by Jody Feldman
“This puzzle’s in Swedish?” asked Bianca. “I don’t know Swedish. Do you know Swedish, Thorn?”
“A few words. I had a Swedish nanny. She spoke English, but with a Swedish accent. And if you say this sort of fast, it sounds like you’re mimicking her. Try it.”
Gil shrugged. Anything was worth a try. “Her hound do whirl done bag hag gun.”
“No,” said Thorn. “Sort of run the words together and make your voice go higher and lower like this.” Thorn repeated the words in a lilting manner, accenting every other syllable. “HerHOUNDdoWHIRLdoneBAGhagGUN.”
“Do it again,” said Gil.
Thorn did.
“Keep going.”
As Thorn repeated it smoother and faster, again and again, Gil glanced at their choices.
“Bingo!” he said. “Thorn’s right: Around the World and Back Again.”
“You’re just saying that,” said Rocky.
“It is right,” said Gil. “Don’t you hear it?”
Bianca shook her head.
“Sorry, Gil,” said Lavinia. “I don’t hear it, either.”
“Read it out loud, then, Lavinia.”
“Her hound do whirl done bag hag gun.” She stated each word as its own island.
Gil wanted to scream. He could hear it so clearly. He took a deep breath. “Okay. Slur the first two words together. ‘Her hound’ becomes ‘heround,’ which is ‘around.’ ‘Do’ is ‘the’—”
“‘Whirldone’ is ‘world and’ back again. Got it,” said Lavinia.
“Me too!” said Bianca.
Thorn didn’t wait to hear from Rocky. He had the box opened and the envelope out.
“Hey, Carol,” yelled Rocky. “The other team this far yet?”
Her voice came from some surround-sound speaker. “Can’t tell you till it’s over.”
At least it wasn’t over.
“Hurry,” said Rocky.
Thorn held up the paper.
Stunt #5
If you still want to win,
then take off and fly
toward the hot-air balloons
floating high in our sky.
They raced in the same direction, to seven hot-air balloons suspended in midair. One had descended enough so that Rocky could jump and grab a second envelope dangling from the basket.
Stunt #5
You first need to push the button.
It’s green, in the shape of a star.
Then race and collect the five toys or games
that let you get this far.
Beep-beep! Beep-beep!
The sound sprang from the ground, causing all five of them to back away. A column rose from the floor. When it stopped, a green star lit the top. Rocky pushed it, and it started blinking.
“Okay,” said Gil, looking all around. “Where was everything?”
“That’s easy,” said Bianca. “This is like a giant shopping mall without the clothes.” She pointed to her left. “The Around the World game is just over there. The Wonder Tiny Doll’s in the living room that way. That Strewn game is behind the bowling alley. The bowling game is near the piñatas…and what was the first?”
“Salem Witch,” said Lavinia.
“At the front door.”
“Rocky, you get that one,” said Gil. “Thorn, get Around the World.”
“I remember where Strewn is,” said Lavinia.
“Go,” said Gil. “Bianca, get the doll, and I’ll get bowling.”
Gil raced toward the direction Bianca had pointed, and within seconds, saw two of the piñatas still swaying from a distance. He made his legs go as fast as he’d ever felt them move. He propelled around one object then another, not noticing colors or details; just shapes to avoid. He found the table, still with its blinking lights, and picked up the pieces of the Bowling Buddy box that Rocky had mangled.
Gil swung around, retracing his steps, and spotted only the polka-dotted balloon to help lead him back.
When he returned, Thorn and Bianca were already there, standing among the other six hot-air balloons now resting on the ground. Five were in a circle, one was in the center, and all the chutes were partially deflated.
“Look,” said Bianca. “This one’s mine!” She was next to a balloon with a pink-and-purple chute. Inside the balloon’s basket was a seat labeled with her name.
Gil found his name on the seat inside the basket of the gold-and-orange balloon. Rocky’s, in the silver-and-black. Thorn’s, in the green-and-gold. Lavinia’s, in the blue-and-red.
The sixth balloon, the white one in the middle with a big, green GOLLY printed on it, had an unmarked seat with five oddly shaped indents.
Bianca handed Gil a card and its envelope. “It was in the Golly one,” she said.
Before he got the chance to read the card, Rocky ran up, followed closely by Lavinia.
“We got this,” Gil said.
Stunt #5
Each box has a piece that will help you.
Just put it into the right place.
Then buckle yourselves in the seat with your name
to see if you’re still in this chase.
“Where are the right places?” asked Lavinia.
“In the white balloon,” said Gil. He leaned over to examine the indents. One was definitely the shape of a bowling pin. Gil took one of the pins from the bowling game and nestled it into the depression on the seat back.
Click!
“Did you hear that?” he said. “Must be right. Who has the doll?”
Bianca ran it over. “Where does it go?”
Gil took it from her and placed it in a molar-shaped indent, right in the middle of the seat.
Click!
“I have a flag from Around the World,” said Thorn. He popped it in next to the doll.
Click!
Without saying a word, Lavinia clicked in the Strewn game disc next to the bowling pin.
Next to that was the last indent, a tiny one.
“What do you have, Rocky?” asked Gil.
Rocky was squatting, sifting through The Salem Witch Game. He came up with the playing pieces and the dice. He looked at his hand. He looked at the spot. Back to his hand. He flicked away the dice. Looked to the spot. To his hand. He picked up a little cat and tried it in the last space. It didn’t fit. He went to throw it over his shoulder, but Gil grabbed his hand.
“Gimme.” Gil took it, laid it on its side.
Click!
The white balloon began to vibrate. Its chute started refilling. “Everyone! In your balloons!”
“And Thorn,” Rocky said, “just get in and close your eyes.”
“No problem,” said Thorn.
Gil jumped into his basket, buckled his seat belt. His balloon vibrated. The rest of the chutes sprang to life. They wriggled. Danced. Plumped.
The six balloons rose into the air. Higher. Higher. Higher. The lights went out. Trumpets blared, building and building to a crescendo that ended in one long note as Gil’s balloon bumped the ceiling. Fireworks sparked and arced, whistled and popped. Then one word flashed, from the floors, the ceilings, the walls.
CHAPTER 16
Could Gil’s heart pump faster? Could he scream louder? He didn’t know, couldn’t tell. He wanted out, out of the balloon. He needed to jump. Dance. Celebrate.
Spotlights shone, a floor moved underneath their baskets, railings locked into place. Gil’s seat belt automatically unbuckled. He leaped out of the basket. Screamed. Jumped up and down on the platform in the warehouse sky. Hands slapped his back, arms lifted him off his feet. He may have kissed Bianca, or was it Thorn? One minute he was running in circles with Lavinia; the next he was bumping chests with Rocky.
Carol galloped up. Together the team surged toward her, tousling her red curls, enveloping her in a group hug that turned into a group bounce.
When Gil hugged Rocky for the third or the thirtieth time, he realized he was hugging Rocky. He moved away and paced in small circles to catch his breath, punching a few
victory fists into the air. He rubbed his jaw to massage his smile muscles. He tried to relax his mouth, but it felt frozen in a permanent grin.
“Aah!” Carol screamed as the trumpets died down. “Time to taste victory. Let’s eat.” She led the green team from the floor in the sky, jumping along three halls and down four flights of stairs to a dining room with enough food to feed a small nation. “Stand here for a moment and look.”
Trays of pizza, hot dogs, hamburgers, chicken fingers, and french fries lined one banquet table. Popcorn, potato chips, tortilla chips, cheese curls, pretzels, salsa, and other dips fanned out on another. The third had platters of salmon, chicken, pastas, salads, fruits, and vegetables. A fourth held cookies, doughnuts, pies, cakes, and a huge chocolate volcano.
In the center of the room, an old-fashioned soda jerk stood behind an antique ice-cream counter. “Dishing up anything you can dream up!” he called. The hand-lettered menu above him echoed that. On one side of him flowed a dazzling fountain of sparkling red punch. On the other, gleaming ice sculptures surrounded a vast selection of sodas, waters, and lemonades.
“Can we eat?” asked Rocky.
“First, welcome our guests.” Carol opened the door for the red team. They didn’t look giddy, but they weren’t mad, either. They must have received great runner-up gifts. Bill, their guide, followed, protecting his hair with his hands. Behind him flowed a rush of adults: Curt. Then Lavinia’s mom. Then Gil’s parents.
Gil hugged them both. When he finally let go, his dad kept grabbing his shoulders, and his mom kept hold of his hand. He opened his mouth to speak, but felt like anything he said would come out with a gush of tears. “So what’d you think?” he managed to squeak out.
Gil’s mom took a long, shaky breath. “You were amazing. A true leader.”
“Oh, Mom.”
“No, really,” she said. “I couldn’t have been that patient with some of the personalities you had to work with.”
Gil shrugged. Agreed inside.
“I don’t know how you figured out some of those puzzles,” said his dad. “And when you made that mistake, I nearly lost my mind. The other team had cruised through that puzzle. We thought it was all over and could barely stand to watch.”
“How much did we win by?”
“You don’t want to know,” said his dad. “I’ll tell you all about it later, but right now, someone’s waiting for you.” He led Gil over to Old Man Golliwop.
“Pleased to see you again, sir.” Gil shook his hand.
“Young Goodson! You kept your promise,” he said. “Now on with you.” The old man shooed Gil away with his free hand as he kept waggling Gil’s handshake with the other. “Go get yourself some food, and put some skin on those bones. Do it before the other vultures eat it all.” Still holding on, he looked deep into Gil’s eyes and allowed a tiny smile to creep across his face. “Attaboy,” he whispered. He let go and wheeled off.
Gil headed for the food table, his stomach knotting like an overtwisted rubberband. Maybe it was the jitters. Or maybe he was really hungry. He tested his appetite with a pretzel, then he loaded only two plates to save room for some outrageous ice-cream mountain.
He and his parents settled at a dining table away from the food and away from most of the TV cameras. He kept grinning at his mom and dad, who grinned right back. Then they all burst out laughing.
No need to speak. He was here, part of a winning team. Here, fair and square, cameras watching. Gil had beat 24,995 others. Four to go.
He already had bragging rights. No one else in Orchard Heights had gotten this far. No one in the state. Yet underneath his excitement, he felt sort of calm and confident. Things would be different. He would be different. He could walk out of here with his head held high.
No more hiding for him. No more hiding? Maybe he really had withered into invisibility like Frankie had said. Maybe he had avoided everyone.
He sighed.
“What’s the matter, Gil?” said his mom.
“Nothing. Everything.”
His dad nodded. “Lots to wrap your mind around.”
His dad always understood. Or maybe his dad had his own set of doubts. Like what if he had agreed with the old man’s words that day in the courtroom? What if he had pushed to get his old job back? Or what if they had moved to Phoenix right after the trial?
Gil dug into his half-eaten sundae, but left his spoon in the middle of the ice cream and sauces. He didn’t need an overfull stomach and waves of what-ifs to weigh him down for the next round.
He excused himself and ducked into the bathroom, turned on a faucet and plunged his hands under the rush of water. When it reached the perfect heat, he concentrated on the sensation of water bubbles massaging his palms, allowing that calm to radiate up his arms, around his neck, and into his temples. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back and rotated it. Listened to the tension crinkle around his neck then disappear. He took in a calming breath, then another, then—
“Gil Goodson.”
Gil snapped to attention. “Yes, Mr. Golliwop?”
Bert Golliwop strode over to him and turned off the faucets. “Have you ever heard of corporate responsibility?”
Gil was only running some water. He hadn’t taken the extra candy bars and peanuts from the concession stands like he could have yesterday.
“Well, Gil?” he said like a cranky teacher. “Do you know what that means?”
Gil dried his hands with a paper towel. “A little, sir.”
“It not only means we need to make enough money to take care of our fifty thousand Golly employees worldwide, we are also responsible to the millions of everyday people who have invested their money in toys and games.”
Bert Golliwop’s tone softened. “Now, son, you know this is a happy place. It didn’t end so happily for your father, but given what we knew, we had to protect our interests. You may not like that, but you can understand that, can’t you? Trying to protect something?”
Gil nodded, wondered if this was leading to the same conversation as yesterday.
“So right now,” Bert Golliwop continued, “I have something very important to protect. I have to protect the Gollywhopper Games. When we decided to sink millions and millions of dollars into this little production, we knew we’d get double that amount’s worth in exciting publicity. We planned it all out, except we didn’t plan on you, an ex-employee’s kid.”
Gil wanted to escape, but the way Bert Golliwop was peeking into each bathroom stall, Gil knew he was about to say something important.
“Now, you know how reporters operate. They’ll dredge up all that history. You don’t want that, we don’t want that, and neither do our fans, who expect to turn on their TVs to see a competition but instead find the Ancient History Network. So I have a deal for you. A good one.
“We could say you were in here vomiting or that you splashed water on the floor, then slipped, and sprained your ankle. You couldn’t continue, so you gave your spot to the first alternate. You do this, and not only will you walk away with the consolation prize, but I will personally give you a whole wheel-barrow full of money.” Mr. Golliwop pulled out a paper towel and dried the sink. “Remember, Gil, this competition is winner-take-all. Even if you come in second, you wouldn’t see an additional cent. This is guaranteed money I’m offering, son. Enough to send you to college for four years. Enough to buy you all the electronic gadgets you could want. What do you say?”
Gil squeezed the paper towel he still had in his hands. That would be enough money to leave town. Start over. That would be…
He threw the towel into the garbage. “Are you making the same offer to Rocky?”
“Why would I…”
“Ex-employee’s kid?”
Bert Golliwop’s face turned as red as a cartoon character just before steam whistles out his ears. “Maybe you don’t understand the difference,” he said in a whole different tone of voice. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have dragged your father in here, totally morti
fying him, forcing him to face his past offenses. Shame on you.”
Shame on him? Shame on him? Gil sucked in some air. “You don’t know a thing—”
Bert Golliwop held up a hand. “Oh, I know plenty. Just don’t fall into the same trap as your father did. Don’t get greedy today. Take the money—”
“So you can come arrest me?”
He dared to laugh. “I’m not having you arrested. I’m insuring your future. I’m the good guy here. Didn’t you hear me before?” he said. Then he enunciated every word. “I don’t want you in these games.” He took a step closer to Gil. “You can do this voluntarily, or I can find a way to disqualify you. I’m a smart man.”
A rushing sound ran through Gil’s ears, as if his body were filling with water, threatening to drown his lungs. He grabbed onto the counter and plunged to his knees.
“Perfect. I found you here on the floor. You fainted. You need medical attention. I’ll—”
Gil found his legs, rose up. “I’m fine,” he said. “And I’m not a quitter.” He brushed past Bert Golliwop, backed toward the door. “If you didn’t want me in the Games, then you shouldn’t have written the rules so I could play.” He spun around, pushed through the door, and out into the crowd.
He found his dad walking toward the bathroom. “You were in there so long, I was about to send a rescue…” He looked Gil in the eye. “Gil, you’re pale. What’s wrong?”
“Did I drag you here, Dad? Am I an embarrassment? Are you mortified to be here?”
“You are never an embarrassment. And I’m fine. What’s—”
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
His father looked toward the bathroom door. Bert Golliwop marched out. Smiling.
“What did he say to you?”
Gil shook his head.
“Tell me.”
“He wants me to drop out. Said he’d pay me.” Gil closed his eyes.
“I swear…” His dad took two steps toward Bert Golliwop.
Gil grabbed onto his arm. “Don’t, Dad.”
He took another step, looked at Gil, then at a TV camera. He touched Gil’s elbow, led him away from the cameras, back into the bathroom. “I need you to tell me everything he said.”
