“I do.”
“Would you mind driving us around just a little bit longer?”
He looked at us in the rearview mirror and smiled. “I get paid either way, so don’t see why not.”
He drove us through Yaletown, then into Gastown, then along the waterfront, before turning back to the hotel. We ate more snacks and waved at more imaginary fans.
Even though we were both sleep deprived beyond belief, even though the night before had been terrifying and even though we had no idea where we’d be living a week from now, it was so much fun.
* * *
—
The doors to the lobby opened automatically with a whoosh. A man strode toward us with a clipboard; it was Gouresh, from the auditions. “Felix, good to see you again.” He shook my hand and turned to my mom. “I’m Gouresh Sandhi, contestant coordinator for Who, What, Where, When. You must be Felix’s sister.”
“Smooth.” But she smiled.
“We’re excited to have you both here. You have the afternoon free. At five p.m. we’ll meet on the second floor in conference room B to go over some rules. This will be followed by a group dinner at six.”
Gouresh helped us get checked in. Then Astrid and I rode the elevator up to our room on the fourth floor. She let me insert the key card.
I opened the door. The room smelled like new carpet and air freshener. There were two double beds, a desk and two club chairs with a small table between them. A flat-screen TV was mounted on the wall. A coffeemaker was on a small counter beside the dresser. Best of all, a large welcome basket full of fruit, chocolate and nuts stood on the dresser. A card was inside. Welcome, Felix, and from all of us at Sunshine Inn, we wish you best of luck on Who, What, Where, When—Junior Edition!
Astrid and I looked at each other. We dropped our bags, leapt onto the beds and jumped up and down. Then we checked out every square inch of the room. Astrid made herself coffee and me instant hot chocolate. We ate a bunch of stuff from the basket. Astrid put all the extra soaps, shampoos and creams into her bag so the cleaning staff would leave more in the morning. We unpacked our things and put them in drawers and on hangers, and I placed Mel by the TV in spite of Astrid’s protests. Then I ran myself a bath and soaked in it for a long time. When I was done, Astrid drained the water, refilled the tub and had her own bath.
Then we both climbed into our beds and slept for three hours straight.
* * *
—
We entered the conference room just before five. It was packed with the other contestants and their parents. I counted twenty kids total: sixteen of us had been guaranteed a spot to play, four per day, with one winner from each day going on to the final game on Friday. The other four kids were alternates, in case one of us got sick or had to leave for any other reason.
Astrid and I took the last two seats in the back row. Gouresh stood at the front with Nazneen. At five o’clock on the dot, Nazneen started to speak.
“Congratulations, everyone. You’ve all been selected to appear on the inaugural live weeklong special of Who, What, Where, When—Junior Edition. We’re hoping to make it a yearly event, and we can already announce that next year’s show will be in Halifax, Nova Scotia.” Two kids cheered loudly; I didn’t need my P.O.O. to tell me they were from the Maritimes. “I want you to know that making it this far is already a huge accomplishment, so no matter what happens over the next week, you’re all winners.”
Nazneen ran us through the rules. Some of the stuff was obvious, like “no swearing on live TV, or using any language that might be considered foul or inappropriate.” Some of the stuff wouldn’t have dawned on me in a million years. For example, she warned parents and guardians that any signs of cheating during the show—any signaling or hand gestures or sounds from where they sat in the audience, or even excessive blinking—would mean the automatic dismissal of that contestant.
Gouresh asked us to stand up when he called our names. “Monday’s contestants are: Freddie Owen…Azar Farzan…Felix Knutsson…and Helen Mair.”
I checked out the others. Freddie looked stern. Azar had a big smile. Helen stared at her feet.
Gouresh did the same for the Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday contestants. “The winners from each of the first four games will play again on Friday, in the finale.”
Nazneen said, “Tomorrow at one p.m. a van will pick up Monday’s contestants and their chaperones. You’ll be driven to the studio, where you’ll have a short rehearsal to familiarize yourself with the buzzers and the set. Then, at five p.m., we do the live broadcast. Any questions?”
I raised my hand.
“Yes, Felix?”
“What about the people who don’t win? Are we sent home?”
“We’d prefer it if you all stayed for the week; we’ll need a lot of enthusiastic audience members for each show, especially Friday’s.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. My mom and I were safe till Saturday, when we would be at least a thousand dollars richer.
* * *
—
At dinner, Astrid and I sat with Azar, Helen, Freddie and their parents. Azar was easy to talk to. Freddie and Helen, not so much. Freddie barely ate. “Nerves,” he said.
I didn’t have that problem. It was a Chinese buffet, and I went back three times for more beef with black bean sauce, General Tso’s chicken, stir-fried rice and noodles. No way was I missing out on the meals.
I was completely stuffed by the time they brought out the desserts. But that didn’t stop me from stacking a bunch of egg tarts and fortune cookies into my napkin. “For later,” I told Astrid. She slipped them into her purse.
We were back in our room by seven-thirty.
By 7:45, I was fast asleep.
* * *
—
On Monday at one p.m. a van picked up our group. I wore my suit; the jacket hid the rip in the shirt. My black Converse were on my feet.
Gouresh came with us. He was the only one who talked on the drive; the rest of us, even the parents, were too nervous.
We were shown into a large studio in the basement of the CBC building. Seats for about two hundred audience members formed a semicircle around the stage, which was on a raised platform. Our four podiums were side by side at one end, and a single, bigger podium—Horatio Blass’s—was at the other end.
Nazneen was already there, barking orders at a small crew of men and women. She led us onstage and guided us to our podiums. I was at one in the middle. Helen was shorter than Azar, Freddie and me, so they found her an apple box to stand on. “The questions will appear here.” Nazneen pointed at two separate screens angled in such a way that they could be seen by the contestants and by the audience. The categories—Who, What, Where and When—were in bold letters running vertically along the side. Running parallel were five blank squares per category. “As you know from watching the show, you don’t get to pick the categories—the question order will be randomly selected by a computer, with each correct answer worth two points in the first and second rounds, three in the third. For each incorrect answer, the same amount gets deducted.”
Pretending to be Horatio Blass, Nazneen led us through a quick rehearsal, asking us ten sample questions that appeared on the board. We couldn’t buzz in until the question had been asked. I knew the answers to at least six, but mastering the real buzzer was harder than I’d imagined; I was always a fraction of a second behind, and only managed to ring in twice. I could feel sweat stains expanding in my pit region, and it was still hours before the actual show.
After the rehearsal, Gouresh led us backstage to the greenroom, which wasn’t even green. It was a dingy space with a couple of old couches and some folding tables and chairs. Bagels, cream cheese, muffins and cookies were laid out on one of the tables, along with water and juice. “Don’t forget to eat,” Gouresh advised us. “The last thing you want is to ha
ve low blood sugar when you step out onstage.”
After my marathon binge session the day before, I’d barely eaten breakfast beyond two of the egg tarts we’d smuggled back to our room. So I forced myself to eat a bagel. Chewing was an effort. I washed it down with two boxes of apple juice and hoped it would stay down.
I thought about Dylan and Winnie. I wondered if they would come, after the way I’d spoken to them.
Freddie, Azar, Helen and I barely said a word to each other.
We weren’t being rude. We were simply terrified.
* * *
—
One hour before the show, the four of us were herded into hair and makeup. “Just a bit to hide the zits and take away the sheen,” said the guy, Gary, as he worked on my face. A woman named Aisha blasted my curls with hair spray, sending me into a coughing fit.
Nazneen poked her head in. “Someone’s here to say hi.”
Horatio Blass stepped into the room.
I swear my heart stopped. He looked a lot like he did on TV, but kind of different, too. This might sound weird, but he looked less real in real life than he did on TV. His makeup was layered on thick, and he was much shorter than I expected. His head was enormous, and I’m pretty sure his thick black hair was a toupee. His teeth, which were white on TV, were practically blinding in person. He looked sort of like the Madame Tussauds wax museum version of himself. “Well, hello, contestants!” he boomed. The voice relaxed me; the voice was exactly the same.
We all got to shake hands with him. He wished us luck. “Try to relax and have fun.” Then he was gone.
Ten minutes later, back in the greenroom, our parents were asked to go to their seats. Astrid hugged me, careful not to mess with my hair or makeup. “Break a leg out there, Böna. And remember, whatever happens—you are amazing for making it this far.”
Then she was gone. The next ten minutes lasted for an eternity. The only sound came from Freddie, who’d started tunelessly humming to himself.
Finally Gouresh came to get us. “It’s showtime, folks.”
WHO (our very own Felix Knutsson)
WHAT (Who, What, Where, When—Junior Edition)
WHERE (CBC Building, Vancouver)
WHEN (last night on live TV!!!)
By Roving Reporter Winnie Wu
Oh, what a night. What a fascinating, gripping, heart-pounding night!
This reporter had a front-row seat for the first round ever of Who, What, Where, When—Junior Edition, held right here in Vancouver, where Blenheim School’s very own Felix Knutsson was a contestant on live TV. This reporter had hoped to get you an exclusive preshow interview with Felix, even though, for ridiculous reasons that I won’t get into here, Mr. Knutsson was not talking to her. But the show’s producers wouldn’t let her anywhere near backstage before the show, stating that “school newspaper credentials don’t cut it.” This reporter tried to sneak back anyway but was thwarted by a large security guard.
So the first time this reporter glimpsed Felix was when the cameras started rolling and his name was called and he stepped onstage. If you were watching from home you’d have seen him in close-up and maybe you would’ve been able to tell whether he was nervous, but from my seat he looked calm. His hair looked like a halo of blond cotton candy. The other contestants were Freddie Owen from London, Ontario; Azar Farzan, who’d flown in all the way from Saint John, New Brunswick; and Helen Mair from Gatineau, Quebec. There was a lot of applause, but there was extra for Felix, the hometown boy. Blenheim had a big cheering section courtesy of our teacher, Monsieur Thibault.
Horatio Blass was introduced and he came onstage. It was a thrill to see him in real life.
Round one of the questions began. This reporter tried to write everything down, but they wouldn’t allow laptops and therefore this reporter had to scribble everything in a notebook and, well, you try writing that fast. So I didn’t catch every last question, but here are some highlights:
What is the name of the second-highest mountain in the world? (K2)
Who wrote Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea? (Jules Verne)
When was Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea first published? (1870)
Where is Timbuktu? (The West African country of Mali)
Our Felix got off to a rough start. He seemed to be having trouble with his buzzer. At the end of the first round (with one question left on the board), the scores were: Freddie Owen, fourteen. Azar Farzan, ten. Felix Knutsson, eight. Helen Mair, six.
I know this reporter speaks for all of Felix’s supporters when I say the mood was bleak during the first commercial break. We watched in silence as the hair and makeup people came running out and did a few touch-ups, mostly on Horatio. Then the studio director was counting down: “In three…two…one.” And the show was beaming live again, to households all across Canada.
Before they got into round two, Horatio asked the contestants about themselves. Freddie shared that everyone called him “Pud” because his favorite food in the world was rice pudding. Azar talked about once boarding a plane for Saint John’s, Newfoundland, instead of Saint John, New Brunswick. Helen talked about her passion for adult coloring books.
“Felix,” said Horatio Blass when it was his turn, “I understand you named a pet after me.”
“Yes, sir. My gerbil, Horatio Blass.”
Horatio looked straight into the camera and raised his eyebrows. The studio audience laughed. “Might I ask why?”
“Well, your show is my favorite. And my gerbil had a black patch of fur on his head and it reminded me of your hair.”
More laughter. “I’ve never been told I resemble a gerbil before. I believe we have a photo of him.” A photo flashed on a large screen behind the contestants. In this reporter’s opinion, the resemblance to the real Horatio Blass was uncanny. “He’s adorable. I hope he’s watching from home.”
“Oh, that would be impossible. He’s dead.”
Horatio cleared his throat. “Ahem. On that sad note, I guess it’s time for us to move on to round two!”
Now, this reporter doesn’t want to take too much credit, but all the practice rounds she did with Felix—along with Dylan and Alberta Brinkerhoff, Astrid Knutsson and Henry Larsen—started to pay off, big time.
He missed the first two questions in round two. Then it was like a match had been lit underneath him. He was on fire.
Where would you find Pashupatinath Temple? (Kathmandu, Nepal)
Who discovered insulin? (Banting and Best)
When did the Russian Revolution take place? (1917)
What does the Latin phrase “caveat emptor” mean? (Buyer beware)
Felix answered all of the above correctly.
The scores at the end of the second round: Freddie, twenty-six. Felix, twenty-four. Azar, eighteen. Helen, twelve.
It was dead quiet in the studio during the next commercial break. The contestants and the audience were on tenterhooks (if you don’t know what that word means, I suggest you look it up).
It was time for the final round. Only ten questions, harder this time, and worth three points each.
What does the symbol K stand for in the periodic table? (Potassium)
Who composed The Rite of Spring? (Stravinsky)
Where in the world can you swim between tectonic plates? (Iceland)
When did the Titanic sink? (April 14–15, 1912)
Out of the first nine questions, Azar got one right. Helen got two. Freddie and Felix got three. The scores: Helen, eighteen. Azar, twenty-one. Freddie, thirty-five. Felix, thirty-three.
Then came the last question.
Whose assassination led to the outbreak of World War I?
This reporter’s heart leapt; we’d quizzed Felix on this very subject.
Felix buzzed in.
“Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria.”
The score on the front of his podium jumped to thirty-six.
Our very own Felix Knutsson had won the first day of Who, What, Where, When—Junior Edition.
The audience—including this reporter—went wild.
Now he will be in the finals on Friday. This reporter has convinced the editor of our paper to publish a special edition to cover this incredible event.
So stay tuned!
(For the French edition of this article, please go to page 6. This reporter convinced the editor that a story of this scope and importance should be published in both English and French.)
After my win was announced, I heard a sound in my ears like the ocean. Azar shook my hand and said something I couldn’t hear. Freddie and Helen did the same. Horatio Blass shook hands with each of us, and my ears must have started working again, because I heard him say, “Congratulations, Felix. See you on Friday.” His breath smelled like cigarettes. And maybe alcohol.
I could hear the audience clapping, and some of my classmates cheering. I could hear my mom whistling through her fingers.
The lights came up. A photographer took pictures.
We were allowed to leave the stage and mingle with the audience. Monsieur Thibault gave me a bear hug. “We’re all so proud of you, Felix.” A bunch of my classmates hugged me and slapped me on the back—even Donald. For a moment I worried that Monsieur Thibault would seek out Astrid, but they were on opposite sides of the room and he had to get twenty kids home on the bus. Dylan was there with his family, and Alberta had brought Henry.
“Way to go, Felix,” said Henry.
Alberta ruffled my hair. “You did it, Bionicle Dork!” Then she laughed. “Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-HEEE-HAW!”
Mr. and Mrs. Brinkerhoff hugged me, too, then they went to talk to my mom. Dylan and I had a moment alone. “I’m so proud of you, amigo,” he said.