Olivia Bean, Trivia Queen

by Donna Gephart

  “Yes, sweetheart?”

  The word “sweetheart” triggers my throat to constrict again. “Thank you.” I smooth out the cloth napkin covering the lap of my new skirt. “I mean it. Thank you … for everything.”

  “No need to thank me, Olivia. Just win, okay? We’re pulling for you.”

  “Go, Livi!” Charlie screams from the background, but his words are garbled, like his mouth is stuffed with cotton. Or cookies. I smile at the image of Charlie squirreling cookie bits in his cheeks and spraying crumbs as he talks.

  “See?” Neil says. “We’re rooting for you. Go get ’em!”

  “Will do,” I say, and hand the phone back to Mom. My throat is still tight because it turns out my little bother isn’t as much of a pain as I thought, and the person I believed was my archenemy for a long time has turned out to be a pretty good—albeit hairy—guy.

  Our lunches arrive on china dishes. We share with each other; then Mom insists we get dessert to celebrate Olivia Bean, Trivia Queen Day.

  Warm blueberry cobbler with vanilla ice cream never tasted so good.

  While shoveling spoonfuls into my mouth, I mentally list the people who’ve helped me get here: Neil, who registered me. Mom, who decorated wreaths—her least favorite thing—to buy me new clothes, a haircut and our trip here. Charlie, who shared his gross trivia and his enthusiasm with me. And even Tucker, who grudgingly let me use his computer.

  “You okay, Livi?” Mom’s slender fingers land on top of mine.

  I nod, but I’m not sure I am, because Dad is nowhere on my list.

  Back in the hotel ballroom, kids and their parents swarm around sheets of paper posted on the back wall. Some kids turn from the wall, sniffing, their parents leading them away. Even a couple boys swipe at their noses with shirt sleeves.

  Panicked, I look at Mom.

  She grabs my shoulders and looks me square in the eyes. “Livi, whatever happens, whether your name is on that list or not, you are an amazing human being and I’m proud of you.” She kisses the top of my head. “And your big, beautiful brain.”

  I nod; then Mom steers me to where the results are posted.

  It takes a while for enough people to move away that I can scan the list. It’s in alphabetical order, so my name is near the beginning.

  My name is near the beginning!

  I’m on the list of people who passed the test and get to stay for the interview and practice game.

  I want to scream and jump around with Mom like we did when I got the phone call, but there are so many kids turning from the board, crying or looking like they’re about to, that I hold it in.

  There’s a girl next to me who looks like she’s about to burst, too.

  “Did you make it?” she asks tentatively.

  I nod. “You?”

  She nods.

  We hug each other like we’ve been friends forever. I think of Nikki and feel a pang.

  “I’m Melissa,” she says, tucking short, dark hair behind her ears. “I’ve always wanted to be on Jeopardy!”

  “Me too,” I say, thrusting out my hand. “Olivia Bean.” Trivia Queen.

  We shake like crazy, then crack up.

  “Where are you from?” Melissa asks.

  “Philadelphia. You?”

  “Delaware.”

  The second-smallest state.

  We find chairs near the wall with our moms and wait to get called for our interviews.

  “I think I’ve read every book ever written about Jeopardy!,” Melissa says.

  “Me too,” I say, even though I’ve read only the one Mom and Neil gave me for Christmas. How many books have been written about Jeopardy!?

  “I’m homeschooled,” Melissa says.

  I almost say Me too, but I’m not homeschooled. “That’s cool.”

  Melissa glances at her mom. “It’s okay. The good thing about it is I can spend as much time as I want studying for Jeopardy!, and my mom doesn’t care. Some days I’ll study for Jeopardy! from the time I wake up until I go to bed. Right, Mom?”

  “Right,” her mother says. “You’re a Jeopardy! machine, sweetheart. Totally unbeatable.”

  Unbeatable?

  Mom catches my eye and raises her eyebrows, as if to say Don’t let these people frazzle you. Melissa might be a Jeopardy! machine, but you’re Olivia Bean, Trivia Queen.

  These people are making me feel frazzled because Melissa has a distinct advantage over me. I spend most of my day in school, dealing with drama in the lunchroom, thinking about Tucker Thomas and occasionally doing actual schoolwork, but definitely not studying for Jeopardy!

  Melissa continues. “When I watch the show every night, I usually get questions the grown-ups miss.”

  I miss most of the questions that stump the grown-ups. They’re really hard. “That’s fantastic,” I say with zero enthusiasm in my voice. I wish I weren’t sitting next to this new girl anymore.

  There are only fifteen spots for Kids Week. Fifteen! And I get the distinct feeling Melissa is trying to psych me out so I’ll mess up during my interview or the practice game.

  Melissa isn’t what I’d originally hoped—a potential new friend. She’s my competition. Dad would probably tell me to watch out for her, tell me she’ll try to trip me up. And I will be careful, because I’m not going to let Melissa get in the way of making it to California, to getting on the show. To seeing Dad and Nikki.

  While our moms make polite conversation, Melissa glances at me. Her eyes narrow like she’s sizing me up, and I wonder if she’s thinking the same things about me.

  Maybe I can psych Melissa out, too.

  I smile broadly, then slouch in my chair, as though I don’t have a worry in the world. As though I have no doubt I’ll trounce the competition during the interview and practice game. As though I’m completely confident and relaxed, like Dad used to look when we watched Jeopardy! together.

  But the truth is, I’m a nervous wreck.

  By the time someone calls my name, I’m so tense I pop up like Punxsutawney Phil silently announcing six more weeks of winter. I blurt out “Here!” and wave my arm, as though I’m in a huge crowd instead of a quiet room with a few dozen kids and their parents.

  “Little eager?” Melissa’s mom says, laughing, as though she’s making a joke.

  But I know she’s not, and my cheeks explode with heat.

  Mom glares at her, then kisses my cheek and whispers, “Knock ’em dead, Livi.”

  Melissa grabs my hand and squeezes. “Good luck, Olivia. I hope you don’t mess up.”

  When she lets go, I have to shake my hand out. She squeezed so hard it hurts.

  “Me too,” I mutter, even though now I know she’s trying to psych me out. I hope I get picked because I have to visit Dad—he sounded so lonely that one time on the phone—and I’m tired of wiping my butt with sandpaper.

  I hear someone call Melissa’s name. She’s going in for her interview, too.

  As I walk toward my interview room, my stomach is a jangle of nerves. I tug on my blouse and skirt to make sure everything looks nice. I hope my hair hasn’t resumed its usual flat state. This is it, I remind myself. Smile. Smile. Smile. But it’s hard to force a cheerful smile when I feel so anxious.

  A lady with a clipboard tells me to go over to a man sitting behind a table.

  I shake his hand firmly, like Neil taught me, but not in a bone-crunching way like Melissa just did to me. “Hi,” I say, “I’m Olivia Bean.” And it almost feels like Mom and Neil and Charlie are standing behind me shouting, “Go, Livi! Go!”

  I smile, but this time it’s not forced.

  The man smiles right away, and I hope that’s a good sign.

  “I’m Charlie,” he says.

  “My brother’s name is Charlie. He loves gross trivia.”

  “Me too,” Charlie says. “Must be something about guys named Charlie, huh?” He shuffles some papers. “Anyway,” he says, “I’m going to be your interviewer today.”

  “I’m Olivia and
I’m going to be your interviewee.” Shut up, Bean Head! Charlie will think you’re a raving lunatic.

  He chuckles. Score!

  “Tell me, Olivia, what do you want to be when you grow up?” Charlie’s pen is poised over a clipboard.

  What do I want to be when I grow up? I know how many quarts are in a gallon—four—and how many bones are in the adult human body—206—but I’m totally unprepared for this question. My mind zips through options. I don’t want to be a geography teacher, that’s for sure. Or a vet or a model, like a lot of girls in my class say they do. I don’t want to be an interpreter for the United Nations, like Nikki used to want to be. I wonder if she still does. What do I want to be when I grow up? My big, beautiful, three-pound brain blanks. I feel like I did onstage with the hula hoop around my waist.

  Then it pops into my head: trivia. I love studying trivia. “A triviaologist,” I say. Is this the stupidest answer he’s ever heard? I suddenly remember Alex Trebek on the big screen earlier. “Or maybe a game show host, like Alex Trebek. That would be cool.” I hope I said the right thing. I hope Charlie can sense how much I want this. Need this.

  He writes something, then looks up.

  “Speaking of Alex,” Charlie says, “what will you say to him if you meet him?”

  I bite my bottom lip. “Um, can I have your autograph?”

  Charlie writes again. I wish he’d smile or look disapproving or something, instead of just asking questions and jotting notes after I answer.

  “Why do you want to be on Kids Week?”

  Do I tell him the truth? It’s the only way I’ll get to visit my dad. We need the money. But those answers don’t feel right. I take a deep breath and say, “I’ve watched Jeopardy! every day with my dad until he—” I bite my lip to keep from saying more. Should I mention Neil? “People know they are in mortal danger if they bother me between seven-thirty and eight on weeknights. And I study trivia all the time. For fun.”

  I’m relieved when the interview is over and I can go back to Mom. I’m not happy to see she’s still sitting with Melissa and her mom.

  “How’d you do?” Melissa blurts out before I even sit.

  I shrug, determined not to tell her anything. “You?”

  “No idea,” she says.

  I’m sure she’s lying. She probably answered the questions with sophistication and wit. She probably didn’t say anything dumb, like I want to be a triviaologist when I grow up. Melissa even got done with her interview sooner and is probably well on her way to getting one of those fifteen spots.

  There’s an uncomfortable silence between us as we wait for the last kids to come back from their interviews.

  When the staff announces that the mock Jeopardy! game will begin, I’m grateful at first.

  I can’t believe I’ll finally get to be on Jeopardy!, even if it is only pretend.

  But as soon as they make the announcement, Melissa leans forward and rubs her hands together, like she’s ready to stomp the competition.

  I gulp. Am I?

  I stand behind a table with a buzzer in my hand, facing pseudo–Alex Trebek, who is really a lady with a clipboard. What is it with these people and their clipboards?

  The logical part of me knows it’s not the real thing, that this is a mock game. But the emotional part of me is so excited because it feels like the real thing.

  The boy to my left is sweating down the sides of his face, which is probably because he’s wearing a tweed suit. And a bow tie. Dad would make fun of his bow tie. The girl to my right is chewing gum, her hand gripping the buzzer like she means business. She has bright pink hair and looks a lot older than twelve. This definitely isn’t living room Jeopardy! with Neil or even Dad.

  Focus, Jelly Bean. Dad’s voice is in my head. You’ve got to play to win. There’s no other reason to get in the game. I think of Neil and Charlie on the phone, encouraging me. And Mom, making all those wreaths so I could be here.

  I can’t let them down.

  I miss the first question—The profession of Nancy Drew’s father. What is lawyer?—and the second—The smallest human muscle is found in these organs. What are ears? (I thought it was eyes.) I feel like I’m letting everybody down.

  Win, Livi, win! Charlie’s voice ricochets around my three-pound brain.

  After the third answer—He wrote fourteen books about Oz.—I stab the buzzer with a vengeance and am shocked when I beat Bow Tie and Pink Hair and correctly answer, “Who is L. Frank Baum?” Then I do it again. And again. I’m on fire, as Dad says when he’s having a winning streak in poker.

  I can tell by my opponents’ faces they know the answers, but I’m quicker pressing the buzzer. In the book Mom and Neil gave me, I read that it’s vital to have excellent reflexes with the buzzer. On the real game, the buzzer is actually referred to as a signaling device. And being quicker than one’s opponents with the signaling device can make the difference between winning and losing.

  And in this mock game, I’m winning.

  I’m surprised when the game ends. It’s much quicker than the real game. When it’s over, I almost expect the lady with the clipboard to put her arm around my shoulders and tell me about the cash I’ve won. But she says, “Great job, kids. Thanks.” Then she calls, “Bring in the next group.”

  That’s it?

  I shake the hand of the boy next to me—it’s sweaty—and the girl on the other side. They don’t look too happy with me. For a second, I feel like I did when I answered all the questions in the Brain Blaster battle between the girls and boys in school and everyone seemed annoyed with me.

  But when I think about it, I don’t feel upset now, because I did exactly what I was supposed to. I played aggressively and didn’t freeze. I know Dad would be proud.

  Someone from the show comes over and shakes my hand. “You did very well.” She writes something on yet another clipboard, looks up and says, “Olivia Bean.”

  “Thank you,” I say.

  I imagine myself actually on the show with Alex Trebek. I see myself being first on the signaling device against two brilliant opponents. I imagine Mom and Dad rushing onto the stage after I win to congratulate me.

  Yeah, right!

  What are the odds I will get on Kids Week? There are five hundred kids just like me across the country, competing for fifteen measly spots. Kids like Melissa. Even if, by some miracle, I am chosen to appear on the show, what are the chances Dad would even come watch me on Jeopardy!? I hope 100 percent, but I’m not sure, with the way he’s been acting.

  I hear Dad’s voice in my head. You’ve got to play to win, Jelly Bean.

  I played, I think. But I doubt I can win. I mean really win, as in make it all the way to Culver City to appear on Jeopardy!

  The woman who complimented my playing in the mock game leads me to where the parents are waiting.

  And it’s over.

  I talk a mile a minute to Mom as we drive away from the hotel, recounting every moment of the day in detail. There seems to be no barrier between my brain and my mouth. Soon, though, my energy leaks out, like somebody pulled a plug somewhere on me, and I can barely stay awake.

  “You did good,” Mom says.

  I did well, I think, Dad’s words in my head.

  “Thanks.” I watch Mom, her fingers tapping out a beat on the steering wheel. “For everything.”

  “You’re welcome, Livi.”

  I close my eyelids, rest my head on my coat and grin. I can’t wait to tell Tucker I kicked butt in the mock game. Did I really just think that? But the person I really want to tell is Dad. I hope he’ll be proud of me. I even think of telling Carly, Brooke and Julia at lunch, but doubt I will. They’re tired of hearing me talk about Jeopardy!, and I’m tired of hearing them talk about nail polish, boys and Bolivia.

  I wake to Charlie shaking me with his skinny hands. “How’d you do, Livi? Are you going to be on TV? Wake up, Livi. Wake up!”

  I blink.

  Charlie, Neil and Mom stand outside the open car do
or, looking at me. A gust of icy wind smacks my face.

  I shake my head. “Hi.”

  “How’d it go, Olivia?” Neil asks.

  “Well,” I say, still groggy. “I think.”

  “Hooray!” Charlie jumps and waves his arms windmill-style. “I’m telling all my friends Livi’s going to be on TV. Woohoo!”

  “Not yet,” I tell him. “They pick only fifteen kids. I was really lucky just to get this far.”

  “That’s all they choose?” Neil asks.

  “Fifteen out of all those kids there today?” Mom says.

  “No,” I say. “Fifteen out of all the kids who went to auditions like that at five different hotels across the country.”

  Mom puts her palm to her forehead. “No.”

  “Yup.” I nod. “Nearly impossible odds.”

  “Hey, at least you got this far,” Neil says, patting my shoulder.

  “Hooray, Livi!” Charlie yanks on my arm. “You’re famous!”

  It’s nice to be surrounded by people who are excited for me, but the one I want to tell now is probably too busy. After we go inside and talk and Mom has a cup of tea, I take the phone to my room.

  Dad isn’t home, and I know I’m not supposed to call his cell, but I do.

  “Dad? I know you don’t like me to call your cell, but—”

  “It’s okay, Jelly Bean. What’s up?”

  When he calls me Jelly Bean, I know he’s not mad. But I still feel choked up and I’m not sure why. “I auditioned for Jeopardy! today.”

  “You what?”

  “Yup,” I say, glad Dad sounds excited. “Mom drove me to DC, and I went to a hotel with about a hundred other kids. And she took me to lunch and—”

  “Hang on a minute, Olivia.”

  There’s muffled talking. I want to tell Dad about Melissa and how she tried to rattle me but I didn’t let her. I know Dad will be proud of me for that.

  “Sorry, honey,” Dad says. “Go on. You went to DC.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “I went with Mom and had to take a test. And Alex Trebek was on the screen. It was so funny, and—”