by Bill Doyle
“We’ll talk about it at home, pal,” Mr. T. said. He didn’t like causing a scene. “My boss just heard everything you said, Cal.”
Now it was Cal’s turn to panic. They couldn’t go home and lose this chance! “If I’d asked you, what would you have said?”
“NO!” his family shouted back.
“See? I was right to do what I did!” Cal insisted. “We just have to be one of the first three families to get a butterfly down from a pole. But we need to move now!”
Most of the families had climbed up on the chests at the bottom of their poles. Some tried to shake the butterflies loose, and others tried knocking the poles over with kicks and shoves. Cal spotted his best friend, James, and James’s dad climbing their pole. After just a few feet, though, James’s hands started slipping and sliding and he dropped onto his dad. They both tumbled onto the grass, laughing.
“Hey!” James yelled, rubbing his hands on the ground. “The poles are covered in slime!”
Other families were finding that out for themselves. People were sliding down the poles all along the field. Getting desperate, a few tried jumping up to grab the butterfly. But it was twenty feet off the ground, so they weren’t even close. The football coach from the high school leapt in the air, landed off balance, and slid onto his rear.
“You’ll need wings to make that jump, Coach Eaton!” Mrs. Moylan, owner of the Hawkins gas station, shouted from the audience.
The coach chuckled, and the crowd laughed with him. But not Cal. He had his eye on the treasure chests next to the poles. He had a feeling there was something inside those chests that could help with the challenge. But it might already be too late.
“Look at that!” Mr. Vance, the VP of Fun, yelled into his megaphone. He was watching the Wylots, and soon everyone else was, too. “Have you ever seen anything like it?”
Mr. Wylot was Mr. T.’s boss at the factory, and Leslie Wylot was in Cal’s class. But it was the older daughter, dressed in hunting clothes, who had snagged all the attention. Emma Wylot was like a ninja. Somehow, the thirteen-year-old had shinnied up the greased pole, even though it was as slippery as ice. Emma plucked the butterfly off the top. She held it out and, with her legs extended in a straight line, slid down the pole one-handed, like she was a human flag.
Once on the ground, Emma handed the butterfly to her dad. And the family lifted Mr. Wylot into the air, as if he had done all the hard work. He waved at the crowd like a king home from battle.
“We have our first winners! The Wylots!” Mr. Vance shouted. A few people clapped. “And the second family doesn’t look far behind!”
It was true. The Rivales, who lived next door to the Talaskas on Piedmont Place, were just inches away from nabbing a butterfly. Mr. and Mrs. Rivale and their identical triplets—three teenage boys—had built a human pyramid that would have wowed the ancient Egyptians. The parents stood next to each other, forming a base. The first triplet stood on their shoulders, with the next triplet on his shoulders and the third on top. Like a circus act, they formed a tower rising twenty feet in the air. A few families stopped what they were doing to stare as the top triplet grabbed the butterfly and slid down his other family members to the ground.
“We have our second family!” Mr. Vance cried. “Who will be the third and last one?”
“We will!” Cal yelled. “Come on, Talaskas!”
Still, his family wouldn’t move. Cal couldn’t take it anymore. He ran by himself to the chest at the bottom of their pole. He tried to open it, but the clasp was held shut by a combination lock.
By now, many other families had started thinking like Cal. No one else could climb the pole like Emma Wylot, and no family was able to copy the Rivales’ pyramid. People wanted to get inside the chests, and they were trying different four-number combinations. A few were kicking the chests, trying to break them open.
“This is silly, and I have way too much work to do!” Mrs. T. called to Cal. “We’re just not a contest kind of family. We’ll wait for you in the Flying Monkey.”
“Hold on, please!” Cal said. He was reading words carved into the top of the chest. “There’s a clue here. It says, ‘To open and use the chest, you need to know two things: the birth date of the royalty of marvels…and that the time of the message is past!’ ”
A few contestants around Cal mumbled that they had no idea what that could mean and went back to shaking the poles. But Mrs. T. had stopped in her tracks on the way to the car. “Oh, that first part is easy,” she said automatically. “The answer is twelve zero two.”
The families close by heard her, and immediately spun the dials. Cal did the same. “She’s right!” James shouted, pulling his lock free. “Thanks, Mrs. T.!”
Cal shot her a look. Some people collected snow globes or stamps. His mom hunted strange facts about the ancient Olympics, the speed of a ferret’s sneeze, what aardvarks ate—whatever! But this probably wasn’t the best time for her to show off her trivia skills.
Mrs. T. shrugged. “The royalty of marvels is another way of saying King Wonder, and his birthday is December second, or twelve zero two. Doesn’t everyone know that?”
If anyone had missed her spilling the answer before, they heard her now. One by one, the rest of the families spun the locks and popped open the chests. Kids and parents laughed, pulling back in surprise as three helium balloons with pictures on them drifted up out of each box. Strings kept them from floating away.
“We like our shoppers to be resourceful and find the best value in our Circles of Dreams!” Mr. Vance yelled. “To help you prove you can be smart shoppers, we put a few other things inside each chest.”
Mr. Vance was right. Cal spotted a three-foot-long piece of thin steel and two pieces of wood at the bottom of the chest. What were they supposed to do with these?
Cal held them up for his family to see. They had been walking away. But now they were back at the starting line, like moths drawn to a flame.
His dad had turned his glasses on a slant and was smiling. “The three balloons tell you what to do with that stuff,” he called to Cal. “The balloons are a rebus—it’s not too tough!”
Cal looked more closely at the balloons. One had the letter I, the second had an eye, and the third had a sheep with a pink bow on its tail. It was a rebus!
Cal read the symbols out loud. “I eye sheep.” No, he knew in an instant that wasn’t right. An eye could mean see in a rebus. He tried again. “I see sheep.”
“Look at the bow on the sheep’s tail,” Mr. T. said. “It’s a female!”
Right. A female sheep was a ewe. Cal replaced the word sheep with ewe.
“I see ewe…,” Cal said. Then he got it. “I see YOU!” he yelled, and slapped his hand over his mouth. He was just as bad as the rest of his family at giving away clues.
But it didn’t matter if people overheard him. How would a rebus message that said “I see you” help anyone get butterflies off poles? Cal reread the words on the chest, focusing on the second part of the clue: “The time of the message is past!”
The message was “I see you.” How would you say that in the past?
“It should be ‘I saw you,’ ” he whispered to himself.
“Saw?” someone said right next to him. Cal jumped. It was Imo. He knew she couldn’t resist cracking the code. She was pulling one earlobe, the way she did when her brain was really humming.
“I’ve got the answer,” she said. “It’s a—”
For some reason, her mouth snapped shut. Cal turned to find that Mr. Vance’s cameraman was pointing his lens directly at her. Imo went pale, and she put her head down so the spaceship-shaped clip in her hair sparkled in the setting sun, like she was trying to hide.
“What’s wrong with you?” Cal asked. “What’s the solution?”
Imo didn’t answer. Instead, she took the three items from Cal’s hands and snapped the pieces of wood on either end of the strip of steel. With her eyes, she made back-and-forth gestures along the pole. A
lmost as if she were using her gaze to cut the pole. Or saw it!
Cal finally understood. “I saw you.”
Aha! He grabbed one end of the saw that Imo had made, and she held the other. They put the steel blade next to the pole and started pushing and pulling. It took them a second to get the right rhythm as they cut into the pole. Other families had caught on by now and snapped their own saws together. But Imo and Cal had a head start.
They quickly sliced into the wood, and, like a tree, the pole started to fall over.
“Timber!” Mr. Vance cried.
As it tipped over, the top of the Talaskas’ pole headed straight for the Wylots. They already had a butterfly, but Cal could see them getting ready to grab this one, too. Leslie Wylot shoved her sister out of the way, trying to get to it first. Her arms reached out to catch it.
Luckily, Cal was a pretty good athlete. He jumped between the falling pole and Leslie. He snagged the stuffed butterfly off the top just before she could touch it, and the pole slammed into the ground. WHAM!
“Yes!” Cal said, holding up the silly-looking butterfly like it was the world’s greatest trophy. He turned around so the crowd could see him. A stuffed toy had never felt this good in his fingers.
“And we have our third finalist family!” Mr. Vance shouted. The audience went berserk, yelling and clapping. As Cal jumped up and down, he saw that even his parents were cheering. Bug was spinning in circles with Butler.
Mr. Vance gathered the Talaskas, Wylots, and Rivales together. “Congratulations to the finalists!” he said.
“We’re the winners!” Leslie Wylot shouted.
“Not quite,” Mr. Vance said with a chuckle. “To make it to the Great Grab Contest, the three families have to survive two more elimination rounds. First, you must create a thirty-second video to show you are perfect Wish Shoppe shoppers! Not only will the winning family keep whatever they grab in King’s new store, which will open in a few weeks, but also their video will appear on billboards all over the country!”
Imo got a panicked look on her face. “That’s never going to happen,” she said under her breath.
Hearing her, Mr. Vance rushed over to Imo. “What’s your name, little girl, and where are you from?” he demanded as his cameraman zoomed in.
Little girl? Imo hated being talked down to, and this should have been enough to send her into a rant. But she just kept her head down. Since when was she so shy?
Finally, Cal stepped in front of her and looked straight into the camera. “We’re the Talaskas from Piedmont Place,” he said proudly. “And it turns out that we are a contest kind of family!”
The next morning at school, Cal met up with James in gym class. They were early and shot a few baskets while they waited for the teacher.
“Stellar performance yesterday, Captain,” James said after going in for a layup. He had a habit of wiping his nose with his hand, so Cal gave him an air fist bump.
“Thanks, my man,” Cal said. He was still buzzing from the race. “Sorry your family didn’t nab a butterfly.”
“No big deal,” James said. “My dad and I had a blast doing it. Did you convince your parents and Imo to keep going with the contest?”
He glanced across the gym at Imo. Cal and his sister were both in fifth grade because Imo had skipped a grade two years ago. She was at the other basket, shooting with her friend Simone.
“I haven’t convinced them yet,” Cal said. “But I’m working on it.”
Actually, Cal’s parents and Imo had come right out and said they had zero interest in the contest. Mrs. T. was way too busy for something so “silly.” Mr. T. didn’t want to compete against his boss. And they sure as heck didn’t want to make a video about their family for the next elimination round.
But Cal was more determined than ever. Just the thought of grabbing whatever he wanted from the Wish Shoppe’s aisles of 3-D printers, giant TVs, go-karts, automatic bowling balls—you name it!—was enough to bring a grin to Cal’s face. Plus, the whole country would see his family in the Wish Shoppe ads and know how perfect the Talaskas were.
Cal’s grin disappeared when Leslie Wylot bounced into the gym, her three perfect braids snapping an angry rhythm. Cal’s class had stopped having show-and-tell years ago, but Leslie held her own version pretty much every day. This morning was no different. She carried the Wish Shoppe stuffed butterfly for all to see, as if it were a major movie award. She strutted across the gym and took a seat next to Alison Mangan on the bleachers.
Without missing a beat, Leslie started talking. “I can’t wait to get whatever I want in the Great Grab Contest, Alison. I know I get what I wish for every day. But this is different. Because everyone will be watching. I’m so glad we’re best friends, Alison. We can tell each other everything!”
The whole gym could hear every loud word she said. People on other planets could hear her. Alison said something, but it was like talking into a hurricane. Cal liked Alison. She laughed at all his jokes, even the dumb ones, and she used to stand up to Leslie. Now Alison did everything Leslie said—and Cal didn’t get why.
Leslie just kept rolling along. “It’s totally cute and so sad the way those Talaskas think they have a chance to win the contest.” She pointed at Imo and then Cal. “Look at them! Aren’t they hilarious!”
Cal stopped dribbling. “I’m right in front of you, Leslie.”
“Oh, Cal,” Leslie said. “Can’t you take a joke?”
Before Cal could answer, Ms. Graves rushed into the gym. “Sorry, folks, your gym teacher, Mr. Price, is out sick today. You’ve just got me.”
Cal couldn’t have been happier. Ms. Graves was usually their English teacher. Cal was a fan of Ms. Graves. At the beginning of the year, he had almost convinced her he was allergic to homework. Almost.
“Why don’t we play a game of—” Ms. Graves started to say when the intercom buzzed. The voice of the school secretary came over the speaker. “Ms. Graves? We need your help in the office. Principal Cahill is locked in the supply closet again.” A split second later, the intercom buzzed once more. “Better bring Imo Talaska with you.”
“I’ll be just a minute, Ms. Graves,” Imo said, and ran to the locker room to change.
“We have to rescue the principal from his prison of paper clips,” Ms. Graves told the class. “I’ll return in a few minutes. Until then, behave, and play…a gym game…or something.”
Imo was back in a flash, rushing through the gym to follow Ms. Graves out the door. Imo had put on the overalls she kept at school for helping out with quick fixes. The pockets were filled with tools like screw-drivers, a spud wrench, and even a plugging chisel.
Leslie gave her a once-over. “Nice outfit, Jessie!”
Either Imo didn’t hear her or she pretended not to. She just kept moving.
“Knock it off, Leslie,” Cal said.
“What? It is nice!” But the way Leslie had said nice definitely wasn’t nice. “I just think it’s a shame that my family is going to win the Great Grab Contest and Jessie won’t have the chance to grab more things. You know, like those nice hair clips from Star Wars she always wears.”
Cal trotted across the room after his sister. He caught up to her in the hall. “Imo!”
Imo turned around impatiently, tapping her foot. They were standing next to the sports trophy case—a spot where their mom always stopped when she came to school.
“What is it, Cal?” Imo demanded. Ms. Graves had already turned the corner to the principal’s office. A banging sound was coming from the supply closet.
“Why don’t you stand up to her?” Cal asked.
“Who? Leslie?” Imo said. “Who cares what she says? And Jessie is my real name.”
It was true. Imo’s real name was Jessie. But her nickname, Imo, was so much better. Her first word as a baby hadn’t been Mommy or something like apple—she’d said “in my opinion.” After her toy elephant had splashed into a bowl of milk, she’d fished it out, licked it, and said, “In my opinion�
�blech!”
As she got older, she kept it up. During dinner when Mrs. T. had forgotten to thaw the fish sticks, she said, “Fish sticks make good Popsicles, in my opinion.” Another time, she said, “In my opinion, ghost stories are better without ghosts.” Just a month ago: “To keep the water in the kitchen sink at forty psi, in my opinion, we’ll need to exercise that valve with sliding-head pliers.”
In my opinion this. In my opinion that.
The Talaskas started calling her IMO for short, and it stuck.
“Just let Leslie play her games,” Imo said. “Stuff she says doesn’t matter.”
“But it does,” Cal insisted. “It matters how people treat us. That’s why this Great Grab Contest—”
“Ugh with the contest!” Imo said. “I told you I don’t want to be in front of cameras anymore.” Down the hall, the banging was getting louder. “Look, I’ve got to go.” She took off.
When Cal went back into the gym, Leslie had pulled out the red rubber balls. “We’re playing dodgeball,” she announced to the twenty-two kids.
A few of them gasped, and one boy shouted, “Dodgeball was outlawed after you lost your temper last time!”
“Besides, it’s totally dangerous!” Sheila Hanahan screeched. She was the smallest girl in the class.
Leslie rolled her eyes. “Oh please. Dangerous? That idea is just a conspiracy by badminton companies. And I know about big companies. After all, my dad runs the biggest one in the state….What? It’s not bragging if you can Google it.”
Cal didn’t want anyone getting smacked by a rubber ball. He trotted over to the canister of lightweight foam balls. Imo had made them for kids who couldn’t catch. She had sprayed them with a static glue so they stuck to hands instead of bouncing away.
“We’ll use the balls Imo made,” Cal said.
Leslie sighed impatiently. “Fine, fine, whatever.”
They started to break up into teams. Leslie was one captain and Cal the other. Kids drifted toward Cal.
