Jackpot

by Gordon Korman

  A large black eye watched the goings-on balefully. Luthor lay on the hall rug just outside the dining room, forlorn and alone. He couldn’t quite put his paw on it, but something was just not right here. This was his house, and Cleopatra was his friend. Yet here he was, on the outside looking in.

  A mechanical roar interrupted his dark thoughts, and he felt a rough bump from behind.

  Mrs. Drysdale prodded her daughter’s big dog with the vacuum cleaner. “Move it, you big galoot. Why are you always underfoot? Honestly, you take up half the house!”

  Luthor scrambled up, shaking himself all over. From the dining room he saw the cat staring at him with those luminous eyes. The thing was smirking — he was sure of it. He watched resentfully as cat and monkey went through another round of jumps.

  Well, this was his table, long before any fancy cat showed up…. With an earsplitting bark, he galloped down the hall. By the time he hit the dining room, he was at full speed, ears flattened, eyes near slits. A monumental leap brought him up to the top of the chair. And, using it as a springboard, he launched himself over the table. The whole house shook as he scored a direct hit on the chandelier, sending crystal droplets flying in all directions, shattering against the walls and floor.

  The power of his bound took him across the table, past the chair, and clear into the china cabinet against the far wall. The glass doors disintegrated, and the contents of the breakfront spilled out all over him — plates, cups, and stemware bounced off his body and hit the hardwood, breaking into pieces.

  Luthor’s canine brain wasn’t equipped to perceive cause and effect, but he was pretty sure this had not been one of his better ideas.

  “Savannah!” howled Mrs. Drysdale. “Come and put your dog outside!”

  When Savannah arrived on the scene and took in the destruction, her voice was not kind and soothing. She was angry with Luthor. And she wasn’t angry with Cleopatra or the cat, who’d been engaged in exactly the same jumping game.

  What Savannah actually said when she tied him up in the backyard was, “Why can’t you be more like Penelope?”

  Griffin frowned at the paper. If he’d had his whole team, Step 1 would have taken about eight seconds. Melissa could have gotten on her computer and traced Victor back to the hospital he was born in. But that was what was different about Operation Phoenix. Griffin Bing was tackling this plan on his own.

  Griffin had only one class with Victor where the others weren’t around — science, in third period. They weren’t lab partners, of course. Victor wanted nothing to do with him, and the feeling was definitely mutual.

  But today, Griffin sidled up to the new kid. “Hey, Victor, what do you say we work on this experiment together?”

  The blue eyes were ice-cold. “I say no.”

  “Aw, come on,” Griffin blustered. “What are we supposed to do — heat up this pink stuff?” With a carefully aimed elbow, he knocked over the beaker. Viscous pink liquid covered the counter and oozed over the edge to cascade onto Victor’s backpack. “Oh, sorry, man!” He grabbed a paper towel and ducked down under the counter.

  “It’s fine,” Victor said through clenched teeth. “Just let me do my own work!”

  “No, I got this!” The pack was unbuckled, so it was easy enough to check out the contents while scrubbing at the stain. Textbooks, binders, a phone, and a tuna fish sandwich wrapped in plastic. Wait — what was this? There was a vinyl pencil case with a logo sticker on it in the shape of a bird of prey. Griffin squinted at it.

  BASS JUNCTION M.S. HAWKS

  “Cut it out!” Suddenly, the backpack was yanked away, nearly taking half of Griffin’s nose with it.

  Griffin stood up. “I was only trying to help.”

  “I don’t need your help. You’ve helped enough.” He stormed across the room and set up at a different experiment counter.

  Griffin let him go. Bass Junction — another Long Island town about twenty miles to the east. He had what he wanted, and the satisfaction that Victor now had pink slime on his pants.

  * * *

  The next morning, Ben showed up as usual on Griffin’s doorstep. “Let’s hurry,” Ben urged. “I don’t want to be late.”

  “What do you mean late?” Griffin told him. “There’s plenty of time.”

  Ben shook his head. “Savannah’s bringing Victor’s cat in today.”

  Griffin stared at his friend. “And you care about this because … ?”

  “Victor’s been running lines with Logan for his next audition, so he hasn’t been able to visit Penelope,” Ben explained. “It’s kind of a big reunion.”

  “I hope you brought a ball of yarn for the happy couple.”

  Ben bristled, causing Ferret Face to peer out a sleeve in indignation. “You know, Griffin, Victor’s a really nice guy. You’d like him if you’d give him a chance.”

  “I gave him a chance,” Griffin said tersely. “He’s the one who didn’t give me a chance. And anyway, I’m not going to be there to witness this tender moment. I’ve got a doctor’s appointment.”

  “Didn’t you just go in a few weeks ago?” Ben asked.

  “I had chills last night. Better not get too close. Give my regards to the bride and groom.”

  “You’re so mean,” Ben complained. “You know, I haven’t been this itch-free since I first got Ferret Face. Putting egg in his hamburger has changed my life. I’m sure Victor could help you, too, if only you’d talk to the guy. Maybe you wouldn’t have to go to the doctor so often.”

  “Victor wouldn’t give me the skin off a grape, and even if he did, I wouldn’t take his advice. See you tomorrow.” Griffin closed the door with more of a slam than he’d been planning.

  He watched his friend head for school alone and regretted the shadow that was growing between them. Under normal circumstances, Griffin would have recruited Ben to join him on the mission he had planned for today. But Ben was on Team Victor now — every bit as much as the others, maybe even more. Who would have thought that saving him from a little bit of ferret fur could have bought his loyalty like this? It seemed to Griffin that long-term friendship should mean more.

  Well, Ben was just going to have to learn the hard way.

  It took three buses and more than an hour to get to Bass Junction, and then another half-hour walk to the middle school. Getting inside was the next order of business. Of course, Griffin totally looked the part of an eighth grader, but he had no idea how strict the security was in this place. He was about to enter the front door and approach the guard at the desk, when he noticed students pouring out of a side entrance into the school playground. He checked his watch. This must be the early lunch recess. Perfect. He didn’t have to find his way in. They were coming out to meet him.

  He waded into the crowd and approached a group of boys and girls sitting under a tree. “How’s it going?” he greeted. “Do any of you guys remember a kid named Victor Phoenix? He used to go here.”

  Heads shook all around.

  “We’re sixth graders,” one girl supplied. “We were in elementary last year.”

  Undaunted, Griffin forged on. One boy said the name sounded familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it. Another acknowledged several Victors and a couple of Vics, but no Phoenix. A kid with flaming red hair told him a long boring story about his friend Hector Phoenix from summer camp. Hector lived in Maryland.

  Griffin tried to be patient. “No, it’s definitely not him. The kid I’m talking about is kind of small and skinny, with blond hair that he spikes with a lot of gel. And his name’s not Hector; it’s Victor. Victor Phoenix.”

  “Wait a minute,” came a low, gravelly voice behind him. “You’re not talking about Victor Feeney?”

  Griffin turned to come face to chest with a football type, a beast of a boy who was at least Vader-sized.

  “I’m pretty sure it’s Phoenix,” Griffin replied. “Small kid? Blond?”

  The beast snorted. “So he calls himself Phoenix now. He wishes. Victor the Victim was a walk
ing wedgie waiting to happen.”

  “And he happened in a lot of places,” added Beast’s sidekick, who was only slightly smaller. “All up and down this yard.”

  “He used to get picked on?” Griffin asked, to make sure he understood what he was hearing. The great Victor Phoenix who had waltzed into Cedarville to be immediately loved and admired by all?

  “It was kind of the national pastime around here,” Beast explained. “When that kid left town, all the other nerds moved up one space. Not that we’ll ever come across another one like him.”

  “It’s true,” the sidekick added. “Sometimes I miss him. I’ve been pants-ing Seth Bornstein, but it’s just not the same.”

  “And the name is definitely Feeney?”

  “Rhymes with weenie,” the sidekick confirmed wanly. “Nothing rhymes with Bornstein.”

  “You’re sure it’s Feeney?” Griffin persisted.

  Beast’s face darkened. “You spend enough time with your fist around the waistband of someone’s underwear, you know his last name. You want me to find out your last name?”

  Griffin backed away quickly. Getting hung by the tighty-whities on a fence post wasn’t part of the plan. And there were plenty of words that rhymed with Bing. For the first time, he felt a twinge of appreciation for Darren Vader. At least Darren was a clown instead of just pure mean. There was zero humor in these two Neanderthals. But he was grateful to them in one way: He’d always known there was something not quite right about Victor Phoenix. And this trip had proven it.

  He hung around for the rest of lunch, giving the Neanderthals a wide berth and talking to a few other people. The picture of Victor Phoenix — now Victor Feeney — began to fill out. Not everyone was as nasty as the Neanderthals, but Victor had definitely been bullied at Bass Junction. He was a small, slight kid, quiet and very smart. And while most students had no problem with him, once his reputation had been cemented as Victor the Victim, it had proved impossible to shake. In a way, Victor could have been the poster boy for the anti-bullying assembly at Cedarville.

  No wonder the kid hates me, Griffin thought. After Darren’s little speech, he assumes I’m exactly the kind of jerk who made his life so miserable here.

  A few of the Bass Junction kids even wondered aloud whether the family’s move had been to get their son out of this school.

  “Who’s asking about Victor Feeney?” came an adult voice. Fingers pointed and the teacher’s eyes fixed on Griffin. “What are you doing here? This is a closed campus. You’re not one of our students.”

  “Sorry,” Griffin said quickly. “I was just leaving, anyway.” He began to edge his way out of the school yard.

  “You know Victor?” the teacher persisted.

  Griffin nodded. “He goes to my school now.”

  She hesitated for a moment, her expression a mixture of suspicion and regret. “Tell him we’re all rooting for him. Tell him — that we’re sorry. We should have fought harder for him, but we didn’t know how.”

  “I will,” Griffin said uncomfortably, and was gone.

  He might have mentioned that Victor’s life at his new school was just fine. It was fine because it was Griffin’s life, stolen from Griffin, along with all Griffin’s friends.

  But after what Griffin had learned today, that was subject to change.

  The meeting was called for seven p.m. that same day. Ben slipped gingerly through the gate into the Drysdales’ yard, keeping a wary eye open for Savannah’s big Doberman. If there was one thing Luthor inspired, it was respect. There was still a lot of guard dog left in the big guy, and Ben was convinced it was only a matter of time before it all came out. Today, however, Luthor’s leash was tied around a fence post, limiting the big dog’s range.

  Ben was surprised. Savannah complied with Cedarville’s leash laws, but at home, Luthor was given as much freedom as any other member of the family. If the Drysdales adopted a grizzly bear, it would be afforded the same rights. And, thought Ben, it would probably be afraid of Luthor.

  Pitch, Logan, and Melissa were already there.

  “Any clue what this is about?” Ben inquired.

  Melissa shook her head, setting the curtain swinging. “We were going to ask you. This whole thing is Griffin’s idea.”

  “All I know is he had a doctor’s appointment, and it must have run long, because he never made it to school.”

  “There was another news story about the missing lottery ticket on TV last night,” Logan announced. “The final deadline ticking down — that whole angle. You don’t think Griffin saw it and now he’s gung ho to go after Darren again?”

  “Not even Griffin is that nuts,” Ben replied. “Hey, Savannah, how come Luthor’s tied up?”

  She stepped off the back deck and came to join them on the grass. “The poor sweetheart has some growing up to do. He hasn’t reacted well to hosting Penelope. I would have thought he’d show more maturity about a houseguest.”

  “But he’s used to having cats around,” Pitch pointed out. “He’s been living with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern for years.”

  Savannah’s two American shorthairs were a pair of elderly gentlemen who treated the new Siamese like the royalty she considered herself to be. They followed a few steps behind her, loyal and faithful retainers, as she paced the lawn just outside the reach of Luthor’s leash. She had to be doing it on purpose, just to drive Luthor crazy.

  “If that rope breaks,” Ben observed, “there won’t be enough left of Penelope to fill a thimble.”

  Savannah glared at him. “Don’t be ridiculous. He would never hurt her. He loves her. He’s just acting out. Now, where’s Griffin?”

  As if on cue, Griffin rounded the corner of the house. “Great. You’re all here. Listen up. I wasn’t at the doctor’s today. I went on a little fact-finding mission. I finally got the scoop on the mysterious Victor Phoenix.”

  Ben was outraged. “You spied on him?”

  “Not on him — I took the bus to his old school in Bass Junction and talked to the people who used to deal with him every day. I knew there was something fishy about that guy. And sure enough, I was right.”

  “My stupid-detector is tingling,” Pitch warned.

  “For starters, he isn’t Victor Phoenix — he’s Victor Feeney. He couldn’t even be honest about his own name. And you know why? Because the cool guy who rode into Cedarville on a white horse and swept you all off your feet is actually the biggest nerd that ever walked the earth!”

  A babble of protest greeted this announcement.

  Ben put everyone’s feelings into words. “Really, Griffin? We’re calling people nerds now? What are we? When I look in the mirror, I don’t see Mr. Popularity. I see a runty kid with a ferret in his shirt. And the same goes for Melissa and her computers, Logan and his acting, Savannah and her animals, Pitch and her climbing, and you and your plans. We’re not friends because we get invited to all the best parties and have to fight off the paparazzi together. We’re friends because why shouldn’t we be? And Victor’s one of us now — regardless of what you found out in Bass Junction.”

  “You don’t understand,” Griffin persisted. “His nickname was Victor the Victim. He got picked on so much that it’s one of the reasons his family moved. Don’t you see? Vader made him think I’m a bully, so he hates me. And he’s playing all of you to get you to hate me, too!”

  Savannah stared at him. “So we shouldn’t be friends with Victor because he got bullied?”

  “Of course not!” Griffin struggled to express himself. “I feel terrible for the guy. You should have seen the knuckle draggers who were picking on him. They make Darren look like Prince Charming. But that doesn’t mean I have to lay down my life so he can be happy — especially after he came here and lied to everybody, even about his last name.”

  “You know, Griffin,” Pitch said coldly, “maybe Vader was right about you. You are a bully. What was Victor supposed to do — tattoo the word ‘DWEEB’ on his forehead? It’s not like a severe allergy
, where you have to wear a bracelet so everybody knows.”

  “It’s horrible how he was treated at that school,” Logan added. “Who can blame him for wanting to be a different person?”

  “I told you I feel bad for him,” Griffin acknowledged. “But that doesn’t change the fact that he bamboozled —”

  “Weren’t you paying attention at the assembly?” Pitch challenged. “There’s no excuse for pushing some poor kid around. So what if Victor’s using a different last name? Does that mean he deserves to be treated like a punching bag? Same thing with Darren. What we did to him was wrong. He’s not the nicest guy in the world, but that doesn’t make it okay.”

  “We were with you with Darren,” put in Ben. “And we all got in a lot of trouble for it. We’re not going to make the same mistake with Victor.”

  At that moment, the sliding door opened and the subject himself stepped into the backyard. “Your mom said you were out here. Hi, guys.” Victor’s gaze skipped over Griffin and came to rest on Penelope. “There’s my girl!”

  The Siamese strolled over to sniff at him, then moved on to Savannah and meowed to be picked up.

  Savannah gave him a sympathetic smile. “She’s not ignoring you. It’s just that I’m the one who’s feeding her now.”

  When she took the cat into her arms, Luthor began to struggle at the end of his leash, whining and barking. “Oh, behave yourself,” Savannah said crossly. “Act your age.”

  Luthor threw himself forward in one mighty lunge. The leash snapped him back, and he collapsed to the grass, half strangled, and whimpering.

  Griffin gazed at him with undisguised sympathy. “I’m with you, big guy. You think you know people, and they forget you were ever their friend.”

  He spun on his heel and stormed out of the yard.

  When Ben knocked on Griffin’s door the next morning on his way to school, he was surprised when the door was answered by Mrs. Bing.

  “Oh, you just missed him, Ben,” she assured him. “He left no more than two minutes ago.”