Olivia Bean, Trivia Queen

by Donna Gephart

  “I know,” Mom says, sniffing. “That’s what hurts. But I’ll find something else.”

  “Why did they … I mean, did you do something wrong?”

  Mom shakes her head. “Money, Livi. They haven’t been making much money, so they’ve been laying people off.”

  “Because they can’t afford to pay them?”

  “Yes. I guess I thought I would … I don’t know.” Mom’s quiet, but then she looks up and kisses me on the head. “But don’t you worry. Like I said, I’ll find something else.”

  “Sure you will,” I say, relieved Mom doesn’t have some horrible disease that makes her want to pull her hair out strand by strand. “You’re amazing.”

  “Thanks, Livi.” Mom puts her arm around my shoulders and squeezes. “We’ll need to be extra careful, though, until I find something else.”

  “Careful?”

  “You know,” Mom says. “Cut back on things to save money.”

  “Oh, I know. I’ll get my trivia books from the library instead of the bookstore. And you don’t have to treat me to lunch at school on Fridays anymore. I’ll bring a peanut butter and jelly sandwich from home.”

  For some reason, this makes Mom’s eyes swell with tears, and she gives me a bone-crunching squeeze. “Olivia, you’re the best. What would I do without you?”

  I shrug, but inside I feel good, like I’m part of a team. I feel like I did when Mom depended on me after Dad left. Dad.

  I’ve got to figure out a way to visit him, like getting on Jeopardy!, to remind him of all the fun we have when we’re together. Being far away from him isn’t good. It’s like he forgets how much he loves me and Charlie. And I bet there’s no way Mom could afford plane tickets to California now.

  If I passed the online test and the tryouts and got on Jeopardy!, not only would I get to see Dad, I could win us a lot of money. That might really help now.

  “Mom, there’s this—” I bite my bottom lip. As much as I want to ask her, need to ask her, one look at Mom’s haggard face tells me this is not the right time to mention Kids Week. Besides, if I make it to the tryouts, it will require a trip to Washington, DC, for a test and interview, and that would cost extra money we probably don’t have.

  I slump.

  “What, Livi?” Mom asks, leaning into me.

  Being part of a team means looking out for your teammates. And right now, my teammate has pink, puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

  “Nothing,” I say. “How about if I go make dinner?”

  “That would be great,” Mom says. “Let me take a quick shower and I’ll come down and help.”

  “Okay,” I say, glad to have my mom back. I just wish she hadn’t lost her job. I hate to see her upset. And I wish I could ask her about registering me for the Jeopardy! test now. But I’m sure things will get better and I’ll ask her soon.

  Downstairs, Charlie’s sitting at his place at the table, smashing two racing cars together.

  I ruffle his hair and give him a Pop-Tart before starting dinner.

  When I trudge down to breakfast the next morning, no one’s there, but there’s an envelope at my place at the table—a red envelope with a note on top:

  Olivia, I’ve taken Charlie to the bus so your mother could sleep in. This is for you, Brainy Bean.

  Brainy Bean? What does that mean? Is Neil making fun of me?

  I run my finger over the envelope. My name is printed in neat block letters: OLIVIA BEAN. The envelope appears to hold a birthday card or a Valentine’s Day card, but it’s not either of those days. I pry open the flap.

  Inside is a greeting card. On the front of the card are giant bubble letters that say “Good luck!” And inside, it says “You deserve it!” Underneath, Neil signed his first name. Just his name. Not Love, Neil. Or Like, Neil. Or Your friend, Neil. Just Neil.

  And I don’t get it … until I unfold the white paper tucked inside the card. My lips move as I read. And now I get it … and can’t believe it.

  My hands shake as I read the words.

  It’s the registration confirmation to take the online test to try out for Kids Week. It tells me the date and time of the test, instructions and the password Neil chose for me: Brainy Bean.

  Neil did this for me even though I haven’t been the nicest person to him lately. Um, ever. Translation: I’ve thought of him as barely higher on the evolutionary scale than a sea monkey. But now, Neil’s somewhere up there with Ken Jennings—one of Jeopardy!’s all-time biggest winners and my personal hero.

  I’ll never forget what Neil did for me no matter how old I get, unless I get Alzheimer’s disease like Grandpa Jack had, but then it won’t be my fault.

  I can’t eat. I try, but I can’t. Neil made a pot of his world-famous vegetarian stew to give me energy for the big night. He even cooked biscuits on top—my favorite. After fifteen minutes of tapping my foot under the table and reviewing inane trivia in my mind—James Buchanan was the only U.S. president who never married—I manage to swallow one carrot. One carrot! And even that barely slides down my throat.

  “Olivia,” Neil says. “You have to eat something more than a slice of carrot. Your brain needs energy to work.”

  “I’ll be okay,” I say, feeling totally wired and excited. “I don’t want to throw up.”

  “Too much information,” Mom says. “We’re eating, even if you’re not.”

  “Throwing up is okay,” Charlie says. “Emetomaniacs feel like they’re going to throw up all the time.”

  “We know,” Mom and I say to Charlie at the same time.

  “Okay,” he says. “You don’t have to yell.”

  “Sorry,” Mom says. “I think we’re all a little excited for Livi.”

  Neil nods at me and says, “That we are, Brainy Bean.”

  I blush and look down. It’s because of Neil that I’m able to take the test tonight. It’s because of him that I have a chance to get on Jeopardy!

  “How long is this test?” Mom asks.

  “Test. West. Fest. Nest,” Charlie sings while poking at his bowl of stew.

  “Give it a rest,” Neil says.

  “Lest. Best. Test. Test. Test!”

  “Pest,” I mutter.

  “Heard that,” Charlie says.

  Mom nudges me. “How long?”

  “Oh, the test is exactly ten minutes. I have to answer thirty questions in that time.” I swallow a bite of biscuit, then check my watch. “Aaaah!” I push back from the table and sprint toward the stairs. “Test starts in twenty,” I yell. “Got to log in early.”

  I hear Mom drop her spoon and say something, but don’t have time to process. I’ve got to get on Mom’s computer and log in. Brainy Bean is ready for action!

  While I’m tapping my socked foot, waiting for the computer to connect, Mom bursts into the room. “Get your shoes on.”

  “Huh?” I say, and check the computer screen again. “Mom, the computer won’t connect to the Internet.”

  “Olivia,” Mom shrieks, her face turning red. “Get your shoes on. Neil’s taking you to the library. Hurry!”

  “What?” I have no idea what she’s talking about. “I can’t go to the library now. The test starts in eighteen minutes!” I tap the screen to show her, but I notice it still hasn’t connected. “Mom?”

  Neil skids into the bedroom, shaking his keys. “Ready? Let’s go. I think we’ll make it.”

  I rise. Is the computer broken? How will I take the test? “Mom!”

  She grabs my shoulders and looks into my eyes. “Livi, I’m so sorry. Yesterday, I had the Internet service turned off to save money. We were paying fifty-nine dollars a month for it. I completely … with everything going on … I … forgot about the test.”

  “Oh, my …” I sink onto Mom’s bed. “How …” My face is in my hands. My shoulders bob.

  “Olivia!” Neil says in a strong voice. “Get up. I can get you to the library in fifteen minutes, but we need to hurry.”

  I shake my head in my hands. “No. No.�
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  “I’ll set you up in my office in the back,” Neil says. “But we’ve got to leave now.”

  I glance up; Neil is windmilling his right arm, like he’s signaling a runner to go to home base. “Now, Olivia. Now.”

  I stand and shuffle a few steps, like I’m walking through deep water.

  “Now, Livi. Now.” Charlie windmills both arms and jumps, like this is the most exciting day ever.

  But it’s not. It’s the worst day ever, because I know that even if Neil drives fast, we can’t get to the library in less than twenty minutes. Then we’d still have to get me set up on a computer. And the most important test in the world starts in fifteen minutes.

  I stop moving. “We won’t make it.”

  “We’ve got to try,” Neil says, but I can tell by the look on his face he knows it’s hopeless, too.

  I trudge from the room, trailed by Mom’s voice; “I’m so sorry.”

  I drag myself across the hall into my room. My body feels like it’s made of lead—atomic number 82, symbol Pb. It takes all my strength to heave myself onto my bed. Except it turns out, I have enough energy left to hurl Phil at the far wall and say a word I’d heard Dad use once, when he lost during a poker game at our house.

  I burrow under the butterfly comforter and let out a long breath.

  Game over.

  I’m buried under my comforter for only a minute when the most unpleasant thought comes to mind.

  I bound out of bed and don’t bother with sneakers. I thunder down the stairs and out the front door, hoping no one follows. I don’t have time to explain.

  The concrete is cold through my socks as I bob from foot to foot in front of Tucker Thomas’s door. I ring the bell and look around, hoping no one sees me. I don’t want to associate myself with Tucker. When will that boy grow up and stop calling me Olivia Bean, Hula Hoop Queen? It’s been two years since the unfortunate hula hoop incident! And the note he slipped into my hand really irritated me. What did he mean by makes your face look mean?

  I thought Tucker Thomas was a fun kid to hang out with when we were younger, but now? He’s totally and completely immature.

  Still …

  I ring the bell again and glance at my watch. The test begins in twelve minutes, and I can’t let it start without me.

  Mr. Thomas’s silver Fit is parked on the street and there are lights on inside the house, so I know they’re home. I take a deep breath and realize I’d rather have my head smashed between two thick trivia books than ask Tucker Thomas for something. But I have no choice. I bang on the door as hard as I can.

  The door flies open. “Bean? You don’t have to bang down the door.”

  The sight of Tucker makes me want to run home and hide under my comforter again. A tornado has ravaged his hair, a purple stain graces his T-shirt and he’s chomping on a piece of celery like a cow chewing cud. I shiver. “I rang the doorbell, but—”

  “Doorbell’s broken, Bean,” Tucker says, and closes the door.

  He closed the door in my face!

  At first, I think it’s a joke and wait for him to open it. I check my watch and bob from foot to frozen foot, thinking about how much I dislike Tucker Thomas. If only there were another way. But there isn’t, so I stab the doorbell several times before remembering it’s broken. Then I pound on the door.

  Hurry!

  The door opens again, and Tucker stands with his head tilted. “What?”

  You’re a jerk! Through chattering teeth, I say, “I have … to use … your computer.”

  “Huh?”

  “Your computer. I have nine minutes before the online Jeopardy! test starts.”

  “Oh,” he says. “You mean the test I told you about?”

  I’m so glad he gets it. “Yes! Now, please let me in.”

  Tucker opens the door wider, then blocks the way with his body. “Why should I let you in, Bean? You’ve been a jerk to me lately. Ever since I gave you that note, you’ve been … you’ve been … And I know you tripped me in the cafeteria.”

  “I didn’t!” I say indignantly.

  “You did!” He stands with his arms crossed over the stain on his shirt. “Even Matt said so. He saw you.”

  “Matt’s an idiot.”

  “Well, yeah, but still …”

  “Look, Tucker, if I tripped you, it was an accident.” I bite my lower lip and force two words out of my mouth. “I’m sorry.”

  “It wasn’t an accident, Bean,” Tucker says.

  He’s right. It wasn’t. I was angry about the note and I tripped him on purpose. His open carton of chocolate milk went flying and made a huge mess. “Look, Tucker,” I say, desperate to get inside before it’s too late. “I said I’m sorry. And I am sorry!” My lips feel frozen. “I don’t know what more you want.”

  “Why are you acting this way, Bean? I’ve been nice to you and you’ve been a jerk!”

  Me? I want to shout, You, Tucker Thomas, have been the jerk! But I hold it in because using Tucker’s computer is my only chance.

  “Besides,” he says, gnawing on the celery stick, “why can’t you use your own computer?”

  I shake from the frigid air and from frustration. Tucker Thomas, let me in! I’ve got about eight minutes until the most important test in the world starts. I force myself to speak slowly. “My mom lost—” I snap my mouth shut. I can’t believe I almost told him. I don’t care how much I need to use his computer, I’m not telling Tucker Thomas that Mom canceled the Internet to save money. I’m not telling him that even with Neil’s income, we’ve cut back on everything, like switching to generic toilet paper that feels like sandpaper on my butt. And I’m not telling him that I’m eligible now for free lunches at school. Those things are none of his business.

  I cross my arms, partly because I’m cold and partly because I’m mad.

  He uncrosses his. “How come you only come over when you want something, Bean?”

  I swallow hard and say, “Tucker, please.” I feel humiliated having to beg him to let me into his house. “Please!”

  Tucker laughs and a piece of chewed-up celery flies out of his mouth. “It’s too late to make up, Bean. I tried to be nice to you and you’ve been … you’ve been—”

  “Nice?” I scream outside in the dark night, while the bottoms of my feet are so cold they feel like frozen fish filets. “You call me Olivia Bean, Hula Hoop Queen!”

  “So?” Tucker says.

  “So?” I whisper/shout, thinking of going back into my house. Getting on Jeopardy! is not worth dealing with Tucker Thomas. “I hate being called that!”

  Tucker reels back. “Why didn’t you say so, Bean? Everyone calls you that.”

  “Everyone used to call me that,” I correct. “No one does anymore. Except you and Matt. And I hate it! Now, can I please come in and use your computer for ten measly minutes?” I check my watch and see I still have six minutes before my dream disappears. I can’t stand myself for doing it, but I put my hands together in the begging position and say, “This is so important. Please, Tucker.”

  “Nah,” Tucker says, and shuts the door.

  “Tucker!” I scream at the closed door. “I hate your vile, slimy, putrid—”

  The door swings open. Mrs. Thomas stands there, arms crossed. “What’s going on?” she asks, leveling Tucker with one of those parent stares.

  “It’s just Bean,” Tucker says, and starts to walk upstairs.

  “Well, let her in.” Mrs. Thomas opens the door for me. “Olivia, I’m sorry Tucker was rude.” She glances at my socked feet when I walk in, and I wish I’d worn sneakers.

  I want to be polite and have a conversation with Mrs. Thomas, because she’s really nice and I haven’t spoken with her much since Tucker and I became enemies. But I have four minutes before the test starts. Four precious minutes. “Mrs. Thomas, I’m sorry to barge in but—”

  “That’s okay, Olivia. It’s nice to see you. You know you’re welcome here any time. Can I get you—”

  “I�
�m having a Jeopardy! emergency here!” I practically shout. I know I sound like a lunatic, but I don’t care. “I need to get on a computer in the next four minutes and take this very important test.” I can’t believe I’m talking this fast. “But my mom—” I can’t say the next part, so I tell a little lie. “Our computer isn’t working right now. So—”

  Mrs. Thomas nods, grabs my arm and nudges me toward the stairs. “Go, Olivia. Use the computer in Tucker’s room.” She yells upstairs, “Tucker Thomas, let Olivia use your computer right now or I swear, I’ll take it out of your room for a month! Do you hear me?”

  I hear her. She’s shouting next to my ear.

  “Whatever!” Tucker screams, and I let out the breath I’ve been holding.

  “Thank you!” I charge up the stairs, noticing new photos on the wall along the staircase. Updated photos of Tucker—less-cute ones!

  It’s been a long time since I was in Tucker’s room, but I can see it’s as messy as ever. That boy probably hasn’t hung up a piece of clothing since the Phillies won the World Series.

  I motor through stinky piles of socks, jeans and underwear—ew!—and plop onto his computer chair, tapping my feet on the floor to get them warm. I wonder how long it takes for frostbite to set in and hope that particular question isn’t on the test.

  The test!

  Tucker is lying on his bed, hands behind his head, watching me. There’s a giant map on the wall beside him that I don’t remember from before. No wonder that boy is so good at geography.

  But that’s not important now. Frostbite isn’t important now. Nothing is important except getting online.

  On Tucker’s computer, I type fast, get on the website and sign in with the password Neil picked for me—Brainy Bean.

  Tucker taps the wall, annoying me.

  On the left side of the screen, there’s a photo of Alex Trebek, looking dapper in his pin-striped suit. On the right side is a clock. And even though it’s exactly eight o’clock, the timer says there are five minutes before the test begins. What’s up with that? I watch the time tick down and then I get it. The test will begin five minutes after eight, I guess, to give kids a chance to get to their computers. Good thinking, Alex. Extra time is a good thing.