The Great Greene Heist

by Varian Johnson

  Jackson couldn’t believe the principal had just volunteered all this information so … smugly. “You don’t think people will consider Keith’s gift a bribe?”

  “I see it more like a donation.”

  Jackson closed his eyes for a few seconds as he took a long, deep breath. Kelsey was in on the whole thing.

  “You should be glad that Keith is running for president,” Dr. Kelsey continued. “He’ll be a great leader for the school.”

  “What about Gaby? She’d make a great president too.”

  “I’m sure she would. That’s why we have elections, so the student body can make the choice for themselves.” He pulled at the lapels of his very snug jacket. “We have to honor the democratic process, after all. You never know what’ll happen during an election.”

  After leaving Dr. Kelsey’s office, Jackson took a slight detour on the way to study hall. As he walked, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his notepad. It hadn’t gotten much use over the last four months, but that was about to change.

  Jackson stopped in front of Charlie’s locker. On the paper, he wrote:

  My house.

  4:00 p.m.

  I have a plan.

  He slipped the note through a vent in the locker. Then Jackson let his eyes linger on one of Gaby’s posters. He could still hear her voice in his head, asking why he kept breaking the rules. Asking why he couldn’t keep his promise to be a normal student.

  He placed his pencil behind his ear and straightened his tie.

  Now wasn’t a time to be normal. Now was a time to be infamous.

  Jackson sat in his kitchen, sipping hot Earl Grey tea while Charlie paced in a tight circle in front of him. He was glad they had the house to themselves, so his parents wouldn’t see Charlie wearing a hole in their tiled floor.

  Jackson finished his tea, then centered the cup and saucer on the table in front of him. “Thoughts?”

  Charlie grabbed a handful of his hair and tugged hard. Jackson had just described the greatest heist in the history of Maplewood Middle School. A heist that not even Jackson’s brother would have been brave enough to attempt. A heist destined to live in infamy — if they could pull it off.

  Finally, Charlie said the truest thing he could utter. “You’re crazy.”

  Jackson looked at the map of the main office on the table in front of them. “The plan has its challenges —”

  “Challenges?” He jabbed at the drawing, his finger landing on a small room at the rear of the main office. “How do you even know this layout is correct?”

  “Samuel says so,” Jackson said. “He’s been back there, after all. And if it makes you feel better, we’ll check it out before the election.”

  “Yeah, because I really want to break into the main office twice.” Charlie pulled a chair from the table and sat down in front of Jackson. “We could just report Dr. Kelsey to the superintendent. I know we’re not supposed to rat, but given the circumstances —”

  “We don’t have proof,” Jackson said. “And as much as I want to take down Dr. Kelsey, our first priority has to be stopping Keith from winning the election.”

  Charlie nodded. “What does Samuel think about this plan of yours?”

  Jackson ran his thumb along the edge of his saucer. He hadn’t actually explained the entire plan to Samuel. “He said three weeks was tight —”

  “I knew it!”

  “Let me finish. He said three weeks was tight but doable … as long as we don’t hit any major speed bumps.”

  Charlie shook his head. “You know there’s no way we can pull this off alone.”

  “I know. We’ll need a crew.” Jackson opened his notebook and began flipping through the names he had jotted down during study hall. “There are a lot of students with a lot to lose if Keith becomes president. We just have to find people who won’t spill.”

  “I’m guessing you want Hashemi for tech support.”

  “We are venturing where few have gone before.”

  Charlie winced at Jackson’s Star Trek joke. “Hashemi couldn’t finish a project if his life depended on it.” He nibbled on his lip, then said, “We’d be better off with Megan —”

  “No way.”

  “But —”

  “Rule Number Nine: Loose lips sink ships,” Jackson said. “Hashemi can handle it. He works great under pressure.”

  “I hope you’re right.” Charlie looked back at the map. “What about Bradley for an inside guy?”

  “You trust him that much?”

  “He hasn’t let me down yet,” Charlie said. “And we don’t have many other options. Unless you want to consider Megan….”

  “Okay, I’m sold on Bradley.” Jackson picked up his pencil. “The biggest problem we have is finding a bankroll. What about Quincy Scott?”

  “Parents cut off his funds. Word on the street is he tried to steal his dad’s Porsche and ended up driving it into the swimming pool.”

  Jackson scratched the name off the list. “Bettina Esquivel?”

  “No good. She’s got a huge crush on Wilton.” Charlie leaned back. “What about Victor Cho? He’s a member of the Chess Team, which needs money every year to attend the state finals. His parents are always traveling, which means they give him access to cash and credit cards. And he spent most of fifth grade running from Keith and Wilton.” He sat up. “Other than the fact that he’s even more of a snob than Keith, he’s perfect.”

  “And what about you?” Jackson shut his notebook. “Are you in?”

  Charlie took in the drawing one last time. “You’re still crazy,” he said. “But yeah, of course I’m in. I’m your right-hand man.”

  On Friday, Hashemi Larijani found a folded, typewritten note between pages 122 and 123 of The Unofficial Guide to the Star Trek Universe.

  At the same time, Victor Cho received a text from an unknown caller.

  Two minutes later, as Bradley sat in computer class, an email from an anonymous sender popped into his inbox.

  Each message contained the same three sentences:

  * * *

  Don’t want Keith Sinclair to be the next Student Council president?

  Meet us at 5:00 p.m. at the shed behind 421 Mockingbird Road.

  P.S. Don’t share this message with ANYONE.

  * * *

  While Bradley and Victor didn’t recognize the address, Hashemi did. It was his house. And while he was a little upset with Jackson — at least, he assumed it was Jackson — calling a meeting at his shed, he was also a little pumped up.

  Okay, a lot pumped up.

  Hashemi had never really been involved with one of Jackson’s schemes before. Sure, he had served as an unofficial technical advisor from time to time — nothing major, just trivial input on things like how to anonymously sell livestock on eBay or remotely log in to the school server. Those missions were all hypothetical. Allegedly.

  But he had never been summoned to a meeting before — had never gone with “the away team.” He just hoped he wouldn’t end up being a redshirt.

  Hashemi got home well before the meeting so he’d have time to hide some of his more prized memorabilia — namely, the life-sized cutout of Seven of Nine from Star Trek: Voyager. He had just rearranged his action figures again when a small, wiry boy entered the shed.

  “I’m Bradley Boardman.” He looked around. “Did you call this meeting?”

  Hashemi shook his head. “I imagine Jackson will show up at some point.”

  Bradley sat at one of the stools at the worktable. He pulled a small lump of clay from his pocket and began shaping it. “Mr. Jonas says we should always carry our medium around, just in case inspiration strikes,” he said. “Easy for the guys that use chalk.”

  They both turned when they heard a knock.

  Victor Cho stood at the entrance and rolled his eyes. As a member of the Chess Team, he didn’t care for the more geeky members of the nerd spectrum — i.e., the Tech Club, with their silly comic book talk and excessive “fanboyin
g” of electronics. He felt that they were beneath the more intellectual nerds.

  “Did you organize this?” Victor demanded. “Because if so, I —”

  “I didn’t call the meeting. And it’s not even five o’clock yet,” Hashemi said. “You’re welcome to read one of my comic books to pass the time. Or I can pull out the handheld video game console I built. It’s in beta, but —”

  “No, thank you.” Victor sat down at the table, opened his book bag, and pulled out a brand-new, barely read copy of War and Peace. “I have better things to do.”

  Hashemi chuckled. There was nothing better than riling up one of the Chess Team guys.

  While Victor pretended to read Tolstoy, Hashemi watched Bradley mold his clay into various shapes. Bradley was putting the finishing touches on a pointy Vulcan earlobe when Hashemi’s phone beeped.

  Five o’clock.

  Before the last beep had sounded, Jackson and Charlie entered the shed and joined them at the table.

  Jackson slid his loosened tie back up to his neck. “Gentlemen, glad you could make it.”

  Victor closed his book. “Do you mind telling us what this is about? I missed an important Chess Team practice today.”

  Jackson sized up Victor Cho — the fancy watch too big for his wrist, the designer glasses like all the other rich kids at school, the grating voice that squeaked more than boomed. He hadn’t been sold when he and Charlie talked yesterday, but with one look at Victor, Jackson knew they had picked the right guy.

  “Just being curious,” Jackson began, “but how much does it cost to take the entire Chess Team to the state finals?”

  Victor shrugged. “I don’t know. Mary Alice is the president. She and Mr. Bacote take care of the money stuff.”

  Charlie leaned forward. “The Chess Team gets its funding from Student Council. So does the Tech Club. And the Art Geeks. And every other organization. So if Keith Sinclair becomes president, he doesn’t just control Student Council. He will essentially control every nonsport student activity.”

  Charlie quickly explained the bylaws situation. Jackson watched as the boys’ faces switched from confusion to shock to horror.

  Bradley, who was still trying to get over being invited to a secret meeting with all these cool people, raised his hand.

  Jackson nodded at him. “We’re not in class, Bradley.”

  Bradley looked up at his hand, then yanked it back down. “So what are we supposed to do? Throw the election?”

  Two equally large grins spread across Jackson and Charlie’s faces. “That’s exactly what we’re going to do,” Jackson said.

  “But how?” Bradley asked. “And what if we get caught?”

  “We won’t get caught,” Charlie said. “Not if we’re smart. Not if we stick to the plan.”

  Jackson could see the doubt etched on the boys’ faces. “Either we do nothing and let Keith ruin each and every club that we belong to,” he said, “or we make a stand.”

  “But the election is in three weeks,” Bradley said.

  “That’s plenty of time,” Jackson said, ignoring the scowl on Charlie’s face.

  Victor cleared his throat. “Maybe it would help if you explained the plan.”

  Jackson turned to Hashemi. “What’s that old Star Trek movie you made me watch last year? The one where Spock dies —”

  “Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan!” Hashemi yelled. “It’s, like, the best Star Trek movie ever. Much better than that rebooted piece of —”

  “We get the point,” Jackson said. “Why don’t you tell the guys about the Kobayashi Maru?”

  Hashemi bounced in his seat. “The Kobayashi Maru is a test of character. A computer presents the Star Fleet cadet with a simulated no-win scenario. Lieutenant Savik takes the test at the beginning of the movie. Because there’s no way to win, she fails.”

  “She fails?” Bradley mumbled. This wasn’t the pep talk he was expecting.

  Jackson removed his pencil from behind his ear and tapped the table. “Refresh my memory — does anyone figure out how to beat the test?”

  “Well … Captain Kirk does, kind of. He rigs the computer so a win is possible.”

  “You mean he cheats,” Victor said.

  “I guess you can say he cheats, but that depends on who you ask,” Hashemi said. “From Captain Kirk’s point of view, he wasn’t cheating. He just changed the parameters of the test.” Hashemi straightened his glasses. “Kirk doesn’t believe in the no-win scenario.”

  “Neither do I,” Jackson said. “So that’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to rig the election.”

  While Jackson and his new crew talked over their plan, Gaby sat at Omar’s dining room table, pecking away at her calculator. On the floor behind her, Lynne and Omar argued over the wording for a poster. They had been working for over an hour, but Gaby still hadn’t grown comfortable in Omar’s house, with its throne-sized chairs and antique oak table. There was no way her mother would have let her work in a space like this, but Omar’s mom didn’t bat an eye when they set up shop in the dining room.

  Gaby jotted her newest computation on a legal pad and sighed, which made Omar and Lynne stop their argument. “Based on my calculations, the budget will cover new computers in the library, but it won’t subsidize the organic food station,” Gaby said.

  Lynne stuck out her tongue. “Good. No one wanted to eat all that rabbit food anyway.”

  Omar shook his head as he retraced Gaby’s name on his large white poster. “I bet a lot of kids would like a more diverse food selection.”

  “Who? Carmen Cleaver and the animal squad?”

  “The Environmental Action Team members are still voters,” Omar said.

  “So are the, like, four hundred students who like a piece of bacon every now and then,” Lynne said. “And believe me, they won’t get excited about some extra lettuce and radishes on a cart.”

  Gaby snapped her fingers. “Where’s the budget from last year?” She began leafing through loose papers in a manila folder. “Maybe I can increase the Botany Club’s budget and convince them to grow some vegetables. It won’t be enough produce for the entire school, but maybe it’ll be enough for the students who care.”

  Lynne grabbed her container of glitter. “If you’re looking to spend money, how about buying the basketball team some new uniforms?”

  “We just got new uniforms.” Gaby continued to look through her paperwork. “If they can grow all those flowers with the little bit of funding they received last year, think what they could do if we triple their budget.” She paused to jot herself a note. “I really need to set up a meeting with them.”

  Omar scratched a dry patch of skin on his elbow. “Um … Are you sure that’s a good idea?” he asked. “A lot of people — not me, of course, but others — blame the Botany Club for the increase in allergies this year. Maybe we should talk this over a little more. Do a poll. We don’t want to make a rash decision.”

  “They’re wrong,” Gaby replied. “According to Charlie, it’s the cedar trees by the football field that cause the allergies.” She abandoned her search for last year’s budget. “I just hope there’s enough money left over after the computers.”

  “Take money from another club. I’m sure that’s what Keith would do.” Lynne placed her poster on the table, on top of the one Omar had decorated a few moments before. “What do you think?”

  Gaby leaned over and glanced at the poster. Her name took up the majority of the board, each letter sparkling in silver and gold. “It’s nice, but you didn’t include any of the campaign slogans.”

  “I ran out of room.”

  “Maybe you can fix it this weekend,” Omar said, rising from the floor. “It’s getting late….”

  “Oh, yeah. Right.” Lynne smiled. “I need to head home.”

  “I’ll leave with you. I’m almost —”

  “No, it’s okay,” Lynne said. She patted Gaby’s shoulder. “You stay here.”

  Gaby frowned. “What’s g
oing on?”

  “Nothing.” She grabbed her bag, then held her hand up like it was a phone. Call me tonight, she mouthed as Omar led her to the door.

  Gaby sighed as she began to pack her bag. She may not have been as good at reading people as Jackson, but even she knew what was about to happen.

  Omar returned a minute later with a white candy box in his hand. He cleared his throat a few times, but didn’t speak. Gaby tried to make eye contact with him, but he seemed intent on looking anywhere but at her.

  Finally, she asked, “Are you okay?”

  He nodded, then took a deep breath. “Do you have a minute? There’s something important I’d like to ask you.”

  On Saturday morning, John Parson, the main office student helper, received a visit from Charlie de la Cruz. Two days later, John informed Ms. Appleton that due to his studies, he regretfully needed to take a break from being a fourth period office helper for the next three weeks.

  Bradley Boardman just happened to take the scenic route through the office that day, and just happened to overhear John talking to Ms. Appleton. Bradley, out of the kindness of his heart, stepped forward and offered to serve double duty in both the guidance office and the main office during fourth period. He hadn’t discussed this with the guidance office staff yet, but he was sure they would understand. The main office needed a student helper to ensure seamless communication between the students, faculty, and staff. As the guidance office would later attest, Bradley was a model student. Dependable. Trustworthy.

  Ms. Appleton agreed: He was the perfect guy for the job.

  A few hours later, Charlie caught up with Jackson at his locker. “We made the switch. All it took was a copy of Uncanny X-Men 266.”