister, but have you ever heard of a super-model named BetsiJo Hammermeister? That’s what I want to be: a model and an actress. Wouldn’t it be great if I won?” She threw open her arms, gave a laugh. “They couldn’t resist putting me in all their commercials. Me! BetsiJo Ham—I mean, Bianca LaBlanc. Anyway, do you like it? It means ‘White the White.’ In two different languages. Italian and French, I think. I thought the name matched my hair. So? What do you think?”

  Gil breathed her in, perfume and all. He wanted to ask if she ever took a breath when she talked, if she had always been this beautiful, and if that blond guy next to her was her boyfriend or her brother. Instead, he managed to say, “Yeah, I like your name. It’s catchy.”

  “Oh, good. What’s your name? You do have a name, don’t you?”

  “Gil.”

  “Just Gil? Like those famous people with one name?”

  Gil laughed. “Gil Goodson.”

  “Hi, Gil Goodson. Double G. That’s what I’ll call you. This is my cousin Curt. He’s twenty-one, way too old to do the Games, but he was at my house the night we found out my mom couldn’t bring me here because of work, and my dad’s off somewhere in New Mexico, and I started crying because I really wanted to be here to get discovered. So I promised Curt I’d pay for gas and give him ten percent of anything I won. And here we are! Right, Curt?”

  Curt gave half a wave like he was used to Bianca grabbing all the attention.

  Bianca adjusted her orange bikini top. “So what’s your story?”

  His story? Gil almost laughed, but he shrugged instead. “No story. Not really.”

  “You have to have a story. Everyone has a story, at least that’s what Oprah said. I’m here to get famous.” She pointed to the ABC camera. “They’ve already talked to me. So has Fox.” She glanced over at the MTV camera. “They’re next. So how old are you, Double G? I’m fifteen.”

  Twelve suddenly felt babyish. “I’ll be thirteen soon.” If three months was soon.

  She looked him up and down. “Thirteen? That’s all? You’re almost tall as me. Great biceps. I would’ve thought you were closer to my age.”

  If the rims of Gil’s ears burned any brighter, they’d glow like a neon sign.

  “Anyway,” she said, apparently oblivious to his ears, “we drove four hundred and eight miles just on the highway, and I’m so, so glad we’re finally here.” Bianca stopped just long enough to breathe. “So, Gil,” she said, “why are you alone?”

  “My parents are coming after work,” he said, practically drooling over the thought of the food they’d bring. He’d forgotten to eat breakfast. “Do you know what time it is?”

  Bianca held up her wrist. “My watch is somewhere in my suitcase in the car. I didn’t want to get a tan line. But Curt has a watch. Curtie!”

  Curt had drifted toward a few guys farther back in line. He motioned Bianca over.

  “Hold on. I’ll go find out,” she said.

  When it looked like she’d planted herself with Curt near the MTV camera, Gil decided to chance leaving his stuff for just three minutes to get a slice of pizza and a soda. If he died of starvation, he couldn’t play anyway. He reached into his back pocket to pull out his mon—

  What? Who robbed—No. The money was in his shorts in the bathtub. He couldn’t run home and leave the line for that long. He’d have to distract himself until his parents came. Which, looking at the sun, was more than four hours away.

  He unrolled his sleeping bag, then watched the Goodyear blimp cruise overhead. It reminded him of that one Golly picnic when he was about seven. After dinner they’d had miniblimps circling the park grounds, occasionally dropping toys from their underbellies. All the kids chased them around for hours, until a parade of waiters carried out cakes that seemed to shoot fireworks from the icing.

  And that was just a usual Golly picnic, so what would fifty years of celebration be like? How Gil wanted to know! He couldn’t sit still anymore. He got up. Jumped. Jiggled his arms, waggled his head, just in time for Curt and Bianca to come back and see.

  She looked at Gil like he was nuts. “Don’t go spastic on me.”

  “I’m just nervous about getting in,” he said. “I want to know.”

  Bianca grabbed his hand. “C’mon, Double G. Curt’ll watch our stuff. Won’t you, Curtie?”

  “Sure.”

  Bianca pulled Gil behind her. “Let’s see if we can find out how many people with real tickets haven’t registered yet.”

  They stopped and watched an NBC person interview a kid.

  “Why are we watching this?” asked Gil.

  “We’re not,” she said. “We’re waiting for the TV people. See what they know.”

  Gil knew one thing. He wasn’t comfortable in media land. Didn’t want to be spotted by the local stations. Didn’t want them to bother him about the past.

  Gil darted his attention all around, ready to make a quick getaway if someone should come storming up to him. A glint of steel from a wheelchair blinded him for a second. Gil blinked. Was that who he thought it was? “I’ll be back, Bianca,” he said. “He might know.”

  “Who? That old guy?”

  “Yeah. Old Man Golliwop. Stay here.”

  Bianca, apparently, didn’t listen because she was right behind Gil, weaving around people and chairs and tents until they were walking alongside the wheelchair.

  The old man kept cruising, chuckling like he’d just remembered the funniest joke he’d ever heard. “Well, isn’t this something, Young Goodson?” he said. “Isn’t this something? Hoo-boy! I hope you’re playing in my games. I hope you take that dang loony son of mine for every nickel he’s handing out. You are playing?”

  “If I can get in,” said Gil. “Do you know how many people they’re taking from this line?”

  “Nobody at my company tells me anything anymore. They think I should shrivel up and go away.” Old Man Golliwop turned to Bianca. “Are you playing, too? Or are you one of those girls from TV?”

  “I wish,” said Bianca.

  “You should be on TV. Next time you see me, Young Goodson, remind me to tell Bert he needs to hire her. But don’t get your hopes up, young lady. My son won’t listen to me. He didn’t listen to me about your father, Young Goodson. Went on with that foolhardy trial.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Gil, sorry he came up to the old man. “We need to—”

  Old Man Golliwop aimed his wheelchair at Gil and stopped. “Remember when I practically ran my w
heelchair over a dozen people to see what happened at the end of the trial, Young Goodson? I had a lot to say, and I still remember every word. Ha!”

  Gil liked this story, but didn’t need Bianca to hear every word. “I think—”

  “Yessiree. Remember, Young Goodson? I told Bert that any fool could see he’d been wasting time and money trying to hang the wrong fellow. And that he had better get his facts straight if he wanted to keep running my company.” Old Man Golliwop shook his head.

  “Do you remember what my own son said to me?” He didn’t wait for Gil to answer. “He said, ‘It’s not your company anymore, Dad.’ And I reminded him I started my company with a nickel and an idea, so if I wanted to call it my company, I could dang well call it my company.”

  He grabbed Gil’s wrist and looked him in the eye. “Then he wouldn’t give your father his job back.”

  Gil shook his head. “My dad said he didn’t want it back, remember?”

  “Waste of talent. Waste of talent.”

  Gil glanced at Bianca. Hoped she’d been sidetracked by another TV camera. Or at least that the conversation had confused her. It didn’t look that way, though. “Well, sir,” said Gil, “we need to go.”

  “Yes you do. I don’t want anyone to think I’m sharing company secrets with you. But before you leave, you need to promise me something. Promise me I’ll see you at headquarters on Saturday. Promise.”

  “I can only try.”

  “That’s as good as a promise.” Old Man Golliwop reached up and thumped Gil’s back. “Attaboy!” Then he wheeled off.

  “And exactly who was that old guy?” Bianca asked.

  “He started all this,” Gil said. “Fifty years ago today.”

  “You mean the Games?”

  “No, the company. That’s Old Man Golliwop. Thaddeus G. Golliwop, founder of Golly Toy and Game Company.”

  “And he actually knows you? Personally?” Her green eyes were open wide. “You do have a story. Spill.”

  Gil started walking. “It’s old stuff. Boring.”

  “Didn’t sound boring.” Bianca reeled ahead and blocked Gil’s path. “Details. Now.”

  “It was nothing,” he lied. “Someone accused my dad of trying to steal money from Golly, but he was found not guilty. And he didn’t do it. That’s all.”

  “Then what…” Bianca pointed behind Gil. “Ooh. Game Show Network! Let’s go.”

  Gil let her drag him from one camera to the next until he’d had enough. He found his way back to the tree. Plopped onto his sleeping bag. Lay down. Sighed. If only…

  CHAPTER 5

  “Gil. Gil! GIL! You alive?”

  Gil bolted upright. People. Grass. Tree. “Huh?”

  “Hey,” said Frankie, one of those head-shakers from football practice.

  In his haze Gil pictured Frankie diving into the pool at the house that should have been Gil’s. The house—south of town, with a media room off the den and a bathtub so big you could swim in it—was nearly finished right before The Incident. Gil’s parents had been grateful that Frankie’s bought it from them so quickly, but every time Gil saw Frankie, he also saw the zipline that should have been his own. And he couldn’t forget that day at football practice.

  Gil gave Frankie a nod, and Frankie apparently took it as an invitation to sit on the sleeping bag. “I saw you sleeping here a couple hours ago, and when I came back, you hadn’t moved a muscle. I was checking to make sure you weren’t dead.”

  “Wishful thinking?”

  “Crud no.” Frankie brushed his dark hair away from his eyes. “Why’d you think that?”

  “Football practice last year. The twins practically kicked me off the team. You shook your head and walked away.”

  “Because they were jerks, and I couldn’t believe what they were saying.”

  “I thought…”

  “You thought I wanted you off the team?” Frankie shook his head. “I was hoping you’d come back. My mom said you probably would if I gave you a little time. And I’ve tried the time thing, but today I decided this has been ridiculous.”

  “Huh?”

  “You’re never anywhere anymore. Not football or baseball. Not even at lunch during school last year. Where’d you eat? The bathroom?”

  “Gross, Frankie.” And it was, the one time he’d tried it. “I ate in the science room.”

  “Which could be gross, too.”

  “Not if you avoid the rabbit droppings.” Gil smiled again, wondering why this felt so easy.

  “So now that I found you,” said Frankie, “I’ve gotta tell you, football league practice starts next week, and we need a wide receiver. You were the best.”

  Gil dug at some dirt underneath his fingernails. “Rocky was always the best.”

  “Rocky was always a jerk. Probably still is, but he’s long gone. You know that.”

  Gil snapped his head up.

  “You didn’t notice he was gone? Man. You have been a hermit. If you believe Rocky, his dad got this perfect new job a bunch of time ago in Maine or Wyoming.”

  “How can you confuse Maine with Wyoming?” Gil laughed.

  “Don’t care enough to remember. Anyway, the dad left first, and when he got settled in some mansion, Rocky and his mom moved there, too.” Frankie groaned to a stand. “But I don’t want to talk about him anymore. Gotta get back to work.” He pointed to his yellow Golly badge. “Can you believe they’re actually paying employees’ kids to hang around in case people have questions? Have any questions?”

  “No. Thanks.”

  “Okay. Football field. Next week. Be there.” Frankie turned and walked away.

  Gil’s gut said to stop Frankie and ask what day, what time, what field. Ask if the twin giraffes would be there. And whose side the other guys were on. Instead he watched Frankie disappear behind the hot dog smoke billowing from a grill.

  Food. Gil needed food. He reached into his duffel, hoping to pull out an eight-course meal, but he came up with his three Golly notebooks instead. Those notebooks had been his sport for the last six months. After he made that deal with his dad, Gil started collecting every shred of information he could find about Golly, then studied the company like another subject.

  He opened Volume 1 for the millionth and maybe last time.

  Originally founded on his 25th birthday (August 11) by Thaddeus G. Golliwop Sr. as T. G. Golly Toys.

  Exactly fifty years ago today. Should have wished the old man a happy birthday. He flipped to page three.

  In the first year, introduced one new product each month. Now the largest company of its kind in the world with more than 800 toys and games on its active sales list, including cutting-edge video and computer technology.

  After a while, he found himself reading page ten for the fifteenth time, not because it was complicated but because he was distracted from it by whiffs of barbecued chicken and popcorn and now, pepperoni pizza so close he could almost—

  “Here.”

  Touch it?

  Frankie was back, holding two slices and a humongous soda for him. “Thought you could use this. Don’t want our wide receiver wasting away in line.”

  Gil smiled, but didn’t reach for it.

  “C’mon. Take it. One of the side benefits of this job. We get all the food we can eat.”

  “Seriously?” Gil didn’t want charity. “My money’s at home in the bathtub—don’t ask—but I’ll pay you back.”

  “Now there’s an idea,” said Frankie. “Get free food and sell it. We could…Wow! Wow-wow! Of all the perfect dreams. Don’t turn now, but way over there, there’s this girl—”

  “And she’s wearing an orange bikini top and unzipped jean shorts covering her bottoms, and she’s heading right for us.”

  “You psychic, Gil?”

  “Yeah. Call me Magno the Magnificent.” Gil smiled. “No. Her name’s Bianca. She’s my next-door neighbor here. She’s fifteen, so stop drooling.”

  “I can dream, can’t I?” Frankie pulled his attent
ion away from her. “Gotta go, but I will return.” He looked over his shoulder three times before he was out of sight.

  “I’m back, everyone,” Bianca said, “but I’m not too happy.” She flopped onto a lounge chair next to Curt’s. “I couldn’t find out anything.”

  Gil took a bite of pizza and slapped Volume 1 closed.

  Bianca pointed to the notebook. “Whatcha doing?” she asked. “School stuff? It’d be a crime if you were one of those people who study before school starts. Those, those yolk-heads.”

  “It’s eggheads, Bianca,” said Curt.

  “Whatever.” She leaned over and grabbed Volume 1. “So what is this?”

  Gil explained the notebooks.

  Bianca read a chunk of the history, flipped through the stock market pages, then lingered on the newspaper articles that interviewed some of the instant winners. “Wow! Gil!” she said. “I didn’t know we’d have to know anything. I just thought…I don’t know what I thought I’d have to do. Hey, Double G, I’m gonna stick with you. Mind?”

  Gil shrugged. “Watch my stuff?” He got up to use one of the Porta Potties. Yeah, he did mind. He’d been clever enough to figure out what to do. He’d made and studied the notebooks. He’d worked all sorts of puzzles his dad had copied and brought home from the library. But he didn’t need to make another enemy.

  He went back to his spot, trying not to look mad, and when he saw two water bottles and some Laffy Taffy ropes in the shape of an F, he actually smiled. Frankie had struck again.

  Gil took a bite of candy and sat there. Saw Bianca crack open Volume 2 of the notebooks.

  “It’s like watching paint dry,” said Curt. “C’mon, Gil, let’s go play volleyball.”

  And risk someone else kicking him off another sports team?

  “C’mon, Gil. Bianca will watch our stuff.”

  He got up. Why not? The twins were working. Most other kids from school would be, too, if they were even here. Their parents still had jobs at Golly. Lucky them.

  In spite of everything, Gil missed going to Golly headquarters on Saturdays with his dad. He remembered one particular morning when he was nine. They’d opened the door to his dad’s office and there, sitting like a person at the desk, was a life-sized bear, pretending to type at the keyboard. The screen invited Gil to come to the testing room and bring his friend. Using the bear as a chair, Gil spent hours testing a huge loop-de-loop car track that collapsed into a carrying case without needing to break down into a million pieces. He wanted to take that home so badly. He wondered why Golly never did make it. It was amazing.