Friend or Foe

by Jody Feldman

  She rolled her eyes at him. Apparently, they weren’t in love like some of the websites hinted. At least she wasn’t.

  Zane wished they’d get to it. He wanted to strike before his adrenaline started coming down. He jumped up a few times to keep it going.

  “Ooh. Zane’s ready,” said Bianca. “Maybe we should do this.”

  “Here’s the deal.” Jig walked up to the pile of eyeballs. “You each need to re-create this. If you do it in Friend mode, you get fourteen minutes, and we won’t bother you. At the halfway mark, we’ll even give you a hint. If you do it in Foe mode, you get twenty-four minutes, and we will make the task more difficult.”

  “And if the Friend person gets done in time, he can help us hurt you, if that makes sense.”

  “It actually does,” said Zane.

  She smiled at him. “I like this guy. I wanna be his Foe.”

  “They need to decide,” said Jig.

  “Yeah,” Berk said. “So tell us more.”

  Jig shook his head. “After you choose.”

  There had to be some really funky catch for the Foe person to need ten more minutes to construct a pyramid that, by Zane’s quick count, was ten by ten—one hundred eyeballs—at its base, then nine by nine, or eighty-one of them, and so on up to the one at the top. Simple. Maybe he should knock this out in Friend mode, then inflict pain on Berk.

  “I’ll take Friend,” Berk said before Zane could open his mouth.

  Zane stared Berk in the eyes for five full seconds until Berk looked away. “I wanted Foe, anyway.”

  The moment he said that, more shafts of light sprang from the floor, shielding them from whatever was rumbling beyond.

  “So, noises, yeah,” said Bianca. “They’re getting stuff ready for you because you can’t exactly make an eyeball tower without eyeballs.”

  “This sample stays here,” said Jig, “if you need to see it again.”

  Bianca and Jig gave them exactly one minute to study the eyeballs, but Zane had it. All the eyes on the ten-by-ten layer at the bottom were blue. The ones on the nine by nine were brown. The next layer’s were green. And they continued the blue-brown-green pattern up to the single red one, like a cherry on top.

  “Time’s up!” said Jig. He and Bianca led them through a gap in the light that somehow felt like a door, then down a short “hall” into a “room” with two tables. Each had what looked like a square plastic serving tray with a whole bunch of indentations.

  “Your eyeball bases,” said Bianca. “Ha! If anyone ever told me I’d say the words ‘eyeball’ and ‘bases’ together and it’d make sense . . . Anyway, you need to start.”

  Jig steered Berk to the base marked FRIEND. About five yards away was a bin of eyeballs. “These are for you to use, Berk.”

  Bianca and Zane moved to the Foe base at the far end of the room. His eyeballs were the same, but his bin was double the size of Berk’s.

  “You’re so cute, Zane, I hate to tell you what we didn’t before,” Bianca said. “He gets to carry as many eyeballs as he can hold in his hands. You are allowed to bring only five eyeballs at a time. And it gets worse. Every thirty seconds Jig and I will steal an eyeball from you. If Berk finishes before you, he’ll become a thief, too. At random times we’ll steal more. Well, it might look random, but actually, you’ll do something to trigger our thievery. Got it?”

  “I’m thinking I should just go fast,” said Zane.

  Bianca only smiled.

  “Which means you’re not allowed to answer any questions.”

  Bianca smiled bigger. “Ready?”

  “Ready.”

  “Ready over here!” called Bianca.

  “Ready here!” Jig said.

  Bianca pointed to a countdown clock shimmering in a light beam. It was holding still at twenty-four minutes. Without a word, it went to 23:59 and counting.

  Zane bolted to the bin. He needed blue eyes first. One hundred of them. That would take twenty backs and forths for the first layer. No. More. They’d be taking four away each minute; six if Berk finished first.

  He grabbed five eyeballs and returned to the base at the 23:48 mark. He dropped them and paused to make sure they were settling into the base’s shallow dimples. Back to the bin.

  Five more blue eyeballs. Back to the base. Drop them. Back to the bin. Clock: 23:32. Five more, but why had he accidentally picked up two brown ones? Fine. He’d just start his second layer. But no more clock checking.

  When he got back to the base, Jig and Bianca were dancing around with the eyeballs they’d taken. Fine. He’d just go faster. He made three more trips by the time they’d stolen the next two. He could potentially net thirty or more every minute. Thank goodness he’d started getting back in football shape before this.

  And thank goodness he could handle taunts. “Losing ground over there?” Berk called. And, “It’d be tragic if you tripped and fell.” And “My baby sister can run twice as fast as you.” If those were supposed to psyche him out, big-time fail.

  Next time back, Zane paused to check his progress. He had enough on the first level to grab any color eyeballs now. A drop of sweat fell on the base. He wiped his forehead with the back of his arm, raced to the bin, and returned with two brown, two blue, and one green. When he got back, Jig and Bianca were holding two eyeballs a piece.

  “No fair!”

  They laughed.

  Zane didn’t bother to ask why they’d doubled their take because they wouldn’t tell him. And if he tried to figure it out, he wouldn’t move as fast. This was all about speed. He just wiped his forehead again and ran. Back again, and Bianca and Jig were each holding another eyeball.

  Zane shook his head, deposited what he had, and ran back, sweating even more buckets. Before he picked up his next five, he used his shirt to wipe his whole face.

  They hadn’t robbed him this time.

  Back, forth, back, forth, again and again and again, with Bianca and Jig each stealing on the half minute and sometimes more between. What was the trigger?

  “Whoa!” Berk called. “I am cruising over here. On my five-by-five tier.”

  Fabulous. Zane was still on his eight-by-eight. He couldn’t help himself. He looked to the clock. Just over six minutes gone. At this rate, Berk would finish with, like, a zillion seconds left, a zillion seconds of him stealing Zane’s eyeballs.

  Zane amped it up a notch, but by the time he got back, Jig wasn’t there. He was whispering something in Berk’s ear. Hint time?

  “Oh, man!” yelled Berk. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. I gotta start over?” Apparently, Berk hadn’t noticed the color layers.

  “Ha!” Zane said loud enough for Berk to hear.

  But what was that metal-on-concrete dragging sound?

  Zane refused to look up.

  “You can’t move your bin,” said Jig.

  “Who said?”

  “Who had to say?” Jig said. “It’s implied, like you shouldn’t punch me in the face.”

  Then came the sound of eyeballs plunking into the bin. After that, footsteps away, probably Berk running to check the eyeball model.

  Zane’s time suddenly felt better, and his energy picked up. Could he beat Berk head-to-head? Not with Berk’s bin right next to his pyramid. The dragging sound came again.

  Then footsteps. “Got it!” Berk called. “Man! You put my bin back. And gave it a sign. ‘No moving me. That means you, Berk!’ Very funny.”

  Zane allowed himself a small laugh. Things were suddenly fair again. The eight-by-eight row, done. The seven-by-seven, partially done and going so much faster; just forty-nine eyeballs. The next would be thirty-six, the next twenty-five, then sixteen, nine, four, and that one red one.

  Had he seen any red ones? Was there only one in all those eyeballs? He needed to keep an eye out. Ha!

  He raced back and forth, back and forth, gathering, placing, wiping sweat, having more eyeballs stolen.

  Ding-ding-ding!

  That came from Berk’s area when Zane
was just starting his four-by-four layer.

  “Yes!” screamed Berk. He trotted over right at eyeball-stealing time.

  After Zane’s next trip back, Berk was staring him down. “You look extra sweaty.”

  Zane wiped his face again, and when he came back, the three of them were each holding eyeballs. Aha! He ran back to the bin. “If I wipe the sweat off over here,” Zane called, “you don’t penalize me.”

  “Oh, man!” said Berk.

  “Thanks for the hint, pal!”

  Zane picked up five more blue eyeballs and deposited them on the fourth layer. One more blue, then on to the nine brown ones. Factoring in the ones they’d take away, he’d hopefully need only four more trips. He placed those five eyeballs. Another set of five. Only eight eyeballs left with the ones they’d steal. If he went fast enough, and if he happened to see the red eyeball immediately, only two more trips. Back with three browns and two greens. Time for the red one. He sunk his fingers deep into the remaining eyeballs. He swirled them right, left, right, left, and there! He moved the red one to a safe spot in a corner. He’d first need to replace the ones they’d stolen on the half minute.

  He ran back and filled in everything. Now the red one! It was right where he’d left it. He ran it back with four extras just in case. He plopped the red eyeball on top and ding, ding, ding!

  Done. Clock: 4:47.

  He moved away from the base. Needed to walk. Needed to breathe. He’d run fast. Could anyone do it faster? No way to tell now. Berk’s clock had already reset for the next person.

  Zane walked toward the light beams in the far corner, his huffing and puffing fading, his mind clearing.

  “Are you okay?” said Bianca.

  “Yeah.” Zane started to wipe his face, but stopped. “Penalties for sweat wiping now?”

  Bianca threw a chilled towel over his head. It felt good. It smelled good. These people thought of everything.

  “What’d you think?” Bianca said.

  “Didn’t have time to think,” said Zane.

  She sidled up to him close enough to whisper in his ear. She smelled good, too. “You had the brains to figure out the color thing.”

  “Hey!” said Berk. “No whispering allowed.”

  Bill stepped in. “And let’s talk about what actually isn’t allowed, Berk. You may want to rethink little stunts like pulling your eyeball bin over.”

  “No one said it was against the rules.”

  “Technically, yes. It wasn’t against any stated rules, but you were treading a thin line.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means if you do something like that again, it might bite you in the rear. You got lucky. And you got one hundred points for completion plus two hundred seventy-eight for the number of seconds you had left.”

  Zane finished the math in his head. Yes! A nine-point lead was a nine-point lead. He stared until he got Berk’s attention. “Next victim?”

  Chapter 21

  That cold towel had been nice, but Zane needed real water. Bill led him to a bathroom.

  Zane stuck his whole head under the faucet and realized he couldn’t shake his hair dry as he normally would this time of year. Without football, he’d let it grow.

  He rubbed the towel over his head and assessed his performance. What could he have done better? Figured out the sweat trigger earlier? Looked for the red eyeball all along? Moved his bin before it became illegal? There were no do-overs, but it never hurt to learn.

  Bill sent him to a chair in one corner of their original starting space. Berk was already in the seat next to his, and two of the other pairs sat in separate corners. “We’re just waiting for Josh and Elijah. Sit, and no talking for now.”

  Zane wanted to talk. He wanted information. At least he didn’t have a long wait. Josh and Elijah came through their light path, with Carol behind them.

  “Ahh!” Carol’s ear-piercing yell made them jump. “It’s too quiet in here!”

  “Agreed,” said Bill, “which is why we’re doing something about it.”

  “Thank you for stating the obvious.”

  “Now that you’ve had a taste of Friend or Foe,” said Bill, “it’s time for your next challenge. Almost. First, no talking to anyone about any challenges, no exception.”

  “This,” said Carol, “is our little way of keeping you in the dark.” On cue, the lights went out. Even Zane gasped. “It’s fun to have friends in the control room.” The lights came back. “The second piece of business.” Carol put her arm around Berk. “You need to leave any props or equipment or challenge items in place unless, of course, moving them is part of your challenge.” She thumped him on the back. “If in doubt, ask. That, we will answer, okay?”

  No one said a word.

  “What?” said Carol. “Did we scare you into silence?”

  Pretty much all of them nodded.

  “Then scream or shout or somehow use those vocal cords.”

  The area turned into a hooting, hollering match that somehow morphed into a barnyard track featuring a rooster, dog, horse, and other indistinguishable animal sounds. Zane provided the quacking.

  Carol and Bill stepped forward, and they quieted immediately. But it had felt good.

  “And now, you animals, time for Friend or Foe, Round Two.” Bill waved his arms like he was conjuring magic, and the light beams changed their messages. Zane was now paired with Ryder.

  “Go to your areas,” said Carol. “Your Friends and Foes will fill you in. Now scat!”

  This “hallway” went straight back to a “room” where Lavinia, who’d been totally by-the-rules in her season, and Cameron, the silent kid, were engaged in a chat-a-thon. Zane expected they’d jump to attention and grow all serious like he’d seen at school. Two or three quiet kids would be yakking in a classroom like any of his football friends, but when the JZs walked in, they’d grow quiet, as if they’d suddenly remembered their places in the school hierarchy. Either that, or they held a secret to the world they weren’t ready to share.

  Cameron and Lavinia, though, burst into laughter, as if he and Ryder were the joke.

  “What’s with them?” he said to Ryder as they paused at the edge of the room.

  “Sorry.” This was Cameron, right? The painfully shy guy came right up and stuck out his hand. “I’m Cameron. And this is Lavinia.”

  Had he gone through a personality transplant?

  The four of them shook hands all around.

  “You caught us in a bad moment,” Lavinia said. “For that I apologize. We’re supposed to take this seriously, and we thoroughly do, but um . . .”

  “Yeah,” Cameron said. “I’ve had a hunk of pancake in my hair all morning, and Lavinia finally let me know. Just. Now.”

  “To ease any concerns,” Lavinia said, “your clock won’t start until I say go.”

  Cameron nodded. “She’s our Go Girl. I’m the Summoner.” He raised a hand. From his right a cart with two containers rolled out on its own. “And the other one, please.” Another cart rolled in from the other side. This one held a stuffed alien creature about the size of a chimp.

  “This is Eep,” said Lavinia, “the main character of Planet Golly, a board game that may seem lame now, but was popular fifty years ago.”

  “We’re thinking people weren’t so smart back then,” said Cameron, “because Eep is a Martian who needs to find his way from the lost-in-space station to his home on Planet Golly. And if his home planet wasn’t Mars, why did they call him a Martian?”

  “We just realized that, thus the other reason we were laughing,” said Lavinia, “but I remember how you must feel right now, so on with the show.”

  Cameron stood between the carts. “Here’s the story. Our Martian Eep is all saggy because he’s very low on Gloop, the Ultimate Martian Fuel. So using only the provided containers as measuring devices, you need to refuel him with an exact amount of Gloop.”

  Lavinia stood behind the cart with the two containers. They were both clear. T
he one marked with a big black 4 was about the size of a paint can; the other, marked with a big black 7 was about three inches taller and bigger around. “These numbers refer to the units of Gloop each container holds when filled to the bottom of the red band.” She ran her finger around the red line circling each container.

  “If you play in Friend mode,” said Cameron, “we give you one starting hint, then we leave you alone. You will have ten minutes to complete your task. If you play in Foe mode, you have fifteen minutes, but you get no hint, and there may be distractions.”

  “So Ryder, Zane? Friend or Foe?” asked Lavinia. “You have thirty seconds to decide starting . . . now.”

  How much Gloop did they need to measure? Definitely a weird amount. They wouldn’t say, “Give me eleven units.” Any doofus could figure that out. This one could be tough.

  Ryder stepped up. “I’ve got this. I want Foe.”

  “Perfect,” said Zane.

  “Then it’s go time,” Lavinia said. “Ryder, come with me.”

  “This way, Zane.” Cameron led him toward a gap in the light beams. He was so different from last year’s guy, the one who seemed to shrink every time he talked. “How’s it going?”

  “Hard to judge,” Zane said. “I beat my first guy by nine seconds, so there’s that.”

  “And no matter what happens, you’ll always have bragging rights, being one of only eight in this year’s finals.”

  Zane gave a small “Holy cow!” under his breath. His odds of making it to this point were scads less than his odds of making it to the NFL.

  They stepped into a classroom-sized area divided in half by a light wall that came only to his shoulders. On this side was a cart with the two containers, the 4 and the 7. The 4 was already filled with green glowy stuff. Zane pointed. “Gloop?”

  “Gloop,” said Cameron. “That’s your advantage. Ryder won’t see this first step in measuring exactly five units to feed to Eep. If you need more Gloop, or if you need to get rid of some, bring one container at a time over here.”

  They moved to a steel counter with a sink, but instead of a faucet, it had a hose.

  “Dump what you don’t want into the sink. Use the hose to get more. When you’ve measured exactly five units, bring just one container around the light wall”—Cameron went around the partition—“then feed Eep. If you’ve fed him too little, it’ll run right through him and he’ll deflate again. If you’ve fed him too much, stand back. He’ll barf it all up.”