The Gollywhopper Games

by Jody Feldman

  Gil was certain his face had turned a lovely shade of ketchup. He laughed. Helped Bianca struggle back to the arm of the chair.

  She steadied herself with a hand on his shoulder. “You know, Double G, I wouldn’t have gotten this far without you.” She gave him a peck on the cheek, then started to the exit. “And cute hair, Lavinia,” she called over her shoulder. “Wear it like that.” Then she turned to Carol and pointed to her head. “I love this crown. Can I keep it?”

  Carol started to put on her headset, then let it fall back around her neck. “How can I deny you? You look so good in it.”

  “Thanks. Can I stay in here, too?”

  “Nope. Sorry. You get to go to the After Lounge.”

  “Losers’ room? Are there cameras in there?”

  “A few discreet ones.”

  “Good.” She breezed toward Bill, who was there to whisk her away.

  “So now we’re down to four,” Carol said. “You have ten minutes to regroup. Get a snack, take your potty break, and I’ll be back. All the cameras are gone again.”

  Gil sank back into his chair, let Lavinia’s TV noises overshadow whatever Rocky and Thorn were bickering about.

  Ten minutes later as promised, Carol whooshed into the room. “I hate to break up this party,” she said, “but it’s time to trudge on…unless three of you want to concede right now.”

  They stayed silent.

  “No? All righty, then. I’m going to sit right here,” she said, plopping onto the couch. “And I need the rest of you to sit tight in one of these chairs for a minute while we go to the next round.”

  As soon as the others claimed their recliners, the room began to revolve. The open side of the lounge turned into a brick wall, then opened again into another corridor with four polka-dot doors. The room stopped.

  “We’re here,” said Carol. “Same routine. Find your door, wait for the chimes, go inside, and get to work. Bathrooms are still in the lounge. Remember, the building is open to you. I give no other clues. Cameras and microphones are on, but out of your way. That’s it. Get up.”

  They got into position.

  Blong!

  Gil opened his door. In front of him on the polished wooden floor stood an executive desk and a leather chair on wheels. A camera dipped in from the warehouse ceiling. And the visitor’s gallery, above and to the right? Gone.

  Yes! No hand signals for Rocky.

  Then he heard coughing from above. Above and to the left. Another observation area.

  “Okay, Mr. Titus,” Gil said under his breath. “It’s you against me against Bert Golliwop.”

  He spun into his chair, swept his hands across the bare desk and opened the drawers, looking for his puzzle. The main drawer contained pens, pencils, a pad of paper, and the same kind of keypad they’d used in the stadium. The drawers to his right were empty, but the one on the bottom left held a tall, thin, folded card. The front read “Xenia’s Café” in old-fashioned script. Gil opened it.

  Thaddeus G. Golliwop’s favorite uncle

  Ebenezer was a most peculiar man with most peculiar eating habits.

  He loved almonds, but wouldn’t eat walnuts.

  He loved eggplant, but wouldn’t eat yellow squash.

  He loved ice cream, but wouldn’t eat sherbet.

  He loved olives, but wouldn’t eat pickles.

  He loved Ugli fruit, but wouldn’t eat grapes.

  One day, sixty-five years ago, the two of them went to Xenia’s Café for lunch, but Uncle Eb forgot his glasses and couldn’t read the menu.

  “Tad.” (That was his nickname for young Mr. Golliwop.) “Tad,” he said, “you know what I like. Go ahead and place our order while I run back to the house for my glasses. I’ll need them later.”

  Young Tad looked through the menu and ordered all the things his uncle liked. Then for himself he ordered a ham sandwich, a glass of milk, and an ice-cream sundae.

  By the time Uncle Eb returned, the food was on the table. “This is perfect for me, Tad. But I don’t know how you can bring yourself to drink milk and eat that ham sandwich.”

  HERE’S YOUR QUESTION:

  WHAT WAS THE TOTAL AMOUNT OF THEIR LUNCH BILL?

  (Include neither tax nor tip.)

  OTHER IMPORTANT INFORMATION:

  When you’ve reached your answer, enter that amount into your keypad. Again, the keypad will not function as a calculator. This time, though, if you enter an incorrect amount, you will receive an error message. Try again. You will, however, be issued a two-minute penalty for each error. Good luck.

  First thing, find a menu. No way to know what Uncle Eb would order without a menu. Gil flipped over the puzzle, and there it was. Sort of.

  TODAY, XENIA’S CAFÉ WILL SERVE

  Applesauce

  Baked Chicken

  Coffee

  Dumplings

  Eggs, Any Style

  Fish of the Day

  Garden Salad

  Ham Sandwich

  Ice-Cream Sundae

  Jelly Doughnut

  Kidney Pie

  Liver and Onions

  Milk

  Navy Beans

  Orange Juice

  Pork Chops

  Quince Pie

  Roll and Butter

  Soup du Jour

  Tea

  Upside-Down Cake

  Veal Cutlet

  Whipped Potatoes and Gravy

  Xenia’s Famous Layer Cake

  Yams

  Zucchini

  So here was the food, but where were the prices?

  Gil scanned the walls. Still bare. He removed the desk drawers to see if they’d hidden the real menu somewhere inside the desk’s shell. Nothing. He dropped to the floor and looked underneath the desk. No. He flipped through the legal pad. Nothing written there, either.

  Breathe. Think. Breathe. Think.

  Okay. Carol had told them twice. The building was open to them. The building. Books in the conference room. Magazines in the lounge. Two places to search.

  Gil spun around. Grabbed the doorknob. Heard some coughing from above. Spun back and sat at the desk. Those prices were worthless until he knew what Tad ordered.

  Gil stared at the menu, willing Uncle Eb’s choices to pop out at him. He reread the instructions, but discovered nothing else. He wrote down what he knew.

  Gil tapped the pencil eraser on the desk. “Uncle Eb,” he said, half to himself, “tell me what you like to eat. Why almonds, not walnuts? And what in the world is Ugli fruit? I wish you liked grapes. I know grapes, but that doesn’t matter right now. It matters why you like some foods and not the others. That’s the key.”

  Tap, tap, tap. Gil looked at his pencil. No key on there. Tap, tap, tap. The key had nothing to do with the color of the food or its texture. Tap, tap, tap. The key didn’t care how many letters or syllables each food had, either.

  Gil stared. And stared. And stared. Until the letters looked like hieroglyphics.

  He flipped back to Xenia’s menu. Tried to picture himself there, watching over Tad. The waitress comes over. “What can I get you to drink?”

  “Milk,” says Tad. Then he points to the empty seat. “My uncle will want…”

  Want what?

  Gil pictured Tad looking at the menu choices. There was coffee. Then milk farther down, but Uncle Eb hated milk. Orange juice in the next column. And was that all? No. There was tea. Anything else?

  Stupid menu. Didn’t have a beverage category like normal menus. Even McDonald’s—

  Wait. This wasn’t a normal menu. This was a Golly menu. And…so obvious! Alphabetical order. The menu ran from applesauce to zucchini, not skipping a single letter.

  Now, find the pattern. Find Uncle Eb’s pattern. Gil’s heart pumped. He was close. Find the pattern. Find the pattern.

  He turned to Uncle Eb’s list and scribbled it on the yellow pad.

  Oh, yeah! The initial letters lit like fireworks. Uncle Eb ate only vowel foods. But what about the Y? “Uncle Eb! Yes! Y
ou don’t like yellow squash.”

  Gil flipped back to the menu and finished writing their order.

  Who’d eat that lunch? Obviously Uncle Eb, but that wasn’t Gil’s problem. Paying for it was.

  Gil raced out of his room, toward the lounge, to the books and magazines.

  “What the…?” It wasn’t that the magazines weren’t there, the lounge itself had disappeared behind a brick wall.

  Okay, Plan B. Diner in the warehouse. Through the huge double doors, into the atrium. He turned around. He’d come out through the red doors this time. With his own personal cameraperson following him, he moved to the green pair and shoved through. No warehouse. Just a small, bare room. Its only other door led to their original conference room.

  Plan C for conference room. Books on the shelves. What books? They were gone.

  Plan D. Dining room. Out the green doors to the atrium. Then down the long hall. Run. Run and think. If he turned where this hall dead-ended, then up four floors, he’d—footsteps behind him.

  Rocky and his cameraperson.

  Rocky caught up, got right next to Gil’s ear. “I knew I’d find you here,” he said in a low voice, as if he didn’t want the microphones to hear.

  “How?” Gil whispered. This was personal, not for TV.

  “We have our ways.”

  Gil’s blood rose. He ran faster to keep it pumping to his legs. Forget Rocky. Forget Rocky’s dad. Mind on task. Mind on task. If the dining room’s empty, Plan E. Plan E. The walls! He had forgotten to look at the artwork and documents on the walls. He’d be coming back that way. He’d look if necessary.

  Necessary. He stopped in the barren dining room for three seconds to catch his breath. Great. This reminded him of scenes from spy movies. One minute, the hero’s in a room filled with incriminating evidence, but when he returns with the cops, the place doesn’t exist anymore.

  He inhaled again, then sailed back down the stairs, back down the halls, tuning out Rocky’s thuds. Looking right, looking left, looking at portraits of people and toys and games. Looking at nothing that could help. But where were the documents he’d seen earlier? Where? Not on the long walk from the conference room to the warehouse. Before. What was before?

  Arrows! Blinking green arrows in the floor, from the entrance to the conference room! Which way? Which way? Back to the conference room. Start there, trace the arrows backward.

  Gil sped back, losing the cameraperson, but unable to shake Rocky and his. Fine. If Rocky wanted to play follow the leader, he’d always be a step behind.

  That’s why Gil had to keep thinking as he ran. What if the green arrows had also disappeared? No. They’d be there. They had to be. He had no Plan F yet.

  C’mon arrows. Be lit. Be lit. Be lit.

  Arrows! Blinking! He followed them back toward the entrance. The stuff on the walls didn’t help, but what about the trunks they weren’t allowed to open before? “There will be a time and a place and a purpose for everything,” the welcome card had said. Well, if this wasn’t the time, then the time would never be right.

  Gil heaved in a breath. Just one more hall, around this corner, and…“Aah!” Gil leaped aside, avoiding a major crash with Lavinia and her cameraperson.

  She didn’t stop, just headed the opposite way with something in her hand.

  Good news and bad news rolled into one. Again, she was ahead of him, but Rocky was one step behind. Still, Mr. Titus probably knew what to do next. Gil had to add faster than—No! The spectators probably had a copy of the menu with the prices! Fine. Gil could add and run. Add and run.

  Gil reached the entrance clogged with more camerapeople. He unlatched the lid of his trunk and threw it open. Fanned out on top were about ten crisp one-hundred-dollar bills. Those would keep. The sheet next to them wouldn’t. The Xenia’s Café menu. This one had the prices. He snatched it up, threw down the trunk lid, started running again, then took a sideways glance.

  Rocky held the menu in one hand and fanned himself with his thousand dollars in the other. He ran alongside Gil. “You don’t know what kind of thieves they allow here,” he said in full voice. Then Rocky sped ahead.

  Gil could read fast and he could run fast, but not at the same time. The reading would have to wait. He shifted gears, found some wind, and chased after Rocky.

  He was just two steps behind when he reached his door. But his breath was coming so fast, he couldn’t stop, couldn’t sit, couldn’t see. He started coughing. And heard more coughing.

  He. Managed. A. Deep. Breath. More coughing. From him? No. Coughing. From above. Weird coughing. Starts and stops. Mr. Titus.

  Click!

  Maybe Lavinia’s door. Hopefully Lavinia’s door.

  Click!

  Rocky.

  Just as long as it wasn’t Thorn. It couldn’t be, not unless he found his—

  No. Gil had to be the third one. He looked at the prices on the menu. Filled in the list:

  He added it up—two times, three times. He punched a single measly dollar into his keypad. All this for a dollar. But the keypad sparkled with flashes of light. Then it went dark.

  His door opened.

  Had he missed the click? Or had Carol opened it?

  CHAPTER 19

  Carol stood right outside his door, talking into her headset. Good news or bad news?

  “Carol,” Gil said.

  She held up a finger and mumbled into her microphone.

  Should he go to the lounge? Wait here? He took a step toward the lounge. Couldn’t see anyone. Another step. Nothing. Another.

  “Gil! Sorry.”

  Sorry she had made him wait, or sorry he lost? He couldn’t bear to ask. He tried to smile. “C’mon,” she said. “Be happy. You did great. As far as we can tell, you figured out the answer first.”

  “I’m the first one done?”

  She put a hand on his shoulder. “Naw. Third.”

  “But you said—”

  “Lavinia didn’t take her camera guy on a wild-goose chase. She knew right where to go for those prices. And Rocky. Darnedest thing. It didn’t look like he was thinking much, but there must be lots running around his head that we don’t know about. Now I’ve told you enough. Off to the lounge with you. Catch your breath. I need to deliver the bad news to Thorn.”

  Gil brushed past Rocky, who was standing at the snack table, and went over to Lavinia.

  She sat cross-legged on the floor, playing a video game. She looked up at Gil. “One moment,” she said. She inched her hero along, trying to help him avoid danger. He died. “I can’t quite get the hang of this.” She flashed him a genuine smile.

  “But you got the hang of that last puzzle,” Gil said. “Congratulations.”

  “It was exhilarating, wasn’t it? Exactly what I’d hoped for when I entered the Games. A real puzzle with a real question. I hope they—”

  “Incoming cameras,” Carol yelled. “The thirty-second good-bye.”

  Thorn went around the room, shaking hands. He thanked Rocky for the climbing help, Lavinia for asking his opinion, and Gil for not getting mad when he messed up the doll’s toes. “One more thing, Gil,” he said. “All that talking earlier? Thanks for not laughing.”

  “No problem,” said Gil.

  Thorn smiled, then went with Bill.

  Gil grabbed a bottle of water from the table and claimed his recliner. He stared into the ceiling. No crowd. No cameras. Just him and—

  Rocky thudded on the arm of his chair, popping peanuts into his mouth.

  Gil groaned. “What do you want?”

  Rocky wiped his hands on his pants and pulled the hundred-dollar bills from his pocket. “It’s like this,” he said, fanning himself with the money. “I was just thinking…”

  “Didn’t know you could.”

  “Very funny, Gil. Anyway, this thousand dollars? If losers get this, I wonder what winners like me will get.”

  “There’s no guarantee you’ll win.”

  Rocky grinned. “I’m about to pull out
my guarantee. You just wait.”

  Gil wanted to plug his ears. Instead, he pulled on the reclining lever and dug his heels into the footrest, pushing down as hard and fast as he could.

  The recliner shot upright, and Rocky spilled from its arm.

  “Sorry,” said Gil. He grinned down at Rocky, and went over to watch Lavinia play her video game until Carol breezed back in.

  She sat on the couch next to Rocky. “Grab a chair, Lavinia, Gil. We’re going for another ride.”

  The room revolved again, the open end replaced by a red wall, an orange one, then yellow, green, blue, and purple until it fully opened to what Gil thought would be the warehouse. It had to be the same one, but it didn’t look the same. All the props were gone, and in their place? An indescribable brilliance.

  Spotlights shone on an enormous complex of translucent walls and windows, sending multicolored rays of light streaming from floor to ceiling, dancing from here to there and back again. To say that they were in the middle of a rainbow could only begin to explain the illusion.

  “All right,” said Carol. “You guys look like frogs catching flies. You need to close those traps, focus on me, and pay attention. First, forget this is the most breathtaking sight you’ve ever seen. I’ll grant that’s impossible, so look at me instead. I’m not as hypnotizing. C’mon. Focus here.” She pointed to her face. “Good.”

  “So, this time, we have three doors that put you each at the starting point of a maze. You are going to love it. And that’s all I have to say except everything’s fair and square. Each maze is exactly the same and…” She held up a finger, spoke into her headset, then pulled it off. “They need one more minute. Hang loose.”

  Gil turned toward Lavinia, but Rocky grabbed his elbow and pulled him back a couple steps. “Ready for my guarantee?” he said.

  “Can’t wait,” said Gil.

  Rocky cupped his hands around his mouth and leaned over to Gil’s ear. “Your dad’s not guilty.”

  “I know,” Gil said. “I heard the verdict at the trial.”