The Gollywhopper Games (7 page)

“I
’m playing a game. I’m playing a game. I’m playing a game,” Gil kept whispering to himself the next morning. No different than chess or darts or tag.

It’s just a game, he had said over and over to himself in bed last night when his brain kept nagging him for missing his chance to tell Bert Golliwop about the real cheaters. He didn’t remember sleeping, but here, in the bathroom, his mouth tasted like he’d licked lawn mower dirt.

Gil loaded his toothbrush, pushed it around his mouth, and glanced down. His shoes were double-knotted. His socks matched. His fly was zipped. He spit and rinsed and reached into his right pocket to
make sure the penny he had found yesterday was still there.

Just a game. He moved to the kitchen and grabbed a handful of Lucky Charms cereal then dug out and ate as many extra horseshoes and four-leaf clovers as he could find. Gil stuck his mouth under the faucet and gulped some water.

Just a game. He took a pair of scissors from the drawer and pulled the left front pocket of his jeans inside out. He snipped a couple stitches, stuffed his pocket back in and wedged two fingertips into the new hole to stretch it. “Sorry, Mom,” he whispered. “It’s part of the game.”

Gil ran his fingers through his hair and exhaled. Looked out the window. No reporters today. He was ready.

He and his mom and dad spent the ten-minute drive to Golly headquarters in silence. His parents didn’t try to start conversation, and Gil couldn’t think of a thing to say. It all seemed petty compared to what his dad, in particular, must be feeling.

This was the first time Charles Goodson would
step into Golly since the day he was wrenched out in handcuffs. He never even got the chance to clean out his office. The police had seized everything, including Gil’s kindergarten artwork that had decorated the walls for years.

The car climbed the hill that would give them the first view of the biggest building in Orchard Heights. Gil had been down this road dozens of times since The Incident, but the sight of the eight-story structure with its jumble of architecture—castle spires, modern angles, village awnings—shimmied up his spine like shock waves from an explosion.

They dropped Gil’s mom off at the front entrance as specified on her ticket then swung around to the parking lot. A guard stopped the car, verified they belonged, then directed them around traffic cones painted like candy corn to an area of the lot reserved only for contestants.

“What time is it?” said Gil.

“We still have fifteen minutes.” His dad turned off the engine, but made no move to get out of the car.

Gil stared at the building, too.

“I’ve been trying to think of something brilliant to say,” said his dad. “Something to make the past year and a half disappear and allow you to go inside without all the garbage.”

“It’s okay, Dad.”

“But I’m a dad, and dads have to say something.” He shook his head. “The past few months, I’m afraid I’ve been too busy to say much of anything.”

“It’s okay,” Gil said again.

His dad gripped the steering wheel and shook his head. “No. It’s not. So I’ve been trying to think of something very philosophical, but my mind keeps returning to football.” He swiveled in his seat to face Gil and almost smiled. “You know when we watch a game and the referee makes a rotten call, and the people on the sidelines stamp their feet and throw their helmets and drop their clipboards?”

Gil nodded. “And you can see the squiggly veins on the sides of their heads popping out?”

“You got the picture. Now, the players on that team have two choices. They can let the call rattle them and blow the rest of the game, or they can
channel their indignation into energy and action, and use it to work harder.”

“And that’s what you want me to do.”

His dad shook his head. “No. You’ve already done that, Gil. You prepared, and you played smart. Already, you accomplished more than I could have dreamed. And the fact that we can enter this building with our heads held high means we’ve already won. We have nothing left to prove. So throw away the garbage, and play that game. Don’t let anyone drain the joy away from you. Just have fun.” His dad grabbed Gil’s hand, gave it a squeeze. “Ready?”

Gil nodded.

He felt ready for something. A firing squad? A pack of wild dogs? An ejector pad to launch him through the roof after he stepped inside the rainbow-striped door?

He was closest with the wild dogs. Hundreds of miniature windup toys barked and quacked and rattled around the entrance to the building. Gil tiptoed over and around them, careful not to step on the clown-faced rhino or the chattering teeth. And
when he knocked over the duck-billed chimp, it promptly righted itself and turned three circles before it clattered away.

Just the promise of coming here used to make Gil laugh. Around every corner, there’d always be balloons or life-sized stuffed animals or action projections of Golly’s newest video games. And when he’d stop and breathe in, his nose could always detect a faint smell of chocolate-chip cookies or popcorn or apple pie or other scents that made him drool.

Gil’s dad sniffed. “Fresh-baked bread today.”

Gil nodded. “How do they do that?”

“I never wanted to know,” his dad said. “I was afraid it’d shatter the fantasy.”

The fantasy. The building was like one big fantasy.

Gil and his dad followed blinking arrows on the wall that led them through a narrow passage and into the biggest fantasy room of all: The Kaleidoscope. It wasn’t a handheld toy, but an entire circular room that rose the full eight stories, walls glittering with a mosaic of shimmering, shining glass panels more brilliant than Gil’s senses could take in.

He couldn’t resist standing on the eight-pointed golden star in the room’s center. Arms extended, face toward the sparkling ceiling, he twirled until the kaleidoscope’s glass seemed to revolve around him. Then he stopped and wobbled. Let his knees buckle. Landed flat on his back, with the kaleidoscope spinning even faster.

His dad laughed.

“You told me to have fun.”

“So I did.”

Gil pulled himself up and regained his bearings. “Where do we go now?”

“Good morning, Gil.” The angelic voice rolled across every pane of glass.

Gil looked all around but saw no one.

“Welcome to the Gollywhopper Games,” the voice said. “Please continue through the appropriate door.”

There were eight. The one straight ahead, however, pulsed with a golden glow. Behind that door, another room with its muted blue walls and fluffy-cloud ceiling made Gil feel almost as if he were standing in the middle of the sky. Two hot-air balloons hovered at the top, suspending a welcome banner. Underneath sat five wooden footlockers, rounded like pirate treasure chests.

Gil’s dad shook his head. “You can’t hate this place,” he said.

Gil went over to the trunk with his name engraved on top. Dangling above, a poster-sized purple envelope read,

Lavinia’s was the only envelope already opened. Gil tugged his loose from the kelly green ribbon suspending it from the ceiling. He reached in and pulled out the yellow paper.

“What green arrows?”

His father pointed down.

“Right,” said Gil. “Because if you’re looking for blinking arrows, you expect to find them sunk into the floor.”

Gil read the letter once more, trying to memorize it for any clues he might need later. Then, with his dad beside him, he followed the green arrows to the right, down hallways lined with framed documents, signed and stamped with gold seals. Seals as in animals.

They ended at a green door, guarded by a redheaded woman dressed in jeans and a green shirt. “Gil, you’re here!” she said like a long-lost friend. “I’m Carol. Nice to meet you both. Gil, when you’re ready, go right in and wait for the rest of your team. And Mr. Goodson, stay put for a sec. We’ll show you to the spectator area, a luxury section above the action. Perfect view.”

His dad gave Gil a firm squeeze around his shoulders. “So long,” he said.

“See ya,” Gil replied.

“Adios.”

“Aloha.”

“Shalom.”

Gil turned toward the door, which opened by itself. “Sayonara.” He took a last glance over his shoulder and stepped inside. On a shining wooden floor stood a massive wooden table surrounded by sixteen burgundy leather chairs. An imposing bookcase guarded the corner. It was all serious and businesslike. The rest of the room, though, was lit like a giant party. Balloons bobbed, masking every inch of the ceiling. Fun house mirrors saluted like soldiers on either side of a second door. Giant streamers and noisemakers popped out of vases like flowers. Murals of kids, animals, cartoon characters, food, and toys splashed the walls.

It took Gil a moment to realize Lavinia was already there, looking very small in one of those chairs. Her hair was gathered in a turquoise ribbon and her intertwined fingers gripped one another on top of the table.

“Hi,” Gil said. “You look as nervous as I am.”

Lavinia shrugged. “I keep trying to fool myself that this is like any other scholarship competition,
but the gorilla rocking chair over here makes that hard to remember.”

“So does this guy.” Gil popped the bounce-back wrestler in the gut a few times.

“Like Mother says, if we keep our focus, we should win.” Lavinia gave a sharp nod like she was trying to convince herself. “Any words of wisdom from your father?”

“He mostly reminded me to have fun.”

“Well. That is one way to look at it.”

“I guess.” He popped the wrestler in the stomach again. And again. And again.

Soon the door opened for Thorn. Not a minute later, Rocky and Bianca and the redheaded woman swept in.

“Hey, Green Team. Have a seat at the table. As I said, my name is Carol, and I’ll be your teacher, your mom, your best friend, your worst enemy, your only contact for this portion of the Gollywhopper Games. You have questions, you ask me. You need to go to the bathroom, you ask me. You need a Band-Aid, you ask me.

“And if you ask me, you’re lucky I’m here because
I can be a lot of fun—until you stop following the rules. And that’s when I turn into your worst nightmare.” Carol raised her auburn eyebrows and flashed a mischievous grin. Then she paced once around the table, smiling and nodding.

“Now, don’t ask for hints,” she continued. “I won’t give them to you. Don’t try to bribe me for answers. I wouldn’t tell you even if I had them. What I will give you is a guarantee. This day will be one of the most memorable of your lives, win or lose. And I don’t like to lose.

“I have this friendly wager with Bill, my counterpart on the red team. You win, and he shaves off every hair from his head. They win, and I shave mine. I like this curly stuff on top of my head. Don’t make me lose it. Make me proud.

“How do you start?” Carol leaned on the table for emphasis. “You act like a team. You entered this competition as individuals, but that changes right now. Depend on one another’s strengths. Forgive one another’s weaknesses. You need that type of attitude. There’s a variety of challenges today. And my guess is, any one of you would be hard-pressed to complete
them all by yourself. So let’s talk about these challenges and the procedures.