by Emily Ecton
Wilf glanced at the other two kids. Miss Apple Shampoo was frowning. Even the wiry kid seemed thrown.
The tall man clapped his hands and then held them together. “I’ll inform Mr. Smith that we’re ready. Let the games begin.”
RULES:
1. There will be no sharing of clues.
2. There will be no discussion of clues with other competitors.
3. There will be no discussion of clues with outside elements.
4. Each solution will be accompanied by photographic proof, to be provided at the time of presentation.
5. The student who provides the correct solutions first and is declared the winner shall be given a $10,000 scholarship, no more, no less.
6. These terms are confidential and shall not be disclosed to anyone for any reason, in perpetuity.
7. The Organizers reserve the right to alter or amend these instructions and/or rules at any time, without prior notice.
8. The Organizers reserve the right to issue no scholarship if they feel that these terms, or the spirit thereof, have not been met or have been violated in any way.
9. Remember, this is not a game.
The Undersigned acknowledge these rules and swear to abide by them, from now and in perpetuity. No exceptions. This contract is legally binding, and any violations thereof will be punished to the full extent of the law.
Melissa Burris
Bondi Johnson
WILFRED SAMSON
Melissa put down the pen and sat back down. The original letter hadn’t said anything about contracts, but that one had seemed pretty straightforward at least. She knew Gran wouldn’t be happy about it, though. If there was one thing her grandmother didn’t like, it was contracts. But the man had been pretty clear—no signature, no scholarship. And she was going to get that scholarship. Gran wouldn’t care about any stupid contract when Melissa walked in with ten thousand dollars.
Bondi signed his name with a flourish and took the papers from the tall man at the desk, flipping through them as he sat back down.
There were a bunch more rules, it looked like, and the paper was all wrong—it felt damp, it smelled funny, and the ink was this weird purple color. All except the last page, which was written out by hand and just said one thing:
Always remember:
One points you forward.
One takes you back.
One is a trick.
Bondi frowned and raised his hand. “One is a trick? What does that mean?” He didn’t wait to be called on. It wasn’t like they were in school—he probably hadn’t even needed to raise his hand, but the tall man looked like the type who would appreciate it.
“Please do not read ahead, Master Johnson. Mr. Smith will answer your questions presently,” the tall man said solemnly. “Now that we’ve all agreed to the terms, allow me to present him to you.”
The tall man smiled at them, crossed to the inner office door, and then threw it open in a dramatic display, revealing a sour-looking, stocky man waiting in the doorway. It would’ve been very dramatic and creepy if the door hadn’t bounced off of the wall and almost walloped Mr. Smith in the stomach.
“Thank you, Mr….erm…Butler,” Mr. Smith said, his beady eyes darting nervously as he examined the children. “As you know, you three have been invited here to compete for a very unusual scholarship, and you all have signed a legally binding agreement.”
Butler coughed discreetly into his fist.
“A binding agreement,” Smith said, shooting a glare at Butler. “One that will be strictly enforced, make no mistake. Let me say, first and foremost, that you were all chosen specifically for your particular, erm, talents.”
Melissa squirmed in her seat. She wondered if she should say something about how she wasn’t Melissa Burke or Melissa Jaffe. It was going to be pretty embarrassing when they realized they had the wrong Melissa.
Mr. Smith turned to stare at her, as though he’d heard her thoughts. “And those talents were not academic in nature, Miss Burris, Master Samson, and Master Johnson. Rest assured. I know what you are. You are not here by mistake.”
Melissa tried to force herself to smile, but somehow hearing I know what you are didn’t fill her with warm and fuzzy feelings. She managed to look enthusiastic until Mr. Smith turned his focus to Bondi.
“You will each be given three clues. You will keep those clues confidential, and you will provide the solutions to me, together with evidence that your solution is correct. Your clues are unique, so there is no possibility of cheating off of one another.”
“Yep, all that was covered in that thing we signed,” Bondi agreed. He wasn’t buying the Smith guy’s whole tough act. It was going to take a lot more than some old guy giving him the hairy eyeball to throw him off his game.
Mr. Smith continued on as though Bondi hadn’t even spoken. “And let me make that point crystal clear. You will provide these solutions only to me.”
Butler cleared his throat and folded his arms.
“To me, or to Mr. Butler here. The child with the correct solutions will be given a ten-thousand-dollar scholarship, assuming, of course, that all terms of the competition have been met to my satisfaction. Once the scholarship is awarded, our tenuous connections will be severed, and there will be no further contact or communication. Now, is everything understood?”
“No further contact or communication?” Melissa couldn’t help herself. That just sounded weird.
“I presume you’d hoped to become pen pals, Miss Burris?” Mr. Smith said coldly.
Melissa’s face turned bright red. “Well, no, but—”
“Where are the clues?” Wilf interrupted, his voice sounding rusty, like he didn’t use it much. “Do you give them to us? And what kind of solutions are you talking about here? Is there going to be math, or what?”
Mr. Smith eyed him carefully, like he was a lizard trying to estimate the exact distance to a fly. “That will become apparent momentarily.”
“So is it just research stuff? Or word problems, or a scavenger hunt, or something?” Wilf didn’t really get what they were supposed to do. And if he had to stay there much longer, he was going to need a Kleenex.
Mr. Butler coughed into his fist again and raised an eyebrow at Mr. Smith.
Smith sighed and rolled his eyes. “Yes, of course. Allow me to elaborate, Master Samson. No, it is not math. But you will need to use your brain and other skills to discern the answers. To be honest, I now think it may be beyond your personal capabilities. But, as Mr. Butler reminds me, I must tell you that your needs have been accounted for. You will each have access to a nonsmoking, licensed driver who will take you to any location necessary to find the answers to your clues. Mr. Butler feels, and I must agree, that it would be unwise for you to venture out into the city entirely alone. I have provided, at great personal expense, a cell phone for each of you to use for the duration of the competition so you can summon your driver, should you need assistance. Your safety is paramount. Understood?”
“Sure, okay,” Wilf said. Not really, but whatever—he was getting a phone and a driver. How awesome was that?
“Good. Butler?” Mr. Smith nodded at the tall man, who opened a desk drawer and took out three manila envelopes.
Mr. Butler handed one each to Wilf, Bondi, and Melissa.
“Now remember,” Mr. Smith continued, “your clues are one of a kind. If you lose anything in that packet—your phone, your clues, anything—it cannot and will not be replaced. Any questions?”
Wilf still had a ton of questions, but he could tell the right answer was no. So he bit his tongue and kept his trap shut.
“Good.” Mr. Smith’s eyes gleamed. “You are dismissed. I do not expect to see you again without solutions and evidence in hand.”
He turned and, without a word, marched into the inner office, slamming the door behind him.
Mr. Butler unbolted the outer door and held it open for the kids to exit. “Best of luck to you all,” he said with a cheerless grin, adding under his breath, �
�God knows you’ll need it.”
REPORT
To: Mr. Smith
From: Mr. Butler
Upon receiving their clues, the three subjects exited the building without speaking to one another.
Miss Burris traveled on foot in a northerly direction, finally stopping in Daley Plaza.
Master Johnson entered a dining establishment a block from the office.
Master Samson immediately summoned Mr. Frank Jennings, driver.
All as expected.
Melissa found an empty bench and carefully surveyed the plaza before unzipping her jacket and taking out the manila envelope. There were a ton of people around, but nobody seemed to be paying attention to her. Not the clusters of touristy people staring up at the big Picasso statue, not the guy standing next to a black car across the street, and not the group of girls scream-laughing over something on one of their phone screens.
Melissa clutched the envelope tightly and looked around one last time. Because even though nobody was paying attention to her, she had a prickly feeling on the back of her neck. A feeling like she was being watched.
A pigeon landed next to an abandoned french fry container, making her jump. Melissa laughed to herself. She was being silly. It was just a scholarship thing. It wasn’t like anyone was going to be spying on her. Besides, she only had a few hours. She had to be back at three to relieve her grandmother, so she needed to use every minute to figure out her clues so she could win the money.
She opened the envelope and pulled out a thick packet of paper and a ziplock bag. She sucked in her breath. The ziplock bag had a real cell phone inside—one of the old-fashioned ones that flipped open, but still, it was a phone of her very own. The bag also held a disposable camera and what looked like a real debit card. Melissa frowned at the card. She’d heard about people getting sucked in with cards like that, buying things they couldn’t afford. She didn’t want to get caught in a trap.
Melissa quickly stuffed the ziplock into her pocket and scanned her surroundings again. The girls had moved on and been replaced by two businessmen, but the man across the street was still standing by the car. Melissa stared at him for a long second, but he didn’t seem to be looking at her. He probably hadn’t even noticed her sitting there.
Melissa zipped the pocket of her windbreaker shut and then picked up the thin letter-sized envelope that was on top of the papers. Handwritten on the front was one word: Clues.
Melissa eased the envelope open, and took out the three slips of paper that were inside. She read the first one.
Go to the site of Lorado Taft’s Death in 1909.
Melissa examined the piece of paper for any other message, but that was it. Lorado Taft’s Death. 1909. Got it. Melissa breathed a little easier. If all the clues were as straightforward as that one, she’d have this thing solved in no time. Heck, if she was lucky, she might even be done by three o’clock. Sure, she didn’t know who Lorado Taft was or where he’d died, but how hard could it be to find out, right?
Melissa put that clue back into the envelope and read the next one.
Freeze! Look to the building where Tarzan swam to find your “Contribution.”
Okay, maybe three o’clock was a little ambitious. It’s not like those old guys were going to make it too easy. It was a scholarship prize, after all—the contest had to be a little hard. She wasn’t worried, though. Tarzan was pretty noticeable, so it probably wouldn’t be hard to figure out where he hung out. Melissa tucked her hair behind her ear and read the last clue.
Go to 1910 for ice cream, then stick around to watch the newborns.
Melissa’s eyes narrowed as she stared at the clue for a long minute. Frowning, she flipped the paper over, examined it, and read it again. Finally, she tucked it back into the small envelope and stared at the pigeon, who was having some major issues with the discarded french fry container. Melissa flipped through the packet of papers, scanning the pages quickly. There had to be something that she was missing. But no, just more boring rules and lists and blah, blah, blah. She pulled the clues out of the envelope again and held the third one up to the light, but there weren’t any secret messages, no hidden words that she could see. Just a regular piece of paper, with that dumb message.
Go to 1910 for ice cream, then stick around to watch the newborns.
Melissa shoved the clue back into its envelope and then stuffed everything into the packet again.
They must think she was a real idiot, an easy mark. They must think she was such a sucker. She couldn’t believe she’d actually fallen for their scam.
She got up abruptly, startling the pigeon so badly that he decided to give up french fries entirely.
Stupid scholarship. The whole thing was nothing but a joke. Just a bunch of pathetic old men getting their kicks by making kids look dumb. What a bunch of losers. Go to 1910. What a crock.
Melissa’s face burned. She was such an idiot, thinking she’d been picked for a special thing. As if someone would just give her a brand-new phone of her very own and tell her she had a shot at big money. Right. She should’ve known better. Things like that didn’t happen in real life, especially in Melissa’s life. One official-looking letter on fancy stationery was all it had taken for her to forget that.
Mrs. Orlin was going to have a great time yukking it up when she heard about this. Melissa stomped down to the bus shelter and waited, her stomach twisting into knots as she thought about school on Monday.
Wilf gave his new phone a few test flips while he waited for his driver. It was pretty ancient looking, but it had a cool retro vibe that was kind of awesome. Wilf slid it into his jacket pocket as the sleek black car slid up to the curb. The driver, a red-faced man with a mustache and gray hair, hopped out and grinned at Wilf, hurrying around the car with his meaty hand outstretched.
“Mr. Samson, good to be working with you. My name is Frank Jennings. You can call me Frank. Or Mr. Jennings. Whichever you want. Just don’t call me Francis—I hate that.” The man grabbed Wilf’s hand and shook it vigorously. “This is an exciting day for both of us, right, sport?” Frank winked and opened the car door for Wilf.
“Sure.” Wilf shrugged as he climbed into the backseat. The upholstery was smooth leather, and there was a fresh clean smell inside the car, like oranges or fancy soap. There were even little bottles of water in the cup holders. Wilf leaned back. He could get used to this.
“So what did they tell you about this job, exactly?” Wilf asked as Frank got behind the wheel again. He wasn’t sure if Frank counted as an “outside element” or not. He figured he probably didn’t, but if Frank didn’t know what was going on, Wilf wasn’t going to be the one to tell him.
“Probably just what they told you. You’ve got some clues, and my job is to take you wherever you need to go to solve them. Whatever you need, just ask. Pretty sweet setup you’ve got here, huh, kid?” Frank smiled at Wilf in the rearview mirror. “Not like any other assignment I’ve had, I’ll tell you that.”
Wilf nodded, relieved that he wouldn’t have to keep anything from Frank. He wasn’t what you’d call the world’s best secret-keeper; it would be just like him to accidentally spill his guts and get the boot on day one.
“Okay, now, where to? You’re the boss now,” Frank said, buckling his seat belt.
“Right. I’m the boss.” Wilf hesitated. If there was one thing Wilf was not used to being, it was the boss. He’d never even been chosen as a team captain in gym, and that was as low stakes as you could get. He was never first choice for anything, and to be honest, he wasn’t sure how he’d ended up in a competition like this one. He’d tried to figure it out, but in the end, he decided they must’ve picked names out of a hat or something.
Wilf chewed on his lip. “So I can tell you anywhere?”
Frank grinned. “Sure. Well, within city limits. They said nothing outside city limits. But don’t you need to check that envelope first?”
Wilf felt himself turning red. He didn’t figure there was an
y way he was going to be able to solve any of those clues, but he had to at least pretend to try if he wanted to stay in the contest. And who wouldn’t want to stay in the game when it came with so many perks? “Right, so, um, maybe just drive around while I figure it out.”
“You got it, boss,” Frank said, pulling out into traffic.
“Boss,” Wilf repeated under his breath. He dumped the contents of the envelope onto his lap again. Once he’d gotten the packet, he’d immediately pulled out the cell phone and Frank’s number, but he hadn’t taken the time to look at anything else. Wilf ignored the papers—he could deal with the reading stuff later, if ever. Instead he picked up the envelope marked Clues and opened it, pulling out the slips inside. He examined the first one.
Jeremiah 6:23 plus Psalm 46:9
“Huh,” Wilf said, shuffling that clue behind the others. Some Bible thing, it looked like. He’d figure it out later. He read the next clue.
Madame Tussaud and Mrs. O’Leary would be proud of their little blue friend.
“Huh,” Wilf said again. That made even less sense than the first one, and it was in English and everything, not in Bible code.
“You say something?” Frank said from the front seat. “Got a destination for me?”
Wilf put the second clue back in the envelope and gave a small gasp. He really should’ve taken more time checking out the packet before he had called Frank. Because, in his hurry, he’d overlooked the most important thing. There was a debit card.
Oh yeah, he definitely wanted to stay in the contest.
Wilf stuffed the last clue back into the envelope without looking at it and chucked the packet onto the seat next to him. “This debit card, you know anything about that?”
“What do you mean?” Frank frowned at him. Wilf wasn’t even sure Frank was the one to ask about this stuff, but he was the only one there.
“Can I use it? They won’t mind, right?”
