The Great Greene Heist

by Varian Johnson

  Gaby couldn’t help it. She smiled. But only a little.

  “Hey — I hear they’re serving meat loaf for lunch tomorrow.”

  She stuck out her tongue. “Yuck! I hate —”

  “I know. Tomorrow might be a good day to pack your lunch.”

  She nodded. She wanted to say more, to say something, to say anything, but the words got lost between her brain and her mouth.

  The screen door swung open, and Charlie stepped outside, carrying Jackson’s book bag. “Your dad called.”

  Jackson took the bag. “Tell him I’m heading home now.” Once Charlie disappeared into the house again, Jackson turned to Gaby. “Look, whatever happens, I want you to know …” He adjusted the straps. “I learned my lesson with the Kelsey Job.”

  “What does that mean?” Gaby asked.

  “I’m going to keep my promise about following the rules and staying out of trouble.” He began to back away. “Mostly.”

  “Jackson …”

  He had already reached the street. “Good night, Gaby.” His face was barely visible. “See you tomorrow.”

  Gaby spun the ball before sinking one last jumper. “Good night, Jackson Greene.”

  Gaby’s alarm clock rang much too loudly and much too late the following morning. As she sprinted to the shower, she replayed the events of the night before, trying to remember why she had reset her alarm clock (not that she even remembered doing this). The pickup game with Jackson had worn her out more than she had realized. She had barely been able to stay awake as she finished her homework, and just when she was about to slink off to the shower, Omar texted. She had felt obligated to write back, though Omar did the majority of the texting, while she replied with a halfhearted yes/no/maybe every few minutes. She hadn’t even realized she had fallen asleep until her alarm clock jarred her awake, her cell phone on the pillow beside her.

  Standing in the shower, Gaby found her mind floating back to the pickup game with Jackson. To the way he congratulated her at the end of every game, no matter the outcome (she won twice, lost once). To the way his skin felt when he handed her the ball. To the steadiness in his voice when he reminded her of his promise.

  Gaby stuck her head underneath the showerhead, soaking her hair. Running for president against Keith was hard enough. Why did everything else have to be so confusing?

  Once out of the shower, she toweled off and went to the medicine cabinet to get her contacts. That’s when she noticed the message in the foggy mirror.

  GABY —

  ALL YOUR POSTERS ARE MADE FROM 100% RECYCLED MATERIAL.

  — C.

  She rolled her eyes as she wiped the mirror clean. Charlie clearly had too much free time on his hands.

  She had totally forgotten about the note by the time she returned to her bedroom. She pulled her hair into a ponytail, then opened her closet door.

  It was empty.

  All her dresses were gone. All her favorite shirts and sweaters. The skirts she wore to mass. The nice pants she wore on game days. Only a puke-green T-shirt and a ratty pair of jeans remained on the rack.

  A small note was pinned to the jeans.

  KEITH’S BANNERS ARE MADE FROM VINYL. MUCH MORE DIFFICULT TO RECYCLE THAN YOUR BOARDS.

  P.S. I’M SORRY.

  She ran to her dresser and started yanking open drawers. Every T-shirt and pair of jeans and shorts had been removed.

  Gaby grabbed her robe, quickly knotted it around her waist, and marched to her brother’s room. She burst through the door and found another message on the bed.

  HIS BANNERS AREN’T EVEN LABELED WITH RESIN ID CODES.

  Gaby ripped the message in half, then went through Charlie’s closet and dresser drawers.

  No shirts. No shorts. Nothing.

  Gaby wanted to scream. She went to her parents’ door, but paused before knocking. Her mother was still in Toledo, and as mad as she was, she didn’t want to wake her father. He was a fireman and had a long shift ahead of him.

  Gaby returned to her room and picked up the T-shirt. It was only then that she noticed the logo on the front.

  This wasn’t even her shirt.

  It was a Sk8tr Boiz shirt. She hated the Sk8tr Boiz.

  But she had nothing else to wear.

  So Gaby counted to ten, then twenty. Then thirty.

  And only then did she slip on the T-shirt.

  She quickly finished getting dressed and grabbed her book bag (at least Charlie hadn’t taken that). It wasn’t until she was standing outside, about to shut the back door, that she noticed the open loaf of bread and the mustard container on the counter.

  She marched back into the kitchen. She couldn’t believe her brother was such a slob, but at least the food had reminded her that she needed to pack a lunch. She glanced at the clock — just enough time to throw together a sandwich. She opened the refrigerator to grab the lunch meat.

  All gone.

  Gaby crushed the empty turkey container and slammed it into the trash can, pretending it was Charlie’s face.

  She thought about buying the school lunch, but the cafeteria meat loaf wasn’t much better than the chicken enchiladas. She could have taken the last of the tortilla soup from last night’s dinner, but she didn’t have a way to heat it up at school. Plus, she was sure her father planned to eat it for lunch.

  So she grabbed a cup of yogurt and an apple, and fixed herself a cheese sandwich.

  The lunch of champions.

  Lucky for Charlie, he managed to avoid Gaby all morning. She intended to continue her search for him as soon as she finished lunch, as she was planning on literally ripping the shirt from his back. Whatever he was wearing, it had to be better than her Sk8tr Boiz T-shirt.

  Gaby had just settled into her seat in the cafeteria when Carmen Cleaver sat down across from her. “Nice T-shirt,” Carmen said. “I’ve got three of them. Their music sounds like crap, but the profits from every shirt sold goes to People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals.”

  Gaby paused, her cheese sandwich inches from her mouth. Even though Carmen had been a student at Maplewood since sixth grade, Gaby didn’t know her very well. To be honest, Gaby avoided her. Carmen wasn’t necessarily mean, but she didn’t have much of a filter.

  Gaby caught sight of Lynne and Fiona standing by a nearby table. There was no way they were coming to join Gaby and Carmen — not with meat loaf on their trays. Carmen was a militant vegetarian.

  “I have to admit, I was a little surprised when Jackson asked the Environmental Action Team to support your campaign,” Carmen said. “Not that we’re fans of Keith Sinclair — but both of you have similar campaign slogans. And both of you use too many printed materials.”

  Gaby thought back to the note on the mirror. “All of my posters are made from one hundred percent recycled material.”

  “That’s what Jackson said.” She sighed. “That’s at least better than Keith. He had the nerve to plaster those hideous vinyl banners all over the school.”

  “Um … Are they labeled with resin identification codes?” Gaby asked, even though she already knew the answer.

  “No! Which will make them even harder to recycle.” Carmen pulled a folder from her book bag. “When I confronted Keith about the banners, he promised they would be repurposed correctly and wouldn’t end up in some landfill. But I’m like, if you really cared about the environment, you wouldn’t have used them in the first place.” Carmen pulled a sheet of paper from her folder. “Jackson showed me your plan to reduce paper waste. He warned me that it was a work in progress, but it’s a good start.”

  “He did what?” Gaby dropped her sandwich. “Let me see that.”

  Gaby looked at the creased sheet of paper. This plan was a week old. Where did Jackson get this from?

  Then it clicked. This was the version she had been working on in the library. The version she had shown to Jackson.

  The version she had thrown at Jackson.

  “Clearly, you have a lot of work to do,” Carmen
said. “No one in their right mind would add more Sloanbook computers to the school. That company is notorious for —”

  “I know,” Gaby said. “I’ve already replaced the Sloanbooks with a different brand. Sloanbooks are less expensive, but the company has a horrible greenhouse emissions record.” She was glad this was a fact she had learned without Charlie’s help. “Cheaper isn’t always better, right?”

  Carmen nodded. “Yeah, I don’t know why —” She stopped as she noticed Gaby’s cheese sandwich. “Are you going vegetarian?”

  “I … um … no.” She pushed her plate farther away. “It just looks like …. I don’t think it’s for me.”

  “Not everyone is strong enough to stick with the lifestyle. But at least you tried.” She looked across the room toward Keith as he bit into his meat loaf. “Ugh. He doesn’t even close his mouth when he chews.”

  Gaby snuck a glance at her watch. “Well, I should get going before —”

  “I asked Keith for his updated campaign plan too,” Carmen continued, her eyes still on Keith. “He said he was waiting until after the election to formalize it.” She shook her head. “What a cop-out.”

  Gaby couldn’t help but laugh. “Are you surprised?”

  Carmen finally turned away from Keith. “Remember when his dad got that big award for cutting his company’s carbon footprint?” Gaby didn’t, but she nodded anyway. “During the ceremony, Mr. Sinclair gave this great quote: ‘Our primary job as the leaders of today is to make a better tomorrow.’

  “So the next day, I found Keith after lunch and asked if he would like to join the Environmental Action Team. Then I asked if his father would consider coming to one of our meetings.”

  Gaby’s stomach knotted. She knew where this was heading.

  “Keith laughed in my face,” Carmen said. “‘My dad doesn’t care about the environment,’ he said. ‘That upgrade was just for the tax breaks.’”

  Gaby shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

  “Keith finished his soda and threw the can in the trash, even though he was within arm’s reach of a recycling bin. And then he stood there and watched as I fished the can out.” Carmen looked at Gaby, her eyes clear and determined. “Anyway, when Jackson talked to me this morning, he called you ‘the leader for tomorrow.’ Maybe he really is good enough to know how to push my buttons, or maybe he just got lucky — either way, it reminded me of that article. It reminded me that words aren’t enough. You and Keith may have the same campaign slogan, but you are clearly the better candidate.” She slapped her hand on the table. “It’s simple, really. If we get you elected, you’ll help us save the environment. And then, the world.”

  Gaby pulled at her shirt collar. “Carmen, I’m honored, really. But you don’t have to do anything outrageous. Having the vote of the Environmental Action Team is enough.”

  “We’re not the Environmental Action Team anymore. Starting today, we’re SAKS. Students Against Keith Sinclair.” Carmen crossed her arms. “We’ll blanket the school with posters. We’ll hand out flyers. We’ll even picket. I promise, we will do everything in our power to get you elected.”

  She slapped the table one last time. “And I mean everything.”

  Charlie leaned against the building and pulled at his hair as he watched Gaby storm across the quad toward him. He had already been barred from playing video games for a week for taking bets on the parish’s volleyball team — allegedly. He had no clue what this latest act would cost him if Gaby decided to tell their parents.

  “I’m sorry,” he said as soon as she was within range.

  “Not good enough, Charlie. What are you and Jackson up to?”

  Charlie tugged on his hair again, making it look like a bird’s nest caught in the middle of a typhoon. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t tell Gaby about how Keith’s father had bribed Dr. Kelsey. He and Jackson couldn’t risk her dropping out of the election in protest. “I’m sorry, Gaby. But you’re just too nice. If you’re going to win, you need someone on your side who, as Jackson puts it, is simultaneously irritating and relentless.”

  “No one listens to Carmen.”

  “They will this time,” Charlie said. “She’s already been talking to the Art Geeks. They’re thinking about molding a clay figurine of Keith dressed as a wolf in sheep’s clothing.”

  “But I want to run a positive campaign.”

  “That’s why you’re not running it,” he said. “SAKS is an independent organization of concerned students.”

  “Charlie —”

  “Keith bribed Stewart into dropping out of the election. He got Kelsey to bend the rules to let him run. And he stole your campaign platform.” Charlie pushed himself off the wall. “Is it really a smear campaign if we’re telling the truth?”

  Gaby chewed on her lip, then said, “You came up with SAKS, didn’t you?”

  “Like it? Not my finest work, but I was in a rush.”

  “Do you honestly think this will work? Keith’s a bully, but he’s still popular enough to get the sixth grade and jock vote. Based on Omar’s calculations —”

  “Forget about Omar’s numbers. Just run your campaign. Me and Jackson will handle the rest.”

  “You and Jackson? What, there’s more?” She planted her hands on her hips. “All I know is, my clothes better be back in my room —”

  “Oye, they’ll be there by the time you get home.” He picked up his bike. “Stop by your locker. Jackson left you a gift.”

  “You know, instead of making me wear this hideous shirt, you could have just told me all those facts this morning.”

  Charlie smiled. “Jackson believes that actions speak louder than words.”

  After he pedaled off, Gaby headed to her locker. She spun the combination and opened the door. Inside was a plain black T-shirt …

  Her favorite pair of jeans …

  A Forever Young CD …

  And a small, red chrysanthemum.

  If someone had asked Lincoln Miller to quote Article XXIII, Section B5 of the Student Council bylaws, he would have said that “in the event of questionable results, the ballots were to remain in the possession of the Student Council advisor until they could be hand-counted by the Maplewood Honor Board.” Mr. Pritchard generally kept all of his important files in a tall gunmetal-gray cabinet in his classroom. The file cabinet was always locked, as was Mr. Pritchard’s room after school hours.

  Fortunately for Jackson Greene, locked doors and metal file cabinets posed little challenge to a boy with his particular skill set.

  So as Jackson went over the plan again with Victor, Bradley, and Hashemi, he reiterated how simple it would be. The night before the election, they would sneak into the copy room — housed inside the main office — and swap out the old Scantron machine for a rigged one. Even if Kelsey replaced every ballot with one supporting Keith, the printout would show that Keith lost.

  Keith, of course, would demand a recount. Then Jackson would slip into Mr. Pritchard’s office over the weekend and replace enough of the ballots to tip the election in Gaby’s favor.

  Simple.

  All Jackson had to do was create a bump key.

  “And what exactly is a bump key?” Bradley asked, scratching dried paint from his fingertips.

  Jackson retrieved the padlock from the shed door. “A bump key is a key with the teeth filed down to the lowest notch. It’s the quickest way to pick a lock.” He stuck a bronze key into the closed padlock, then tapped on the end of the key with a screwdriver. Two seconds later, the padlock popped open.

  Hashemi cleaned his glasses with the edge of his untucked shirt. “Couldn’t you have waited a few days before cracking another of my padlocks?”

  Jackson smiled as he walked to a pegboard and slipped the key onto a hook. “It’s easy to create a bump key. All you need to know is the type of lock, and voilà.” He pointed to the array of keys on the pegboard. “I’ve already created bump keys for Mr. Pritchard’s office and his file cabinet. And Bradley was kind enough
to borrow a main office key for a few hours so I could create a bump key for it as well.”

  “And what about the copy room?” Victor asked.

  “That’s where things get a bit more complicated. Have any of you guys ever been inside the copy room?” Jackson waited for them to shake their heads, as he knew they would. “Up until a few years ago, students used to be allowed in the copy room. Then someone broke in one night and made photocopies of his … posterior.”

  “You mean someone named Samuel Greene,” Charlie said, entering the shed.

  “His name isn’t important. What’s important is that because of this unknown individual’s actions, the school made the room off-limits to students, including office helpers.” Jackson led his crew to the wooden door he had propped against the wall last week. “While most locks are made to look the same, if you look closely, you’ll usually find the name of the manufacturer on the outside of the lock, below the keyhole.” He knocked on the door, letting its hollow sound ring throughout the shed. “Unfortunately, this isn’t the case for the lock to the copy room.”

  “Which means the manufacturer’s name is etched either on the copy room side of the lock, or on the faceplate on the edge of the door, right below the deadbolt,” Charlie added, slipping onto a stool.

  Bradley scratched his head, getting pink paint flecks in his hair. “So … In order to break into the room, you need to figure out what type of lock it is. But in order to figure out what type of lock it is, you have to break into the room….”

  “A paradox,” Hashemi said, staring at the door. “Just like in Star Trek episode 41, ‘I, Mudd.’”

  Jackson, trying his best not to laugh at Hashemi, stepped closer to Charlie. “So how is she?” he whispered. “Is she mad?”

  “I’d avoid her for the next few days if I were you.”

  Jackson nodded. He had been avoiding Gaby for the last four months; he didn’t know if he could stay out of her way any more than he already did.

  Victor cleared his throat. “We have a huge problem — and you want to ask about some girl?” He shrugged at Charlie. “No offense.”