Friend or Foe

by Jody Feldman

  “Even better than National Quiz Bowl,” said Kelly. “No trophy, but money’s good!”

  “If you win, I’ll buy you a trophy.” Why’d Zane say that? She giggled—why did girls do that?—and looked at him like they were best friends now.

  “So we’re all in the Gollywhopper Games?” a sixth grader said.

  “We can’t all be in it,” said an eighth grader. “There are, what? Fifteen of us here? And if each school in the country sent fifteen, there’d be, I don’t know. Too many.”

  Someone threw a wad of paper at him.

  “What?”

  “Spoil our fun, why don’t you?”

  The kid pointed at Ms. Mendoza. “She’s going to, anyway.”

  Ms. Mendoza nodded. “Ahem. ‘The Gollywhopper Games has, in the past, always used a combination of skill and luck to identify contestants. This year is no exception.

  “‘Yesterday, more than five million students in schools and in homeschool networks across the country took the first qualifying test of the Games. Those of you hearing this made a perfect score in the first round.

  “‘To get into the next round, however, involves no skill. It’s all luck. Your names will be entered into a nationwide drawing where thirty thousand fortunate contestants will find out firsthand what happens next. Good luck!’

  “That’s it,” said Ms. Mendoza, “except that they’re sending you a half-off coupon for any Golly toy or game.”

  “That’s it?” said Kelly. “When do we find out? What happens next? This’ll kill me.”

  “One less person to compete with,” said another guy. “If it kills you, that is.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Very funny.”

  Ms. Mendoza shrugged. “There’s nothing else, Kelly. But feel free to stay here until next period and nose around online. I’m sure you’re not the only one in the world with questions.”

  Kelly tugged on Zane’s shirt, and he followed her to a computer. He’d normally race out to gym class, but he’d take this gift to protect his brain one more day.

  “How cool to be in the actual Games! Would we do another round at school? Would they send us to Orchard Heights? That’s where Golly headquarters is. What do you think? I mean, you’ve seen the Gollywhopper Games.”

  “Sort of.”

  “Sort of? How can you sort of watch them? They’re the best!”

  “They’re during two-a-days.”

  “Two-uh-whats?”

  “Right before football season starts, Coach kills us in practice two times a day, so every night I’m pretty much a zombie in front of the TV,” said Zane. “I mean, if I get picked but the Games are during two-a-days, I’d probably stick to football.”

  “You’d turn down the Gollywhopper Games?”

  “I’d tell them to pick you instead.”

  She giggled. “You think they would?”

  Zane shrugged.

  “No, you’re right. I’m sure they have rules for that. They’re pretty strict about their rules.” She logged on to the computer and typed Gollywhopper Games 3 into the search engine.

  Zane rested his brain just a little more.

  The Day After

  THE SCHOOL ANNOUNCEMENTS

  Bert Golliwop took a lap around his huge office, waiting for the five members of his executive team to settle around his enormous desk. Danny King, his intern, was already seated in the near corner.

  “Reports!” Bert Golliwop said.

  Everyone scrambled to their spots.

  “The good news is,” said Tawkler from Marketing, “the School Round went off without a hitch. Until we announced it yesterday, no one really connected the quiz with the Games.”

  “No one, really?” said Bert. “What does that mean?”

  “For every person who speculated, there were dozens, it seemed, who pooh-poohed that notion. Said it wasn’t how we did things.”

  Bert leaned back in his chair. “So we surprised them?”

  “Oh yeah,” she said. “Since yesterday, hits on the Gollywhopper Games website are already topping two million. And Gollywhopper Games Three has been trending ever since.”

  “What are they saying?”

  “Why don’t you take that, Danny?” said Tawkler.

  He moved forward and stood beside Bert. “Gil and I have been monitoring all the social media outlets. The buzz pretty much falls into five categories. First, the ‘How Cool Is That’ category—people excited they tried out for the Games. Or that their kids did. Doesn’t matter if they made it or not, they can’t wait to see how it turns out.

  “Two, the ‘It Wasn’t Fair’ category. The quiz was too hard, or they were absent from school, or we should’ve told them so they wouldn’t have faked being sick.

  “Three is the ‘Curiosity’ category. How will they notify us? When will we find out? What will they have us do next?”

  “Good, good.” Bert Golliwop turned to his head of Human Resources. “And that, Jenkins, is why we didn’t give them too much information. We want them to be curious, to talk. We want them to be all over social media. Ooh. Listen to me. Social media. I sound all twenty-first century. Finally.” He chuckled. “And the fourth category?”

  “You’ll like this one,” said Danny. “I call it ‘What About the Rest of Us?’ Kids upset that they didn’t make the cut. Or that their schools didn’t participate—”

  “Those schools are idiots. We guaranteed full anonymity for their students until the parents signed off. We offered them education software just for participating. And each school that produces a finalist? They’ll receive a twenty-five-thousand-dollar grant. The twelve percent who turned us down are idiots.”

  “The kids know that,” said Danny. “They’re mad at their schools, not at us. But they will be mad at us if we totally leave them out in the cold.”

  “We’re not leaving them out in the cold,” Bert said. “We’ve left one hundred slots open for kids like them. Didn’t you get the memo?”

  “No, sir.”

  “I want Danny on those memos. Anything else, Danny?”

  “Well, there’s that fifth category.”

  “You said there were four.”

  “There are, but you always need to consider the Yawners.”

  “The Yawners?”

  “People who didn’t notice or don’t care.”

  Tawkler from Marketing leaned forward. “But the people who do notice and do care? It’s unprecedented,” she said.

  “Plus,” said Jenkins, “we should congratulate ourselves that nothing went wrong.”

  Why did she bring that up? He’d worked so hard to clear his mind of those issues for a few hours. But now, thoughts of sabotage during last year’s Games came flooding back. And he couldn’t stop picturing Harvey Flummox of Flummox Corporation chortling about what other mayhem he and his traitor, someone inside Golly Toy and Game Company, could conjure next.

  “Let’s never expect anything to go wrong,” said Bert. “Let’s work to make it all right, to create the best Gollywhopper Games ever. Let’s work to keep our knowledge secure and build excitement throughout the spring and deep into summer. And those Yawners? Let them buy from Flummox because at this moment, we have an unprecedented amount of attention focused right here where it belongs.”

  Chapter 4

  When Zane rolled out of bed this morning, at least he remembered what day it was. Tuesday, late June. He didn’t know the exact date, but he didn’t need to. What he needed was a do-over. He needed to rewind last Friday evening with a duct-taped mouth to stop from calling out to his sister, Zoe. “Emily and her sleepover can wait five seconds,” he’d said. “Just throw me one more!”

  Not only could Zoe kick a mean football, but she had an arm on her, and that arm helped him practice catching and deflecting balls. Now that he’d been cleared to play, Zane wanted to work on his skills every single second.

  “And make it tough!” he’d yelled. She did, and he’d gone back, back, back, barely missing the trunk of the old
tree, but tripping over one of its roots and, she’d told him later, hitting his head on the neighbors’ patio.

  The next thing he knew, Zoe was sitting beside him, crying, and their dad was asking him to name the months of the year backwards. When he couldn’t do it, Zane cried, too.

  He really appreciated Zoe waiting on him hand and foot for a week. And he really, really appreciated his dad calling in a thousand favors to get Zane this year’s edition of Football Frenzy, which had been sold out forever and which caused his mom and dad to argue about how expensive it was and how he should be resting his brain instead. Truth was, even though Football Frenzy’s graphics were amazing and its play selection nearly limitless, Zane would’ve been happier playing GollyFarmyard with his little cousin. It hurt to remember that he himself wouldn’t be doling out the hits and leaping to block passes and actually getting the school district’s interception record this year. Or possibly any year if his brain didn’t heal.

  He played the video game just enough to fake out his parents that he loved it. He did love renaming some of the players Concussion, HeadInjury, Blow2theHead, Headache, Dizziness, and Nausea. Also adjusting pattern angles and conceiving strategies to get them knocked off harder than he’d ever seen on “Hit of the Week” highlights.

  Now that no one was home, though, he was lying in bed. It was quiet. No yelling, no parents arguing. They were at Zoe’s first summer football game, and she was the only girl in the league to play first string. Zane had healed enough to watch her, but it would’ve been too tempting to swipe a uniform and figure out a way to get onto the adjacent field where he himself should’ve been playing.

  The phone rang. Zane rolled off his bed, ambled into the other room, and answered just before the person had to leave a message.

  “. . . on our way,” said his mom. “Want anything?”

  My brain intact, he wanted to say for the billionth time, but he’d decided to drop that line a week after the last doctor’s appointment.

  He said he was fine, hung up the phone, and booted up Football Frenzy. When the car pulled into the driveway, he grabbed the controls and ran a play.

  “At it again, huh, kiddo?” His mom breezed into the room and stood behind him, watching him run another play. “Well, they won, but Zoe’s cleats are way too small, she finally told us, so your dad took her to get new ones. You know he’ll spend too much on them.”

  Zane didn’t need to hear either of his parents jab the other, so he pretended not to hear.

  “Zane. Zane!”

  “Yeah, Mom?”

  “You know you don’t have to sit in the house and rot.”

  What else was there? “I’m good.”

  “Maybe this will make you better.” She dropped an envelope into his lap. “Not sure what it is, but the return address is intriguing.”

  He kept playing.

  “You’re not going to look? Not even when it says ‘Golly Toy and Game Company’?”

  “It’s probably that discount coupon I won.”

  “What if it isn’t?”

  What if it wasn’t? Would he even want to play in the Games? Doubtful. How much fun could he have doing quizzes in the middle of summer when he should be running football drills? He opened it so his mom might stop hovering.

  Before he finished reading, she was already jumping around and hugging him.

  “Careful of the brain,” he said.

  She eased up.

  Not that she’d damage it, but maybe he needed it to read the letter again. On second thought, even quizzes could be more entertaining than moping around during two-a-days.

  Dear Zane!

  First, a few statistics: 98,189 schools and homeschool organizations participated in the Gollywhopper Games quizzes.

  Of the 1,583,332 students who passed the School Round . . .

  Only 30,000 contestants have been selected to move forward; fewer than 2%.

  AND YOU HAVE BEEN CHOSEN!!!

  His mom hugged him again. “Aren’t you excited?”

  “That I’m one of thirty thousand? Yeah, it’s cool.”

  “Cool? Not everyone gets to go to the Mall Round.”

  What happened to the stadium? “A mall?”

  His mom laughed. “I doubt they’ll make you shop.” She pointed to the letter. “Read it. I’m going to figure out what’s for dinner.”

  Zane took the letter back to his room and eased himself onto his bed.

  Just when you thought you had the Gollywhopper Games all figured out, along comes Season 3.

  Big! Brave! Bold! like before . . . but so much more.

  Get ready for anything!

  Then it gave the date, time, and shopping mall where they expected him. That he had to be between the ages of eleven to fifteen on some day in August. And how he needed to register online within a week or forfeit his spot. Then blah, blah, blah, no guarantees about winning anything. Blah, blah, blah, the company wasn’t responsible for injuries or earthquakes or nuclear wars, probably. Blah, blah, blah . . .

  Great. What if he fell in a freak accident during the Games, and his brain concussed for life? Maybe he shouldn’t do it. But how much fun was he having now?

  Zane went into the living room to use the computer and found the contestants’ website. If he could make it to the finals, he might be on some sort of team, even for a day or two. And if he won some money, it might stop his parents from arguing. He went to the kitchen. “When you have a chance, Mom, there’s stuff you need to sign. Oh. And can I order the DVDs of the last two Games?”

  At least he could study game film, even if it wasn’t football.

  The Day Before

  THE MALL ROUND

  Bert Golliwop tried not to squirm in his chair, but the hives that had popped up the past few nights had him itching today, worse than ever. He tried to forget those ugly pink welts, but there was no ignoring them.

  Danny was sitting behind him, connecting some pens with duct tape. Bert doubted that this second makeshift back scratcher would work better than the first, but even the first was better than nothing. Still, he wouldn’t use it until he was alone.

  Right now, his five-member executive team sat around his desk in deep discussion. They’d gone through the security checklist for tomorrow’s Mall Round and had moved on to the placement of security cameras for the stadium challenge in August. Cameras in each concession area? Yes. One near the electrical center where that generator had blown last year? Definitely. Inside each bathroom? Absolutely no agreement. Privacy issues versus safety and all that.

  Bert couldn’t take it anymore. It’d be normal for him to get up and walk around the room. Maybe they wouldn’t notice if he eased against the wall to scratch his back, like a bear against a tree trunk. He took half a lap, stopped and scratched, got to the next corner, stopped and scratched, and returned to his seat.

  You okay, Bert? mouthed Tawkler.

  Maybe he hadn’t been as discreet as he’d thought.

  He leaned over to her and spoke softly. “Just a few hives. Food allergy or something.”

  The discussion continued like he’d never gotten up, but they’d gone on about this issue too long. Bert leaned forward. “One, no matter how much we try to control the situation, the stadium will be ripe for an infiltrator like Flummox. Two, while we can station cameras outside the bathrooms, there will be no, I repeat, no cameras inside. Now, go. Travel to your mall sites.” Then, under his breath, he muttered, “While I try to find a real back scratcher.”

  Chapter 5

  Even before his shoes hit parking-lot pavement, Zane was in game-day mode. His hands and feet tingled. His hearing was on alert. And now, inside the main level of the mall, his eyes scanned his competition.

  Several dozen kids were buzzing around the Macy’s end with more energy than he’d summoned every day of the past month, combined. Zane, though, wasn’t giddy like that girl jumping all over her mom. Instead, he was on task. Go in through the east entrance. Register at Table 7. Receive challe
nge packet. Find starting location. Do not open envelope until instructed. On the whistle, go!

  That’s all that letter had told him. Even though he’d watched each Gollywhopper Games DVD four times, he felt totally unprepared. Unlike football, the rules of the Games had changed between the two seasons.

  His dad pointed to the bank of ten registration tables. “I can’t figure you out,” he said. “You’re intense like game day, but it’s different. Do you even want to be here?”

  “It’s a competition,” said Zane. “I want to win.”

  His dad nodded. “But not this.”

  “This is fine.”

  “This is not football.”

  “This is not football.”

  His dad knew. For his dad, “not football” was every day, ever since he’d gotten cut by the New England Patriots and couldn’t latch on to another team.

  As they walked to the registration table, Zane kept an eye open for that Kelly and other kids from school. None of them yet, but the mall was a big place. Zane passed his confirmation page to an older man at Table 7. The guy was smiling too big, like a mascot trying to amp up the crowd toward the end of a hopeless game. Did Zane look that hopeless? “Don’t worry,” the guy said. “Just read carefully, think hard, and move quickly.”

  That already was his plan. “Thanks.”

  The man fastened bar-coded wristbands around Zane’s and his dad’s arms. Then he slid a gold envelope with a matching bar code toward Zane, but kept his fingers firmly planted on it. “Do not open this until you hear the whistle. Everything you need to know is here.” He turned the envelope over to show a lot of writing.

  Zane led his dad away from the table and past three stores. He slid his back down a wall and sat near the entrance of The Children’s Shop.

  His dad sat down next to him. “Where are we supposed to go?”

  “Right here.” Zane tilted the envelope so his dad could see.

  “What’s going on, Zane?”

  “I’m waiting.”

  “No,” said his dad. “You’re acting like the doctor’s about to deliver bad news. What bad could come of this?”