The New Champion

by Jody Feldman

  “I think it’s a chicken coop,” said Cameron.

  Dacey opened her eyes wide at him. “He speaks.”

  Cameron sucked in a breath.

  “But not so much.”

  Estella gave her a dirty look. “He’s right. Why else would there be a rooster?”

  “Okay. So we can add chickens and eggs, and is anyone keepin’ track of this?”

  “No,” said Clio, “but go on. You’re doing good. It’s making me think.”

  Dacey smiled. “So now there’s an empty egg carton. It’s like some of these have a theme and then not. You can’t exactly connect nests and eggs with a sleeve or a teacup and saucer. But then we go back to the farm.” She looked at Cameron. “What do you call that?”

  “A hayloft?”

  “Good call,” said Dacey.

  Cameron almost fainted from the shock of her compliment.

  “And last, Mr. Interpreter of Pictures, you think that’s a peapod?”

  “Probably,” said Cameron, “but it would help if they put some peas next to it.”

  “Well, duh,” Dacey said. “Of course it would help.”

  Thank goodness he hadn’t wasted a good faint on her. He sneaked a look to see if anyone was snickering with her; but Clio was staring at the puzzle, and Estella was staring at Jig, who was sitting on the ground, leaning back on the fence with a smirk on his face.

  “Lazy, good-for-nothing, like that pig I went out with,” Estella said under her breath.

  Either this wasn’t Jig the Intense, or last year’s TV people had created an illusion of intensity through the miracle of editing. They could have filmed Jig’s fist-pumping when the Red Team guy twisted his ankle and Jig thought he might get in. Or when the goo hit Bianca and she had a brief meltdown. With the right footage, anyone could have made Jig look like a team player. Maybe he was the type who stayed lazy until he needed to get intense.

  And now Dacey was on the ground, whispering to him. He could only hope she was trying to inspire him to bring his A game, but it looked like they were conspiring about something else. Forget them; otherwise, they’d all be doomed. DoomTomb doomed. Back to the puzzle.

  Clio and Estella had been throwing around lame ideas—about farms and things you find around the house—but at least they were talking. They weren’t looking at this right, though. When he pretended with the videocam and added the bird and—

  “It’s like each picture is incomplete,” he said under his breath, or so he thought.

  Estella grabbed his arm. “Incomplete?”

  “Yeah!” Clio said. “An egg carton without eggs and a nest without birds! Why’d they leave out the details?”

  “There is a rooster in the chicken coop,” said Estella.

  Clio nodded. “But maybe he’s there so we understand the picture. Like the pitchfork in the hayloft that doesn’t have any hay. Maybe it’s what’s missing from the pictures.” She patted him on the back.

  Jig and Dacey came closer.

  “Nice of you to join us,” said Estella. “We are not your Little Red Hens.”

  “Huh?” said Jig.

  “The story. No one would help the Little Red Hen bake her bread, so she ate it herself.”

  Dacey sighed. “Why on earth . . . ?”

  “Look,” Clio said. “This isn’t divas on parade, and I’m talking to you, too, Jig. So either start working, or you two may as well let your alternates take your place.”

  “FYI,” said Dacey, “we were working.”

  “On what?” said Estella.

  Clio must have borrowed “the look” Cameron hated to see from his mom. But she used it for only a second. “So what’s missing from each picture?”

  Jig stepped up like he was suddenly running the show. “Picture number one, the bird’s missing. Two, the microscope has a slide there, so maybe someone to look at it. Three, no chickens in the chicken house. Or hens, I should say. Little red hens, the three of you fine workers. Right, Estella?”

  She ignored him.

  “No eggs in the egg carton. Nothing to drink in the cup. A sleeve without the rest of the shirt or without an arm. No hay in the hayloft. And we can’t see the peas in the pod.”

  “Who’s we?” Estella said.

  “Drop it.” Clio went around the puzzle and came back with pens and paper. She handed them to Cameron. “Write down what’s missing as we repeat. Write it big.”

  He wrote as Clio dictated.

  1. Bird

  2. Person

  3. Chicken/hen

  4. Eggs

  5. Drink

  6. Arm/shirt

  7. Hay

  8. Peas

  “It still doesn’t spell anything,” said Dacey.

  Even Estella didn’t give her the stink eye.

  “I don’t want to be rude and think out loud again.” Dacey paused and looked at Estella.

  “Go ahead.”

  “But it’s hard for me to shut my mouth and be productive at the same time. It seems the list is both specific and general.”

  “What does that mean?” asked Estella.

  Dacey shot her a glance.

  “No, really, genuinely,” Estella said. “Explain.”

  “Chickens, eggs, arms, hay, and peas are objects. Birds and people and drinks are categories. So maybe we need to get specific with those, too.”

  “Let’s say you’re right,” said Jig, “but how will that spell JinxTrap or LionPaws or DoomTomb?”

  “Remember,” said Clio, “eight pictures and eight letters. How do we turn each picture into a letter?” She looked at Dacey. “Let’s keep going with your specifics. So, birds.”

  “We should skip that one for now,” said Estella, “or we’ll be here all day naming species. For the microscope. Scientist? Researcher?”

  “Or really specific,” said Clio, “an eye. And from the teacup, there’s no tea. Tea. Eye.”

  That was it! “Jay,” said Cameron.

  “Like a blue jay!” Clio shouted.

  “What?” said Estella.

  “The missing object is spelling out the choice,” Clio said. “Jay like a blue jay in the nest. An eye for the microscope.”

  “What’s with the chicken then?” Dacey asked.

  “It’s a hen. An N,” said Jig. “And ‘eggs’ sounds like X. JinxTrap!” He grabbed it.

  Estella clamped her hand on his wrist. “Wait. Take two seconds. Spell the rest out.”

  “T in the cup. ‘Arm’ sounds like R. ‘Hay,’ like A. And a pea is a P.”

  Estella let go. “Open it!”

  Stunt #2

  * * * * * * * * * * *

  First, it was pigs; now it’s the mice.

  We promise, you’ll only see animals twice.

  The rodents have rabidly jumped from their cages

  And need to be stopped or they’ll throw violent rages.

  Don’t touch them, we warn you; their bites all can kill.

  Use the sticks or the tongs or the fork or the drill.

  You can use any tool that you find on the ground,

  then keep trapping mice until each one is found.

  “I saw the trap,” said Dacey. “It’s somewhere near a pencil.”

  “This way!” said Clio. She led them past the giant school supplies. How could she remember without a map?

  “Hey, Dacey,” said Jig, “if you knew JinxTrap was here, why didn’t you say so?”

  “Because it’s also near a tomb and a lion. Just because I’m blond doesn’t mean I’m stupid.” She turned left. A domed cage towered in front of them. Its wide-set bars curved about ten feet upward to a point on the top, and it had fifteen oval indents in its brass base.

  “That’s three mice apiece,” said Jig. “Where are they?”

  “And where are the tools we need?” Dacey asked.

  Close to the cage were a collection of tombstones, a basket of oversized food, four bedroom dressers stacked on top of one another, a lion lying on a small cave, and a crazy amount of o
ther objects.

  It was like one of those picture search-and-finds. Where’s the necktie in the jungle scene? Or the mop on the ocean floor? And here, in real time, where were the mice in the warehouse? It could make a person dizzy.

  Cameron opened one of the dresser drawers. Nothing. Another. Yeah! There was a mouse the size of a giant wedge of Swiss cheese. “Found one!” he called.

  The others raced over.

  “So that’s what they look like,” said Clio.

  “What are you waiting for?” said Estella. “Get it in the cage.”

  There had to be some tool near here, something he could use to pick up the furry gray thing. He opened another drawer. No mouse, no tool. Another drawer. A hammer! He reached in, then shut the drawer fast.

  The instructions said they could use any tool they found on the floor. But where on the floor? Maybe over in the—

  Bzzzz!

  The mouse in Cameron’s drawer lit up red with the words, You touched me. 5-minute penalty. Ha-ha-ha!

  “Look what she did!” said Dacey. “How lazy can you be, Estella! You cost us!”

  “I forgot. I’m sorry,” said Estella. “You turned away, Cameron. I thought you were too squeamish to touch the thing. I just wanted to help. To hurry. I’m sorry.”

  Clio rushed over and gave her a quick hug. “It’s okay.”

  “This is not the love and comfort show,” Jig said. “Just go! Everyone. Find mice! Find tools! And touch only the tools on the floor or I’ll kill you.”

  Cameron raced to the cave. Inside were a mouse and one of those big barbecue forks. It would be too homicidal maniac to stab the mouse, so he used the fork to push it against the cave wall; then he slid the tines underneath and lifted it inch by inch. The mouse wasn’t all that light, and it didn’t come close to fitting on the fork, but Cameron had it well balanced. He took three small steps, and the mouse fell off.

  “Hey, buddy,” said Jig, running by with a mouse between a pair of tongs, “the rules don’t say anything about carrying it.”

  “Right.” Cameron leaned over and used the fork as a hockey stick, letting the mouse slide as far as each shot would take it, being careful not to slap it into someone’s foot. He didn’t need another five-minute major penalty.

  It took nine swipes to get the mouse to the cage, then a solid prodding to get it onto the inch-high base and into one of the indents. Jig’s and another were already in place.

  It was good to spread out, not be in one another’s faces. But now where? Had anyone taken the lit-up mouse from the drawer? No.

  Cameron flipped the mouse out and pretended he was gliding down the ice for the game-winning goal. “He shoots, he scores!”

  Six mice in. Back to the dressers.

  Each one had two drawers on the bottom, three in the middle, and three shallower ones on top. He checked the other drawers in the lowest dresser and the bottom two rows in the second one. Nothing but another decoy tool. He wasn’t tall enough to see inside the higher drawers, and he didn’t want to reach in, feel around, and accidentally touch a mouse.

  He opened the lowest drawers and used them as steps. Nothing in the next tier. He tried climbing higher, but it felt unstable.

  Cameron cleared his throat. “Anyone see a ladder?” he called.

  No answer. He’d find something himself.

  Jig whipped around with another mouse between his tongs. “I found this one in the lion’s mouth,” he said. “No ladder, but Humpty Dumpty’s behind the cave. You can probably stand on his wall.” Jig raced toward the cage. Cameron went the other way.

  Nothing in the rules about knocking Humpty off, but what if they needed him later? Cameron placed the egg on the ground and tested the stone wall to see if it would move. The stones were plastic or something. He pushed the wall to the dresser and hoisted himself up. No mice in the third dresser. None in the bottom two rows on the fourth. In the last drawer, yes!

  Cameron flicked that mouse out with his fork. Again he played mouse hockey and sent it over the cage bottom with a mighty slap shot. A little finesse put the rodent in its groove. He turned to see Estella stretched under some bushes near the tombs. “Are you okay?”

  She lifted her head. “There’s one here. Can’t quite reach it. Trade my chopsticks for your fork?”

  They made the swap just before Dacey and Clio came with a mouse each. That would be twelve and thirteen. Estella’s would be—

  “Can you believe this?” Dacey pointed to Estella.

  Estella was now on her stomach, her head resting on one arm, the fork an inch from the mouse.

  “Jig!” Dacey called.

  He came around. “You found it.”

  “No,” Dacey said. “I found this.” She pointed again. “First, she’s so lazy, picking up the mouse with her hands, and now, napping at a time like this.”

  “No,” Cameron said. “She’s getting a mouse.”

  His words, though, were drowned out by Dacey, who hadn’t stopped talking. “Fine, Serio. You take your little siesta. Leave us to do the work. I swear, all of you are so lazy.”

  Estella scooted out from the bushes and bolted up. Her face was redder than anyone’s Cameron had seen before. She balled up her fist. “All of you, who?”

  “Catfight!” Jig called.

  Clio jumped between the two and grabbed Estella’s hand. She kept it in her grip as she turned to Dacey. “Tell me I didn’t hear you right. Tell me you weren’t labeling her or her family. Tell me you’re not that ugly.”

  Dacey’s nose twitched. “Seriously? You think that’s what I meant?” she said sweet as syrup. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I swear. If delicate people like Estella need to take a rest instead of faintin’—”

  “You think we’re that stupid?” said Clio. “Maybe we should ask Bill to roll back the footage to see if I need hearing aids or you need major attitude training.” She took a step back. “This is how it’s going to work. This team is going to win. And that’s going to happen because you, Dacey, are going to cut the comments and the bickering and focus on what we need to do.”

  Dacey held back most of a gasp.

  “Estella, take a breath. Get that mouse. It’s almost out of the bushes.”

  Estella closed her eyes, took a very deep breath, and dropped back to the ground.

  “And Jig, I heard you telling Dacey your little plan to slack off early so you can swoop in and be a big hero in the end. Forget it. Go find that last mouse. P.S. You may want to work on your whispering skills.” Clio ran off.

  Jig smiled and shrugged.

  Cameron almost wished Spencer were here instead of Jig. He couldn’t make that happen, but he could find the last mouse. The others had spread away from the cage. He stayed close and circled, focusing on the ground. Circled again with focus at knee level. Focus, shoulder level. Focus, higher. There!

  “Jig!” he called, his voice feeling more powerful since Clio had spoken up. “Need your height. The last mouse is on top of the cage.”

  Footsteps. But it was Clio, then Dacey, then Estella with a skewered mouse on the fork. “Still have the chopsticks, Cameron?”

  He held them out to her just as Jig ran up.

  Jig pointed to Estella. “Mouse kebab! And this from someone who didn’t want to kick a fake pig.”

  “I was picturing something other than a helpless animal.”

  Dacey gave her the fakest smile Cameron had ever seen.

  “Ha!” Jig stepped onto a giant strawberry Clio had thought to drag underneath the last mouse and reached a screwdriver through the bars of the cage. “Not long enough. I’ll need that fork, Estella.”

  Estella used the chopsticks to pry the mouse off the fork and handed it to Jig. “Clear out,” he said. “I’m going to shove it. If it touches you, it’s your fault.”

  Within five seconds he’d poked that mouse off the top and it had fallen through the cage’s bars. Estella ran in with the chopsticks and moved it to the last groove.

  Lights flas
hed. “Exit the trap,” said a woman’s voice. “Exit the trap. Clear the area.”

  They stepped back. Clamps rose from the ground and bolted down the mice. The cage’s bars lifted. Where was the puzzle, though? Not up from the floor. Not down from the ceiling.

  Then Cameron saw it, something white curled inside one of the holes where bars used to be. “Please be Puzzle Number Three,” he whispered.

  Cameron dug the curled envelope from the hole while the others were still sort of spinning in circles.

  “Got it,” he said.

  They gathered around.

  Puzzle #3

  * * * * * * * * * * *

  I Sue Pret hurt some needy weak puzzle doers

  (Your choices are behind the cave.)

  “Where behind the cave?” said Jig. “I was all over it.”

  Behind them, clear as day, was a blue-lit table with their choices: RetroWars, Super Sneeze, and Supreme Dazzlers.

  “This table was not here before. I swear.”

  “It wasn’t,” said Clio.

  “Bill?” Jig called to the air. “You carry this thing in?”

  Cameron knelt on the floor and ran his finger around the corner of a hairline seam. “The floor opens,” he said. “Like how they bring things up onstage.”

  “He’s right.” Bill came from behind a creepy clown face. “But don’t spoil our secrets, okay? Anyway, bad penalty, huh, Estella?”

  She hung her head.

  “You’d be better off without it, but the mouse on the cage landed on an Orange kid’s head. So you’re even there. The problem is, the Orange Team isn’t talking smack, which, most likely, is why you’re six minutes behind. Play smart, play nice, okay?” He turned and disappeared into the clown’s mouth.

  “He’s right,” said Estella. “My fault. Some of it. I’m done with that.” She pointed. “The puzzle. What do you think?”

  “I think it’s a confession.” Jig cleared his throat. “I, Sue Pret, do guiltily admit that I hurt some nerds.” He laughed at his own lameness.

  “C’mon, Jig,” said Estella. “You heard Bill. You trying to lose this thing?”