by Emily Ecton
Sincerely,
Frank
To: Frank Jennings
From: Butler
Subject: RE: Not what I signed up for
Frank:
Noted. Your assignments are not without purpose. I sincerely hope you understand this and will continue to act according to our requests. You know what’s at stake. Remember the big picture. Don’t let us down.
Butler
Bondi smoothed the cover of his notebook carefully as he slipped it inside his messenger bag. As tempting as it was, he would not open it. Not even a peek. He wasn’t going to think about the stupid scholarship at all. No birds, no clocks, no nothing. Bondi’s tried-and-true research-his-butt-off method of investigation hadn’t panned out, so he was going to try Inez’s totally-ignore-the-problem-and-the-solution-will-magically-appear method. It was worth a shot, at least.
Bondi headed into the living room, where his mom was sitting with her feet up on the coffee table. The TV was off, and she seemed to be watching his dad fiddle with a bunch of cords.
“Homework done already?” she said, taking a sip of iced tea as Bondi’s dad cursed softly behind the TV cabinet.
“All done,” Bondi said, smiling.
“Of course it is—our kid’s the best at everything!” Bondi’s dad said from behind the cabinet. “Isn’t that right, Bondi?”
“Right,” Bondi said, his smile fading a bit as he sat down on the couch. Inez’s plan had to work. He couldn’t let them down. “So what’s going on?”
His mom chuckled softly. “The wireless is all messed up again, and we’re trying to fix it. Your dad’s show is on in a little bit.”
“We’re never going to make it in time!” Bondi’s dad said from behind the TV cabinet. “I’m never going to get this fixed.”
He popped his head up and looked at them. “You watching with us tonight, Bondi? I don’t know if…” He glanced at his wife.
“Yeah, that show is a little violent. We can save it for later. Want to pick a movie instead?” Bondi’s mom patted him on the leg. “Assuming we can get the DVD player to work, that is.”
“What, did I mess up the DVD player now?” His dad groaned and flopped back onto the carpet. “What did I unplug that I shouldn’t have?”
Bondi’s mom snickered and winked at Bondi.
Bondi leaned back into the couch. Watching a movie was pretty much the furthest you could get from researching clues. It sounded like that would fit right in with his new Inez problem-solving strategy. “My pick?”
His mom poked him in the ribs and gave him a serious look. “Well, I don’t know. Are you picking something with robots and explosions?”
Bondi grinned. “Of course.”
His mom handed him the remote. “Done.”
Wilf lay in his bed waiting for his mom to get home from her night out. He’d been planning to tell her about how he’d figured out the clue. But the more he thought about it and what he would say, the more it seemed wrong, somehow.
Frank had acted so weird earlier. Wilf knew it was crazy, but it was almost like Frank had deliberately pointed him to the solution. But that didn’t make any sense. Why would Frank do that?
And how would he even know?
A car door slammed downstairs. Wilf scrambled over to the window, but it wasn’t his mom—it was just that guy from the second floor with the neurotic dog that peed whenever you looked at it.
Wilf lay back down. Frank didn’t even know what the clues were, right? There was no way he could give Wilf hints, let alone point him toward a solution. Besides, that would be cheating. Wouldn’t it?
Wilf groaned. He’d tried to tell his dad about the whole thing when he’d called earlier that night, just to see what he thought of the situation. But it all came out wrong, and his dad couldn’t talk long, anyway. He didn’t seem that interested in hearing about the different kinds of hot dogs, and Wilf hadn’t even wanted to get into the puking.
Besides, it was hard to keep straight exactly how things had happened. That whole puking thing had made the rest of the day kind of hard to remember. Especially that part with the inchworm. Wilf frowned. Had that even happened? It was weird to think that he’d hung out with an inchworm. And had Frank really been talking to someone? That seemed weird, too.
Another car door slammed downstairs, and Wilf jumped for the window. His mom was just coming inside.
Wilf pulled on his bathrobe and hurried into the hallway. He was being an idiot. It had been a lucky coincidence, that’s all. And Frank had probably just been watching some show on his phone or something. Being alone was making Wilf paranoid. And being paranoid was the last thing he wanted to be.
Melissa’s Clues:
Go to the site of Lorado Taft’s Death in 1909.
Freeze! Look to the building where Tarzan swam to find your “Contribution.”
Go to 1910 for ice cream, then stick around to watch the newborns.
Bondi’s Clues:
Eli should’ve called this bubbler “Spitty Geese with Fish Huggers.”
Help your bird friends get Wright to the Root of the matter as you spiral down from 12 to 2.
Surrounded by glass, you’ll find the world at your feet.
Wilf’s Clues:
Jeremiah 6:23 plus Psalm 46:9
Madame Tussaud and Mrs. O’Leary would be proud of their little blue friend.
???
Bondi was poring over his notebooks, his feet propped on the chair across from him, when Jamal knocked his legs down.
“Hey!” Bondi said, sitting up.
Jamal smirked as he slid into the now empty chair. “Man, you’re still at this scholarship stuff? You haven’t solved it yet?”
Bondi shrugged. “I’m almost there.”
“And you still can’t talk about it?”
Bondi shrugged again.
“You’re losing your touch.” Jamal shook his head sadly and then reached out and snatched the notebook away from Bondi. “Let me see. Ol’ Jamal can figure this out for you.” He peered down at the page.
“Ol’ Jamal?”
“That’s right,” Jamal said, examining the clue.
Bondi folded his arms. “You’re not supposed to help me.”
“I’m not helping, I’m just reading,” Jamal said.
“Solved it yet?” Bondi said when Jamal finally handed it back.
“Yeah, right.” Jamal snorted. “That’s messed up, man. Beats me what that’s about.”
Bondi slumped back in his chair. “Yeah, it’s tricky. I can’t figure it out.”
“Yeah, it’s crazy.” Jamal tapped the paper. “I mean, why are those words capitalized, for one thing?”
Bondi stared at him. “What do you mean?”
Jamal pointed at the clue. “Those capitalized words. How come they’re special? Are they names, or what? Or is your clue man just lousy at grammar?”
Bondi peered at the clue again.
Help your bird friends get Wright to the Root of the matter as you spiral down from 12 to 2.
“Oh man!” His eyes were wide. “Dang, Jamal! Names!” He scrambled up and hurried over to an empty computer terminal. “This has got to be it.”
He typed Root and Wright into the search engine and held his breath as he hit ENTER. Jamal looked over his shoulder. “Hold up, TheRoot.com? That’s an online magazine.”
Bondi waved him off. “Yeah, but that’s not it. I’m not being specific enough.”
Jamal pointed at the keyboard. “Type in bird, too.”
Bondi’s eyes gleamed. “Not just bird…”
He typed in Root Wright bird and Chicago. Then he hit ENTER.
Jamal punched him on the shoulder when the results came up. “Way to go, man!”
Bondi grinned and clicked on the second link. He had it now.
The Rookery, Chicago, IL
Designed by the famed architectural team of Daniel H. Burnham and John W. Root, with a lobby redesigned by Frank Lloyd Wright, the Rookery is one of the most
historically significant buildings in Chicago. Originally completed in 1888, the building
“Inez. Inez. Pick up. Pick up, Inez.” Bondi crouched in the library stacks, chanting into his phone. His original plan had been to call Inez, ditch school, and get to the Rookery, but since Inez wasn’t answering, he didn’t know what to do, except keep calling or start walking. He sure didn’t want to wait until school was over, he knew that much.
“This is Inez. You know what to do.” Even in her message she sounded like she was smoking.
Bondi waited until the voice mail beeped. “Inez, it’s Bondi. I figured it out. Pick me up, and I’ll tell you where we need to go. Call me back. Bye.”
Bondi hung up and then sat staring at the phone like he expected Inez to magically appear on the screen. She didn’t.
Bondi hit REDIAL just as a shadow blocked out the light above him.
“Having fun, Mr. Johnson?” Mrs. Marlowe, the librarian, was frowning down at him, arms folded. She didn’t look like she was going to buy any explanations about solving clues and competitions.
Bondi smiled up at her, trying not to stare at her tapping foot. Mrs. Marlowe’s feet were always puffed up, like giant marshmallows that she’d stuffed into shoes two sizes too small. It wasn’t a good look. “I believe your class period has started. Were you intending to join them?”
Bondi slid his phone into his pocket. Mrs. Marlowe wasn’t someone to mess with, not with feet like that. Feet like that make you crabby.
“You know, I was, but these books, they all look so interesting! I was having such a hard time deciding between them that I must’ve lost track of time. Could you recommend something? Please?”
Mrs. Marlowe crouched down and looked at the shelf. “Oh, well, certainly. You’re interested in mythology, I see.” She tapped her finger to her lips thoughtfully and then pulled out a book. “I’d recommend this Edith Hamilton as a starting point. Now, run and check it out and get to class, young man,” she said in a mock-stern voice.
“Yes, ma’am.” Bondi grinned as he took the book and hurried to the checkout desk.
He turned the cell phone ringer to vibrate as he turned the corner. As soon as Inez called him back, he’d be on his way to collecting his prize. And no puffy-footed librarian would be able to stop him.
Frank ran the buffer cloth over the hood of the car and eyed the cell phone on the table. It had been ringing nonstop for the past ten minutes. He’d considered answering it, but then decided against it. He had a good idea who was calling.
Inez strolled into the garage carrying a box of doughnuts and a bag of fruit from the grocery on the corner. Nodding at Frank, she chucked the doughnuts onto the table, then pulled out a chair with one foot and plunked down in the seat in one fluid motion.
“So,” she said, watching Frank buff the car, “what’d I miss?”
Frank jerked his head in the direction of the phone. “Looks like somebody tried to call you.”
Inez pulled the phone over and looked at the screen. “Seventeen missed calls? What the—?”
Frank shrugged and kept buffing.
Inez called up her voice mail and listened, a smile spreading across her face. She hung up after message number four and hit the first number on her speed dial.
She grinned at Frank while it rang. “You know what’s going on?”
Frank sighed. “I’ve got an idea.”
“You’ve got an idea.” She snickered. Then she smiled into the phone. “Butler. Inez. It’s on. He’s done it, so get ready.”
She slammed the phone onto the table and smirked at Frank. “Things are about to get a lot more interesting.”
Bondi was waiting out front when Inez pulled up. “Where were you? Did you lose your phone or something?” he demanded, hopping into the backseat of the car before Inez even had a chance to stop completely.
“Hold your horses, kiddo. Now where do you need to get so badly?”
“The Rookery—it’s a building on LaSalle.” Bondi leaned forward between the seats so he was practically in the front seat. “It’s the third solution—one last picture and I’ll win the whole thing!”
“Rookery, got it. I know the one.” Inez nodded, shooting a smile at Bondi. “What did I tell you? I knew you’d get it! You just had to have a little faith in yourself! Now, buckle up and hang on.”
Inez hit the gas so hard she almost sideswiped a city bus. The bus driver leaned on the horn, but Inez just laughed. “I’ll get you there, kid!”
Bondi scrambled to get his seat belt fastened. “Just make sure it’s in one piece!”
Frank cracked a smile as Wilf piled into the car after school, but his smile didn’t seem to go all the way up to his eyes. Wilf wished he hadn’t puked quite so much the day before. He didn’t want Frank thinking of him as the pukey kid or worrying about his backseat.
“So, um, sorry about yesterday. We okay?” Wilf said in a rush. He figured he had to say something right away so it wouldn’t be weird. Or weirder.
Frank smiled, and it seemed like a real one this time. “No problem, boss. I don’t know how you put away that many hot dogs. It was pretty impressive. I sure couldn’t have done it!”
Wilf grinned. “Yeah, I guess.” He fiddled with the envelope of clues in his lap. He hadn’t looked at it since he’d figured out that last one. He wasn’t even sure he still had all the clues in there.
It wasn’t like he’d even planned on solving any of the clues in the first place. Why bother when there was zero chance he’d win the contest? He was just out to have fun while it lasted. But he hated feeling like he was disappointing Frank. And for some reason, Frank seemed to have a thing about figuring out the clues.
He’d have to get them organized if he was going to finish solving them. But there was probably plenty of time for that, right? It’s not like there was any huge rush. He was pretty sure Miss Apple Shampoo wasn’t out there solving many clues.
Frank stopped at the light and adjusted the radio. “So what’s up for today? There are still some things on that list of yours. Zoo? Boat trip? I’m vetoing skydiving.”
Wilf kept looking at the envelope. “Zoo sounds good to me.” He cleared his throat. “Hey, Frank?”
Frank looked at him in the rearview mirror. “Yeah?”
“That Bowman and Spearman stuff. You didn’t know that was the answer to the clue, did you? I mean, that was all a coincidence, right?”
Frank looked away and fiddled with the glove compartment. He didn’t seem to be getting anything out, though. “What? Are you kidding? How would I know the answer to your clue?”
Wilf relaxed. “I know, right? How would you know?”
“Right. How would I?” Frank nodded. “So Lincoln Park Zoo sound okay?”
“Sure,” Wilf said, cracking his window. “Sounds great.”
TENTATIVE SCHEDULE, WILF SAMSON: (UPDATED)
1. Go to aquarium.
2. Visit Sears Tower Skydeck Ledge (Willis Tower, whatever).
3. Watch laser light show at the planetarium.
4. Go to zoo (both Lincoln Park and Brookfield, if possible).
5. Ride Ferris wheel at Navy Pier.
6. Seadog boat ride.
7. Hot Dog taste-test-a-thon—Fat Johnnie’s vs. Wiener’s Circle vs. Jimmy’s Red Hots vs. Superdawg vs. others to be named later (until puking commences) PUKING COMPLETE.
8. Get psychic reading.
ALSO: FIGURE OUT CLUES AND SOLUTIONS.
9. GO SKYDIVING. Vetoed by Frank.
10. TAKE HELICOPTER TOUR.
11. KAYAK ON CHICAGO RIVER.
12. PLAY BUBBLE SOCCER (FIRST, FIGURE OUT WHAT EXACTLY BUBBLE SOCCER IS.)
Melissa plunked her head down on the library table, groaning as she pushed the papers away. She’d had a whole afternoon to herself, with Liam at his friend’s house, and she’d wasted it. She was never going to figure out the last clue. It was hopeless. She’d read it a million times, and if she read it a million times more, it would never be an
y clearer. Never. She mouthed the words silently, hoping she didn’t look like a crazy person.
Freeze! Look to the building where Tarzan swam to find your “Contribution.”
It seemed pretty obvious that Tarzan was the key there, so that seemed like an obvious starting point. Big mistake. It wasn’t that she couldn’t find enough information about Tarzan. She was finding way too much. She’d looked up Tarzan, the character. She’d looked up Edgar Rice Burroughs, the author of Tarzan. She’d looked up Johnny Weissmuller and Christopher Lambert and a gazillion other actors who had played Tarzan. Practically all of them had some connection to Chicago. It was hopeless.
“Melissa?”
She turned her head to the side so that her cheek pressed flat against the cool table. That was all she was willing to do. Actually lifting her head was beyond her at this point. “What?”
Tanisha crouched down and tilted her head sideways to look at her. “Problem?”
Melissa groaned and turned her head back, smushing her nose into the table. “I’ll never get it,” she muttered sadly.
“Well, let me see.”
Melissa heard the papers she had scattered across the table start rustling.
“Nooo—” Melissa started, but Tanisha cut her off.
“Relax, I’ve got my English notebook in front so it doesn’t look like I’m helping. Smith’s spies will never know.”
Melissa didn’t even have the energy to protest.
“Hmph,” Tanisha said finally. She picked up a hunk of hair hanging over Melissa’s face and peered into her eyes. “What’s the problem? Looks straightforward enough.”
Melissa snorted in disgust and lifted her head, pushing the hair out of her face. “Oh sure. Edgar Rice Burroughs was from Chicago. Probably went swimming all over. Johnny Weissmuller was a freaking Olympic swimmer. Swimmers swim, Tanisha. He swam at the YMCA, the InterContinental Hotel, someplace called the Medinah Athletic Club, and Fullerton Beach. Heck, probably all the beaches, plus a gazillion other places. I haven’t even gotten into the thousand other people who played Tarzan and where they swam. Did you know that Disney made sequels to that animated Tarzan movie that went straight to video? Heck, Gonzo from the Muppets played Tarzan in a TV special. It’s too much Tarzan!”
