The Great Greene Heist

by Varian Johnson

  “What? I’m not … I mean —”

  “I’m speaking hypothetically, of course.” He flashed her a smile, and Gaby could feel her heartbeat go supersonic. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you deserve flowers.”

  Gaby didn’t know whether to laugh or hit him. They had avoided each other for four months. She couldn’t go from hating him to this. Whatever this was.

  “Why do you care? You’re not even going to the formal.”

  “Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss it.”

  She blinked a few times as she processed his words. “But I thought you hated dances?”

  “I do. But it’s worth going, just to see you win.”

  Gaby watched him back away. His tie, like usual, was slightly to the left. His grin, like always, was wide and rascally.

  It wasn’t until he had disappeared around the corner that she realized Jackson had misspoken. They would know the election results long before the formal. Perhaps even by lunch.

  There’s no way — no reason — that the results wouldn’t be announced until the formal, she told herself. Right?

  While Jackson and Gaby were finishing their conversation, Keith was marching through the atrium, not even bothering to apologize as he bumped into student after student. He entered the main office and headed for Dr. Kelsey’s door, but before he could knock, Ms. Appleton said, “He’s not there.”

  “But I have an appointment.”

  “There’s nothing I can do about that.” She pointed to a chair. “He’ll be back momentarily.”

  Keith trudged to the row of chairs against the wall. A crowd of students passed by the office, their loud voices reminding him of all the cheers for Gaby’s speech. He wasn’t sure, but he even thought he had seen Stewart clapping for her. The next time he saw him, Keith was going to ask for his video game back.

  Finally, a full fifteen minutes after their appointment, Dr. Kelsey entered the office. Keith jumped to his feet. “We need to talk!”

  Dr. Kelsey glanced at his watch. He’d been brushing Keith off all day, but apparently the boy couldn’t take a hint. “Come on,” he said. “But let’s make it quick.”

  Keith followed Dr. Kelsey into the office and slammed the door shut. “What’s your plan, Dr. Kelsey? The election is in two days. I can’t lose. I have to get into Winstead. If I don’t, my dad …” He dropped into the chair across from Kelsey’s desk. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “I’ve got it under control.”

  “But how —”

  “Keith, calm down.” Dr. Kelsey could hardly believe this was Roderick Sinclair’s son. But maybe this was an opportunity in disguise. He slid open a drawer and pulled out the form that Keith had handed to him a few weeks ago.

  “If you really want to help, you can talk to your father about his donation. While it’s a generous sum, it’s not quite enough to cover all of the school’s needs. Perhaps if he increased it by another ten percent….”

  Keith squirmed in his seat. “I don’t know. Dad’s out of town and won’t be back until Friday night. I don’t think he’d agree to a new deal without discussing it with you first.”

  “I understand,” he said. “Well, I’m sure you’ll have more than enough support from the basketball players. They’re all voting for you, right?”

  Keith narrowed his eyes. “That’s not fair.”

  “That’s politics,” Dr. Kelsey replied. “And instead of waiting until next week, I’d really prefer that check by tomorrow afternoon. I want to do some shopping this weekend.”

  Keith glared at Dr. Kelsey for a few seconds, then rose from his chair. “I’ll talk to Dad’s secretary. I’ll get you your check.”

  “And I’ll get you your election.”

  Dr. Kelsey leaned back in his chair and grinned as Keith stormed out. Why spend all that money on a fancy espresso machine when he could go to Italy and drink it fresh?

  With the election less than twenty-four hours away, Gang Greene was knee-deep in last-minute preparations. At the worktable in the middle of the shed, Hashemi fiddled with the guts of a small microphone with one hand while pecking at his laptop with the other. A few feet away, Megan, Charlie, and Bradley practiced their roles for Friday. Jackson knelt by the wooden door he had propped against the wall almost four weeks ago. The Guttenbabel was covered in sawdust, handprints, and grime, and, at present, remained unpickable.

  Charlie walked over and peeked over Jackson’s shoulder. “How’s it going? Having any luck?”

  Jackson replaced his pliers with a small Phillips screwdriver. “I’ll be ready by tomorrow.” He nodded toward Megan and Bradley. “How are they doing?”

  “Good. Megan’s a pro at this.”

  “And are you ready?”

  Charlie shrugged. “I’m just the floater. Pretty easy to be ready when all I’m doing is walking around.”

  “Charlie, you know the plan….”

  “I know. But there’s no way you can run point tomorrow. Kelsey’s going to be eyeballing you the entire time.”

  “I can handle it.”

  Charlie sighed. He knew he should trust Jackson. He hadn’t led him astray. Yet.

  “How’s Hashemi?” Jackson asked.

  “Take a wild guess,” Charlie said. “I thought you said he worked better under pressure.”

  “He does. But I think Megan’s making him worse.”

  “Think he’ll be mad once he finds out how much we’ve kept from him?”

  “Yeah.” Jackson glanced at Megan and Bradley. “But I’m sure he’ll get over it.”

  “If not, you can always offer him a corsage.”

  Jackson glared at Charlie, who was practically shaking, he was trying so hard to contain his laughter. “You talked to Gaby?” Jackson asked.

  A snort escaped from Charlie’s lips. “A bouquet? Really?”

  “What? Don’t all girls like flowers?”

  “And what about Omar?”

  Jackson quickly unscrewed the lock mechanism from the door and began cleaning it off. “They’re just friends.”

  “He’s a nice guy.”

  “He’s as interesting as drying paint.”

  “But —”

  “I’ve got dead skin cells with more personality.”

  The smile disappeared from Charlie’s face. “Jackson, she’s my sister.”

  “Charlie, you know how I feel…. You know what Gaby means …” He glanced at the lock in his hands. “Look, I won’t screw up again. I’m really trying to keep my promise to her.”

  “I’m not sure if Gaby would agree.”

  Jackson slipped the lock back into the door with a satisfying thud. “I guess we’ll find out tomorrow.”

  Charlie offered a hand to Jackson and helped him up. “You’d better deliver on those flowers.”

  “Already working on it.” Jackson dusted off his jeans. “Okay, let’s get this over with.”

  Jackson walked to the worktable while Charlie headed toward Megan and Bradley. Jackson sat down across from Hashemi. “How’s it coming?”

  “Great. Wonderful.” Hashemi plugged another wire into the small circuit board. “Almost finished. Just making a few last-minute tweaks. Improvements, really.”

  “Really?”

  The microphone crackled to life, drowning the room in static. Hashemi coughed. “Clearly the project is in beta —”

  “The election is tomorrow.”

  “I know. I just need to finish this —”

  “What’s the problem?” Megan asked as she, Bradley, and Charlie approached. “Need some help?”

  “No! Of course not!” Hashemi began flipping closed the notebooks and manuals surrounding him, but Megan was already looking at the diagram on the computer screen.

  “Hashemi, this is brilliant.” She brought her face closer to the screen. “What does this do?” she asked, pointing to a small drawing of a clear box.

  Hashemi gulped. “It’s a case. It allows the microphone to be heard underwater.”r />
  Bradley raised his hand. “Um, are we going swimming tomorrow?”

  “No, we’re not,” Charlie said.

  Hashemi adjusted his glasses. “Well, I just thought, since I was already making modifications —”

  “Maybe Megan can give you a hand with some of the electronics,” Jackson said.

  Megan had already nudged Hashemi to the side and was typing away at the laptop. “I’ll focus on the software. You handle the hardware.”

  “The program compiler is very sensitive —”

  “I know,” she replied, not looking up. “You should download the new version.”

  “But that hasn’t been released yet.”

  Megan paused. “I have my ways.”

  “But that’s illegal,” Hashemi said.

  Charlie chuckled. “And rigging testing equipment isn’t?”

  Jackson glanced at his watch. “Hashemi, maybe you and Charlie could make a run and pick up the rest of the communications equipment.”

  “Yeah, before you make more improvements.” Charlie pulled Hashemi out of his seat. “Can your mom give us a ride?”

  Jackson’s watch beeped five o’clock. “Actually, I might be able to help out with that….”

  As Jackson’s voice trailed off, a slender young man walked into the shed, his skin smooth and brown and blemish-free, his blazer perfectly tailored to his shape, the sound of his steps nonexistent against the concrete floor.

  He loosened his tie, pulling it to the left. “Need some help?”

  Jackson grinned. “Guys, I’d like to introduce my brother — the Extraordinary Samuel Greene.”

  In honor of her oldest son returning home for a surprise visit, Miranda Greene served pot roast, greens, and a homemade sweet potato pie. Jackson couldn’t help but wish for his brother to visit more often.

  After dinner, Samuel followed Jackson to his room. “Got a few minutes?” he asked, already settling at Jackson’s desk.

  “So why are you really here? And how did you nab a last-minute flight? Ticket prices had to be sky-high.”

  “I have a friend who didn’t mind lending me some of his frequent-flier miles.”

  Jackson perched on the corner of his bed. “Lend?”

  “Okay, so maybe I borrowed them without him knowing. But that’s a story for another day. I’m here to talk about you.”

  Jackson kicked off his shoes. “Who called — Dad or Ray?”

  “Dad,” he said. “He said you were up to something. Something big.”

  “You here to talk me out of it?”

  Samuel shook his head. “I’m just here to make sure it’s not something you can get arrested for.”

  “Arrested … no.” Jackson grabbed his notebook. “But expelled … As you like to say, that’s another story.”

  “Sounds like a big risk.”

  “I’m not going to get caught,” Jackson said. “Well, probably not.”

  “Is it worth it?” Samuel leaned forward, his knee almost touching his brother’s. “Is she worth it?”

  “I’m not doing this for Gaby.”

  “Sorry, I couldn’t hear you over all the lies coming out of your mouth.”

  “Okay. Fine. I’m not doing this just for Gaby,” Jackson said. “Originally, I hoped this would help her get over the … you know … the thing with Katie….”

  “The Mid-Day PDA?”

  Jackson cleared his throat. “You mean the slight brushing of — oh, never mind. Anyway, this is bigger than me and Gaby. Keith Sinclair could ruin the entire school, and Dr. Kelsey is going to help him do it.”

  “But you care enough to try to stop them?”

  “Yeah. And so do Charlie, Hashemi, Bradley, and Megan. And Gaby.”

  Samuel scratched the back of his head. “Since when did you get a conscience?”

  “When I realized it’s no fun to lose your best friend,” he said. “No thanks to you….”

  “Hey, don’t blame me. I just told you how to break into the office and suggested that you take Katie along. I didn’t tell you to stick your tongue down her throat.”

  “It was barely a peck!”

  Samuel’s eyes crinkled. “Why are you always downplaying that kiss?” he asked. “Most guys would love to claim that they locked lips with a girl like Katie Accord.”

  Jackson stared at his closed notebook, the cover worn with scratches and scuff marks. “When I kiss a girl for the first time — for real — I want it to be with someone I like. With someone who likes me as much as I like her.”

  “With someone who knows how to play basketball and pick a lock?”

  Jackson nodded.

  Samuel grabbed a stress ball from the desk and hurled it at Jackson’s chest. “What are you trying to do? Make me cry? Enough with the lovefest. Tell me how I can help.”

  Jackson opened his notebook and quickly ran through the plan, after which Samuel said, “What if Dr. Kelsey —”

  “Bradley will be covering him.”

  “What if Keith doesn’t take the bait?”

  “Give me some credit. This is Keith Sinclair we’re talking about.”

  “But have you thought of —”

  “Enough with the questions.” Jackson flipped his notebook shut. “This is my crew. My job.”

  “I’m just trying to help.”

  “No, you’re trying to take over. I don’t need another planner.”

  “You can’t run point tomorrow. Kelsey will be all over you.”

  “Already got it covered,” Jackson said. “What I really need tomorrow is a driver.” He walked to his closet. “And a suit. Something with a lot of pockets.”

  “I’ve got just the thing. Be right back.”

  When Samuel returned, he carried a black garment bag over his arm. “This is the suit I wore to my last Maplewood formal. Given how much you’ve grown, it should fit. I’ll get it cleaned tomorrow.” He unzipped the bag and pulled out the suit. “Rule Number Fifteen: If you’re going to pull a con, know how to pull a con in style.”

  Mrs. Goldman squinted at the young deliveryman carrying the new scoring machine in his wiry, tattooed arms. His face was mostly obscured by a baseball cap pulled low onto his head and large, reflective sunglasses. A thick, scruffy beard covered his cheeks and chin.

  She looked at the invoice. “I didn’t know we ordered a new machine.”

  “The district must have ordered it,” Ms. Appleton said. “They’re always sending us equipment we don’t request. Just another example of the school board wasting taxpayer dollars.”

  The deliveryman cleared his throat. “Ees there anywhere I can put thees?” he asked, his Eastern European accent heavy and thick. “Thees machine ees very, very awkward to hold.”

  Mrs. Goldman squinted at him again. “Follow me.”

  The delivery man seemed to hesitate as he entered the copy room, his gaze lingering on the door handle, the metal sparkling underneath the fluorescent lighting.

  “You can place it here,” she said, tapping the table.

  He dropped the new machine on the table, then powered down the old one. “Because eet’s a lease, I’m required to take thees one back.”

  “I’m sorry, but I have to ask — did you ever attend this school?” Mrs. Goldman peered into the deliveryman’s face, seeing nothing but her own reflection in his sunglasses. “I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before.”

  The man smiled, showing off a pair of gold-capped teeth. “You must have me mistakeen for someone eelse.”

  While the deliveryman exited the building, students sat in their homerooms, bubbling in ballots. Jackson stared at his ballot, clean and unmarked, then quickly slipped it into his pocket.

  After his homeroom teacher finished passing out the ballots, he raised his hand. “I need a ballot.”

  Mrs. Lansdale frowned. “But didn’t I —”

  “You must have skipped me.”

  She placed another ballot on his desk and watched as he filled it in, line by line.

 
He pressed down extra hard when bubbling in the circle for Gaby. You could never be too sure when it came to scoring ballots.

  Dr. Kelsey had spent the majority of the week thinking about how he was going to confirm Keith’s win, but after wasting a few hours bubbling in replacement ballots, he decided to just create a doctored scoring machine report. It would be easy enough to switch it with the real report and shred the ballots. He was the principal, after all. Who was going to challenge him? The Honor Board? The way he saw it, they should just be happy he was letting them participate.

  It had taken a lot of discussion — including three pleas from Lincoln — but Dr. Kelsey and the Honor Board had finally come to an agreement concerning the tallying of the votes. The office staff would collect the ballots after homeroom. During lunch, one Honor Board member would be allowed to feed the ballots through the machine. As soon as the scoring was completed, the student was to immediately call for Dr. Kelsey. He would handle printing out the report himself, and that was when he would make the switch.

  Dr. Kelsey didn’t like the idea of letting a student into his copy room, but this was a better alternative than handing the machine over to the Honor Board, as in past elections. He wanted to be nearby when the last vote was tallied.

  Lincoln wasn’t happy with the arrangement either, especially since it meant that he’d have to skip lunch. (He was one of the few students who actually liked the cafeteria food.) But he saw this sacrifice as part of the job. At least, that’s what he told himself as he headed to the main office. He was so busy trying to ignore the aroma of beef and mashed potatoes that he walked right into Megan Feldman.

  “Oh, sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”

  Megan pulled a strand of hair from her face. “No problem. Actually, I was looking for you.”

  “Really?” Lincoln replied, his voice suddenly a deep baritone.

  “Since you’re in charge of the election process, let me run something by you. I’ve been talking to the cheerleaders about starting a new tradition — having the newly elected officers take the floor for the first dance at the formal. Kind of like what the president does at the Inaugural Ball.” Their eyes met. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”