by Jody Feldman
Oops. A girl with a ponytail had come through the door.
“Just kidding,” she said. “I’m Estella. And behind me is Clio.”
Clio came in with a big smile. It was good to see her.
But Dacey was staring them down, especially Estella, as if they’d done something to ruin her party. Then Dacey stepped closer to Cameron and gave him a fake grin. “So, cute little Cameron here was explaining why his name matches what appears to be his third arm.”
Just when he thought he’d escaped Spencer’s sarcasm, she had to show up.
“I think it’s cool,” said Estella. “Finish your story.”
Cameron tried not to breathe an audible sigh of relief. “That day my grandmother bought me a camera to remember her mistake. I started using it, my mom says, before my second birthday, and I’ve pretty much had a camera in my hand ever since.”
“So they’re lettin’ you film this whole thing?” asked Dacey.
“Doubtful.” But he had his camera now and focused on the door as it opened.
America’s alternate, Jig Jiggerson, swaggered in and almost seemed to pose. He still had the great smile he’d flashed at the camera no matter how frustrated he must have been on the sidelines last year.
Almost on Jig’s heels, Bill came bounding into the room. He pretended to sneak up on the life-sized polar bear; then he turned it around, unzipped its back, reached in, and pulled out five blue Gollywhopper Games T-shirts. He threw one at each of them. “These should be your sizes. If you prefer to change in the bathroom, we can arrange it.”
“Excuse me,” said Dacey, her nose sort of twitching. “But do we need to wear this? I mean, my mama and I shopped for days to find the right outfit. And this color blue clashes with the blue in my jeans.”
“No,” said Bill. “You don’t have to wear it. We can always get the first alternate in here.”
“Maybe they should,” Estella whispered.
Dacey didn’t seem to hear. “Fine,” she said. “Bathroom?”
Cameron and Jig changed in the room. Then Cameron sat at the table and filmed Jig punching a bounce-back alien until Bill and the girls returned.
“I’ve told a certain young woman who’s unhappy with the wardrobe,” said Bill, “that a certain camera most likely captured her in all her fashionable glory. If she agrees, Cameron, might you post that later for the world to see?”
“Sure.”
“But for now . . .” Bill reached for the videocam.
Cameron paused, then handed it over.
“Ooh, that face,” Bill said. “Don’t worry, my man. We won’t lose it. Promise.”
“Thanks,” he said.
“Dacey, Jig. Cell phones, please.”
They handed them over.
“Don’t worry, Dacey. It’ll be safe with your clothes and your purse. And now I believe,” said Bill, “that’s all for your electronics, right?”
Dacey reached to her waist and took off a little black box. “Pedometer,” she said. “I’m workin’ on one million steps before school starts. Can I—”
Bill shook his head. “Sorry. Anyone else before our detectors embarrass you?”
Jig gave a low whistle. “Man, you are strict this year!”
“We are,” said Bill. “And you especially should appreciate that. Our alternates are waiting for any of you to make that one fatal error. Now, have a seat around the table.”
Each of them grabbed a seat, fast.
“Ha!” said Bill. “Threats work. So fifty lashes or danger of being disqualified if you don’t listen to these instructions. Ready?”
They nodded. So did Bill.
A monitor showing Carol came down from the ceiling. “To ensure you receive the instructions in the same way,” she said, “you get us both. Our team has me in the room and you on the screen, Bill.”
“My team likewise, except you on-screen,” said Bill. “Now, in a few minutes we will send each team to identical but separate Golly warehouse rooms like the ones you probably saw on TV last year.”
High fives went all around.
“Once you’re there,” Carol said, “you’ll go through a puzzle-stunt sequence with a twist or two thrown in. To start, you’ll find an envelope with your first puzzle. The answer to that puzzle will be represented by one of three Golly products. And those will be conveniently located on a nearby table. Each choice table will also hold pens and paper to use however you need. With us so far?”
They were.
“Okay,” said Bill. “When and only when you’ve decided on the correct answer, open the corresponding product. Inside will be directions for a stunt. If you perform the stunt correctly, you will receive a new puzzle. If you opened the wrong Golly product, it will have you perform the wrong stunt, and you will receive the puzzle you thought you’d already solved.”
“Oh, and we’re so generous here,” said Carol. “We will generously add a five-minute penalty to your score on top of the time you wasted doing it all wrong.”
“The reason for that—”
Dacey raised her hand.
“Yes, Dacey?” said Bill.
“I want to tell you the reason.”
Ehhh! Bill’s buzzer impersonation was perfect. “I’m sure you do, Dacey, but we have to be the ones to tell you. And I can tell you, we threaten to shower you with penalties to ensure that you work at solving each puzzle. We have the whole place wired for sound and picture. We’re like Santa Claus. We know what you’re doing every single millisecond. Not only will you get a five-minute penalty for opening the wrong package, but you’ll get an additional twenty-minute penalty if you open any product without having a logical reason.”
“It all boils down to this,” said Carol. “The team with the fastest time advances to the next round.”
“We will be lurking in the shadows if you need us—first-aid kits, bathroom passes, hoorays and huzzahs, and all that jazz. But outside of telling you where you stand in comparison to the other team, you’re strictly on your own.”
“We wish we could help you,” said Carol. “Or I wish I could help my team, because Bill and I have another side bet this year.”
Bill rubbed his hand over his short hair. “It grew back after Carol graciously shaved it for me, but I’d have little to lose if we kept the same bet this time.”
“Instead, the bet is maid service,” Carol explained. “Once a week for a year. Either he comes to my house to clean or I come to his. So Orange Team, do for me what Green did last year. Win!”
“Or not,” said Bill. “Her house, I understand, is a pigsty.”
“And his, I understand, puts the term ‘pigsty’ to shame. So there you have it,” Carol said. “Work hard for us. Oh, please, Orange Team, work hard for me, but more important, work hard for yourselves, play hard for yourselves, and above all, have fun.”
“And this ends our joint instructional session,” said Bill. “See you, Orange Team.”
“See you, Blue!” Carol said.
The screen went blank, then rose back into the ceiling.
Bill thrust a bunch of papers into the air. “And now, for your reading pleasure, written instructions.” He handed a stapled set to each of them. “It’s what we just said, but in official language. So read. Absorb. Sign. When you’re all done, talk. Get acquainted. Then we’ll get these Games started.” He left the room.
Cameron somehow found the attention to read the rules. As Bill had said, nothing different, except maybe more about cheating. Cameron signed his and sat back.
Clio was already finished, then Dacey, then Jig. Estella kept reading, though. If she was that slow on everything, she could be a problem.
Dacey looked annoyed. She sighed once and again.
Finally Estella signed. Cameron waited for Dacey to ask what had taken so long, but thankfully she didn’t. There was already enough friction bristling in the air.
Dacey did lean forward from the head of the table and point to Cameron. “So we know you’re Cameron with the camera. And C
lio, like Cleopatra, has long dark hair. Everyone remembers Jig Jiggerson from last year. I’m Dacey Dahlgren, but don’t let this southern accent and strawberry blond hair make you think of me as all lacy. I can be tough. And you?” She pointed toward Estella. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think we truly met.”
“I’m the one you sighed at while I was trying to understand exactly what I was signing. You just don’t sign things without reading them. You could get into trouble.”
“Thank you, but what’s your name?”
“Estella Serio.”
“I’m sorry,” said Dacey. “Can you say your first name again?”
“Eh-stay-uh,” Estella enunciated.
“Eh-stay-uh?”
“Exactly.”
“I’m sorry again,” said Dacey. “I’m just havin’ a hard time visualizing that. Can you spell it for me?”
“What is this?” said Estella. “National Spelling Bee? E-S-T-E-L-L-A.”
Jig laughed. “She’s a magician. She made the L’s disappear.”
“Why do you people do that with your language?” said Dacey. “Why don’t you pronounce all the letters the right way?
“You mean, like in English with ‘comb’ and ‘laughter’?” Estella said.
Dacey laughed. “But then there’s that other thing. Why in the middle of talking normal do you do that thing with your R’s? Ser-r-rio.”
“Because that’s my name.”
“Dear me,” said Dacey, “I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just my nerves all actin’ up. You should see me backstage at my pageants. Woo-boy!”
Jig sat back and chuckled. “So you’re a beauty queen, Dacey. Figures.”
“Was a beauty queen,” said Dacey. “As in past tense. As in movin’ on. As in shakin’ free of that dumb Laura Ramirez, who the judges love so much. More than money, I think. Not that we tried to bribe them, but they liked her more than something everyone should like.”
“Like you?” Estella asked.
“Exactly. And not just that, but there’s more to life than worryin’ about your makeup every single second.”
Cameron stifled a smile. He’d never seen so much makeup on one face in his life.
Estella shook her head. “You’re not too smart, are you?”
“I was smart enough to pay attention to the stadium study guide, and it got me here, didn’t it?”
“You mean Gil’s stuff?” said Jig.
“Whatever. I mean, I decided it’s time to promote my brains more than my pageant wave.” She raised her hand and swiveled it side to side in the most fake greeting Cameron had ever seen.
“Why do you need to promote anything?” asked Estella.
“The more people notice the positives in you, the more opportunity you have for success. Isn’t that just a fact of the world?”
Estella shook her head. “Not my world.”
“What’s your world then?”
“No, lacy Dacey. I don’t know you well enough.”
“Oh, pshaw,” said Dacey. “You can get a little more personal.”
Estella’s eyes narrowed, but Clio cleared her throat. “I’d like to hear more, Estella.”
“You seem nice, Clio,” Estella said. “So, fine. In my world we don’t have time to brag. My parents work three jobs, hoping they can put me and my little brother and sister through college. So I cook a lot and babysit and supervise homework.”
“You gonna supervise us?” asked Jig.
Estella shook her head. “This is like a vacation for me.”
“You mean like lazin’ back and sippin’ umbrella drinks?” said Dacey.
Estella laughed. “Sure. Why not?”
“Fabulous.” Dacey shifted her whole body away from Estella and fully focused on Cameron.
Uh-oh.
“So you’re Cameron. Did I know your last name?”
“Schein.”
“Like ‘rise and shine’?” Dacey lit up with her smile.
Cameron couldn’t help but smile back. “Spelled differently, but yeah.”
“Mine, too!” said Clio. “My last name sounds like a real word, too.”
“What word?” said Jig.
“True, as in ‘true or false,’” said Clio, “but the U and the E are transposed.”
“What’s that mean?” Dacey asked.
“Switched around. Spelled T-R-E-U.”
Dacey looked at Clio like she was going to challenge her with some question, but instead, she turned toward Jig. “I just have to get this out of the way,” she said, “but Jig, that’s not your real name, or is it?”
“It’s what everyone calls me, so it’s about as real as a name gets.”
“No, silly,” said Dacey. “That’s not what’s on your birth certificate, is it?”
“Ding, ding, ding! Give her a prize.” Jig stood and stretched probably close to six feet tall. “If you have those brains you speak of, you’ll call me Jig. Just Jig.” He winked at her.
Her smile glowed. “I get you.”
Cameron didn’t get it at all. Was he too young to understand? He was twelve. Estella was thirteen. Clio and Dacey were fourteen, and Jig was fifteen. He was, however, old enough to know that Dacey and Jig and Estella were competing with everyone already.
When Bill had said they should get acquainted, Cameron had assumed it would be, “Hi. I’m Cameron, I’m twelve years old, but I’ll be thirteen in two months. I’m pretty good at math, so I hope there will be some math coming up. And yeah, that’s about it.”
But no. Besides knowing each one’s name and age, the only thing Cameron truly learned was to stay away from Dacey. No way he wanted to tangle with her.
Bill came back in. “Here we go!”
They walked through three halls, down two floors, through a body scanner and found themselves in a tree- and bird-populated atrium with two massive doors looming ahead, one orange, one blue.
“Behind these doors?” Bill said. “Ten times more spectacular than on TV. When you go inside, your jaws will drop and your eyes will bug out. I suggest wiggling your fingers in your line of sight to snap yourself back to reality; then sprint to that first puzzle envelope on the blue-lit table in front of you. Think hard, team. Play smart. I hate to clean houses.”
The Orange Team poured into the atrium.
Bill stared at Carol. Carol stared at Bill. They both put on headsets and lowered their microphones toward their lips.
“Any last words to your troops?” he said.
“We’ve already had our little talk. Let’s do this.”
And with that, the two-story doors swung open on their own.
A voice came from nowhere. “Time starts . . . now!”
Two steps in. That was all it took for Cameron to stop dead in his tracks. He’d never exactly seen a snowcapped mountain inside a building. But there it was in the distance. Closer to him, a clock with enormous multicolored gears, a giant pineapple, a speedboat, a golden shaft of light, jack-o’-lanterns, real lanterns, peacocks, cowboy hats, and layered birthday cakes with sparkler candles. And that was at first glance.
Bill was right. Cameron waved his fingers in front of his eyes to snap out of his instant trance. They couldn’t waste time. He sped four steps diagonally to the blue-lit table with an envelope marked “Puzzle #1.” No one followed. Time to use his voice. “Um,” he said.
Clio moved her eyes toward him. “Hey!” she said. “Cameron has the envelope.”
They gathered around him.
“Open it already,” said Dacey.
He did and pulled out a card.
Puzzle #1
* * * * * * * * * * *
Ja Nie
Da Tidak
Jah Nein
Po Ne
Sí No
Yes Yok
Ja Nej
(Your choices are underneath the table.)
Cameron had already decided that the words said “yes” or “no” in different languages even before Jig pulled up three Golly games: Agree to Disag
ree, Jupiter Fighter, Greased Piglets.
“Time to work,” said Estella. Then she and Jig and Dacey started talking over one another fast and loud as if speed and volume would win them something.
“Hush, y’all!” Dacey won the battle of the voices. “The yes-no thing is obvious.”
“She’s right,” Estella said. “We’ll get nowhere like this. We need some order.”
“If you have any ideas outside the obvious,” said Jig, “say them. That’s how the Green Team won last year, brainstorming.” Jig smacked the puzzle card onto the table.
They stood around it, staring. With all those yeses and nos, Agree to Disagree was the most obvious choice, but last year’s puzzles had never worked that way. They basically spelled out the answer. Here, seven yeses and seven nos. Two of the games each had two seven-letter words in their names. His turn to talk. “There’s—”
“With the yes-no thing,” Jig said, cutting him off, “it’s gonna be one of the first two.”
“Yeah,” said Dacey. “I’ll just die if I have to rustle up a bunch of greased pigs.”
Cameron hadn’t gotten this far to let them railroad him into the wrong answer, but it was useless to talk over these guys. He rattled Agree to Disagree, but it didn’t get their attention.
Clio, though, stepped to the other side of the table. “You’re looking at this wrong.” She nodded at Jig. “If you watched last year, you’ll remember each puzzle pretty much spelled out the name of a toy or game. And here we have fourteen yeses and nos altogether. Fourteen letters in the names of the last two games.”
Estella smiled. “So if all the yeses relate to letters in the first word of the correct game and all the nos relate to letters in the second word, then we’ve got it.”
Thank you, Clio and Estella.
“I’ve got it, y’all!” said Dacey.
They turned to her like she was the only bottle of water in the Sahara.
“Well, I don’t have it. I was going to say that maybe the first or last letters of each yes or no spelled something—”
“But they don’t,” said Estella, finishing Dacey’s sentence.
Dacey shot her a look.
Those two were like oil and water. Or maybe baking soda and vinegar, the stuff fake lava is made of. Cameron couldn’t control them, but if they messed up, he’d have an excuse for losing. Or not. He’d blame himself for not stepping in.