Mascot

by Antony John

  “False alarm,” I tell her.

  Mom isn’t very happy, but she doesn’t complain—it has taken me months to get some control over my lower regions, and she’s not going to make me feel bad about it now.

  Mom leads us the short distance to Section 160, where Mr. Dillon is already waiting for us. He gives her a brief hug, which reminds me why we came up with Operation GMU in the first place. “This way,” he says, pointing to a passageway.

  “I’ll wait here,” says Makayla, leaning against the wall.

  “Sure thing, honey.” Mr. Dillon turns to Mom and whispers, “She’s waiting for you-know-who.”

  Mom smiles. “Ah, young love.”

  “Heaven help us all,” replies Mr. Dillon, sighing.

  You-know-who? Young love? Before I can ask what they’re talking about, Mr. Dillon leads us into the passageway. A few seconds later, we emerge to an ocean of bright red seats and grass trimmed so flat it looks like carpet. In the distance, the Gateway Arch is bathed in yellow light from the setting sun. It’s beautiful.

  I’ve been to Busch Stadium before but always with Dad. Seeing it reminds me of those times—how I’d bring Dad’s old catcher’s mitt in case a fly ball made it to our section, although it never did. I wish I’d remembered to bring the glove today.

  Dad would’ve loved these seats. Well, not seats exactly—more like an area for me to park my wheelchair and folding chairs for everyone else—but the view is fantastic. We’re halfway between third base and home plate, close enough to see the catcher’s signals, and the pitcher’s windup, and the batter’s grip. Close enough to feel like we’re part of the game, not just watching it.

  I don’t know how much money a refuse consultant makes, but I’m pretty sure Mr. Dillon just spent a chunk of it trying to impress Mom and me.

  Dee-Dub nudges me. He points to the large ring of keys clipped to Mr. Dillon’s belt. He’s clearly itching to get started on GMU, but I shake my head. There’ll be time to explain to him why the operation is off. For now, I just want to enjoy the view.

  “I should probably check on Makayla,” says Mr. Dillon, peering back into the passageway.

  “I’ll come with you,” says Mom brightly. “You two are okay here, right?” she asks Dee-Dub and me.

  “Sure,” I say. I don’t even mind that Mom is going with Mr. Dillon. After all, he’s going to have to leave us alone for the entire game to keep up the illusion that he’s Fredbird. I almost feel sorry for him, buying these amazing seats and then missing all the action just to keep up one crazy lie.

  “So,” says Dee-Dub the moment they’re gone. “About Operation MUD—”

  “GMU,” I correct him.

  “Exactly, MUD. We’re a go, right?”

  Oh, boy. “Listen, Dee-Dub. I’ve been thinking. This whole operation doesn’t feel right.”

  “It’s perfect,” he says, bouncing his leg up and down like a toddler who needs to go potty.

  “I’m not saying it isn’t brilliant. But remember the other night when you talked about too many variables? Operation GMU feels kind of like that.”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  Geez. I guess I’m going to need a different approach.

  “I think Makayla’s on to us,” I say. “She heard you say ‘GMU’ . . . and ‘MUD’!”

  “So what? You said she needs to know the truth about her dad, remember? She’ll probably thank us.”

  “Oh, for— The plan is off, Dee-Dub, okay? Think about it: we couldn’t even get hold of Mr. Dillon’s keys. And that was step one!”

  “These keys?” he says, pulling a large ring from his pocket.

  My stomach goes into free fall again. “Where did you get those?”

  “From Mr. Dillon’s belt.”

  “But . . . but that was going to be my job.”

  “You seemed preoccupied.”

  “I wasn’t preoccupied. I was . . . ugh! We need to get those back to him, Dee-Dub!”

  “But I only just stole them.”

  “Stole what?” demands Makayla, appearing behind us.

  “Nothing,” I say. Or begin to say, anyway. The word gets stuck in my throat on account of how Makayla’s not alone, and the boy beside her is familiar. Horribly familiar, from his wheelchair to his toilet-brush Mohawk.

  Freaking Dynamo!

  “Well, look here,” says Dynamo, raising a hand in greeting. “It’s my old mascot.”

  I’m too confused to be angry. “H-How do you two know each other?”

  “Makayla’s my girlfriend,” explains Dynamo. “You didn’t believe me when I said I was dating, but hey, it’s cool. You’ve got trust issues. I get it.”

  Makayla takes his hand and squeezes it, like they’re an actual couple. They’re nine, for Pete’s sake. Why hasn’t anyone told them that nine-year-old kids don’t date? And where are our parents, anyway?

  “Oooh, look!” exclaims Dynamo, pointing at the field. He waves his arm back and forth. I have no idea who he’s waving at because the only person there is one of the Cardinals cheering squad.

  The woman waves back at him. Then she blows him a kiss.

  “Your sister’s pretty,” Makayla tells him.

  “Uh-huh,” replies Dynamo. “But don’t tell Noah that. He doesn’t believe my sister’s a cheerleader.”

  Makayla purses her lips. “Wow, Noah. You really do have trust issues.”

  “But it sort of makes sense,” Dynamo says. “You know, after the spelling bee thing.”

  “Oh, that was awesome,” Makayla crows.

  “I still can’t believe you changed the words, Noah.” Dynamo shakes his head. “Makayla figured she could set you up—get you to feed her pages to the dog or something. I told her, no way is anyone that stupid. But you . . .” He slaps his legs, laughing. “You went all the way. Like she wouldn’t even notice!”

  Dee-Dub gives me a sympathetic look, like he’s watching a starting pitcher unravel on the mound. I want to defend myself, but (1) I’m not sure that’s possible and (2) he still has the keys in his hand, and time is running out.

  “I wonder where our parents are,” I say loudly.

  “They were talking in the passageway just now,” says Makayla. “I think your mom’s worried about you, Noah.”

  “No wonder,” mutters Dynamo.

  I’d like to fire back with something clever, but I can’t think of anything, and anyway, I need Dee-Dub to return the keys.

  “So,” I say, catching Dee-Dub’s eye. “My mom and Mr. Dillon are in the passageway.”

  Dee-Dub watches me with a glazed expression. “That’s what Makayla just said, yes.”

  Sheesh. If I can’t get through to him with verbal hints, I might need to try another approach. I try staring at the keys in his balled-up fingers and then flick my head in the direction of the concourse, signaling that it’s time for him to leave. When he doesn’t move, I do it again, and this time I wink too.

  “Oh,” he says, jumping up so fast he almost topples over. “Yes. I’m, uh, going to the restroom.”

  Dee-Dub shuffles past us and dives into the passageway. I don’t know how he’s possibly going to explain to Mr. Dillon why he has the keys, but he’s smart—I’m sure he’ll figure something out.

  Dynamo watches him go. “That’s one huge dude. Is he the one who got suspended from your school?”

  I shoot Makayla a nasty look.

  “What?” she says. “Your mom told my dad. I didn’t realize it was a secret.”

  Dynamo snorts. “You two are hilarious. You sound like you’re brother and sister already.”

  “That’s not funny,” says Makayla.

  “Neither was setting me up to ruin your spelling bee sheets,” I remind her.

  “How else was I supposed to get rid of you and your mom?”

  I gasp. “What?”

  Standing over me with her arms folded, Makayla reminds me a lot of Alyssa. “My dad and I were doing fine before you came along. Then Dad says he wants to hang out with
your mom, and he got me this really boring babysitter. Then, two days later, he makes me hang out with you, and you’re even worse. So I decided they needed to stop seeing each other. I did that whole “sucking face” thing in front of your mom, but it wasn’t enough. So I got you to ruin my spelling bee, and it still didn’t work. In the end, I just told him I didn’t like him spending so much time with your mom.”

  “And what did he say?” I ask.

  She shrugs. “He said he liked having someone to talk to. But he also said he’d stop seeing her if it’s what I wanted.”

  I don’t believe it. After all this time, it turns out I could’ve just waited for Makayla to force our parents apart. It never occurred to me that she felt the same way I did, holding tight to her only parent because there’s no one else.

  “The thing is,” she continues, “now that my dad’s promised not to see your mom anymore, I wish I hadn’t said anything. I’d prefer to be around two happy people than one unhappy one. You know what I mean?”

  I nod. “Yeah. Actually, I do.”

  “Even you’re not so bad, Noah. Like, my teacher told me how you came by and owned up to what you did.” Makayla winds a string of hair beads around her finger. “The way I see it, only a good person would do that. Dynamo kind of likes you now too, and that’s saying something, because he used to think you were a loser.”

  “Takes one to know one,” I say.

  “That’s the best you got?” Dynamo sneers.

  “You’re so full of yourself.”

  “The Dynamo won’t pretend to be any less brilliant than he is.”

  I glance at Makayla, and we both roll our eyes.

  It’s strange, but sharing this moment with her is like glimpsing a new and different version of the future. Sure, it’d involve seeing Mr. Dillon and Makayla again, but that doesn’t seem as bad as it did just an hour ago.

  It’s just as well I went ahead and canceled Operation GMU. I can picture it now: Fredbird bounding onto the field wearing a mask filled with itching powder, then tearing it off as the crowd goes quiet. I imagine Mom and Makayla staring in horror as they discover that it’s not Mr. Dillon in the suit after all. The whole thing gives me chills.

  Dynamo rolls back a few feet and stares down the passageway. “Is your friend okay, Noah?” he asks. “I mean, I thought we had issues, but that dude’s been gone for ages.”

  It’s a good point, especially as Dee-Dub wasn’t even going as far as the toilets. Maybe Mr. Dillon and Mom weren’t at the end of the passageway, and he had to go look for them. Yeah, that must be it, because the only other explanation is that he went through with the plan after all, and he wouldn’t do that until I gave him a sign. And since we hadn’t actually agreed on a sign—

  I feel the blood drain from my face. I winked at him just before he left. I winked, just like Alyssa winked on the school blacktop. Did Dee-Dub think that was the sign?

  I spin my chair around and power back toward the concourse. Forget about calling things off. I think Operation GMU is happening right now.

  36

  Dee-Dub to the Rescue

  The concourse is flooded with Cardinals fans in red-and-white baseball shirts. I can hardly move. I don’t know which way to go, anyway. Dee-Dub’s got the stadium blueprints tucked in the pocket of his favorite chinos.

  Why didn’t I get a copy too?

  As one half of a criminal mastermind team, I’m totally out of my league.

  “Wait up!” shouts Makayla, jogging to catch up with me. Dynamo is rolling along behind her.

  Great! Now there are going to be witnesses. At least Makayla probably knows her way around the place.

  “Where does Fredbird get dressed?” I ask.

  Dynamo pulls a face. “Ew. Why do you want to watch Fredbird getting dressed?”

  “I don’t. I just need to know where he is.”

  “His nest is downstairs,” says Makayla. “There’s an elevator. But they won’t let you on it.”

  “They’ll let me on it,” says Dynamo confidently. “Everyone knows the Dynamo.” And just like that, he dives into the mass of Cardinals fans.

  It takes us a minute to get to the elevator. A security guard is looking at me suspiciously, but then he sees Dynamo, and suddenly they’re bumping fists and the doors are opening. I might be in time to catch Dee-Dub after all.

  “Noah!” Alyssa sprints through the crowd and skids to a halt beside me. “You. Are. An. Idiot!”

  I try to tell her with my eyes that she needs to calm down, but I guess Alyssa isn’t very good at reading eyeball language.

  “What are you thinking?” she snaps.

  “I’m, uh, thinking that it’d be nice to take an elevator ride,” I say, trying to sound more relaxed than I feel.

  “Well, you know what I think? I think you and Dee-Dub need brain transplants. I think you should be locked up for your own safety. I . . . I . . .”

  Dynamo pulls alongside me. “Is this your girlfriend?” he asks.

  “No, I am not his girlfriend!” growls Alyssa. “I prefer boys with functioning brains.”

  Dynamo covers his mouth with his hand. “I think she likes you,” he whispers.

  “I do not like him,” says Alyssa. “And neither would you if you knew what he’s up to.”

  I pretend to have a coughing fit, which is so convincing that it actually leads to a real coughing fit. By the time I can breathe again, the elevator doors are about to close. The guard holds them open and I hurry on board.

  “You should wait out there,” I wheeze as Alyssa follows me.

  “Not a chance,” she mutters. “I didn’t spend fifty bucks on a scalped ticket so you could make the biggest mistake of your life. And what about Dee-Dub? He’s only just finished his suspension for beating up Logan.”

  “Wait. That big kid got suspended for fighting?” squeaks Dynamo. He glances at me. “Are you two, like, hit men?”

  I could tell him to be quiet, but it’s kind of fun to see Dynamo looking worried.

  “Listen, Alyssa,” I say. “I’m trying to make sure that Dee-Dub doesn’t do anything crazy. Understand?” I wink several times to emphasize that we’re sharing a secret here.

  “Why do you keep blinking?” she asks. “Is something stuck in your eye?”

  Geez. Saving Mr. Dillon from humiliation is turning out to be harder than humiliating him in the first place.

  The elevator doors open to a brightly lit corridor of concrete floors and gray cinder-block walls. We’re in the bowels of the stadium. There are no Cardinals fans here. Unfortunately, there’s no sign of Dee-Dub either.

  I charge out and look from side to side. “Which way’s the nest?” I ask Makayla.

  “Just over there,” she says, flicking her head to the right. “Why do you want to see it, again?”

  I think fast. “I want to picture where your dad gets ready every day.”

  “That’s just messed up,” says Dynamo, shaking his head. “Why do you want to picture Mr. Dillon naked?”

  “Who wants to see me naked?” demands Mr. Dillon, rounding the corner with Mom.

  “No one!” we all shout.

  “Good.” He casts his eyes about. There’s a panicked look on his face.

  “Are you all right, Daddy?” Makayla asks.

  “I’ve lost my keys, honey. I don’t know how it happened.”

  Alyssa gives me a hard stare. Even Makayla narrows her eyes at me suspiciously. She’s a smart kid—it won’t be long before she demands to know more about Operation GMU.

  “When did you last see them?” I ask.

  “I don’t know,” says Mr. Dillon. “Maybe half an hour ago? I could borrow someone else’s, but I need to find those keys!”

  “These keys?” comes a voice from behind us. Dee-Dub walks right up to Mr. Dillon and hands over the key ring like it’s no big deal. Like Mr. Dillon won’t realize that Dee-Dub just stole them.

  “Uh, thanks,” says Mr. Dillon. “Where did you find them?”
r />   Dee-Dub thinks about this for a suspiciously long time. “I think it was Section 160.”

  “So that’s why you ran off,” I say, smacking Dee-Dub lightly on the arm. “You wanted to return Mr. Dillon’s keys, right?”

  Dee-Dub looks completely lost. I’m not even sure he realizes I’ve just given him an alibi. But when I start to nod, he nods too, so at least it looks like he’s agreeing.

  Mr. Dillon has to know that Dee-Dub and I are hiding something. Alyssa seems to be holding her breath, like she’s sure that Operation GMU is about to come crashing down and she’s worried that everyone will think she’s involved too.

  Mr. Dillon steps toward Dee-Dub. He’s going to call us out on our lie. I can see it in his face. I shrink back in my chair.

  Instead, Mr. Dillon takes Dee-Dub’s hand and pumps it up and down so hard, my friend looks like he’s caught in a blender. “Thank you,” he says. “Thank you so much.”

  Dee-Dub pulls his hand away. “You’re welcome.”

  So far, so good. Except that I still don’t know if Dee-Dub actually made it to Fredbird’s nest. Did he finish Operation GMU?

  But wait! He came from behind us, which must mean that he was still on his way to the nest. I can’t believe our luck.

  “Shouldn’t you be going, Daddy?” says Makayla. “Fredbird’s supposed to be out there already.”

  “Oh. Yes!” Mr. Dillon turns around and jogs toward the nest.

  I have to admit: after all this excitement, I’m a little surprised that Mr. Dillon doesn’t just come clean and admit that he’s not really Fredbird. For a fake mascot, he’s working really hard to keep up the illusion. No wonder Makayla still believes in him.

  “I suppose we should head back to our seats,” Mom says.

  “Yes!” agrees Alyssa. “Oh, except I’m not in the same section as you.”

  “Hmm.” Mom taps her lips with a finger. “It’s quite a coincidence to find you at the game today, Alyssa. Any particular reason you’re down here instead of in your seat?”

  Alyssa turns bright red. “Just trying to make sure the boys behave themselves.”

  Mom laughs. “Good luck with that.”

  We file back into the elevator. Once we’re all inside, Makayla continues to hold the door open.