The Gollywhopper Games (14 page)

Wait. This wasn’t a normal menu. This was a Golly menu. And…so obvious! Alphabetical order. The menu ran from applesauce to zucchini, not skipping a single letter.

Now, find the pattern. Find Uncle Eb’s pattern. Gil’s heart pumped. He was close. Find the pattern. Find the pattern.

He turned to Uncle Eb’s list and scribbled it on the yellow pad.

Oh, yeah! The initial letters lit like fireworks. Uncle Eb ate only vowel foods. But what about the Y? “Uncle Eb! Yes! You don’t like yellow squash.”

Gil flipped back to the menu and finished writing their order.

Who’d eat that lunch? Obviously Uncle Eb, but that wasn’t Gil’s problem. Paying for it was.

Gil raced out of his room, toward the lounge, to the books and magazines.

“What the…?” It wasn’t that the magazines weren’t there, the lounge itself had disappeared behind a brick wall.

Okay, Plan B. Diner in the warehouse. Through the huge double doors, into the atrium. He turned around. He’d come out through the red doors this time. With his own personal cameraperson following him, he moved to the green pair and shoved through. No warehouse. Just a small, bare room. Its only other door led to their original conference room.

Plan C for conference room. Books on the shelves. What books? They were gone.

Plan D. Dining room. Out the green doors to the atrium. Then down the long hall. Run. Run and think. If he turned where this hall dead-ended, then up four floors, he’d—footsteps behind him.

Rocky and his cameraperson.

Rocky caught up, got right next to Gil’s ear. “I knew I’d find you here,” he said in a low voice, as if he didn’t want the microphones to hear.

“How?” Gil whispered. This was personal, not for TV.

“We have our ways.”

Gil’s blood rose. He ran faster to keep it pumping to his legs. Forget Rocky. Forget Rocky’s dad. Mind on task. Mind on task. If the dining room’s empty, Plan E. Plan E. The walls! He had forgotten to look at the artwork and documents on the walls. He’d be coming back that way. He’d look if necessary.

Necessary. He stopped in the barren dining room for three seconds to catch his breath. Great. This reminded him of scenes from spy movies. One minute, the hero’s in a room filled with incriminating evidence, but when he returns with the cops, the place doesn’t exist anymore.

He inhaled again, then sailed back down the stairs, back down the halls, tuning out Rocky’s thuds. Looking right, looking left, looking at portraits of people and toys and games. Looking at nothing that could help. But where were the documents he’d seen earlier? Where? Not on the long walk from the conference room to the warehouse. Before. What was before?

Arrows! Blinking green arrows in the floor, from the entrance to the conference room! Which way?
Which way? Back to the conference room. Start there, trace the arrows backward.

Gil sped back, losing the cameraperson, but unable to shake Rocky and his. Fine. If Rocky wanted to play follow the leader, he’d always be a step behind.

That’s why Gil had to keep thinking as he ran. What if the green arrows had also disappeared? No. They’d be there. They had to be. He had no Plan F yet.

C’mon arrows. Be lit. Be lit. Be lit.

Arrows! Blinking! He followed them back toward the entrance. The stuff on the walls didn’t help, but what about the trunks they weren’t allowed to open before? “There will be a time and a place and a purpose for everything,” the welcome card had said. Well, if this wasn’t the time, then the time would never be right.

Gil heaved in a breath. Just one more hall, around this corner, and…“Aah!” Gil leaped aside, avoiding a major crash with Lavinia and her cameraperson.

She didn’t stop, just headed the opposite way with something in her hand.

Good news and bad news rolled into one. Again, she was ahead of him, but Rocky was one step behind. Still, Mr. Titus probably knew what to do
next. Gil had to add faster than—No! The spectators probably had a copy of the menu with the prices! Fine. Gil could add and run. Add and run.

Gil reached the entrance clogged with more camerapeople. He unlatched the lid of his trunk and threw it open. Fanned out on top were about ten crisp one-hundred-dollar bills. Those would keep. The sheet next to them wouldn’t. The Xenia’s Café menu. This one had the prices. He snatched it up, threw down the trunk lid, started running again, then took a sideways glance.

Rocky held the menu in one hand and fanned himself with his thousand dollars in the other. He ran alongside Gil. “You don’t know what kind of thieves they allow here,” he said in full voice. Then Rocky sped ahead.

Gil could read fast and he could run fast, but not at the same time. The reading would have to wait. He shifted gears, found some wind, and chased after Rocky.

He was just two steps behind when he reached his door. But his breath was coming so fast, he couldn’t stop, couldn’t sit, couldn’t see. He started coughing. And heard more coughing.

He. Managed. A. Deep. Breath. More coughing. From him? No. Coughing. From above. Weird coughing. Starts and stops. Mr. Titus.

Click!

Maybe Lavinia’s door. Hopefully Lavinia’s door.

Click!

Rocky.

Just as long as it wasn’t Thorn. It couldn’t be, not unless he found his—

No. Gil had to be the third one. He looked at the prices on the menu. Filled in the list:

He added it up—two times, three times. He punched a single measly dollar into his keypad. All this for a dollar. But the keypad sparkled with flashes of light. Then it went dark.

His door opened.

Had he missed the
click
? Or had Carol opened it?

C
arol stood right outside his door, talking into her headset. Good news or bad news?

“Carol,” Gil said.

She held up a finger and mumbled into her microphone.

Should he go to the lounge? Wait here? He took a step toward the lounge. Couldn’t see anyone. Another step. Nothing. Another.

“Gil! Sorry.”

Sorry she had made him wait, or sorry he lost? He couldn’t bear to ask. He tried to smile. “C’mon,” she said. “Be happy. You did great. As far as we can tell, you figured out the answer first.”

“I’m the first one done?”

She put a hand on his shoulder. “Naw. Third.”

“But you said—”

“Lavinia didn’t take her camera guy on a wild-goose chase. She knew right where to go for those prices. And Rocky. Darnedest thing. It didn’t look like he was thinking much, but there must be lots running around his head that we don’t know about. Now I’ve told you enough. Off to the lounge with you. Catch your breath. I need to deliver the bad news to Thorn.”

Gil brushed past Rocky, who was standing at the snack table, and went over to Lavinia.

She sat cross-legged on the floor, playing a video game. She looked up at Gil. “One moment,” she said. She inched her hero along, trying to help him avoid danger. He died. “I can’t quite get the hang of this.” She flashed him a genuine smile.

“But you got the hang of that last puzzle,” Gil said. “Congratulations.”

“It was exhilarating, wasn’t it? Exactly what I’d hoped for when I entered the Games. A real puzzle with a real question. I hope they—”

“Incoming cameras,” Carol yelled. “The thirty-second good-bye.”

Thorn went around the room, shaking hands. He thanked Rocky for the climbing help, Lavinia for asking his opinion, and Gil for not getting mad when he messed up the doll’s toes. “One more thing, Gil,” he said. “All that talking earlier? Thanks for not laughing.”

“No problem,” said Gil.

Thorn smiled, then went with Bill.

Gil grabbed a bottle of water from the table and claimed his recliner. He stared into the ceiling. No crowd. No cameras. Just him and—

Rocky thudded on the arm of his chair, popping peanuts into his mouth.

Gil groaned. “What do you want?”

Rocky wiped his hands on his pants and pulled the hundred-dollar bills from his pocket. “It’s like this,” he said, fanning himself with the money. “I was just thinking…”

“Didn’t know you could.”

“Very funny, Gil. Anyway, this thousand dollars? If losers get this, I wonder what winners like me will get.”

“There’s no guarantee you’ll win.”

Rocky grinned. “I’m about to pull out my guarantee. You just wait.”

Gil wanted to plug his ears. Instead, he pulled on the reclining lever and dug his heels into the footrest, pushing down as hard and fast as he could.

The recliner shot upright, and Rocky spilled from its arm.

“Sorry,” said Gil. He grinned down at Rocky, and went over to watch Lavinia play her video game until Carol breezed back in.

She sat on the couch next to Rocky. “Grab a chair, Lavinia, Gil. We’re going for another ride.”

The room revolved again, the open end replaced by a red wall, an orange one, then yellow, green, blue, and purple until it fully opened to what Gil thought would be the warehouse. It had to be the same one, but it didn’t look the same. All the props were gone, and in their place? An indescribable brilliance.

Spotlights shone on an enormous complex of translucent walls and windows, sending multicolored rays of light streaming from floor to ceiling, dancing from here to there and back again. To say that they
were in the middle of a rainbow could only begin to explain the illusion.

“All right,” said Carol. “You guys look like frogs catching flies. You need to close those traps, focus on me, and pay attention. First, forget this is the most breathtaking sight you’ve ever seen. I’ll grant that’s impossible, so look at me instead. I’m not as hypnotizing. C’mon. Focus here.” She pointed to her face. “Good.”

“So, this time, we have three doors that put you each at the starting point of a maze. You are going to love it. And that’s all I have to say except everything’s fair and square. Each maze is exactly the same and…” She held up a finger, spoke into her headset, then pulled it off. “They need one more minute. Hang loose.”

Gil turned toward Lavinia, but Rocky grabbed his elbow and pulled him back a couple steps. “Ready for my guarantee?” he said.

“Can’t wait,” said Gil.

Rocky cupped his hands around his mouth and leaned over to Gil’s ear. “Your dad’s not guilty.”

“I know,” Gil said. “I heard the verdict at the trial.”

“No,” whispered Rocky. “What I mean is, there are people who know your dad didn’t do it. I think they might even know who did.”

Gil felt the color drain from his face. “Who? You gotta tell me. Who?” He grabbed Rocky’s arm.

Rocky tugged away.

“You’re lying,” said Gil. “It’s your guarantee.”

“Maybe. Or maybe I do know something.”

Gil tried to follow Rocky to his door. Felt a push at his back. Might have heard Rocky wish him luck in the maze. Might have nodded when Carol asked him if he was all right.

Blong!

Gil froze. Squeezed his eyes closed. Shook it off. Rocky’s guarantee? Rocky’s guarantee would have to wait. Gil had been dealing with The Incident for eighteen months. Maybe for nothing. Rocky was going down. Rocky’s dad, down. Gil swung the door open. Took one step in, then stopped in his tracks to grab the dangling white envelope. He ripped it open.

The words danced in front of his eyes. Focus. He shook his head. Focus. He read.

WELCOME TO THE RAINBOW MAZE

BUT…

Gil breathed in. Looked back at the paper. Okay. He could do this. Concentrate. Fact one.
This was a maze. Fact two. Gil needed to find his way out. Fact three. If he collected sticks along the way, it would cut his time. But what did the rest of the puzzle mean?

Heed all the color wheel ways.

What was a color wheel? Colors on a wheel? Steering wheel? Pinwheel? Forget “wheel.”

Rainbow Maze. Rainbows. Spectrums. The colors always appeared in order of that guy’s name. Roy G. Biv: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet. This might work. Let the colors lead him through the maze.

Gil stood in a green hallway now. He shoved the puzzle into his pocket and ran forward as far as possible, pulling out a stick the size of a thick pencil from a holder on the wall. Here was his first choice. He could walk up three stairs to the blue area on the left or go up the ramp to the orange passage on the right. Closest to green on the spectrum…

“Red, orange, yellow, green, BLUE!” Right next-door.

He shot up the three steps toward the blue area
and meandered around a passageway. A stick! He was on the right path. He ran forward, two sticks in his hand. Another choice: violet or yellow. Neither was next to green. Which was closer?

He dug the puzzle and the pen from his pocket and wrote R O Y G B I V. Aah! Both were two colors away. He needed to try a path. Okay. Yellow.

He trotted up a flight of yellow stairs, around the bend, and smacked into a dead end. No stick. It had to be the other way, but why? Did it matter? What if he just ran? Turned around at dead ends? No. Rocky was probably doing that, and Rocky could run faster.

Why violet? Why? He looked at his color choices again. What exactly was indigo? Blue-violet? What if he removed it? He rewrote his color choices: R O Y G B V.

That made things easier. Down the violet path. Stick! Yes! This led to a choice of yellow, green, or red. He took a quick glimpse at the paper. If the letters circled back around, red would be right next to violet. Up the red stairs, three sticks in his hand.
Faster, faster. Make up for the mistake, for the slow start. Faster. Faster. Grab stick number four. Add it to the—

“Aah!”

The four sticks tumbled down a flight of stairs behind him. Each worth five seconds off his time. Gone. Could he get all four back in less than twenty seconds?

No. Forget the sticks. Go! Move twenty seconds faster than Lavinia. Twenty seconds smarter than Rocky. Move. Move. Move.

Gil used every bit of his brain to focus. He ran deeper and deeper into the maze, able to decide quicker and quicker. With each step, the maze grew more spectacular. Shining, glowing, beaming with intense color. He was in a rhythm now. Run, decide, stop, grab sticks. Up the steps, around the bends, down the ramps, up the ramps. Circling. Climbing. Hoping.

Twenty seconds. He had to make up twenty seconds.

His lungs worked overtime. His legs whined for rest. They must have propelled him a mile. Uphill. Just during this puzzle.

Up a green ramp. Up three blue stairs to a violet straightaway. Up half a flight of red stairs and into an orange corridor that looked like it ran forever.

He took step after step through this one passageway, the orange growing even more brilliant. He came to the end of the orange. To his left, violet. To his right, green. Gil looked at his sheet again. They were both two colors away.

A movement caught his eye in the next maze over. Lavinia! She made a tentative right turn. No time to waste.

Green or violet? Green or violet? Violet. Better to make a mistake than stand there like a deer caught in headlights.

Gil bounded toward violet, then stopped. Everything had a logical explanation. So what explained the glow from that junction? What caused the light to radiate stronger than at any other place inside the maze? It concentrated low, then shimmered up and all around.

Low. On the ground. He raced back and looked down. Yes!

The floor at that crossroads wasn’t orange. It was yellow, a yellow trap door that shone like rays of a noonday sun.

Gil grasped the golden ring in the floor and pulled it straight up to reveal a sparkling, golden chute. He sat at the edge of the trap door, dangling his feet until they reached the surface. He lowered himself to a small platform. Held on to the sticks. Scooted down. Laid back.
Whoosh!

Down he went, gliding by multicolor segments with increasing speed. Then the tunnel turned blind black. His body twisted to the left, then lost speed.

“Aah!”

He felt himself plunge. Another twist left. One to the right. A slowing straightaway, another drop drown. He twisted. He turned. He slid faster and faster.

“Yeah!”

This was the best ride of his life, better than any roller coaster, better than the monster slide at the water park. It felt longer and twistier and almost faster, like a downhill speedway without a seat belt, without a seat.

The next spiral almost tumbled him upside down, but he righted in time for a breakneck straightaway, then a turn to the left. Gil started slowing, seeing shadows, then shapes, then the end of the slide.

Out the chute he came, landing on a red square of carpet in a small room, empty except for two other chute ends and two other squares of carpet. No people, no cameras, no doors.

If he had messed up by going down the chute, he was dead meat. But what a ride!

Gil sat for a second to catch his breath, half expecting to hear a “sorry” come over some loudspeaker. Nothing.

Well, he wasn’t going to sit there all day. Only one thing to do.

Gil turned around, stuck his head into the chute, and saw what he must have missed in a blink. He crawled three feet back inside, opened the little orange door, and slithered out, feet first, to the sight of Carol and TV cameras. And Rocky, holding sticks.