The Gollywhopper Games by Jody Feldman Read Free Book Online Page B

six-year-old in disguise.
    Rocky looked even stronger than he used to be. Great if there were physical challenges, but the team needed to stop him from cheating or they’d all risk elimination.
    Thorn? Ditto on the cheating.
    The cheating. Gil had to do something about the cheating. He’d tell someone, but who would believe him? Bianca might. Or Bianca might yell, reporters might come running, and Gil might have to answer thousands of questions. He’d figure out something by tomorrow.
    Gil got an extra ticket for his mom, then walked toward the stands with Bianca and Lavinia. “Okay, Bianca,” he said. “How’d you figure out that last question?”
    “It was easy,” she said. “I mean, it was hard. I figured out most of it and came up with fourteen thousand something, but the number didn’t feel lucky, so I went with some luckier numbers. I used my age today: fifteen. Then eight because my birthday’s in eight days, plus sixteen because that’s how old I’ll be. Fifteen thousand eight hundred sixteen. Get it?”
    Gil shook his head. Maybe Bianca was smarter than he thought. At least her luck was beyond belief. If only it would hold out through tomorrow and rub off on him. If only…
    Gil saw something shining where the field metthe track. “A lucky penny,” he said. If only it were lucky enough to get him out of this cheating mess. It wasn’t so much Rocky who concerned him. He could probably handle Rocky. He didn’t know about Thorn.
    Gil reached for the penny, fumbled it between his sweaty fingers, and it pinged against the track. He picked it up again and smiled.
    Yeah. Now he could deal with Thorn.

CHAPTER 9
    G il stopped cold, then backed behind a bank of bushes near the top of their street. He gestured with his chin.
    “Ah. TV trucks,” Gil’s dad said. “Should’ve known.”
    Gil should’ve known, too. Reporters always come back. They’d camped outside Gil’s house for a week after the arrest. They returned during the trial. They stayed after the verdict until other news moved them to a different location.
    At first, they acted so nice, like they were trying to get the Goodsons’ side of the story. It turned out, though, they wanted to be heroes and find the onepiece of evidence that would prove his dad guilty. Now they were back in force today, but with their national media buddies.
    “Well,” said his dad, “we have three choices. We call the police and issue a nuisance complaint, which will give us bad press again. We sneak around Jonathan Street and try to slip inside the back door unnoticed, but we already know that won’t work. Or…”
    “Yeah,” said Gil. “Let’s do the ‘or.’”
    “I think our official line is no comment,” said his dad. “That’s always safest. Ready?”
    The media swarmed toward them like a wave of gnats, flapping their cameras, recorders, notepads, and flashes.
    “How can you be eligible?”
    “How’d you know the answers?”
    “Is this revenge?”
    Gil kept his eyes on his target: the front door. If he could make it through, smiling and silent, he’d win this round.
    Gil’s dad put an arm around his shoulders. Together they strode onto their lawn and up the twoporch steps. Instead of turning his key in the lock, Gil’s dad turned and faced the crowd.

    “I’ve been silent for eighteen months,” he said. “And I’d prefer to remain that way, but when you ask insinuating questions of a twelve-year-old boy, I can’t, as a father, remain silent. So all I will say is this. See this strong, young man who stands in front of you? He wants only one thing today and tomorrow. He wants to find some joy in life by playing a game. Playing a game. It’s as simple as that. So please leave him alone when he eats tonight. Leave him alone to sleep. And tomorrow morning, let him play, just as you’d want your own children to do. Now, good evening.” He turned, opened the door, and shuttled Gil inside.
    “You shouldn’t have, Dad,” Gil said.