The New Champion (18 page)

C
lio was the only one in the room. She sipped from her glass, then smiled at him. “I'm glad it's you.”

“Me, too.” He took a deep breath. “I mean that it's you.”

“So what did you think was harder, Cameron? Keys or objects?”

He hadn't sorted it all out yet. “Equal, I guess. What about you?”

“The objects. I mean, you did stop the keys, didn't you? Slid the card into the grooves?”

“What grooves?”

“The two grooves at the top of the key bin,” said Clio. “They held the card in place.”

“I just wedged it in there.”

“That works, too.”

Maybe, but Cameron was kicking himself. He always noticed little things like that. Was he getting lazy without his camera? He got a glass of lemonade, sat, and sighed.

“I know,” she said. “It's like an endurance test. I wouldn't give this up for anything, but it'd be even better if we could go home and eat dinner and sleep between each event.”

“Yeah,” said Cameron. “Well, no. I'd be obsessing over it so much I wouldn't sleep, my brain would overheat, and I'd be a pile of ashes in the morning.”

Clio smiled. “You did okay from yesterday to today.”

He nodded; then they sat there in comfortable silence until the door opened.

Jig barged in like he owned the place. He tried to look all cool when he saw them, but his slight pause gave him away. Maybe Cameron could still notice details.

“That was a bear,” Jig said. “Not the up-and-down thing—that was easy—but those keys! Rocky was relentless. How'd you get here before me, Cameron?”

“Just lucky, I guess.” No way he'd give Jig any tips.

“Who got in here first?”

“I did,” Clio said.

“Thought so. Your girl wasn't as fast as our guys.”

“True.” That's all Clio said. She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes.

The silence didn't last long. The door opened. It was Estella, beaming. “I did it! I forgot that pig was there and just did it.” She gave Clio a hug.

“Aw!” said Jig. “The girls have formed the Happy Support Society. We need a guys' version.” He thumped Cameron's shoulder. “You're so good. Maybe not as fast or smart as your brother, but you can do this, buddy.”

Cameron started to growl but turned it into a laugh to shut the guy up. Jig was as transparent as air. Maybe his deflation techniques worked on other people, but not on Cameron. He
wasn't
as fast as Spencer. But he might be as smart, even smarter. Either way, he was here.

The door opened again, this time to the tear-streaked face of Dacey. “Well, I'm going home, y'all. To nightmares about keys fallin' all over me.” She came around and gave each one a two-armed hug.

Estella hugged back with only one.

Cameron wished he could have filmed that.

Bill came in with a large purse. “Is this what you asked for, Dacey?”

“Thanks, Bill.”

“Just make it quick.” Bill backed away.

Dacey pulled out a sheet of paper. “Could y'all sign this? On the front, if you don't mind. It's for my scrapbook, though I can't end the book like I'd planned.” She handed it to Cameron along with a pink sparkle pen.

Was this what he thought it was? A sketch of the obstacle course? Could he get one?

Cameron signed his name and passed it on.

Jig took it. “What is this?”

“That stadium study guide I was talking about. If y'all brought yours, I'll sign 'em, too.”

“I didn't get a picture,” Jig said. “Anyone else get a picture?”

The others hadn't, either.

“Well, maybe you got something I didn't. But that's not important,” said Dacey. “Please sign it, y'all, while I apologize to Estella.”

“Me?”

Dacey nodded. “I was rude today. Truth is, you're so pretty you kept remindin' me of Laura, and well, she just gets to me. Makes me ugly. And now I'm goin' out there to fake-smile at her, and we'll both pretend we're besties.”

“You do that,” said Estella. “It's been interesting meeting you.”

“Likewise.” Dacey tucked the sketch back into her purse, pageant-waved, and walked out the door.

Bill leaned in. “I'll be right back for your next little adventure.”

“What was that about?” said Jig. “If I had a picture—”

“Does it matter?” said Estella. “You're still here, and she's not.”

Apparently, it mattered to Jig. “Why'd she get a picture and I didn't?” he asked when Bill came back a couple of minutes later.

“These Games are full of surprises, aren't they?”

“But—”

“You want to play, Jig? Or you want to talk?”

“Bring it on!” said Jig.

Bill smiled. “Hold on to your seats. Here we go!”

The lounge veered backward, then toward the left, before it came to a smooth stop. It opened to a waiting area painted like a busy foreign marketplace with stalls of fruits and rugs and jewelry, people in colorful clothes, dogs and kids running around.

“Same routine,” said Bill. “Find your doors. Go in with the signal. And remember”—he paused for effect—“your door leads in, and your door leads out.” He lifted his eyebrows a few times and smiled.

Ding! Ding! Ding!

Compared with the last room, this was like a closet, and it was totally bare except for a table and the objects on it: an empty tote bag, a pad of paper, pens, a bolted-down GollyReader, and his next challenge card.

 

When last we left Tad (young Thaddeus G. Golliwop), he was ordering lunch for old Uncle Eb. Today he's faced with another task. He must do the marketing for Eb's brother, old Uncle Zeb.

One problem: Young Tad is strapped for time and needs your help. Go to the market and bring back the four items Uncle Zeb needs, one each from the four appropriate stalls. Make sure you also pick up the corresponding price tags so you will know the appropriate prices.

When you return from your shopping trip, figure out how much Zeb owes, then post that exact amount to Zeb's account. (One-minute penalty for each wrong guess.)

And the four items? Uncle Zeb is hard to figure out, but this might help:

 

He'll buy organic deviled eggs, but not organic egg rolls.

He'll buy homemade fruitcake, but not store-bought cupcakes.

He loves crab cakes, but not shrimp rolls.

And palm nuts? Yes! But not pecans or walnuts or Brazil nuts or most other types of nuts.

 

Grocery shopping? Not high on Cameron's Hooray List, but this wasn't really shopping. This was cracking Uncle Zeb's code. Why did he like those foods? What common thread would show Cameron exactly what to buy?

At the top of Uncle Zeb's like list: organic deviled eggs. What made them organic? Organic chickens? Organic ingredients? What ingredients went into deviled eggs? No. This wasn't a cooking show.

New tactic. Why organic deviled eggs? Why not spicy deviled eggs or purple deviled eggs? Or organic scrambled eggs?

But no egg rolls. So the word “egg” wasn't the key. Neither was “organic.” And homemade fruitcake? Weren't there like a million fruitcake jokes, how horrible they were? Wouldn't the whole world trade a fruitcake for a cupcake?

Crab cakes and shrimp rolls. So it had nothing to do with cakes and nothing to do with rolls and nothing to do with seafood allergies.

Allergies? Was Zeb allergic to nuts? And if you're allergic to nuts, do palm nuts count?

Cameron laughed. This wasn't a medical show, either. He needed to focus on the words and their letters.

What did the words in the yes column have in common?

Cameron wrote them in reverse order to see it differently:

Palm nuts

Crab cakes

Homemade fruitcake

Organic deviled eggs

 

Two words, two words, two words, three words. Some words started with vowels; others, consonants. No pattern to the second letters or the third letters or the letters they ended with. There were letters with ascenders and descenders and letters without. There were letters with curves and letters with straight lines and combinations of the two. And his brain was about to overheat again.

There had to be some pattern he wasn't seeing yet. It wouldn't be spelling again, would it? Only one way to know: one letter at a time.

He went slowly, listening to the sound of the letters. “O-R-G-A-N-I-C-D-E-V-I-L-E-D-E-G-G-S.

“H-O-M-E-M-A-D-E-F-R-U-I-T-C-A-K-E.

“C-R-A-B-C-A-K-E-S.

“P-A-L-M-N-O—” He stopped himself. “Not
O
.
U
. Why'd I say
O
? P-A-L-M-N-O-P—”

Was that it? He checked the others. The
a-b-c
in “crab cakes” and the
d-e-f
in “homemade fruitcake” and the
c-d-e
in “organic deviled eggs.” On the don't buy side? None had three consecutive letters of the alphabet. Time to shop! But where? As Bill had said, his door led in and his door led out.

Cameron grabbed the tote bag and puzzle card and hoped the painted market in the common hall had magically transformed into a real one. No such luck, but one of four new doors there had his name.

Inside
was
a marketplace. Magic carpets soared in midair. Live parrots squawked from the corners. It even smelled like cinnamon and curry and other exotic spices. Most important, each stall, billowing with brilliant fabric, had a sign bearing its name.

Which four, out of all these dozens, contained three sequential letters?