by Jody Feldman
Gil looked at Lavinia. “Who won? You or me? You or me?”
She shook her head. “I suspect it’s—”
The fanfare stopped. Mr. Golliwop rushed out. Shook Lavinia’s hand, pulled her aside, waited for the cameras to gather around.
Gil stood alone, the drums still echoing in his chest. At least he pretended it was the leftover timpani noise. Otherwise, it’d be his heart, about to break through his rib cage. He should’ve won. It should’ve been him. Without Rocky, he would’ve beat Lavinia in the maze. He’d stopped working that polliwog puzzle to watch Rocky and still figured it out faster than Lavinia had. If it hadn’t been for Rocky, he would’ve been…
“This young woman,” Bert Golliwop finally said into the microphones, “was one of the finest competitors we could have ever hoped for. She showed real…”
Hands gripped Gil’s shoulders from behind. He spun around. Carol.
She leaned over to whisper in his ear. “How’s it feel, champ?”
He jerked his head up, met her eyes. “What?”
“You don’t know, do you?” She slung an arm around his shoulder. “Gil. You won.”
Gil pointed to Lavinia. “But Mr. Golliwop’s talking to her and…”
She looked at him. Laughed.
“I won?” He jumped. High. Came down. Grabbed Carol, spun her around, let her go. “I won?” Looked over at Lavinia.
Lavinia was smiling. Smiling big. If he won, then…“Why is Lavinia so…”
“Happy?” said Carol. “All the mess she went through? We decided she deserves to win an extra ten thousand dollars plus a free college education. It’s the least we can do.”
Gil would take the least. He’d be ecstatic with the least, but…He won!
Seconds later, they shuttled Lavinia out, and all the lights turned onto Gil. So did Bert Golliwop’s stare. But this time his eyes were almost smiling.
“And now, without further hesitation, the one, the only champion of the Gollywhopper Games, Mr. Gil Goodson!” He thumped Gil’s back and pumped his hand.
“Really?”
“Yes, really.” Bert turned and looked directly into the camera. “Now let me tell you about this young man. Something you may not know.”
Was he going to drag him through the whole nightmare again?
“Something that attests to his character.”
Would he have Gil booted from the building?
“Not many twelve-year-olds could continue being so competitive when they were at such a disadvantage.”
Which disadvantage?
“But he fought back. He won. And let’s bring out his parents.” Bert Golliwop leaned over and spoke closer to Gil’s ear. “That sounded weird, unfinished, didn’t it, son?”
Gil nodded.
“Don’t worry. We’re going to tape an explanation, and the network people will insert it.”
“An explanation of what?”
“Exactly. Didn’t want you to hear it without your parents. Now get excited for the cameras again. You won, Gil! You won!”
So many questions. So many, but…
He won! He won! “I won!”
Bert Golliwop shook his hand, patted him on the back. Then he looked Gil in the eye before he turned toward a camera. “Do you know what you’ve won?”
“Yeah,” said Gil. “Those hundred-dollar bills in the trunk, a college scholarship, some toys and games, and—”
“You don’t know everything yet.” Bert shook his head. “No, son. You have no clue. Fact is—are you ready for this?”
Gil nodded.
“You’ve also won half the profits from our new video and board games: the Gollywhopper Games. Do you have any idea how much that’s worth?”
“Ten thousand dollars?”
Bert Golliwop laughed. “Multiply that times one hundred, son. At least,” he said. “Over time, that could make you a multimillionaire.”
“A what? A what!” Gil jumped. He ran. He won. He won! Through the door. His parents. Had to tell them.
The orchestra struck up something loud and exciting. He jumped on his dad. Jumped on his mom. The three ended in a heap on the floor. Laughing and hugging. Then standing and jumping. And jumping and jumping. Cameras surrounding. Circling. Backing away. Letting Bert Golliwop in. Even he couldn’t ruin this moment.
Bert shook hands with Gil’s mom. Gave his dad a pat on the back.
Gil felt his exhilaration giving way to question after question after question. Gil couldn’t wait much longer for an explanation. “Mr. Golli—”
Bert Golliwop turned away from Gil, toward the cameras. “I’d like to present Gil’s parents, Elizabeth and Charles Goodson. And the four of us will be back in few moments.”
A woman with a headset and clipboard ran up. “Bert. Hold on. We need to interview him now. Otherwise, we can’t get this on the air tomorrow night.”
“Then work half an hour faster, Lara.” Bert Golliwop glanced at Gil, then back at the producer. “You already know more than they do. It’s only fair.”
“Then we’re coming in.”
Bert Golliwop looked at her with those eyes of stone. “No.” He took a deep breath and turned to Gil and his parents. “Now, I need the three of you to follow me.” He turned around. “And no one else.”
They walked in silence until they’d long cleared the cameras and stepped into the elevator. “What’s this about, Bert?” Gil’s dad asked.
“Why don’t you ask your son?”
“Gil?”
Gil looked at Bert Golliwop. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“No, son, you didn’t.” The doors of the elevator opened, and Bert Golliwop led them through the eighth-floor hall and into his corner office overlooking the heart of Orchard Heights. “Tell them, Gil. Tell them what made you freeze before the Rainbow Maze.”
“You heard that?” Gil said.
Bert Golliwop took a seat behind his desk. “Unless you were in the bathrooms, the lounge, or the conference room, we heard everything. Tell him, Gil.”
“I didn’t want to tell you before, Dad,” Gil said. “Rocky could’ve been lying to make me lose. I was going to tell you afterward and…”
“What, Gil?”
Gil opened his mouth. Couldn’t get the words out.
Gil’s dad thumped his palms against the back of a leather chair. “Bert. You can see my son’s uncomfortable. The facts. Now.”
Bert Golliwop looked at Gil’s dad. “Rocky said there are people who know you are innocent, said it like he had some information. That’s what he told Gil before the maze. And that caused us to ask him a few questions.”
Gil’s mom gripped his dad’s hand. Gil backed against the wall.
“Now, sit,” said Bert, “and I’ll tell you everything I know, which is less than we’ll know tomorrow.”
Bert paused while they took seats, then he cleared his voice. “You do remember how we encourage our employees to bring their kids to work if they should drop in over the weekends?”
Gil’s dad nodded.
“During the time Carver Titus was working on a version of Octagon Map, Rocky was a frequent visitor. One morning, Carver left Rocky alone in his office. Rocky apparently rifled through Carver’s Octagon Map folder and found a list of words. Rocky thought they might be passwords to allow him a sneak preview of the game. Carver came back in, stopped Rocky, and closed the folder.” Bert reached over and straightened the nameplate on his desk. “But that didn’t stop Rocky from trying those passwords every Saturday he visited. That’s why he remembered them.”
Bert cleared his throat. “That was about two years ago,” he said. “Now, let’s move to today. You can probably guess what happened. Rocky saw Octagon Map on one of the screens, thought those old passwords might have been meant for the Gollywhopper Games, and he tried them one more time.”
“On his own?” asked Gil.
“On his own,” Bert Golliwop said.
“Then what was all the coughing?” asked Gil.
“Weren’t those signals?”
“In the beginning they were, but in the end, Carver was trying to tell Rocky to stop. And that brings us to the reason why Carver wanted him to stop.” Bert Golliwop stood, adjusted his suit jacket, and sat back down. “It appears I’m stalling because Carver gave us some other unexpected information today, and I need to tell you this despite the fact I don’t know all the details yet.”
“Do you mean…” Gil’s dad said. “Those passwords? Was he…”
Bert Golliwop nodded. “About a month before your arrest, Charles, when you’d been chosen over him for that promotion? Remember we sent you to that conference in New York?”
“I remember.”
“While you were there, Carver’s computer crashed, or so he said, and he decided to use yours. Seems he figured out how to get into your system. He was snooping around, and he opened an e-mail asking you about our plans to restructure the five-million-dollar Octagon Fund.”
“So Carver put two and two together?” said Gil’s dad.
“That’s right,” Bert said. “He opened the link to the Octagon fund, tried the old passwords—we ‘ll need to find out how he got those passwords—and found himself in control of that five million dollars. He was still mad that you were promoted over him, so to appease his temper, he programmed the fund to send you that money as a very mean practical joke.”
“A joke?” said Gil’s dad.
Bert nodded. “He was about to confess when the police stormed in. Then he got scared.”
Gil’s dad sighed. “That’s why he left.”
“Apparently,” said Bert, “he was afraid someone would come after him. And when no one ever did, I suppose he felt safe enough to bring his kid here and try to help him win to make up for the promotion he never got. Sometime between then and now, Rocky overheard him say you were innocent, but Rocky had no clue his father was the guilty party.
“And I’d love to talk more about this, but that’s all I know. I do have one more thing to say.” Bert Golliwop stopped to adjust his cuff links, then looked back up at Gil’s dad. “Understand that everything I did was to protect this company. So while I don’t regret any of my words or actions, I am sorry you had to go through this experience.”
Gil looked at his dad’s near-blank stare. His mom’s tears streaming down her face. He doubled over, letting his own tears drop onto his shoes.
He wanted to be magically transported home without cameras, without interviews. He needed to be alone with his family. For a day, a week. Long enough to grasp everything that had happened and everything this would mean.
Bang! Bang!
Metal hitting wood. Old Man Golliwop’s wheelchair. The old man barged into the office. “I bribed someone to tell me what is going on. So, Bert. How will you make this right?”
“I doubt I truly can,” said Bert Golliwop.
“Cut the baloney. First you offer a public apology. Then you get this man back working for you at ten times his salary. And…”
Gil started laughing. It began as a tickle in his throat that moved into his gut and came out large and grand. And he infected everyone in the room.
When it felt like he was about to rip his belly wide open, he took in a gasp and laughed and laughed and finally got himself under control until he almost felt like crying again. He inhaled so he wouldn’t, and with the back of his hand, he wiped laughter tears from his eyes. Grabbed a tissue from a box Bert Golliwop was passing around. Blew his nose. Looked at every person in the room. All with tissues to their eyes and noses.
He started laughing again. This time not so hard. But it felt good.
Old Man Golliwop wheeled his chair right up to Bert. “I ask you again, son. How will you make this right?”
“Charles?” Bert Golliwop said.
Gil’s dad held up his hand like a stop sign. “Don’t ask me to come back, Bert. I’ve moved on. But there is something you can do.”
“If he asks it,” said Old Man Golliwop, “you will do it.”
Gil’s dad went to the desk, picked up a pen, wrote something on a piece of paper, and slid it toward Bert Golliwop.
“‘KidZillionaire,’” he read. “What’s that?”
“New video game,” said Gil’s dad. “I’ve been working on it for more than a year. Computer version, too.”
“You what?” Gil said, barely able to form the words.
“The story’s written,” he said. “The computer code’s about a week from being complete. I have a design team working on the graphics right now. It’s excellent. I guarantee. You’d save me the trouble of trying to sell it to Sony or Nintendo.”
“Sold,” said Old Man Golliwop.
“Dad!” Bert Golliwop shook his head. “It’s not your—”
“Company. I know,” said the old man. “But it was, and I still remember enough to know you’d be a fool to pass this up. So I say sold!”
Charles Goodson smiled. “I haven’t set a price yet.”
“They’ll buy it,” said the old man.
“We’ll talk,” said Bert. “What’s the premise?”
Gil’s dad laughed. “It’s about a kid who ferrets out the evil president of a toy company, takes over the business, and becomes a zillionaire.”
“And I’m the evil toy company president?”
“Oh, of course not,” said Gil’s dad.
“Right.” Bert Golliwop smiled and stood. “When the dust settles, we’ll talk anyway.” He stuck out his hand. Gil’s dad shook it. “Let’s finish up this already long day,” said Bert.
They filed from the office, Bert Golliwop pulling Gil to the lead with him. “I need to fill you in on what’s been going on, and what will happen from here,” he said. “We have Rocky and Carver Titus sequestered. The other three contestants have been reminded that they may not reveal anything about the Games or they’ll forfeit their winnings plus pay the company and the TV network huge penalties. I know it will be harder for you, but you need to be a good actor for just thirty more hours, until the show has aired on both coasts. Then you’re free to speak to anyone you want about anything you want. Understand so far?”
Gil nodded.
Mr. Golliwop pushed the ground-floor button inside the elevator. “When we get back, you’ll sit down for your interview. And it will be all about you. Ready?”
Gil entered the victory room once again, and cameras flashed, TV cameras followed him. The network news anchor led him to a set of directors’ chairs set up in a circle of spotlight. She interviewed him as if he were a celebrity. Question after question after question.
Soon Bianca bounded in. She pulled him up and spun him around. “I knew you could do it. I knew it. I knew it. I knew it!”
Lavinia and Thorn joined them. The cameras circled again, clicking and flashing and shooting so much footage, Gil wished he had a nickel for every—Wait. Now he did.
They posed and posed and spoke some more, and just after Bert Golliwop mentioned to Bianca that he might want her in some of his commercials, they finally headed out the door together, saying they’d IM and e-mail as soon as Gil could get back online.
Gil and his parents walked past the green arrows, past the windup toys, and into the sun-drenched parking lot that was nearly as deserted as Bert Golliwop had promised. Had they really parked there just this morning? Or was that another boy in another lifetime?
“What’s that?” said Gil’s dad, pointing to the car.
On the trunk were five sticky notes, each with one word: TROVER PARK TOMORROW AT 4:00. The notes were arranged in the shape of an F. “Frankie,” Gil said.
Gil collected them, smiled more, climbed inside the car.
He and his parents sat there, windows down, ignition off. No cameras. No microphones.
Gil leaned his head back, closed his eyes. Let out a laugh. He turned to his dad. “So. KidZillionaire. Why were you keeping it a secret?”
“It wasn’t on purpose.” His dad looped one hand over the steering wheel. “You saw me wi
th those computer code books. All those files. I’ve been sitting in the open, at the dining room table, working on the game.”
“I thought you were still looking for…”
“This whole time?” said his mom. “You thought he was poring over those detective files?”
Gil nodded.
His dad chuckled. “I haven’t looked at those for months and months. Even before The Incident, I started fooling around with ideas for a video game. Sitting in jail that night, I came up with KidZillionaire. Thinking about that took my mind off everything else that was happening.”
“But the calls to the detectives…”
“Sure. At first I was trying to solve it, but one night I got so bored looking at the same files over and over, I jotted down my thoughts about that game. Within a week, I stopped looking at the trial files and started creating new files for this. And I suppose I was so used to working alone, I never talked about it.” He turned on the ignition. “Besides, I didn’t want to get your hopes up. It’s hard to sell concepts like this.”
Gil nodded again. And understood.
“You want to know the best part about this kind of work? I can do it anywhere in the world. So wherever you want to move…”
Wherever he wanted to move.
They pulled out of the parking lot, none of them saying a thing.
Wherever he wanted to move. He wanted to live in a place where he could be a normal kid with normal friends and a normal life.
Gil’s interviewer had made that sound impossible. “You understand you’ll be famous after tomorrow night,” she’d said during the interview. “What will you do with your fame?”
“I just want to be a regular kid who had a really, really good day,” he’d answered.
And how would he deal with people who wanted to hang around just because he’d won?
Gil thought he’d be able to sort out the good people from the fakers. Eventually.
But for now he had time to sit back and grin. In private. No one knew he won yet. They only knew he’d made it to the final ten. He wouldn’t be anyone’s winner until after the TV broadcast. For tonight and tomorrow, he was just Gil.
In a couple hours, they’d go out to dinner. Gil’s treat. Steaks. At the best restaurant. They’d slink out of the house. Unnoticed.
