“I’m talking about Washington, DC.” Mom tilts her head, like she expects me to read her mind.
“DC?” Is this something about geography I should understand but don’t?
Mom grabs my shoulders, and is so close to my face that I can smell the peanut butter on her breath. “They called, Livi.”
I stop breathing.
Mom nods, still gripping my shoulders. “They called. They called.”
“Auditions are in DC,” I say, swallowing hard.
Mom nods so vigorously, I think her head will pop off and topple onto the wreaths on the floor.
I need to ask again to be sure. “The Jeopardy! people called?”
“Yes.”
“And I made it to the audition round? Me?” I touch my chest. “Olivia Bean?”
“Yes,” Mom says again, laughing. She takes my cheeks in her warm, pine-scented palms. “Yes, you, Olivia Bean.”
Mom barely sneaks a kiss onto my forehead before I spring up. “Yes!”
We shove a few wreaths out of the way with our feet so that we can hug each other and jump around.
“I made it!”
“You made it!”
“You made it, Livi. You made it!” Charlie bounds down the stairs, zigzagging through wreaths, and tackles my legs. He’s got my thighs in a death grip of happiness. “Made what, Livi?”
Mom and I crack up. “Your sister made it to the Jeopardy! auditions.”
Charlie squeezes my legs. “I told you you’d make it!”
“Indeed you did, little man,” I say.
We hang on to each other and jump and jump until we stumble and fall breathless onto a pile of wreaths, laughing and crying all at the same time.
And weirdly enough, the only thing that keeps this moment from being 100 percent perfect is that I wish Neil were here, celebrating with us.
Even though Mom gave up getting her hair colored at “the shop” to save money and we’ve been eating an awful lot of rice, beans and frozen veggies lately, she bought me a brand-new skirt, blouse and shoes, and let me have my hair done at “the shop.”
Mom says that how I look and act is as important as how much I know. “You’ll be judged not only on your ability to answer questions, Olivia, but also on your ability to be bright and friendly and have that certain je ne sais quoi,” which I learned is a French expression that means “I don’t know what.”
I’m not sure what the judges will look for, but I’m glad Mom bought me new clothes. They’re really nice. And my hair doesn’t look flat and boring anymore.
If I pass the audition and get on the show, I’ll finally meet Alex Trebek. I can’t wait to shake his hand and tell him how much I love the show, how I’ve been watching since I was little. And I’ll have a chance to win money. Big money. Thousands and thousands of dollars that I know we can use now. I overheard Mom talking to her friend on the phone yesterday. She said, “Even with Neil’s extra job at the Stop and Shop, things will still be extremely tight.”
I have to get on that show. And I have to win!
I believe I have a chance, as long as …
As long as I don’t freeze. That would ruin everything. I remember the unfortunate hula hoop incident in fifth grade and hope something like that doesn’t happen.
I can’t get this far only to have that happen to me … again.
Christmas morning, Charlie wakes us at 5:37. It feels like it’s still the middle of the night. Even DJ is curled at the foot of my bed, one paw slung over his eyes, when I force myself out of bed and into the hall.
Charlie’s wearing his red footie pajamas that are a little too tight. He hops from foot to foot like he needs to pee. “I waited as long as I could,” he says.
“I’m sure you did,” Mom says, her eyelids droopy.
We shuffle downstairs, and Neil goes into the kitchen to make coffee.
In the living room, I’m surprised to see so many gifts under the tree. With Mom out of work, I didn’t expect to see more than maybe a couple small things for Charlie.
After Neil and Mom have a few sips of coffee and Charlie and I have orange juice, we open our gifts.
Charlie gets a book filled with gross facts about the human body. He opens to the middle and reads out loud. “ ‘The human heart creates enough pressure to squirt blood thirty feet.’ Thirty feet!” Charlie exclaims. “Isn’t that cool?”
“Cool,” Mom says, looking ashen.
“Open yours,” Neil says.
I tear the paper from one of my gifts. It’s a book containing tips about how to win on Jeopardy! from former champions. “Thank you.” I hug the book to my chest.
“Use it well,” Mom says.
“ ‘Feet have five hundred thousand sweat glands and can produce more than a pint of sweat a day,’ ” Charlie says.
Mom wrinkles her nose.
Neil hands Charlie another gift. “Open this one.”
The box brims with Matchbox cars.
Charlie’s eyes go wide and he tosses the book aside to tear into the small packages of cars. It’s thirty minutes before he opens the rest of his gifts—pajamas, underwear and socks. He keeps playing with the cars.
I get new pajamas and socks, too.
Mom and Neil give each other identical gifts–Scrabble sets.
“Great minds think alike,” Mom says.
“We’ll take mine back,” Neil says. “I like the one you got better.”
“They’re exactly the same,” Mom says, and they both crack up.
It’s good to see Mom happy, even if Neil, not Dad, is the one making her feel that way.
Charlie hands each of us a picture he drew, and I wish I’d thought to make some kind of gift for everyone. But I’ve been too stressed about Jeopardy! All I did was make a batch of oatmeal raisin cookies for everyone to share, and even they were mostly burned.
Neil holds up his picture. It’s a curved line with a bunch of dots under it. “It’s a giant armpit,” Charlie explains. “And those dots are the 516,000 bacteria crawling on it.”
Neil nods. “This bad boy is going up on the fridge.” And he takes the drawing into the kitchen.
Mom displays her picture of a smiling stick-figure lady surrounded by green rectangles.
“That’s you,” Charlie tells her. “Surrounded by all the money Livi wins when she gets on Jeopardy!”
Mom looks at me and smiles. “I love it!” she says. “Neil,” she calls. “We’ve got another masterpiece to hang on the fridge.”
Charlie puffs out his skinny chest as Mom carries his drawing into the kitchen. “Do you like yours, Livi?” he asks.
I examine my drawing. It’s a stick figure with a giant head, standing behind a big rectangle. The word “Jeopardy!” is spelled out across the top.
“That’s you, Livi,” Charlie says. “Winning on Jeopardy! Mom helped me with spelling.”
I give my little bother a squeeze. But when I start to say something, I get choked up, so I walk to the kitchen to hang my drawing on the fridge too.
From the dining room, I see Mom and Neil with their faces mashed together. I back up a few steps and take a breath. I’m used to Neil living here now. I even like it sometimes. But I won’t ever get used to seeing that!
I return to the living room.
“Aren’t you going to hang my picture on the fridge?” Charlie asks.
“Later,” I say, and open my new book.
“Now,” Charlie says, snatching the drawing from my hand.
I reach out to stop him, but it’s too late. He dashes toward the kitchen.
“Ewww!” Charlie screams. “You guys are gross!”
Mom and Neil crack up.
Charlie laughs too.
I don’t. I stare at the unwrapped gifts under the tree and realize something is missing. There’s nothing from Dad. He always sends us something. The first Christmas after Dad left, it was mittens that were a little too small for me and Charlie, but we wore them anyway. And last year, he sent toys that were too
young for us, but at least he sent something.
Biting my bottom lip, I realize Dad probably bought something for Nikki this year.
I remember our last Christmas together before Dad left. There was no smooching in the kitchen that year. There was barely talking. I don’t remember what I got that year, but I do remember Mom saying, “It’s Christmas, Bill. You should be with your family.”
“That’s exactly why it’s the best time to go,” Dad said. “Hardly anyone will be there.”
Mom turned her back then and Dad walked out. He drove to the casinos in Atlantic City.
Mom, Charlie and I had a quiet Christmas dinner by ourselves.
I don’t want to think about that anymore, so I read my book of Jeopardy! tips.
At the end of the day, after Charlie’s already asleep, Dad calls. “Merry Christmas, Butter Bean,” he says, all excited. “Guess what Stella and I got each other for Christmas?” Without waiting for my response, he blurts out, “A cruise. How crazy is that?”
“Crazy,” I mutter. Then I bite my lip and say, “I guess Nikki will be going with you guys.”
“Nah,” Dad says. “She’ll stay with a girlfriend or something.”
A pain stabs my chest at the word “girlfriend.” Of course Nikki has new friends. Why wouldn’t she? She’s really fun to hang out with.
“Oh,” Dad says. “We got Nikki a purple iPod. She’s had that thing plugged into her ears all day and—”
Then Dad’s quiet, like he finally realizes he forgot to get anything for his own children. I expect him to tell me our gifts are on the way, but he doesn’t. He clears his throat and doesn’t even say he’s sorry for forgetting us.
Out of sight, out of mind.
“The drive to DC will take about three hours,” Neil tells me. “Plenty of time to squeeze in more studying.”
I nod, even though I already knew how long the drive would take and I don’t plan to study more. My brain is filled to capacity. If I attempt to shoehorn even one new fact in, something important might fall out to make room.
Before we get in the car, Mom kisses Neil on the forehead and says, “Thanks for watching Charlie.” Then she kneels in front of my little bother and says, “You be good, little man.”
“I’ll be awesome,” Charlie says, slapping Mom five.
Then Charlie hugs my legs and says, “I know you can do it, Livi. You’ll get on that show.”
“Thanks, little man,” I say, and slide into the car.
Neil and Charlie stand on the sidewalk and wave like crazy as Mom and I drive off.
It makes me feel good to know they’re rooting for me, but when we get on the interstate, I feel tightness in my stomach. What if I blow it? This is my one chance; I’ve got to make a good impression. To stay calm, I run facts through my mind. C. S. Lewis wrote the Chronicles of Narnia. There are 88 keys on a piano. Dad didn’t call last Wednesday, like he was supposed to. The first televised sporting event was a 1939 baseball game between Columbia and Princeton universities.
“Livi,” Mom says, “want me to ask you trivia questions to relax you?”
“Sure.” I put my hands in my lap and wiggle my shoulders. “Ready.”
“This man invented the printing press.” Mom knows to state the fact so that I can answer with a question.
“Who is Gutenberg?” I let out a breath. “Make them harder.”
“I’ll try.” Mom taps the steering wheel. “This is the smallest U.S. state.”
“Ugh, geography.” But I know this one. “What is Delaware? No, that’s not right. Delaware is the second-smallest state. What is Rhode Island?”
“Got it,” Mom says.
As we drive, Mom hits me with her best stuff, but I get them all right. And I realize I’ve stopped thinking about Dad, which is good, but my stomach is still roiled because I’m nervous about the audition. This is my only opportunity to get on Kids Week on Jeopardy! And there are lots of kids I’ll have to beat to make it.
I don’t understand how many kids until Mom and I arrive at the hotel in DC and walk into the ballroom. I remind myself there are only five hundred kids competing across the entire country. Only five hundred? And one-fifth of those kids and their families are here in this ballroom. The rest are at other audition sites across the country.
It seems like every one of the kids waiting is reading an atlas or trivia book. Neil was right. I should still be studying!
I squeeze Mom’s hand as we walk through the ballroom and eyeball the other kids—the competition. “They look smart,” I whisper.
She squeezes my hand and whispers, “You’re smarter.”
My legs feel weak and wobbly. What if all the studying I’ve done isn’t enough? What if there are a ton of geography questions, and not easy ones like Mom lobbed at me in the car on the way here?
What if … I’m not good enough?
In the ballroom, lights dim and a large screen comes down from the ceiling.
Mom squeezes my shoulders, as if to say This is it.
I look at her and nod.
And just as if it’s seven-thirty at home, Alex Trebek appears on the screen.
A few kids laugh. I cover my mouth, unable to believe this is happening.
“Welcome, kids and parents,” Alex says. “You are in for what I hope will be a fun and memorable day.”
Some kid says, “Hi, Alex,” even though he’s not really there, but I don’t. I listen carefully as goose pimples ripple along my arms.
Alex explains how things will work; then members of the Jeopardy! staff, carrying clipboards, walk among us. First, they take photos with Polaroid cameras, and we get to watch them develop. I look totally nervous in my picture, even though I’m smiling and have really good hair. Members of the staff collect the photos and attach them to our files.
I guess Mom was right. It does matter how we look.
On the big screen, Alex announces that it’s time for parents to go into another room to learn behind-the-scenes information about Jeopardy! while we kids begin the testing process.
I get a funny feeling in my stomach when Mom goes, but she waves and mouths the words “Good luck,” and I keep telling myself You can do this. You will not freeze.
“You’re going to take a test now,” Alex explains. The Jeopardy! staff gives everyone pen and paper, leads us to tables and chairs along the edges of the ballroom and tells us we can keep the pens when we’re finished. I run my finger over the word “Jeopardy!” on my pen.
When we’re seated and quiet, Alex Trebek quizzes us. He says the answers and we have to write the correct questions on our papers.
The questions are pretty easy. I think I get them all right, except for one geography question about a river in Africa. I wish Tucker were here to help. Did I just wish Tucker were here?
When the test is over, the Jeopardy! staff collects our papers and we’re taken into the room where our parents are waiting.
Mom grips my upper arms. “How’d you do?”
“Good, I think.” Then I remember Dad’s admonition on the phone awhile back. “Well,” I say. “I think I did well.”
“I knew you would, Livi.” Mom hugs me hard. “What’s next?”
“They said we’re free to grab lunch while they score the tests.”
Mom nods.
“I need to be back in the ballroom in two hours. That’s when they’ll post the results.” I realize I’m crossing my fingers tightly, because in two hours, if I don’t score well enough, I’ll be heading home. And it will be over.
“Okay, then,” Mom says.
“Okay,” I say, uncrossing my fingers and letting out the breath I’ve been holding.
Mom hooks her elbow around mine, and we walk toward the hotel’s main doors. “Shall we?” she asks, as though we’re fancy ladies.
“Of course we shall,” I say in my snootiest accent.
Outside in the cold air, I feel light and airy, like I’m finished, but the hardest part happens when we return. I read abo
ut it on the message boards. If I’m lucky and get a high-enough score to move forward—fingers, toes and eyeballs crossed—I’ll need to ace the interview and practice game.
“Where should we eat, Livi?”
The question takes me by surprise, and I realize this will be the first time we’ve gone out to eat since Mom lost her job nearly four months ago.
This is a special day!
When I look at the menu, I open my eyes wide to signal Mom that the prices are too expensive.
She closes her menu and leans toward me. “Livi, you’ve worked so hard to be here. Please don’t look at the prices.” She waves her hand dismissively. “Order whatever you’d like. Today, you get to be queen for a day. Olivia Bean, Trivia Queen.”
I love the sound of that. The Elizabethan era was named after the Queen of England, Elizabeth I. Maybe someday, an era will be named after me. Yeah, right!
After we order—Mom gets a cup of tomato bisque and a mixed green salad; I choose a goat cheese, roasted red pepper and portobello mushroom sandwich with chocolate milk—Mom calls home and hands me the phone.
“Hi, Livi,” Charlie squeaks.
His voice makes me melt inside. How can Dad not want to talk to him sometimes? “Hi, buddy,” I say, hunching sideways so that I don’t bother the people at nearby tables.
“Say hi to the president,” Charlie says.
“Will do. Hey,” I whisper. “Did you know the White House has a bowling alley inside it and a movie theater?”
“Cooooool. Wish I could be there with you, Livi,” he whines. “Neil says it’s Olivia Bean Day. Charlie Bean Day comes later. I say, poop!” There’s muffled talking in the background; then Charlie’s voice erupts: “Cookies, Livi! Gotta go.”
“Bye, Char—”
“How’s it going, Olivia?” Neil sounds genuinely excited for me.
“Great,” I manage to say, but my throat squeezes and no more words make it through. Something about Neil asking about me—me! A bratty kid who was so mean to him, especially when he wanted to watch Jeopardy! with me—makes me want to cry. I sniff hard, feeling like the fancy people at nearby tables are staring at me. I wouldn’t be sitting here if it weren’t for Neil registering me. “Neil?” I say softly.
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