Jackpot

by Gordon Korman

  It set off warning bells in Ben’s head. Griffin always waited for him, and they always walked to school together — except on days like yesterday, when one of them had a doctor’s appointment, or the flu, pellagra, or whatever. Only Griffin hadn’t really been sick yesterday. Ben had a sinking feeling that the reason his friend had left without him this morning had a lot to do with that — his trip to Victor’s old school and the confrontation with the team that had followed.

  “I think we have some leftover bacon for Ferret Face,” Mrs. Bing offered.

  “Oh, no, thanks. I’ll catch up with Griffin.” He ran off.

  Ferret Face was displeased, as if he knew he’d just missed out on something good. Or maybe he was just nauseated. He occasionally suffered motion sickness brought on by Ben’s uncoordinated gallop.

  Ben spied his friend just stepping onto the school grounds and rushed over to enter with him. “You didn’t wait for me.”

  Griffin kept his gaze straight ahead. “I didn’t think you were coming.”

  “What are you talking about? I come every day. Since kindergarten!”

  “I just assumed you’d be walking with Victor this morning.”

  Ben groaned. So here it was. The same determination and singleness of purpose that made Griffin The Man With The Plan also made him the most stubborn, mule-headed, inflexible, infuriating person alive. The team was just making sure Griffin couldn’t dump all over Victor, but Griffin refused to see that.

  Ben wished he could go back in time to glue Pitch’s mouth shut before she called Victor “the new Man With The Plan.” But it was too late. Now Griffin was going to make this into a war. And as his best friend, Ben was going to end up on the front lines.

  “Griffin, don’t be like that,” he pleaded.

  “I’m not being like anything,” Griffin shot back. “I’m the same as I always was. It’s you guys who are different. I can accept it from the others, but not you, Ben. And Savannah, too, after all the hoops I’ve jumped through for her wacko monkey and her vicious dog.”

  Ben made one last effort. “You’re turning this into a big deal for nothing. All that’s happened is this: A new guy showed up. We like him. So what? It doesn’t change anything about you.”

  “You’re wrong. It changes everything.”

  It was classic Griffin. Once he dug in his heels about something, it took an M1 tank to move him.

  Nor was Griffin content to vent his opinions only to his closest friend. The whole team was fair game.

  In second period, Pitch approached Ben. “What’s up with Griffin? Don’t tell me he’s going to make a federal case out of this Victor thing.”

  Or Logan: “What’s the matter with Griffin? He just told me that I’ll never make it in Hollywood because I don’t know the meaning of loyalty, and none of the big directors will want to work with me!”

  Savannah was more practical. “I couldn’t be more grateful for the things Griffin has done for Cleo and Luthor and me. But that doesn’t give him the right to tell me who I can be friends with.”

  Shy Melissa said nothing, but Ben could make out her anguished eyes behind her curtain of hair. She would never have had any friends if Griffin hadn’t drafted her onto the team. To be caught between her allegiance to him and doing what was right must have been tearing her apart.

  Even Darren could not help but notice the rift that was opening between Griffin and his friends. “Trouble in paradise,” he crowed. “It’s beautiful. I only hope I can take credit for at least some of this.”

  “You can.” Ben was surprised at how angry his voice sounded. “You called him a bully in front of the whole school.”

  “I know.” Darren chortled. “Man, I’m good.”

  Maybe that was the key to ending this standoff — to convince Victor that there was no bully in Griffin Bing. So Ben tried over lunch. But with every single team member clamoring for Victor’s attention, the poor kid didn’t have enough ears to go around. And it didn’t help that Griffin himself sat alone on the other side of the cafeteria, glowering at them. It was hard to sell him as a good guy when he looked like that.

  It reminded Ben of one of those movies where a simple misunderstanding just grows until it becomes so close to insurmountable that even the audience can’t stand it. If Victor had showed up a couple of days sooner and gotten to know the real Griffin, none of this would be happening. It was bad timing, nothing more. And yet with each passing hour, the parties grew more resentful, and the problem became that much less fixable.

  Ben took one more stab at Griffin on the way home from school. “Griffin, if Victor really thinks you’re a bully, all you have to do is convince him that you’re not. How hard can that be? I’ll help.”

  The look Griffin shot him in reply confirmed Ben’s worst fears. His friend had spent the day aggrieved and alone, stewing in his own resentment. He was miles beyond reason. “If he’s wrong about me,” he challenged darkly, “how come that’s my problem?”

  Ben played his trump card. “Surely, The Man With The Plan can see how easy it is to clear this up. It would be the simplest plan you ever made.”

  “You don’t need me for planning,” Griffin said sarcastically. “You’ve got the new Man With The Plan. If he’s such a great planner, let him make everything right. And while he’s at it, maybe he can think up a way to get Ferret Face elected president. Then Victor will have to train something else to bite you when you fall asleep, like a rattlesnake, or a black widow spider. There are still a few wrinkles to iron out, but I’m sure he’s up to the challenge. The genius of planning is in the details.”

  It stung. Ben was only trying to help, for Griffin’s sake more than anybody’s.

  “Those details you think you’re so good at — Victor’s good at them, too, mostly because he considers other people’s opinions, not just his own. But your plans have to be one hundred percent Bing, don’t they? Your way or no way. So have it your way! You always do!”

  They walked home on opposite sides of the street.

  Our next award is a new prize for us on the Nobel Committee. Our first-ever Nobel Prize in Planning goes to a teenage gentleman from Cedarville, United States….”

  Griffin stood up and shot Albert Einstein a knowing wink as one Nobel laureate to another.

  “We salute Mr. Victor Phoenix!”

  “No!” Griffin protested, shocked. “He’s not The Man With The Plan! I am! And his name isn’t even Phoenix!”

  But the applause in the auditorium drowned out his words.

  “This is a mistake!” Griffin raved as a triumphant Victor accepted his medal. “That’s my prize! He’s no planner! All he does is buy people’s friendship!”

  “Don’t be a bully, young man,” Dr. Einstein scolded.

  “I’m not a bully!” Griffin howled.

  “I believe you are,” the renowned genius returned. “I know it as surely as E equals mc squared.”

  “No! No! No … !”

  * * *

  The bedroom lights came on and Griffin awoke to find his father shaking him. “Everything’s okay, kid. You’re having a bad dream.”

  Griffin sat up in a cold sweat. “The worst.” It was awful enough that Victor had hijacked Griffin’s team. Now he’d even wormed his way into Griffin’s favorite dream, and turned Einstein against him. It was enough to keep a guy from ever allowing himself to fall asleep again.

  “Mom and I have noticed that Ben hasn’t been coming around for the past few days. Come to think of it, the phone hasn’t been ringing off the hook, either. We just figured the gang wasn’t too thrilled about garbage detail. But I’m starting to think maybe that’s not the whole picture.”

  Griffin started to say No big deal but stopped himself, because it was a big deal. It was a huge, horrible deal. Obviously, he’d had arguments and disagreements with his friends, even Ben, over the years. But never could he have imagined that the entire team — lock, stock, and barrel — would turn against him like this. And over what? A cr
eepy little phony who was worming his way into their good graces with Oscar predictions and ferret remedies! And Pitch had the nerve to call him the new Man With The Plan! His only real plan was to steal Griffin’s place among his friends so he wouldn’t have to be Victor the Victim in Cedarville, too.

  But he couldn’t bear to explain all this to Dad. So he just mumbled, “Sorry to wake you up. It’s nothing for you and Mom to worry about.”

  School was the worst, because at every turn, he was treated to the sight of one or more of his friends hanging out with Victor. He was constantly swapping cat stories with Savannah. Suddenly, Logan couldn’t rehearse with anybody else. He had Melissa upgrading some thingamajig on his computer so he’d have instant videoconferencing with all his new friends — as if they didn’t spend enough time together at school, joined at the hip. And Ben — that was the one that really hurt. Ben was telling everyone who would listen how he’d never seen Ferret Face take to anybody the way he had to Victor. Not even Savannah, and all animals adored her. The whole thing was nauseating.

  The bitterest pill of all was eating alone in the cafeteria. Not only did he feel like an outcast, but it was on display for the whole world to see. Griffin couldn’t imagine anything worse.

  “Hey, Bing.” An overladen tray thumped down to the table beside him. “How’s it going?”

  “Beat it, Vader.”

  “No can do,” Darren said briskly. “Remember the anti-bullying assembly? It counts as a good deed to befriend some pathetic loser, exiled to Siberia, thrown aside like a piece of trash. I might put in for extra credit for this.”

  “I remember that assembly,” Griffin said between clenched teeth. “That’s the one where you called me a bully.”

  “I didn’t call you anything,” Darren noted, defending himself. “I just looked at you, and everybody drew their own conclusions. Anyway, it serves you right for sending me digging through the garbage.”

  “I didn’t send you. Your greed sent you.”

  “Good one!” Darren laughed appreciatively, showering a fine spray of soup over Griffin’s tray. “I don’t deny it. I love money. It drives me crazy to know that ticket is still out there. Thirty million bucks. Woo-hoo!”

  Griffin rolled his eyes. “You’re kidding, right? You know that was a fake article. We cooked it up on Melissa’s computer.”

  Darren shook his head. “That’s not the point. The article may be fake, but the ticket is one hundred percent real.”

  “Yeah,” Griffin retorted, “a year ago. For sure it’s long gone, burned up in some fireplace, or flushed down a toilet. Or it could be in a landfill, bulldozed down thirty feet, with a miniature golf course built on top of it.”

  Darren looked pained. “Don’t talk that way about thirty million dollars.”

  Griffin had to laugh. “Anyway, it’ll all be over in ten days. On day eleven, it’s not worth one cent.”

  Darren dropped his sandwich so he could cover his ears. “I’m not listening,” he mumbled, mouth full.

  Griffin picked up his tray, even though his lunch was only half finished. “If you don’t want to face reality, that’s fine with me. But I’m telling you Superman couldn’t find that ticket.”

  “Maybe not Superman,” Darren conceded, his piggy eyes open so wide that his gaze almost seemed sincere. “But what about … a man with a plan?”

  Light dawned on Griffin. “You sleaze. You hate my guts, but you don’t mind using me to help you find some money.”

  “I don’t hate you,” Darren protested innocently. “In fact, now that everybody else hates you, I’m starting to appreciate what you’ve got to offer.”

  “I don’t have anything to offer you,” Griffin said bitterly. And he bused his tray and left the cafeteria.

  So what do you think?”

  Griffin looked up from the table in amazement. It was the next day at lunch. Twenty-four hours had passed, and Darren was continuing their conversation practically in mid-sentence.

  “What part of ‘buzz off’ didn’t you understand?” Griffin said wearily.

  True to form, Darren could not be rebuffed. “I’ve been working on a list of the things I’m going to get when I cash in that ticket. And you know what I found out? Thirty million is so much money that even I can’t spend it all. I mean, after the first ten or fifteen mil, you run out of stuff to buy. It’s a dilemma.”

  Griffin stood, picked up his tray, and headed for an open table. If he had to listen to another word of this, not only would he lose his appetite, but the portion of lunch he’d already eaten would threaten to back up on him.

  Thump!

  The collision rattled all the cutlery on his tray and overturned his carton of chocolate milk. He looked up to see Ben standing there, his heart in his eyes.

  “Griffin,” he whispered, “are you really so sore at everybody that you’d rather sit with Darren than come over and have lunch with us?”

  “I can eat where I please,” Griffin retorted.

  “Sure, but why would you want to? You have friends!”

  Griffin looked over at his regular lunch spot. There sat Pitch, Savannah, Logan, and Melissa beside Ben’s empty chair. At the head of the table, in the seat usually reserved for Griffin, was Victor holding court. Griffin couldn’t make out their conversation, but the others were hanging on Victor’s every word.

  “I don’t have any friends over there.” He turned his back on Ben and rejoined Darren.

  “That ticket is findable,” Darren went on, again as if no interruption had taken place. “A really smart guy once said you can do anything if you’ve got the right plan.”

  Griffin knew he was being buttered up, but it still felt good to hear it, even coming from Darren. He wasn’t getting credit for much these days. “Almost anything,” Griffin amended magnanimously. “After all, no plan can help you eat lava, or turn coleslaw into gold bars.”

  “So you’re with me?” Darren looked pleased.

  “Forget it, Vader. That ticket is long gone.”

  “Correction. That ticket might be long gone. Which also means it might be lying around somewhere, ripe for the plucking.”

  It might, thought Griffin with a sigh. Just like I might someday be friends with this jerk.

  But neither possibility seemed very likely.

  * * *

  “It’s a beautiful day outside,” Mrs. Bing announced to her son.

  Griffin was flopped on the couch, eyes riveted on the TV, not even glancing away to reach into the chip bowl and feed his face. “I’m busy.”

  The theme music from SpongeBob SquarePants filled the den.

  “No son of mine is going to waste a glorious Saturday watching cartoons you’ve already seen fifty times,” she persisted. “Call Ben.”

  “There is no Ben,” he told her.

  She looked worried. “You two have been friends forever. Whatever’s gone wrong between you, I’m sure it can be worked out.”

  “Well, as long as you’re sure,” he mumbled sarcastically.

  “Griffin, I’m not the enemy here. I’m trying to help you. But if you insist on making yourself miserable, do it outside, where you can get some exercise and fresh air.”

  Griffin ended up meandering around on his bike, because it was easier than arguing. To Mom, even a full-scale zombie invasion wasn’t too bad so long as you weren’t stuck indoors on a beautiful day.

  He already knew he wouldn’t enjoy the ride, because everything in Cedarville reminded him of his friends. There was Ben’s street and, a little farther along, the Dukakis house, where Melissa had done some of her greatest electronics work. As he passed Park Avenue Extension, he could see the old house in front of the water tower — scene of the plan that had brought the team together for the very first time. And down the way a little was where they’d put Luthor through the truck wash because it was the only way to give him a bath. Everywhere Griffin pedaled conjured up happy memories calculated to make him sad.

  As he rode along the bike path
in the park, lost in his melancholy, a loud buzzing swelled in his ears, and a sharp wind ruffled his hair. Alarmed, he risked a glance over his shoulder in time to see a large model airplane roar past, its wingtips missing his face by no more than six inches.

  He watched in shock as the craft banked and came back around for another run at him. He ducked as it flew over, causing him to lose control of his bike. He swerved off the path. His tires bit into soft earth, and he wiped out on the grass. He disentangled himself from the frame and gawked as the remote control plane coasted in for a perfect landing on the lawn. Standing there applauding and cheering this fancy flying were the same people who used to applaud and cheer for Griffin — Savannah, Logan, Pitch, Melissa, and Ben. And at the center of the group, operating the controls, was Victor Phoenix.

  Griffin had read in books about a red haze of fury coming over someone’s vision. But until this moment, he’d never experienced it. He could actually see the scene on the lawn through a fiery glow — Victor wielding the remote like a conquering hero, adored by all except Savannah, who was playing lovingly with Penelope. Luthor watched this, and the big dog looked none too pleased about it.

  As Griffin ditched the bike and closed the distance between himself and his former friends, Penelope began to stalk the plane as if she were a great jungle cat after prey. Playfully, Victor began to reverse the craft away from her, jerking it back from each pounce. The others laughed as if it were the cleverest thing they’d ever seen — why not use an airplane as a cat toy after you’ve already used it to dive-bomb an innocent cyclist? How cute.

  Luthor must have thought so, too. If it could be a cat toy, he reasoned, why not a dog toy? He jumped at it with a gentle swipe of his large paw. Victor quickly moved the plane to safety, and Savannah got in her Doberman’s face. “No!” she admonished firmly. “You’re too big to do what Penelope does! Act your age!”

  Had Griffin not been totally focused on Victor, he might have noticed that Luthor did not back down, his ears flattening in defiance.

  Ferret Face was the first to spot Griffin, followed rapidly by his owner.