by Jody Feldman
“He’s gone!” Elijah echoed.
They jumped and high-fived until Bill stepped in, doing a victory dance his own self. “And then there were three.” He and Carol gathered them around. “I pretty much had you all pegged for the final group. Right from the start I told Carol—”
“Liar! Granted, you had one of the three, but I had two.”
“Which one, Bill?” said Hanna. “Which two, Carol?”
“That’s our little secret.” Carol pointed to a golf cart driving up a bridge, driverless. “Your chariot awaits!”
Carol took the driver’s seat with Elijah next to her. Bill stood on the bumper, which put Zane in the back next to Hanna.
“Leore was good, wasn’t she?” Zane asked her.
“And she can’t admit how amazing she is. She might deserve this more than I do.”
“You can’t say that. You made it on Team Gold all by yourself,” Zane said. “You need to own your abilities.”
“Oh, I do.” Hanna’s eyes shone bright, but didn’t reveal her story. What was her story? Her strengths, her weaknesses?
She had to be smart, and strong enough for the physical stuff, or she’d be gone. If only she would talk, he might know what he was up against. “Well, let’s say I made you brag.”
“Fine. I get mostly A’s, I speak fluent Korean—but I was born in Korea—and I taught my mom’s old dog a new trick.”
That gave him nothing. “You call that bragging?”
“I call that being smart. The less you know about me, the better. For me.”
Zane shook his head. “With you and Elijah, no wonder your team won.”
“And we messed up twice,” she said.
Elijah turned around. “But it wasn’t you and it wasn’t me.”
Zane almost asked what happened, but he’d find out on TV. He needed to get his head back in the Games. He gave a couple of small, tight fist pumps. He was ready. And this time, he was in it till the end.
Chapter 33
The cart returned them to the room with the black recliners.
“Weren’t all eight of us supposed to come back here?” said Hanna.
“We may have alluded to that,” Bill said, “but we can be tricky.”
“From here on out, though,” said Carol, “no tricks, no twists, no Friends, no Foes—just traditional, single-elimination Games.”
Bill nodded. “Here’s how it’ll work: When the doors to this room open next, you’ll walk out, wait for the chimes, then tackle your challenge. The two who finish first, or fastest after any penalties, will continue to the next round. All three of you will return to the Room O’ Movement this time. Ready?”
“Ready.”
“Ready.”
“And raring to go,” said Elijah.
“Let’s do this,” Bill said.
The room moved to the left until it shifted backwards.
Was this real? Him? Top three? It couldn’t replace football, but winning might make that first month of school better than bearable.
“And we’re here,” Carol said.
The room stopped, and the door opened to a small area with colorful question marks and exclamation points plastering its walls. The black door with Zane’s name was third in line.
He stood in front of it, wriggled his arms, took a series of jumps. Chimes!
He burst in.
Sitting center was a solid metal cylinder about three feet high and two feet in diameter; on it, another cylinder, the Doohickey carton, Special Domed Edition. Hanging on the wall to Zane’s left was a framed box about the height and width of a single whiteboard, but this one was a foot deep and had rows of softball-sized, paper circles numbered one through fifty. The sign above the frame read PUNCHBOARD.
Against the adjacent wall sat a chair and a table with paper and pens. And a ladder! They actually gave him a ladder this time. On the wall to his right were the directions, but not on cards like they’d always been. Instead, they were on three-foot strips slid into rows of metal slots, like the ice-cream flavors at Jerome’s dad’s restaurant. The directions, almost to the ceiling, were definitely out of order:
Put numbers in reverse numerical order.
Degrees at which water freezes in Celsius.
First, build a pyramid using Doohickey parts.
Place rod on balance cap.
Type answer to message on keypad.
Write down the four numbers you were asked to identify.
Calculate: baker’s dozen minus regular dozen, plus quarts in a gallon.
Enter four-digit pin number into keypad (two tries before penalty).
Adjust rod and cups until scale balances.
Because you stuck a letter on my front, I became an ulna.
Find revealed message.
Punch your fist through seven numbers of your choice on the punchboard.
Fit the balance cap over the topper.
Place all seven punchboard items into cups.
Unfold the remaining rod and attach cups at both ends.
Place pyramid on base.
If hint = thin, then evens = ____.
At first glance, the challenge seemed to have three steps: build and balance a scale, find and enter a four-digit pin number, find and enter a message. He’d need to organize the instructions to be sure.
Zane set up the ladder next to the wall and slid out the first two instruction strips. They were long, flexible, way too unwieldy, and thankfully had nothing written on their backsides. This would already take longer than he thought. Or—
He slid the two strips back into their slots, tore paper into short strips, then numbered them one through seventeen. He jammed paper number one into the slot that said, First, build a pyramid using Doohickey parts. Now he just needed to figure the order for the other sixteen.
There were six steps for building the scale, two for the punchboard, four questions with numerical answers, two steps for the pin number, then two more to enter his answers. He labeled all the slots with his best-guess order.
14 Put numbers in reverse numerical order.
9 Degrees at which water freezes in Celsius.
1 First, build a pyramid using Doohickey parts.
5 Place rod on balance cap.
17 Type answer to message on keypad.
13 Write down the four numbers you were asked to identify.
10 Calculate: baker’s dozen minus regular dozen, plus quarts in a gallon.
15 Enter four-digit pin number into keypad (two tries before penalty).
8 Adjust rod and cups until scale balances.
11 Because you stuck a letter on my front, I became an ulna.
16 Find revealed message.
6 Punch your fist through seven numbers of your choice on the punchboard.
3 Fit the balance cap over the topper.
7 Place all seven punchboard items into cups.
4 Unfold the remaining rod and attach cups at both ends.
2 Place pyramid on base.
12 If hint = thin, then evens = ____ .
Time to build a pyramid. Then what? Number two: Place pyramid on base. Did that mean he shouldn’t build it on the metal cylinder itself? Maybe he was being too literal, but Zane opened the Special Domed Edition Doohickey carton at the table. Yes! They’d given him only the pieces he needed. He fastened the three smaller green rods with the Doohickey connectors to form a triangle. Then he stuck a longer blue rod in the center of each connector, leaned them together, and bound them with a topper. He placed the pyramid on the center of the base.
Step three. That orange, groove-topped cone had to be the balance cap. It fit perfectly over the topper. He unfolded the remaining red rod, and it straightened with a snap. Now he had to attach cups to the rod ends. Where were they hiding?
The chair had four spindly legs, a flat seat, a flat back, and nothing taped to its underside. Nothing under the table, either. On top sat the empty Doohickey container, domed lid, paper, and pens. The punchboard? No. Whatever items he g
ot from there went into cups.
Maybe the cylinder had a hidden compartment. Zane got down on all fours and inched his way around. The base was smooth and solid except . . . There! About a foot up, a four-inch tab ran parallel to the ground. He lifted it. A numeric keypad! But still no cups.
Zane looked inside the Doohickey container again. Empty. He lifted the Special Domed Edition lid, the cup-shaped Domed Edition lid. He turned it over. Nestled inside were two metal cups, and the red rod fit perfectly into the notch on each. Back on track.
Step five. He laid the rod inside the groove on the orange balance cap but didn’t bother to balance it yet. That would come with the seven items. Punchboard time!
Wham! He hit number two with his fist. Pow! Number one. Smash! Bam! Blam! Whack! Twenty-one, eighteen, forty-two, twelve, six, and seven. And with one final kapow! Lucky thirteen. Seven paper circles, totally decimated. He reached into the new holes and pulled out one item from each: a ladybug, sandwich, camera, whistle, frog, can of paint, and crescent moon, all with magnets on their backs, all about the same size, and all about the same weight.
That was a problem. How could he balance seven objects of the same weight?
The moon and whistle looked a little smaller, so he held them in his left hand with the frog and ladybug, whose shapes weren’t as solid as the other three. In his right hand were the paint, sandwich, and camera. He didn’t want the scale to crash to one side and destroy the pyramid, so at the same time, he opened each hand over a cup, laid the objects inside, and adjusted a couple so their magnets stuck to the metal.
With the seven pieces in, the four-magnet side was definitely heavier. He slid the red rod toward the lighter side, but he slid it too much. Now the three-magnet side was lower. He moved the rod back a little, then a little more and a little more.
Zane crouched at eye level to the scale. Were the cups even enough? He wasn’t taking any chances. He stood the Doohickey container next to the three-object side. The bottom of the cup came partway down the letters in “Super.” He marked that spot with the pen. The cup on the other side was at the top of “Super.” Two more adjustments, and perfect!
Steps one through eight, done!
Step nine. Second from the top, the first question. Freezing point in Celsius. Thank you, Mr. Longley, science drillmaster. He wrote a big zero on a piece of paper.
Now the equation: Calculate: baker’s dozen minus regular dozen plus quarts in a gallon.
The trouble wasn’t with the regular dozen and it wasn’t with the quarts—thanks again, Mr. Longley—it was with the baker’s dozen. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he remembered it was either one more than a dozen or one less.
If he were a baker, and he gave his customers eleven doughnuts when they ordered a dozen, he’d earn a higher profit at first, but he’d also make his customers mad. But if he slipped in a thirteenth doughnut, he’d have happy customers who’d be back for more.
He’d go with 13. It felt right, and he did have a couple guesses before any penalty kicked in. So a baker’s dozen, minus a regular dozen, plus four quarts in a gallon. He added 5 to the paper.
Next. Because you stuck a letter on my front, I became an ulna.
An ulna? Wasn’t that the bone Zane had broken in first grade? But how did that translate into a number?
Zane sighed. Another word puzzle. He could do this, but he couldn’t start with “ulna.” If he took off the u, “lna” wasn’t a word. He wrote “bone” on a scrap of paper. That was all he needed. He got rid of the b and his paper now read 0 5 1.
Last question. If hint = thin, then evens = _____ .
Fabulous. This would take Elijah about a tenth of a second. Maybe Zane was bad with wordplay, but he knew one thing. The answer was a number, zero through nine, the only ones on a keypad. And if he combined that logic with the letters in “evens” . . .
Okay! They’d moved the t from “hint” to the front to make “thin.” He did the same with “evens.” “Seven”!
Steps fourteen and fifteen. He put the numbers in reverse numerical order—7 5 1 0—and punched the code into the keypad on the base.
“Please stand and step back” came a woman’s voice from nowhere.
Who was he to argue?
The lights went out, but instantly a spotlight shone on the cylinder, which emitted a blast of steam. The pyramid revolved about a quarter turn, and then it started sinking, like the base was swallowing it, the mouth gradually closing on the pyramid as it tapered. The scale arms and cups would never fit.
But as the arms reached the now dime-sized opening, the red rod folded upward, then adjusted itself to allow the cups to come fully together to form a ball. In seconds, that ball was the only thing left on the pedestal.
It had to be part of step sixteen. But where was the message?
The spotlight faded to a purplish glow. The blacklight revealed letters from one edge of the base’s top, up one side of the ball, around and down the other side, and across the other half of the base.
Clancy ______ the eating contest last night. After he downed a dozen half-______ burgers, he clutched the trophy to his stomach and wailed, “I ______ ______ much ______ dinner!”
Huh? The numeric keypad was still there, which meant everything in the blanks needed to translate into a number. But how?
If this Clancy dude had a trophy, he apparently won this contest. And if he clutched his stomach and wailed, he was feeling sick. And he was feeling sick because he ate too much for dinner. Zane listened to the sound of the words rolling around in his head. Ate? Too? Eight? Two? For dinner? Four dinner?
That was it! Clancy won. Zane jotted down 1. After he downed a dozen. Twelve! No. Twelve was part of the sentence. After he downed a dozen half-blank burgers. Half what? Half one? Half two? Have-to burgers? Like he had to down them to win? It had to be more obvious. Half three? Half four? Five? Six? Seven? Eight? Nine? Zero?
None of them made sense. So what would? After he downed a dozen half-sized burgers? That might make some people sick, but not someone who entered eating contests. A dozen half-pound burgers would, though. But no matter how he spelled it, pound wasn’t a number. What else? What else? He had nothing else. And he had no other blanks to fill.
Zane brought his paper to the ground next to the keypad and wrote the numbers he knew. 1 _____ 8 2 4. Why couldn’t this be a four-digit code like the last one?
He wrote 12 half-______ burgers, then he stared at the numbers on the keypad. He looked to the paper, the keypad, the paper, trying every number again. Eight. Nine. Wait! It’s like they’d been invisible—the star and pound keys. It was half-pound burgers. Step seventeen! Zane typed in the code. 1 # 8 2 4.
The lights went out.
Chapter 34
Click! A bright sliver shone around the door. Zane opened it.
Bill leaned way in. “What took you so long?”
“I lost?”
Bill said nothing. He led Zane to the moving room. No one was there.
“I assume they didn’t vaporize?”
Bill smiled. “Have a seat. Company’s coming in just a few minutes. It’s neck and neck out there.”
“I beat the wonder kid?”
“Yes.”
Seriously? “How’d that happen?”
Bill shook his head. “Using those paper numbers on the instruction boards? How did you come up with that? I swear you are the epitome of efficiency.”
“I’m not sure what I am,” said Zane, “but I learned to play smart in football.”
“And people say it’s a sport for thugs.”
“Smart thugs, maybe.”
Bill tossed him a bottle of water. “You seem to go through a lot of these.”
“Smart, hydrated thugs.”
Bill left him alone with his water. And with silence, silence that gave way to rapid-fire thoughts he couldn’t stop.
Suppose he somehow beat Elijah twice in a row. Sure, being champion of the Gollywhopper Games might make the first m
onth of school bearable, but aside from that, what? What would he do the rest of the summer in place of two-a-days? What new inside jokes would the JZs make without him? Would they even let him hang around? Of course they would. They were good guys, the best. But would Zane, himself, feel left out? Might he fit in better with their other less-than-core friends on the sidelines? Or would they greet him with a “how the mighty have fallen” attitude? “Look at poor Zane, sitting in the stands with the rest of us.” He wouldn’t even be with his cheerleader friends, who were on the field during games and had practice every day after school. What did he have to practice? Would anything give him the same rush as football?
He finished off his water and paced around the room, trying to get pumped for the final challenge. It wasn’t working.
Elijah barged in. “You beat me, Zane!”
“Not by much, buddy.” He smiled in spite of himself.
“Sadly,” said Carol, following him in, “you good buddies will be Foes in a minute. I’m off to get Hanna.”
Elijah took a seat. “You’re the toughest rival ever. Should I just hand you the million dollars?”
If it were anyone else, Zane would grin and nod. But this was the little guy. “Honestly?” he said. “It depends on what they have us do.”
“Maybe so,” Elijah said.
Carol came back with Hanna, who walked in like she owned the world. Her lips, though, couldn’t quite form a smile. It was the face Zane probably had when he didn’t perform like he should.
Hanna took a deep breath and nodded, almost to herself, as if she needed to move past the disappointment. Then she managed most of a smile. “You two are so great,” she said. “And maybe we’ll see each other next year. They seem to bring the old contestants back. Will there be a next year, Carol?”
She shrugged. “They’ll decide soon. Regardless, we may use you as toy and game testers.”
“Use us. Definitely use us!” The sparkle came back into Hanna’s eyes. “And by the way, Zane, I can waterski, I read voraciously, I can debate with the best of them, I plan to be a trial lawyer, I am excellent at reading people. Also, though I’m great at organizing things, I may be a little too careful, which I was with this last challenge, but if I had it to do over again, I’d learn from my mistakes. And I’m not afraid to own who I am. See?” She gave Zane and Elijah each a hug good-bye, then walked out the door with Carol and Bill.