Up the trellis he went, ignoring the scratch of rose thorns and the restless animal scrambling around inside his shirt. Near the top, a wave of drowsiness almost put him under — his narcolepsy was always worse in moments of stress. Just as he was nodding off, Pitch reached down and gripped his wrist. At that moment, Ferret Face came through with his trademark wake-up nip. The jolt of adrenaline provided the energy boost Ben needed to heave himself up the wall and — with Pitch’s help — spill onto the balcony floor.
The others followed one by one. Savannah’s ascent was a little shaky, since she carried Penelope under one arm. But with Pitch pulling from above and Victor pushing from below, she made it to the terrace. Melissa brought up the rear, climbing with confidence and determination. For the shy girl, this was the easy part. Party crashing was a lot scarier than falling — even off a thousand-foot cliff.
Victor opened the French doors, and the music from inside quadrupled in volume. “The plan is simple — find Grant Bruckman. It’s pretty loud in there, so we’re going to have to shout to get noticed.”
“And keep a low profile,” Pitch added. “Remember that lunkhead at the front door. We don’t belong, so if anybody gets suspicious, try to disappear into the crowd.”
“Not a problem,” Logan said confidently. “My character is complete. I’m a thirteen-year-old grad student with an IQ of two hundred and fifty. I’m majoring in infrared astronomy, and my goal is to make contact with an alien race.”
“Try looking in the mirror,” Ben told him sourly.
“It’s four fifteen,” Victor told them. “If the ticket’s here, we’ll have just enough time to get it to the lottery office by six.”
The team entered the house and started down the long hallway. Ahead they could see the party crowd looping up the stairs onto the second-floor landing. Ben peered over the rail. The living room was a boiling mass of dancers, the music so loud that he felt every drumbeat and thrum of bass in his sinuses. An agitated Ferret Face burrowed into his armpit in an attempt to escape the noise.
“There are, like, a million people here!” he exclaimed, raising his voice to be heard.
“We’ll split up,” Victor announced. “Six of us can cover more ground. If you find Bruckman, give a signal and we’ll all come together. We’ll probably have to search his room for the ticket.”
“What signal?” Pitch demanded. “You couldn’t hear a cannon shot in this place!”
Then Victor Phoenix proved beyond any doubt that he could be a Man With a Plan, even if he’d never be the main one. “When you’ve got him, pull the plug out of the stereo, and the rest of us will come after you. Okay, let’s go.”
The group dispersed into the tightly packed revelers, fighting the human current to make their way down to the main level.
“Do you know Grant Bruckman?” Ben asked the first face that turned his way.
“Everybody knows the Bruckmeister,” the young man replied. “What are you, his kid brother?”
Ben ignored the question and pressed on. “Is he here at the party?”
“I saw him on the dance floor, but that was, like, an hour ago.”
“Can you describe him?” Ben persisted.
The college student’s eyes narrowed. “You ask a lot of nosy questions for a little shrimp.”
Ben backed off and pushed farther down the steps. The last thing he needed was to make a scene and get thrown out.
Logan was near the bottom of the stairs. “I’m looking for Grant Bruckman,” he explained to several Sigma Delta Phis. “He’s in my infrared astronomy class.”
“Yeah, right,” snorted one of them. “What are you, twelve?”
“Thirteen, actually,” the young actor replied, pleased to be able to transition into character so early in the conversation. “I go here because my enormous intellect has already absorbed everything they could teach me in middle or high school.”
“Hey!” crowed another brother. “Get a load of the dweeb!”
“Dweeb?” Logan was offended. “I got a perfect score on my SATs!”
“Let’s get him!”
On the spot, Logan decided to add a running-away dimension to his character’s personality. If there was one thing he’d learned about the theatre, it was that an actor had to be able to think on his feet. He quickly disappeared into the throng.
Of the six of them, Pitch was covering the most ground. She squeezed through the dance floor, staring brazenly into faces and shouting, “Grant Bruckman?” She wasn’t getting many answers, but the occasional pointing finger guided her in what she hoped was the right direction.
Savannah was attracting attention with Penelope in her arms. But unfortunately, that was coming from girls, none of whom could be Grant. Poor Melissa was making the least progress of any of them. Even bellowing directly into someone’s ear, she simply could not muster enough volume to make herself heard over the blasting music.
It took forever for Ben to work his way downstairs. He had to walk backward to avoid bumping Ferret Face against the endless stream of revelers. The concealed creature had been whacked, jostled, and crushed into Ben’s stomach so many times that he was hissing and spitting nonstop.
Something grabbed Ben’s ankle, and he jumped, nearly causing his ferret to abandon shirt. Bewildered, he looked under a table piled high with pizza boxes. There crouched Logan, a furtive expression in his eyes.
“Logan — what are you doing down there?”
“Hiding!” Logan hissed. “Those guys are after me!”
“For asking about Grant Bruckman?”
“They’re jealous of me because I’m a genius!” Logan said resentfully. “Today’s college kids have got no respect!”
“But you’re not a genius,” Ben reminded him. “You’re just pretending.”
“An actor has to get into character,” Logan asserted in defense of his art. “It’s not the kind of thing you can turn on and off like a light switch.”
Ben reached down and hauled the boy to his feet, whacking his head on the tabletop in the process. “Never mind acting! We need everybody on the search!”
Logan drew himself up stiffly. “A performer can’t work under such stressful conditions.”
“There he is!” bellowed a voice from the dining room.
Three big Sigma Delta Phis were plowing through the crowd, intent on recapturing Logan.
The speed with which the young actor got out of the line of fire was worthy of Houdini. It left Ben standing beside the table, defenseless. Two of the three frat brothers broke through and grabbed him. One under each arm, they lifted him high off the floor.
“Wrong kid!” the third brother objected.
“What difference does it make?” the captor on the left shot back. “Right kid, wrong kid — he’s going for a swim.”
“Put me down!” Ben wailed. “You’re scaring my ferret!”
The third brother swept him by the ankles, and the trio began to carry him across the turbulent dance floor.
“Hey, that’s not right!” Victor began to push his way toward the airborne Ben.
“Beat it or you’re next!” A vicious shove slammed Victor into two dancers, who bounced him in another direction like a human pinball. He jumped up and tried to muscle his way back to Ben, but it was impossible to buck the crowd.
Tears of anger and frustration sprang to Victor’s eyes. He had been the victim of this kind of treatment in the past. And now he was helpless to keep it from happening to his friend.
* * *
“This is college, kid,” the Sigma Delta Phi told Griffin. “Nobody wastes their time buying lottery tickets. And, not for nothing, a piece of friendly advice — your backpack goes on your back. That’s why they call it a backpack.”
“There was a winning ticket sold to someone in this frat house!” Griffin insisted, tightening his grip on Luthor’s leash. “Time is running out on a lot of money!”
“Give it to me,” the young man replied readily. “I’m up to my no
strils in student loans.”
“It doesn’t work that way,” said Griffin urgently. “You have to have the tick —”
A horrifying sight met his eyes. Three burly frat brothers dangled a slight figure over a huge tub filled with ice and meltwater. Griffin’s breath caught in his throat.
The victim was Ben!
Without a thought, Griffin sprang to the aid of his best friend, but he made no progress in the crush of so many larger bodies. Desperately, he pushed Luthor ahead of him, opening up a pathway to the giant tin tub. He left his feet just as the frat boys raised Ben high over the meltwater and let go. With a squeal of terror, Ben hurtled toward the icy bath. Inches before splashdown, Griffin struck him in midair, knocking him clear of the slushy water and sending him rolling into a forest of legs on the dance floor.
The bolt of frigid lightning that shot through Griffin as he went into the ice up to his knees was nothing compared with the fear he felt for the safety of his father’s invention. If those delicate electronics got wet, the SweetPick would fry — and so would Griffin when Dad got through with him. In an impressive demonstration of full-body muscle control, he sprang free of the drink and toppled out of the tub beside Ben. He probably wouldn’t have made it if Victor had not been there to give him a boost over the side.
Luthor turned sheepdog, circling Griffin, Ben, and Victor, daring one and all to approach them. Nobody did.
Victor regarded Griffin in awe. “You saved him!”
“W-what are you g-guys d-doing here?” stammered Griffin, teeth chattering from the cold.
At that moment, the blaring music went silent. After the pounding roar of hip-hop, the sudden silence seemed even louder and more jarring.
“The signal!” Victor exclaimed. His eyes traveled to the stereo on the far wall. But it was no member of his team standing there holding the plug.
“Mike?” Griffin exclaimed in disbelief.
The hippie storekeeper’s face radiated deep purpose as he towered over everyone in his tie-dye glory. He threw down the cord and hefted an electric guitar.
“Dudes, dudes!” Mike’s eyes were wide above his bushy beard. “This whole scene is a total downer! It’s all about me, me, me — my party, my girlfriend, my slice of pizza, my good time! That’s not what we fought for in the sixties. That’s not why we held sit-ins and be-ins, and faced down the National Guard with nothing but flower power!”
A confused murmur buzzed through the crowd.
“Whose grandfather is that?”
“Isn’t he the guy from the convenience store?”
“What’s he doing with my guitar?”
“And these songs,” Mike pleaded. “They’re not about protest, or revolution, or touching people’s souls. Whatever happened to the rock-and-roll titans who took the stage during those three days of peace and music in 1969?”
With that, he brought his right hand down on the strings of the guitar. A blast of noise and feedback erupted from the speakers that sent hands to cover ears all around the frat house. It was every bit as loud as what had come before, but more raw, discordant, and powerful. It was an onslaught of sound his audience could feel under their cuticles.
Mike launched into an earsplitting performance of Jimi Hendrix’s electric version of “The Star-Spangled Banner.” His fingers were just a blur as they raked the strings. Wailing guitar gave way to shrieking feedback.
Ferret Face sank his teeth into Ben’s skin, not to wake him up but because of the assault on his sensitive hearing. Luthor chased his short tail. Partygoers winced in pain as the din swelled to an agonizing crescendo.
The first speaker sizzled and blew fifteen seconds into the performance. After that, they all followed, burning out one at a time, silencing the guitar. Smoke rose from the frying amps, forming a single cloud at the ceiling. The smoke detectors began to howl. They were substantially quieter than the guitar solo that had just been cut off.
Mike was still playing, oblivious to the fact that there was no sound. Darren grabbed the storekeeper’s arm. “Let’s get out of here! You want to be far from this place when they figure out who wrecked the party!”
Mike dropped the guitar and they joined the stampede for the exit.
Outside was chaos as the revelers ran for their lives. In the general confusion of (a) was the frat house burning down? (b) who was that old guy with the guitar? and (c) did the national anthem mean the party was over? the Cedarville contingent — including Darren and Mike — formed its own group in the crowd. At first, Luthor was delighted to see his beloved Savannah on the scene. But then he noticed that she carried Penelope in her arms, and he snubbed her and went to stand by the shivering Griffin. Savannah looked sad.
Ben turned to Griffin. “Your dad’s invention — did it get wet?”
“It’s fine.” He shuddered. “I hope.”
“Thanks, man. I don’t think Ferret Face could have survived it.”
“I hope I survive it!” Griffin snapped back. “What are you guys doing here, anyway?”
“It’s a plan,” Ben admitted, shamefaced. “We’re looking for the missing Giga-Millions ticket.”
Griffin was irritated. “That’s my plan!”
“No, it’s not,” put in Pitch. “It’s Victor’s plan.”
“Actually,” Victor admitted, “I got the idea from Darren. It’s his plan.”
Savannah bristled. “You mean all this time we’ve been working for Darren Vader?”
“Well, if you knew it was me, you never would have done it!” Darren said righteously.
“This is low, even for you,” Griffin accused Darren. “You sent me off on a wild-goose chase, then hung me out to dry and recruited the others as backup.”
Victor looked stricken. “You lied to me, Darren. You pretended you were the good guy, and anything bad was Griffin’s fault. You let me believe he was a bully.”
Darren shrugged. “I was going to cut everybody in for a share of the money.”
“Don’t forget the Woodstock monument,” added Mike. “Today proves how much we need to remember the great moments of the past.”
Darren nodded fervently. “It’s not too late for all of us to get what we want! There’s still time to find Grant Bruckman!”
“Find me for what?” asked a deep voice behind them.
Everybody turned. A slim college student in a Delta Sigma Phi hoodie regarded them quizzically. “Do I know you guys? How come you know me?” He panned the group, stopping at the storekeeper. “Oh, hi, Mike. Who are all these kids?”
“They’re looking for you, man,” Mike replied. “They think you’re the missing Giga-Millions winner from last year.”
Grant snorted. “Yeah, right. All the tickets I’ve bought from you, I’ve never won a cent. Not even once.”
Griffin jumped in. “Are you sure?” he pressed. “It’s easy to forget to check the numbers one week out of a whole year.”
Grant laughed bitterly. “Ever been a poor student, kid? In debt up to your eyeballs, living on ramen noodles? Yeah, I check the numbers — with an electron microscope. Sorry, but you’ve got the wrong millionaire.”
And Grant Bruckman — their last hope — returned to his friends.
Griffin panned the group with a resentful expression. “Now you see what happens when you try to pull off something big without a real planner!”
That was too much for Ben. “You can’t blame this on Victor. His plan failed because he was searching for something that just wasn’t there, same as you. You may be The Man With The Plan, but other people are allowed to have ideas, too.”
“At least Victor’s a team player,” Pitch added reproachfully. “He takes suggestions from people, talks things over. No offense, Griffin, but you’re like King Bing, high exalted dictator and control freak. What you say goes, and nobody else matters.”
“Cooperation, man,” Mike put in. “After peace and love, that’s what made the sixties work.”
Griffin was about to fire back in anger when
he experienced a moment of chagrin that very nearly flattened him.
They were right. It was all true. He was so dead set on running the show that he’d turned into a tyrant. He’d bulldozed the team into Operation Treasure Hunt to get back at Darren, and look where that had landed all of them. If he’d taken a minute to listen to their objections …
“Fair enough,” he said finally. “Let’s cooperate.”
On the spot, The Man With The Plan did something he’d never done before: He revealed every detail of Operation Jackpot, going back to the very beginning, including every suspect he’d interviewed.
Victor spoke up next, outlining the ticket search from the others’ point of view. It was obvious that the two factions had crossed paths several times on the hunt, and had probably come perilously close to treading on one another’s toes. They had visited many of the same homes, and in some cases had been yelled at by suspects who didn’t appreciate answering the same questions twice.
“Like that motorcycle guy,” said Logan. “Some people just don’t understand good acting.”
“I was kicked out of a few places, too,” Griffin admitted. “When they told me a kid had already been there, I figured it was Vader.”
“The meanest by far was that Tobias Fielder,” Victor complained. “You remember, with the house full of junk and all those hanging plants.”
Pitch laughed. “He’s just crabby because he’s afraid the library is going to come and seize his gazillion overdue books.”
“He creeped me out,” Savannah chimed in, cradling Penelope. “He had so many library notices, he was using them as bookmarks.”
“Not just library notices,” Ben added. “Also business cards, Post-it notes, cash register receipts —”
Suddenly, Griffin saw the answer burst out of itself like a kernel of microwave popcorn.
“And lottery tickets!” cried The Man With The Plan.
Griffin wheeled on the others, eyes wide with discovery and excitement. “Don’t you see? The guy’s got stuff all over the place — he doesn’t know what’s in there! The FBI couldn’t keep track of the junk in that house. When he needs a bookmark, he grabs the nearest piece of paper, regardless of whether it’s a card, or an envelope —”
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