The New Champion (22 page)

JUPITERFIGHTERS. Fifteen letters again. He eliminated the first six and last six. Three in the middle:
R F I
. Rif? No. Fir. Fir tree! He opened that box. Flipped the switch. “Jupiter Fighters” lit on the left wall. All the letters fizzled except
U
and
I
.

Everything went dark for a moment; then, one at a time, the letters flashed briefly, randomly on the walls to his front, back, left, and right. He tried to follow them, but all that turning and flashing made him dizzy. He wrote down the eight letters.
T A O N N M U I

If he rearranged them correctly, he'd know what to do. He stopped, took a breath. And what was that sound? He'd totally forgotten the musical notes, a simple scale, do-re-me-fa-so-la-ti, one note for each letter. He heard the first note,
do
, from the wall on his right. He turned, but too late to see the corresponding letter.
Re
sounded from the front wall.
Me
from the left wall, and he caught it. The note came with the letter
U
. If
me
was the third note in the scale,
U
was the third letter!

He waited for the scale to start again. It would start from the wall on the right. After that he'd get ready to look front.

Wait for it. Wait for it. Go!

Do
was the letter
M
.
Re
was
O
. Then the
U
he already had. He caught the
fa
on the front wall.
N!

M O U N
. . .

It had to be the mountain in the middle of the warehouse. No time to check. He raced to the mountain. Hoped he'd know what to do. Hoped he was fast enough. Hoped he—

Bzzzz!

Rumbling. Popping. His letters stopped flashing. The notes stopped playing. Fireworks, projected on the ceiling. And a picture of Clio up there. And he knew.

B
ill and Carol each had a hand on Cameron's back. He couldn't bear to meet their eyes, see the “Sorry” looks on their faces. He hung his head.

“Buddy. Look at me,” said Bill. “Remember after the team competition when I said I couldn't be prouder? I lied. I am even more proud now. And I doubt I will ever be prouder of anyone than I am of you.”

Cameron dug his fingers into his leg, trying to stop the tears.

“Cameras are off,” Carol said. “Cry, scream, anything.”

A few tears came. A few more. He looped his thumb under the neck of his shirt and wiped his eyes. He leaned onto a giant stack of foam pancakes and put his head, facedown, on his arms like his first-grade teacher had always made them do when the class had gotten too noisy, though he had never been the one making noise.

And now he'd always wonder why he'd picked that moment, the moment he recognized the fireworks, to speak loudly for the first time in his life. He should have won when he'd had the chance. Funny, though, he wasn't truly sorry. He wouldn't have been able to celebrate. Not really.

He lifted his head and looked at their faces. “I'm okay. I am. Now what?”

“Short interview,” said Bill, “but only when you're ready.”

“I'm ready.”

“Our announcer, Randy Wright, will ask you some questions,” said Bill. “What was the competition like? What's Clio like? And he will ask you about the fireworks puzzle. Why did you admit you'd seen the answer? Did you remember there was a million dollars on the line?”

Cameron let out a sad laugh. “I remembered.”

“I know,” said Bill. “And that's why we're all so, so proud here.”

“Proud enough to give me a million dollars anyway?”

Bill opened his mouth. Closed it.

Cameron laughed for real. “Just kidding.”

“Good,” said Bill, “because I don't think two million dollars is in our budget.”

Bill and Carol took him to a room with dark-draped walls on three sides and a camera and two stools near the green screen on the fourth. Randy Wright came up and shook Cameron's hand. “This will be painless, I promise. We just want the honest truth. If you need a break, pause after your answer and let me know.”

Randy Wright asked exactly what Bill had said.

Yes, Cameron was disappointed, but he'd tried as hard as he could. Yes, it had been hard work, and if anyone knew how to stop his head from sweating, he'd appreciate it. From off camera, Bill threw a towel in his face. He laughed and wiped his head.

There would be life after losing. He'd go home and make a video out of this and post it online. And maybe he could get a hundred people to watch it.

Immediately After

THE GAMES

B
ert Golliwop wondered if he looked as pale as he felt. Was it fury? Was it relief? Was he coming down with that mysterious flu?

Tawkler from Marketing led the rest of the team into Bert's office. “The kid saved us,” she said. “We need to capitalize somehow. Give him a huge bonus. The publicity will more than pay for it.”

“Not so fast,” said Morrison from Legal. “We also have to deal with the other issue, the one surrounding the Dahlgren girl and that obstacle course picture. While the contract does hold us harmless should circumstances beyond our control give one contestant advantage over another, we need to be cautious.”

“No one needs to know about Dacey,” said Plago. “It was in the privacy of the lounge.”

“We know about it,” said Morrison. “The other contestants know about it, and that means the world will know about it. What else have we learned?”

Bert nodded at Tawkler, who said, “Mr. Golliwop, Danny, and I just finished speaking with Dacey. She received the obstacle course picture as she was on her way out of the arena. When we asked who had given it to her, she pointed toward Danny and said it was a cute guy who looked something like him.”

“Aha!” said Jenkins. “It's been Danny all along.”

“Oh, no,” said Bert Golliwop. “He was with Gil in New England, and she was in an arena in Georgia.”

“Kids like him have friends,” Jenkins said. “Maybe they're in cahoots.”

“Speculation proves nothing,” said Morrison. “We need facts. And we need to worry. As I said, there are rules. The FCC will scrutinize.”

“Maybe a little scrutiny would be good,” said Tawkler. “Maybe they'll find our traitor.”

“No,” said Bert. “We'll find our traitor. I've already hired the best security team in the country.”

“But the Games are over,” said Larraine from Finance. “There's no profit in hiring a security team.”

Jenkins backed away from her. “It's you!”

“What?” she said.

“You don't want investigators because you're the mole.”

“I am not. I just don't see any financial upside. If you want to hire them, go for it.”

“I am going for it,” said Bert, “because no one sticks a mole in my company and gets away with it. Besides, what other company secrets might this mole take back to Flummox? And what if we want to do the Gollywhopper Games again next year?”

Tawkler rubbed her hands together. “You'd do this again next year?”

“Absolutely,” said Bert. “But not until we find that mole.”

A
fter the interview Bill brought Cameron back to the lounge.

“Cameron!” Clio ran up and hugged him. “What happened? Can we talk about it, Bill?”

“You can talk about anything,” he said. “And congratulations, by the way. Why aren't you screaming and jumping?”

“I'm still in shock. I know for a fact that screaming and jumping will happen, but right now I'm really confused.”

Cameron told her about the fireworks. “It didn't even register until the fifth piece lit up.”

“Fifth piece? Seriously? I only had two. It took me forever to find the riddles. I even turned the table and chair over before I got smart.” She looked Cameron straight in the eye. “Picture or no picture, you would have won.” She turned to Bill. “He would have won. He deserves to win.”

“We don't know that,” said Bill.

“Then he deserves half my money,” she said.

“We can't do that,” Bill said. “Part of what you signed and what your parents signed prohibits two contestants from splitting the cash. You'd win nothing. Neither would he. We can't have two of you working together to the exclusion of others. Today you won the whole thing or nothing.”

Cameron nodded. “Maybe they shouldn't have left the picture on the screens, but I wasn't supposed to be there. Anyway, I won something.” He looked at Bill. “There is money in my trunk, right?”

“You want to see for yourself later,” said Bill, “or do you want me to tell you now?”

“Tell me.”

“It started at ten thousand dollars, but each time a person was eliminated, we fattened it by five thousand a pop. So there's twenty-five.”

“Thousand?”

“Yes, thousand.”

Cameron grinned. “Not a million, but what kid wins twenty-five thousand dollars? I'm good.”

“I know you are,” Bill said.

The door opened, and the moms, the dads, Clio's sister, and Cameron's brothers, and Janae rushed them like a swarm of locusts.

Clio finally started jumping and screaming and acting like someone who'd won a million dollars.

Cameron shook his head.

“I know,” said his mom.

His dad had Cameron's shoulder in a wonderful vise grip.

It was just the three of them. The interviewer had pulled Spencer and Walker aside to ask them some questions.

“You'll earn your million dollars another way. I have no doubt,” said his dad.

His mom nodded. “You'll be the one who can afford to support us in our old age.” She gave her that's-a-joke laugh. “We tell that to everyone.”

“You don't tell me.”

“We thought you knew,” his dad said.

Cameron shook his head. “You're always saying stuff like that to Spencer. And making sure Walker is brushing his teeth. But I'm just sort of . . . there.”

“Oh, Cameron.” His mom gave him a hug. “Walker's still young. And Spencer needs those words. Always has. But you. It's like you were born to have a real chance, more than anyone I know . . .”

Was she going to leave that sentence hanging again?

She wiped some tears. “. . . to be a huge success. Without our help.”

Cameron closed his eyes. “Sometimes it's just nice to hear,” he squeaked out before the tears came.

They stood there in a group hug, Cameron trying to breathe because he knew he'd need to be coherent at any moment.

“Dude!” came Spencer's voice not half a minute later.

Cameron wiped his eyes on his mom's shoulder before he looked up.

“I can't believe you,” Spencer said. “I can't believe you threw away a million dollars.”

“I got twenty-five thousand.”

“It's not a million.”

“I know,” said Cameron, regaining his voice. “But I don't even know what a million dollars means. Anyway, I can live with myself. Could you live with yourself if you cheated someone out of that much money?”

“But it's a million dollars,” Spencer said, his voice growing softer with each word. He said something else, but a metallic crash interrupted.

“Now, look what you've gone and done. Made me smash into the door frame,” said the old man in the wheelchair. “Where are those two? Those two wonderful children?”

Carol ushered them over to the man who'd wheeled himself just inside the door.

He had a strong handshake. “Thaddeus G. Golliwop, the original,” he said, and laughed. “Built this company with a nickel and an idea. And you two youngsters made me prouder than the proudest peacock today. I understand you're coming to my farm, spending a few days?”

Huh? Cameron looked at his parents. They were smiling.

Bert Golliwop stepped in. “They don't know about that yet, Dad.”

“Woo-hoo! I love surprises! Surprise! I have a small parcel of land about an hour away from here. My farm. Thought all eight of you—”

“Ten, Dad. There were ten finalists.”

“The more the merrier. But you'll be my guests while the foolhardy folks get this TV show together. A grand celebration!” He turned his wheelchair. “See you soon!”

Carol stepped up. “You won't be baling hay or anything. It's a resort. Swimming pools. Lake. Boats. Bicycles. Hiking trails. Arcade. Catered food. The whole works. Just for a week. No one else there except the ten of you, your families, and a few people from last year who can tell you what to expect.”

Just hours later the helicopters to the resort left in pairs, heading into the setting sun. Cameron and his family were escorted from the landing pad to a four-bedroom house stocked with everything they hadn't known they'd need to pack.

First thing Cameron did was shower. Then he lay down on his bed for just a few minutes.

The knocking came way too soon. Didn't Spencer have a clue what he'd been through? “Go away, Spencer.”

“It's not Spencer,” said his mom. “You need to come out here.”

He tried to open his eyes, but it was way too bright.

“And, Cameron?” she called. “Don't come out in your underwear.”

Why was all this light coming through the window? He rolled over and looked at the clock: 9:17? In the morning? And what was wrong with his underwear?

Wait? Where was he?

He shot out of bed. The helicopter. The Games. The disaster. A future of facing ridicule for throwing away all that money. Maybe he could go back to sleep. Maybe he could sleep through seventh grade.

“Cameron?” said his mom again. This didn't sound like a breakfast call.

“Be out in a minute.” He brushed his teeth, washed his pits, and ran his fingers through his hair. He put on new clothes from the closet. He heard chuckles through the doors. And a strange voice.

In the living room some man had Spencer doubled over in laughter.

The man stood. “So you're the freak who turned down a million dollars?”

Coming from this guy, whoever he was, it sounded more funny than stupid.

Cameron nodded. “That would be me.” But how'd he know? “How'd you know?”

“It's next Thursday already,” said the man. “Everyone knows.” He laughed. Then he came and shook Cameron's hand. “My very good friends the Golliwops told me a little story about you, and as long as I was passing through—” He paused and looked at Cameron's dad. “Is it passing through when they send a plane to pick you up and fly you here?”

Cameron's dad shook his head.

“So I wasn't passing through. I was actually very busy in Los Angeles, and I haven't even bothered to introduce myself.” He shook Cameron's hand. “Ever see the movie based on DoomTomb? Or the one based on Tell Me a Lie?”

“Everyone's seen those.”

“Those are mine. I make movies. Roscoe Grant. Pleased to meet you.”

Cameron felt himself stagger back an inch. Roscoe Grant? Here?

“So Bert Golliwop told me something about your wanting your videos to get noticed?”

Cameron nodded.

“You
are
the strong, silent type. I can't cure that, but I can help you with your video wish. Think you might have time to come to Hollywood the week after next? Shadow me for a few days? Show me what you can do, so I can show you how to do it better?”

Roscoe Grant handed Cameron a piece of paper. “Here's everything you need to know. Meanwhile,” he said, pointing to a wrapped package near the door, “something for you to play with. See you soon!” And he left.

Cameron gently, methodically opened the box. No surprise what was inside, but this video camera had cost thousands and thousands of dollars.

“I'm going to Hollywood,” he said.