The New Champion (5 page)

T
he Golly people collected their sheets and instructed them to reunite with their adults.

Spencer caught up to Cameron in the concourse. “What'd you answer?”

“Two-oh-four one-eight-two. You?”

Spencer let out a breath. “Two-oh-four seven-nine-two.”

It was scary their numbers were so close. Or maybe good.

“Golly Dolly?” asked Cameron.

“Trick question. All the way.”

“Gross?” said Cameron.

“Gross!” And they high-fived.

Cameron loved moments like these when Spencer felt like a friend. “Average age?” he asked.

“Fourteen,” said Spencer.

“I went half a month younger.”

“Half a month? Seriously?”

And the moment faded.

Inside section A, their parents greeted them with hugs and way too much mush even for sled dogs. Cameron pulled out of their clinches and watched a few Golly people milling around the arena floor.

“I have a feeling,” Spencer said, “I'm about to hit victory lane. If I forget to thank you afterward, Cameron, you boring me all these months with math stuff? It was so worth it.”

A real thank-you? Sort of. Then you're sort of welcome, Spencer. But wait. Why would Spencer make it and not Cameron? Except for average age, their answers—

“We have results!” Randy Wright's face covered every inch of the screen. “To hear them, we put you in the capable hands of your local announcer. Until Orchard Heights, I'm Randy Wright wishing you the jolliest, Gollyest day!”

The screen cut to Bianca in a locker room. “OMG! You guys were amazing! I don't know if I could've . . . without . . . I mean, okay. Script. I will call out numbers, the ones on your chests, I mean, your bib things. If it's your number, congratulations! Sit tight, and we'll tell you what to do. Everyone else, you rocked anyway. You're going home with a fifty-dollar Golly gift certificate and your chance to win ten thousand dollars.

“Drumroll, please!” Bianca looked around. “We don't have a drum? Okay. If you all want to make a drumroll sound, go ahead, but also listen to the numbers.” She waggled a white card in the air. “They'll also appear on the scoreboards. And they are in totally random order, just so you know.”

Spencer's knees were bobbling, but only in half-time to Cameron's racing heart.

Bianca called the first number. It wasn't his. It wasn't 6342.

Now what? Golly people were moving chairs back onto the arena floor.

Second number. No.

Nine chairs in one row.

Third. No.

Nine more chairs in the second row.

Fourth. Still no.

For the nine finalists?

Fifth. Crud.

And their adults?

Sixth. Double crud!

Maybe they were setting up for something else today.

Seventh. Spencer? Spencer!

Which would leave only two more spots—

Eight. No.

—for him.

“And number nine,” said Bianca. “Four seven—”

Cameron stopped listening. He sucked in a deep breath and joined the family celebration. As much as he wanted to moan and cry, he'd make the best of this. Maybe there'd be a next year for him. Maybe—

“Wait!” shouted Bianca. “I see people getting up! Stop! Sit! Who said anything about calling only nine numbers?”

Cameron didn't know whether to laugh or cry, so he put every ounce of emotion into yelling with everyone else.

Bianca's voice rose above the crowd noise. “Next. Oh-seven-oh-nine.”

C'mon. Call 6342 . . . 6342.

“Three-two-eight-four.”

Groans from the guy behind him wearing 3248.

“Six-three—”

Four-two. Please. Four-two.

“Six-three.”

So close. But not.

“Oh,” said Bianca. “Another six-three. Six-three-four-two.”

Did she say 6342? Cameron looked at the board. Rechecked his bib. Or started to. Spencer had him in a headlock. His dad grabbed him anyway. His mom was kissing the back of his head. In public. And he didn't care.

For however long it took Bianca to call the other numbers, Cameron also didn't care that Spencer would probably beat him at whatever they had to do next. Right now, he still had a chance.

O
n the arena floor: eighteen seats, eighteen kids. What next? Musical chairs?

The one time Cameron had played musical chairs at a birthday party, he'd stunk at it. Even when he was four, he hadn't been pushy enough to win. Not even a single round. Maybe he could become a different person in the next five minutes. Maybe he could become a Spencer and claw his way into a seat. Or maybe this wasn't musical chairs at all.

Spencer had straddled a chair backward and was talking to some girl.

Cameron started to sit next to him, but no one had said to sit. Instead, he circled the chairs, watching Golly workers roll out three long, thin mats, each of which ran the entire width of the arena floor.

The mat at the far end had a green line labeled
GO!
The mat in the middle, several feet in front of their chairs, had silver arrows pointing toward the green. The mat way behind them at the other end of the floor was pure red.

Cameron was still circling the chairs when Bianca's voice came back over the speakers.

“Hey, you guys! Congratulations! I'd love to come down and chat, but we have more business to take care of. I've been told I need to read this exactly, so if it doesn't sound like me, I mean the words not the voice, because it is my voice, anyway, you know why. Okay, here goes.

“First, I need you to freeze right where you are. You can relax your arms and get into a comfortable stance, but don't move more than a step until I tell you.

“When I say go, you will run to the end of the arena floor. Just beyond it is a tunnel. Once inside the tunnel, you will find five lit buttons. The first five of you to hit a button will be on your way to the next round of the Gollywhopper Games in Orchard Heights. The remaining thirteen of you will participate in one more challenge. This last arena challenge will determine the other four who will continue playing the Games.

“In a moment I will begin a countdown. When I do, you may start moving again. But until I say go, do not go past the silver arrows in the middle. So far so good? Raise your hand if you understand.”

Cameron raised his hand and took the opportunity to unfreeze his head and look around the arena floor again. Where should he go once the countdown started? To the arrows in the middle? Poised to race to the green
GO
? Maybe Bianca would give them more info.

“Good,” she said. “I got the okay from Charlie. You all understand. And now for the countdown.”

Silence. It was like she was sitting up there, laughing at them all pointed toward the green end. What if that was a fake-out? What if the buttons were at the red end?

“Ten,” she said.

They unfroze, and all of them scurried toward the silver arrows, the few remaining parents cheering them on.

“Nine.”

They all were there, Spencer, jockeying for position in the middle; Cameron, a step behind.

“Eight.”

This didn't feel right.

“Seven.”

Should he alert Spencer? Clue him in? Or just be ready himself?

“Six.”

Cameron was here only because Spencer had signed him up.

“Five.”

He tugged on Spencer's shirt. Spencer shot him a go-away look.

“Four.”

Cameron cupped his mouth to Spencer's ear. “There's another opening behind us. I think green's a fake-out.”

“Three.”

Spencer looked toward both ends and took a step back.

Cameron turned and started inching toward the red end.

“Two.”

“If you're wrong—” Spencer was right behind him.

“One.”

If Cameron was wrong, he was already too late to be one of the first five inside the green tunnel. Might as well go for it. He dashed toward the red.

“Go! To the end with the red carpet!”

All right! Cameron picked up his pace, moans and footsteps scrambling well behind him. Except for Spencer, who took the lead. But Cameron didn't have to beat Spencer this time, just be in the top five. Just a few more feet.

Spencer disappeared into the tunnel.

A few more steps. Through the opening. Bright red buttons. Four still lit. Cameron raced to the wall and hit one.

Immediately Cameron felt himself being hoisted backwards, the leverage coming from under his arms. Had some weird Golly gizmo lifted him? No, it was Spencer who had him in the best full nelson ever. “We did it!” Spencer said.

Cameron raised his legs skyward in a foot version of a fist pump. “Orchard Heights!”

“Orchard Heights!” said Spencer.

“Orchard Heights!” echoed the two boys and one girl who had also pushed buttons.

A Golly worker scuttled them out of the way of the other thirteen, the ones who would have to face an additional challenge, whatever it was. Maybe he'd find out; maybe he wouldn't. He didn't care. He jumped and shouted with the four others, all the way through the tunnel, into a room with nine chairs and a snack table.

“Help yourself,” the Golly worker said. “We need you here a few more minutes, just long enough for your brief interviews.”

Interviews?

“Cool!” Spencer said, grabbing a handful of candy.

“And Spencer, you're first. Come with me.”

Interviews? Cameron raised the neck of his shirt to wipe the sweat off his head. Then he opened a bottle of water and managed a sip. For the second time today he'd be on
that
side of the camera. And probably without Bianca to do the talking.

Not ten minutes later he found himself on a stool with lights and a lens targeting his face. He wished he'd brought the water in with him. He wished he were Zeke, the camera guy. His fingers itched to press Record.

“Just relax and talk to me like you're talking to a friend,” said Zeke. “If you mess up, no worries. We'll do it again.” Zeke smiled. “First question: If you win, what will you do with your million dollars?”

“Um. Well, my brother thinks we're gonna split it fifty-fifty because he's the one who entered my name.”

“What do you think?”

“I'm not sure. He's very convincing.”

“So what would
you
do with so much money?” Zeke asked.

“I've never thought about it. Maybe I'd save for college or get a camera like you're using.”

“You like cameras?”

“Oh, yeah,” Cameron said.

“That was good,” said Zeke.

“Not too lame?”

“It's fine. Next. If you could have one wish—not money, not world peace—something just for you, what would it be?”

“It'd be nice if people noticed my videos online. They're pretty good.”

“I liked making videos when I was your age, and look at me now. Next question, okay?”

“Yeah,” said Cameron, kicking himself for not coming up with something more exciting, like zip-lining over Angel Falls.

“Tell me something else about yourself.”

“Besides making videos? I guess I'm good at math and I play trumpet, but that's about it.” Could he be more boring?

“Okay then. Last question. Which Gollywhopper-eligible kid—family or friend—would be your nightmare competition, a person you would not want to go up against in the Games?”

“That's easy. My brother, Spencer. He knows how to win.”

“You mean the Spencer I interviewed before you? He's your brother?”

Cameron nodded.

“Can't blame you for picking him. He has fire in his eyes, doesn't he?”

“Yeah, he does.”

Cameron couldn't decide whether to feel proud of Spencer or to grab a fire extinguisher.