Olivia Bean, Trivia Queen

by Donna Gephart

  “Olivia, I don’t mean to rush you. But is this going to take long? Stella and I are on the golf course.”

  Not today. Please don’t rush me off the phone today.

  “No,” I say, feeling tightness in my throat. I’ve got to hurry and get to the good part. “A guy named Charlie interviewed me, and I told him I wanted to be a triviaologist. Stupid, right?”

  “I don’t think that’s a real job,” Dad says. “Look, baby, that sounds like fun, really cool, but I’ve got to run. Talk to you later, okay? I’ll call soon. Promise.”

  But Dad doesn’t wait for my answer. He hangs up. I picture him in golf pants, shirt and shoes, jogging across the green to Stella, who is probably wearing spiky heels that sink into the soft green with each step. Because that’s the kind of person she is.

  “Okay,” I say to the dead phone. “Talk to you later.”

  But I doubt Dad will call back. In fact, I probably have better odds that the Jeopardy! people will call. Except I know that now it’s not a phone call I’m waiting for. According to the message boards I read, what I need to hope for is the delivery of a FedEx envelope.

  Come on, FedEx!

  It’s Valentine’s Day—twenty-four days since the Jeopardy! audition in DC.

  Mom puts a box of candy hearts next to my cereal bowl at the table and one next to Charlie’s, too.

  “Hurry up, little man,” Mom calls. “Your cereal’s getting soggy.”

  “One minute,” he yells. “Be right there.”

  I drop a few candies into my cereal and wish I’d thought to give something to Mom or Charlie or even Neil.

  Neil walks into the kitchen, wearing his ratty robe.

  “You’re not Charlie,” Mom says, grinning.

  Neil looks down at himself and says, “Right you are, you brilliant woman.” Then he grabs Mom in a bear hug. “Who loves you, baby?”

  Mom grins. “Beats me.”

  He ravages Mom with kisses on her neck. “You’d better know.”

  I get a little sick to my stomach. It’s hard to see and hear things like that. It’s still uncomfortable to know that the person hugging and kissing Mom isn’t Dad. But then, maybe I’d feel uncomfortable even if Dad were kissing Mom’s neck.

  I’m grateful when Charlie zooms into the kitchen, but worry that Neil hugging Mom like that might upset him. Charlie doesn’t even notice! He’s waving a piece of red construction paper. “Here, Livi.” On the paper is a giant eyeball cut from a magazine and a lopsided heart drawn in purple crayon.

  “Happy Valiumtimes Day, Livi.”

  Neil’s still holding Mom, and they both tilt their heads at Charlie.

  “Happy Valiumtimes Day to you too, Charlie.” I kiss his cheek, wishing again I’d at least made cards for everyone.

  Charlie wipes off his cheek and says, “An ostrich’s eye is bigger than its brain. But your brain, Livi, is bigger than an ostrich’s eye.”

  “Thanks, Charlie.” I pop a candy heart into my mouth. “I’m glad you’re my little bother.”

  “Me too,” he says. “And your big brain is going to get you on Jeopardy! That’s what Neil says.”

  “I don’t know, bud.” I ruffle Charlie’s hair. “It’s been twenty-four days since the audition and an envelope hasn’t arrived. Doesn’t look good.”

  “You’ll get on,” Charlie says, slurping milk from his cereal bowl. “I know you will.”

  I wish I could feel as sure as Charlie, but each day the envelope doesn’t arrive, I lose hope.

  After we finish eating, Mom takes Charlie to the bus and Neil washes the breakfast dishes. I’m glad I don’t have to do it. “Thanks, Neil.”

  “No problem, Olivia. Have a good day at school.”

  I’m already out of the kitchen, but I walk back in. “Neil?”

  He turns from the sink, a scrub brush in one hand. “Yeah?”

  “Happy Valiumtimes Day.”

  Neil nods. “You too, Olivia.”

  He’s not my dad, but Neil’s a good guy. He makes my mom happy, even though she still hasn’t found a job. And Charlie adores him.

  I throw on my coat, grab my backpack and head outside. A blast of icy wind smacks me in the face.

  Tucker’s already on the steps waiting, his nose red and eyes watering from the cold.

  We’ve been walking to school together most days since he let me use his computer to take the online Jeopardy! test. Sometimes while we walk, he quizzes me on geography facts in case the Jeopardy! people choose me to appear on the show. And Tucker hasn’t called me Olivia Bean, Hula Hoop Queen even once since I told him how much I hate it.

  “Here,” Tucker says, thrusting a pink envelope at me.

  It’s the same shade of pink as the hair of the girl who played mock Jeopardy! beside me at last month’s audition.

  As soon as I take the envelope, Tucker rushes down the steps and heads toward school. Without me!

  I shake my head and slide one frozen finger under the flap.

  The card has an equation on the front: “1 + 1 = 2.” Inside it says, “You’re SUM friend.” In handwriting below that is Happy Valentine’s Day, Bean. Your friend, Tucker.

  I put the card back into the envelope and push it deep inside my backpack. Then I jam stiff fingers into my coat pockets to warm them, hunch forward against the wind and walk to school with a definite bounce in my step.

  Tucker doesn’t look at me the entire day at school, but that’s okay because I have his card in my backpack. And that says it all.

  I expect him to walk me home after school, but he doesn’t, and I can’t believe I actually miss his company. Walking home alone reminds me how much I still miss Nikki. When she and I walked home from school together, she’d imitate our teachers and make me laugh so hard I’d cry. I wonder who she’s walking home from school with now.

  I grab the house key from around my neck and think about calling her as I walk up our front steps. I’ve tried several times over the past two years. Mostly, Stella tells me Nikki is busy and can’t come to the phone. But once, Nikki got on the phone and screamed, “I don’t want to talk to you, Olivia. Don’t you get that?”

  I didn’t get it and I still don’t. What did I do to her? My father did something terrible—took her away from her home and from me. I get that. Oh boy, do I get that. But I didn’t do anything. Did I?

  When I reach the top step and open our storm door, a large cardboard envelope falls out.

  A FedEx envelope.

  When I bend to retrieve it with trembling fingers, I see it’s addressed to “The Parents of Olivia Bean.” And it has “Sony Pictures Studios, Culver City, CA” as the return address.

  “They don’t send FedEx envelopes for rejections,” Mom says, in answer to my question. She looks at Neil. “Do they?”

  Neil shakes his head. “I seriously doubt it.”

  “Open it already, Olivia,” Mom says, squeezing her hands into fists.

  “Yeah, open it, Livi,” Charlie says, jumping like a human pogo stick.

  I take a breath, then pull the tab on the back of the envelope. After removing a stack of papers, I read the top page—a letter—out loud.

  “ ‘Congratulations, Olivia Bean! You are one of only fifteen children selected …’ ”

  Mom takes the papers and envelope from my hands and lays them on the coffee table in front of us. Then she grabs me and we jump and scream. Neil grabs both of us in a giant hug and joins us in the jumping and screaming.

  “Hey!”

  We turn and notice Charlie standing there.

  Neil scoops him up. “Livi got onto Jeopardy!, buddy. Your sister’s going to be on TV.”

  That’s when I stop moving because I, Olivia Bean, am going to be on Jeopardy! The thing I’ve wanted almost my whole life is actually going to happen.

  My legs feel weak, so I sit, afraid I’ll collapse if I don’t. Mom and Neil sit beside me. Charlie squeezes my neck so hard it hurts. “I told you, Livi. I told you! I told you! I have to pee.” />
  Mom grabs Charlie and steers him toward the stairs. “Run, Charlie. Run.”

  Charlie runs.

  Mom shakes her head. “I can’t believe it. I can’t.”

  Neil nods. “I can.”

  “Made it!” Charlie yells from upstairs.

  “Hallelujah,” Mom says, and we all crack up.

  Charlie charges back downstairs.

  “Flush!” Mom and Neil say at the same time.

  He goes back up, flushes and runs down.

  “Wash,” Mom says.

  Charlie runs up one more time, then comes down and collapses in my lap. “I told you, Livi.”

  Mom squeezes my shoulders. “I’m so proud of you. You worked so … You’ve wanted this for … I’m just so proud.” Mom’s eyes are wet and shiny.

  I nod, feeling dazed and loved, not believing this can possibly be true.

  “Proud. Loud. Cloud,” Charlie sings. “Dowd. Rowd. Howd … y.”

  “Way to go, Olivia,” Neil says, patting my knee. “I knew you could do it.”

  “Thanks.” I stand. “I’ve got to tell Dad.”

  In the kitchen, I crouch in a corner with the phone. Stella the Stealer answers, but gives Dad the phone without subjecting me to her phony, sugar-coated polite conversation.

  “Hi, Olivia,” Dad says. “What’s up?”

  He doesn’t call me Jelly Bean or Butter Bean, but I can’t worry about that now. “I got the letter, Dad,” I whisper into the phone. “I’m going to be on Kids Week on Jeopardy!”

  “That’s fantastic!” Dad says. I picture him thrusting a fist in the air. “Olivia, that’s the best news I’ve heard in a long time. Congratulations, sweetheart.”

  My chest swells with happiness from Dad’s response.

  Dad’s voice sounds muffled when he says, “Olivia made it onto Jeopardy!” Then I hear Stella say, “Tell her I said congratulations.”

  “Stella says congratulations.”

  “Thanks.” My stomach twists; I don’t want Stella’s congratulations. I want to linger in the feeling of Dad being so excited for me.

  “Oh, wait,” Dad says. “Here comes Nikki.”

  My stomach goes into full clench. Was I really thinking of calling her today?

  “Hey, Nik,” Dad says. “Guess what?”

  “We’re moving to Alaska?” I hear Nikki say in the background. Her tone is snide and her voice sounds so much older than I remember.

  “Ha-ha,” Dad says, as though Nikki just made a hilarious joke, which she didn’t. “Olivia is going to be on Jeopardy! Isn’t that great?”

  A pause.

  I hold my breath.

  “I’m thrilled for her,” Nikki says in a flat voice. The only way she could have sounded less excited is if she were in a medically induced coma.

  The air leaks out of my balloon. What did I expect? Did I expect her to be happy for me? To decide we’re suddenly best friends again? I think of Tucker’s sweet Valentine’s Day card, still in my backpack, and realize that’s exactly what I had expected. At least, that’s what I’d hoped for.

  Dad interrupts my thoughts. “Isn’t Jeopardy! filmed here in L.A., Butter Bean?”

  “Yes,” I say, gripping the phone more tightly, feeling excitement creep back in. “Culver City.” I decide I’m not going to let Nikki ruin my mood. At least Dad’s excited for me. And that’s miracle enough. Maybe if I could see Nikki, talk to her in person, we could find a way to work this whole thing out.

  “Terrific,” Dad says. “You’ll come for a visit then.”

  It’s happening. Everything I wanted is happening.

  We’re scheduled to fly to California the third week in March to record the Kids Week shows.

  I have just over a month to prepare.

  I practice the buzzer or signaling device by watching the real show in the evening with pen in hand. When Alex Trebek finishes reading an answer, I click the button on my pen as fast as I can. It’s not the same as practicing with the real device, but it’s as close as I can get. And I’ll need lightning-fast reflexes to beat the competition.

  I also stand while I watch the shows now because I’ll be standing during the real thing. And I read in my Jeopardy! book that it helps recall if you create similar conditions under which you’ll be quizzed.

  Those kinds of practice no one can help me with.

  But when it comes to filling my brain with as much information as possible, everyone helps.

  Mom …

  At breakfast, I find another stack of index cards beside my cereal bowl. These cards have a state’s name on one side and its flower on the other. I read the name of the state and say the name of the flower before flipping the card to see if I’m right. I’m usually right.

  Yesterday’s stack of cards was presidents and their vice presidents. The day before that was well-known children’s books and their authors. Before that, TV shows and the people who star in them.

  Mom makes the cards every night before she goes to bed.

  And car rides with Mom no longer involve normal conversation.

  The other day, when she drove me to buy another new outfit to wear on Jeopardy!, I reached over to turn on the radio, but she grabbed my hand.

  “Let’s practice instead.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “There are 5,280 of these in a statute mile.”

  “What are feet?” I ask.

  “Correct.”

  “But a nautical mile is approximately 6,076 feet,” I add.

  Mom shakes her head. “You’re amazing, Livi.”

  I blush, ready for Mom to hit me with the next question.

  “A cow has four of these.”

  “What are stomachs?” I ask.

  “How many—”

  “But that’s not exactly true,” I say. “About the cow stomachs.”

  “Explain.”

  “There are four digestive compartments—the reticulum, rumen, omasum and abomasum. But the simple answer is four stomachs.”

  “Livi,” Mom says, “you are so ready for this.”

  My heart pounds. My pits sweat. There are so many facts about so many different things. How could I ever be ready for this? “More questions, Mom!”

  “This planet is larger than one thousand Earths.”

  “What is Jupiter?”

  “Yes!”

  Neil …

  “Olivia,” Neil calls when he comes home from work.

  I hurry downstairs to find him carrying another stack of library books. Fish Facts, ESPN: The Mighty Book of Sports Knowledge, National Geographic Kids Almanac, Great Musicians, Weird but True: 300 Outrageous Facts and The 100 Best Poems of All Time.

  I take the pile of books upstairs and add them to the other piles of books Neil has brought home for me, and I resume studying. Until I realize I forgot something and run back downstairs.

  Mom and Neil are cuddled together on the couch, talking. They look up at me.

  “Thanks, Neil.”

  Neil nods. “There are more where those came from, Brainy Bean.”

  I smile at the nickname, nod and run back upstairs.

  Even though it’s after ten o’clock and I have school the next morning, I stay up another hour and a half poring over the new library books.

  There’s so much to learn.

  Charlie …

  While we eat dinner, Charlie says, “A cockroach can survive without its head for a week before it dies of starvation.”

  “I’ll die of starvation,” I say, “if you don’t stop spouting gross trivia during dinner.”

  “In your lifetime, you’ll shed more than forty pounds of skin.”

  “Charlie!” I say.

  Mom puts her fork down. “Little man, please save your gross trivia until we’re done eating.”

  Charlie pouts and crosses his arms. “I’m just helping stuff Livi’s brain like everyone else.”

  Mom takes a deep breath. “Okay. Just try to keep the facts from being too … you know …”

>   “Disgusting?” Charlie blurts out.

  “Exactly,” Mom says.

  “Actually, Charlie,” I say, shoveling a forkful of black beans and rice into my mouth, “you never know when Alex Trebek might ask about headless cockroaches and shedding skin. Keep those gross facts coming.”

  Mom raises an eyebrow at me.

  I shrug. It’s hard to feel important when you’re five. “Well, you never know what Alex Trebek might ask.” I wink at my little bother.

  Charlie sits up taller. “Okay, Livi. Remember how I told you flamingos pee on their legs to cool off?”

  “Yes,” Mom says in a low, menacing tone.

  “Well, turkey vultures poop on their legs to cool off.”

  “Charlie!” we both scream at the same time.

  Tucker …

  Tucker promises to teach me geography every day after school, unless he has debate club. Because of my weakness in geography, I accept. Even though it does mean dealing with Tucker’s dirty-laundry land mines strewn all over his bedroom floor.

  Sitting on Tucker’s bed, I study his wall map and try to remember the major rivers of the world, but when I close my eyes and repeat them, I forget most of the names.

  “You stink at geography, Bean.”

  Even though Tucker’s right, I say, “I’m getting better, though. Aren’t I?”

  “A little.” Tucker swivels on his desk chair. “But you still stink.”

  I sit back on Tucker’s bed, my head leaning on his giant wall map. I’m probably crushing Paraguay with my hair. Even though Dad thinks I’m hopeless at geography, I need to ask. “Tucker, do you think I can learn this stuff in time for Jeopardy!?” I bite my fingernail because I know how Dad would answer that question.

  “Of course you can, Bean,” Tucker says, spinning his chair in a complete circle. “First, you have me as a coach. Second, you’re a total brain.”

  I’m shocked by Tucker’s confidence in me because I certainly don’t have any in myself.

  “Here’s an easy one,” Tucker says. “What is commonly referred to as the birthplace of democracy?”