I gave him a big hug. “You’re a better friend than I deserve. I’m really sorry, Dylan, for everything—”
He cut me off. “It’s forgotten. I mean it. You don’t have to worry about me.” He held up his left hand and discreetly pointed with his right. “Not sure I can say the same about her.”
I turned. Winnie sat in a chair in the front row, head bowed, scribbling furiously in a notebook. She looked amazing in her red beret and blue, red and yellow plaid skirt.
I took a deep breath and walked over to her, ready to get an earful. She wore a press badge on a lanyard around her neck that read BLENHEIM BUGLE, STAFF REPORTER. I could tell it was homemade. “Winnie,” I began. “I want to apologize—”
She stood up and threw her arms around me. “I’m so thrilled that you won! For your sake, obviously, but also for mine. Your win makes for a much better article.”
Oh, Winnie. My Winnie.
Nazneen and Gouresh herded us to the greenroom to gather our things. I felt so much lighter, because of the win, but also because things were okay with my friends.
Back at the hotel I checked my phone. I had a bunch of texts, including one from Daniel.
Way to go, kid!! It was so cool, seeing you on TV! Tell your mom you got your brains from your dad, ha-ha-ha! SO PROUD OF YOU!
At dinner Freddie was subdued, but Azar and Helen were in great spirits. “I can’t believe I’m a thousand dollars richer,” said Azar.
“And have you seen our take-home prizes?” added Helen. “We all got a year’s supply of pancake batter, microwave popcorn, spaghetti sauce, maple syrup and laundry detergent! Plus a Dairy Queen gift card, a bunch of other gift certificates, a manicure-pedicure set, some board games and something called Turtle Wax.”
I felt so happy. So calm. I ate enough food for a small army.
When we got back to our room, Astrid turned on the evening news. There was a clip about the show, featuring me. It was so weird, seeing myself on TV. “Is that really what I sound like?” I asked Astrid.
“Yup,” she said. Then she hugged me for the twenty billionth time and told me how proud she was of me for the twenty billionth time.
At ten o’clock we turned out the lights, but I couldn’t get to sleep.
I’d just scored a thousand bucks for participating, and twenty-five hundred for the win. In less than an hour we were thirty-five hundred dollars richer.
Thirty-five hundred dollars would help us out a lot.
But twenty-five thousand—that would be a life changer.
And after today, I had a one in four chance.
I’d tried not to think about it too much.
But now…
Now I wanted it more than I’d ever wanted anything in my entire life.
The rest of the week went by at a snail’s pace.
I went to all the tapings. I watched the contestants carefully. I tried to figure out their strengths and weaknesses. I got Astrid to quiz me in my spare time.
Nazneen encouraged us to invite as many people as we could to the finale, so I got in touch with everyone I knew. I tried to enjoy the free meals, but it got harder and harder to eat, and even to taste.
On Wednesday, Astrid had a private meeting with Vijay. I was watching daytime TV when she returned. “I got my prescription filled,” she said, holding a small paper bag.
“That’s good. Did you tell him we don’t need to be put up in a shelter or a not-nice hotel now? Did you tell him I’ve already won enough money for first and last month’s rent?”
“It’s not quite that simple, Felix. A landlord will still want some sort of proof that I can be reliable when it comes to paying the rent.” She smiled, a little too brightly. “But don’t fret; he’s got a place lined up for us.”
I muted the TV. “Where?”
“A room in a motel.”
I knew from all my studying that a motel was a motor hotel, meaning you could drive right up to your door if you had a car. “What’s it called?”
“The Cedar Motel.”
“That doesn’t sound too bad. I mean, it has cedar in the name. Maybe it’s close to a forest or a park.”
“Maybe,” she said, avoiding my gaze. “I’m going to run a bath.”
My P.O.O. told me she knew more than she was letting on. Once she was in the bathroom, I punched the name into our ancient laptop.
The Cedar Motel wasn’t close to nature. It wasn’t even close to Vancouver. It was on a busy six-lane road. It looked super-run-down. The sign outside read CED R M T L. FR E CABL TV. I Google Mapped it; it would take me at least an hour and a half to get to school by bus.
The next morning I filled a bowl with porridge at the breakfast buffet. I added three pats of butter. I brought it up to our room and put it in front of Mel.
My head told me I was being silly, but my heart told me that at this point, anything that could help me win was worth a shot.
* * *
—
On Thursday night I was brought onstage with the three other winners; Dragan Lukic, Flora Ocampo and Talia Shoemaker. They were all really good. Talia had a particular knack for anything historical, and Dragan was a science and technology genius. The knot of nerves in my stomach ballooned till I thought it would burst.
I barely slept that night. I stood the chance, in twenty-two minutes of live TV, to fix everything for my mom and me. We wouldn’t have to worry about where we would sleep. We wouldn’t have to go to a sketchy-looking motel, or wait for a year for assisted housing that, for all I knew, might be even worse. We wouldn’t have to live far away from my school. We’d have enough money to eat while Astrid found a decent job.
On Friday morning I forced down some breakfast. But at lunch I couldn’t eat at all.
Daniel texted at four p.m., when we were in the greenroom.
Break a leg tonight, Felix! Got a group of friends coming over to watch the finale!
Time slowed. At one point I swear I saw the clock on the wall move backward. I felt light-headed, exhausted.
Finally, Gouresh walked in and said, “It’s that time. And remember: each of you is already a winner.”
That, I thought, is a Give Peace a Chance.
* * *
—
Even though I have a mind like a steel trap for trivia and facts, I don’t remember much about the actual game. It sounds so weird; I was in the game. I was part of the game. But it was like I was looking down on the entire thing, like an angel version of myself.
I remember being backstage and peeking out from behind the curtain into the audience. Every seat was taken. Monsieur Thibault was there again, along with many of my classmates. Winnie and Dylan were there with their families. And a lot of other people I’d invited had come: Mr. and Mrs. Ahmadi and Vijay were there. It took me a moment to recognize Constable Lee because she wasn’t wearing her uniform; she was in a dress with nylons and everything, and she sat next to a woman who, I found out later, was her wife, Matsuko.
I remember being called onstage.
I remember that Talia and I both took an early lead, and that Dragan started gaining on us in the second round.
I remember the last two questions:
Who was born in the village of Mvezo in South Africa on July 18, 1918? (Nelson Mandela)
When did Italy become unified as one nation? (1861)
The rest is pretty much a blank.
Except the part where I won.
Confetti fell from the rafters, all over the stage and into the audience. I stood rooted to the spot, stunned. The other contestants shook my hand. Horatio Blass did the same. “Woo-hooo!” he shouted. He put an arm around my shoulder and guided me to center stage.
“How does it feel to be the first ever Who, What, Where, When—Junior Edition champion, Felix?”
I was hyperventilating. I
couldn’t form words.
“Take your time.”
“It’s wonderful. You have no idea.”
He chuckled. “Do tell.”
“It means we’re going to be okay.”
“Who is we?”
“My mom and I. This changes everything for us.”
He smiled. “How does it change everything?”
The words tumbled out. “We’ve been having a hard time lately. We’ve been living in a van. And my mom’s ex-boyfriend said we stole it, but he’s a liar, and we thought we were going to have to live in a motel without all the vowels”—I remembered to breathe—“but now I have money to get us a place to live and everything is going to be all right. It’s like the happiest ending ever!”
I noticed that Horatio Blass was squeezing my shoulder, hard. As if to say, Enough.
“Heh-heh, but, son, you do understand, you don’t get the money until you’re eighteen. It’s held in trust until then.”
I blinked into the bright stage lights.
It took a few moments for his words to sink in.
Horatio chuckled again. “Guess someone didn’t read the fine print.”
I thought back to the contract. The contract that I’d barely glanced at before signing and sending back.
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t answer.
“But hey, how old are you? You’ve only got to wait, what, five years, and the money will be yours, with interest!”
Five years.
Five years.
That’s when I burst into tears.
In front of a studio audience.
On live TV.
I heard someone yell, “Cut!” The studio lights came up. Horatio’s on-screen smile vanished. I thought I heard him mumble, “I’m too old for this crap,” as he walked backstage, but I can’t be sure.
I saw my mom in the audience. She looked ashen. Monsieur Thibault, my classmates, the Ahmadis, the Brinkerhoffs, the Wus, Vijay, Constable Lee and her wife—all of them gazed at me with a mixture of shock and pity.
The best day of my life had flipped, in mere seconds, to the worst. Like I’d gone through a portal to another dimension, where everything looked the same, but wasn’t.
I bolted.
I dashed backstage and down the long corridor, past the greenroom, up two flights of stairs and out a set of doors that said Emergency Exit Only. Well, this was an emergency.
I walked back to the hotel. It was already pitch-dark at six p.m.
Fractured thoughts ran through my head.
Eighteen.
Five years.
One more night at the Sunshine Inn.
One. Then…
Ced r Mot l.
Ced r Mot l.
Ced r Mot l.
I let myself into our room with my key. My eyes landed on Mel.
I grabbed him from his place beside the TV. I opened the balcony doors and stepped outside.
I looked over the railing to the busy one-way street, four stories below.
It was a long drop.
I stepped back into the room to get a running start.
I took a deep breath.
I sped toward the balcony.
I flung back my arm —
And chucked Mel into the air, watching as he plummeted to the ground below.
We left for the Cedar Motel early the next morning. Vijay picked us up. I made my mom walk down the stairs with me at the Sunshine Inn and out through the parking garage. I couldn’t bear the thought of running into people I knew. I couldn’t bear their questions, or their inevitable looks of pity. Vijay told us later that a couple of news crews had been waiting for us in the lobby, too. Maybe they were hoping I would burst into tears again.
We drove.
And drove.
I tried to keep an open mind as we pulled into the parking lot and walked with our bags toward the sign that said OFF C . At the Sunshine Inn, guests were greeted with a smile. Here, the guy sat behind Plexiglas and eyed us suspiciously. He spoke only to Vijay. Big signs on the wall read DRUG USE OF ANY KIND WILL NOT BE TOLERATED and VIOLENT BEHAVIOR WILL RESULT IN IMMEDIATE EVICTION and NO LOITERING.
A number of residents sat outside or hung out in the parking lot as we made our way to our room. A few of them stared, especially at my mom. I didn’t feel afraid of them—not very, anyway—but they looked like life had been hard on them. They looked like they’d reached the end of the road.
I didn’t want the Cedar Motel to be the end of our road.
Vijay opened the door to our room. It smelled of past tenants’ cooking and had tons of cigarette burns on the carpet even though a sign over the TV read NONSMOKING ESTABLISHMENT. There were two beds, a TV, a bar fridge and a hot plate for cooking.
Astrid tried to cheer me up. “At least we have real beds here. And heating, and a toilet, and a shower.”
I couldn’t answer. Yes, it had all those things. But it also had a strong whiff of sadness, like I could feel the pain of the past tenants who’d called this room home.
“I’ll check in with you both on Monday,” Vijay said on his way out the door.
I couldn’t even summon up the energy to say goodbye.
* * *
—
I spent the weekend in the room, watching TV. I ignored a bunch of calls from Daniel. I ignored Winnie and Dylan’s persistent texts. Astrid was glum, too, but she could see I was in my own Slump, so she did her best to cheer me up. She went out and bought groceries with some of the emergency funds Vijay had given her. She read aloud to me, but I didn’t really listen.
She spent a long time on the phone with Daniel, pacing back and forth outside our unit. I could only hear the rise and fall of her voice.
On Sunday night, there was a knock at our door. I grabbed the Gideon Bible from the bedside drawer. The locks on the door were fragile, and the door was made of plywood. I’d seen the looks a few of the tenants had given Astrid, and I wasn’t taking any chances.
But it wasn’t any of the other tenants.
It was Vijay.
And he wasn’t alone.
WHO (our very own Felix Knutsson)
WHAT (the aftermath of Who, What, Where, When—Junior Edition)
WHERE (various locations)
WHEN (one week ago)
By Roving Reporter Winnie Wu
You’ve probably come to notice a certain style in this journalist’s reportage over the course of our first semester together. Words like hard-hitting and exposé possibly come to mind. I’ve tackled asbestos and homelessness, but when I tackled homelessness, I had no idea that one of our own was among their ranks.
So today I am happy to write what some might dismissively call a “feel-good” story. I write it with the permission of our game show champion, Felix Knutsson. (Full disclosure: This reporter is good friends with—even the sort-of girlfriend of—the subject. But this reporter did not let him have any kind of influence over the article as that would go against her journalistic code of ethics.)
First, a recap. We all know what happened at the end of the final game. Practically everyone in Canada found out that Felix and his mom were homeless. (Felix doesn’t like me to use that word; he prefers “between places,” but this reporter has to call it like she sees it.) And we also found out that he wouldn’t get the prize money till he was eighteen, which, when you think about it, makes sense, and frankly this reporter feels strongly that Felix should have done his due diligence and read the contract; that oversight is on him.
But still, I felt crushed on his behalf, and so did Dylan Brinkerhoff, who has given me permission to use his name because (a) he is Felix’s best friend, and (b) he wanted to see his name in print.
And it turns out that a lot of other people in the audience felt bad, too. So guess what? Dylan and this re
porter made sure all those people met each other after the show. And they talked, and they decided to have a meeting the very next day. But here is the ridiculous part: even though we were responsible for bringing all of those people together, we were not allowed to attend the meeting, because it was “for grown-ups only.” When this reporter pushed for access in the name of freedom of the press, her very own parents rudely refused. Like they somehow thought this reporter wasn’t mature enough to handle what was going on, which, as anyone who knows this reporter would agree, is utterly absurd.
But here is what came out of those meetings:
Felix and his mom were offered an apartment. It is above a store on Broadway called Ahmadi Grocery. If you and your family don’t shop there already, well, what are you waiting for? They have great produce, and they are great people. They own the store and the small apartment upstairs. Their son has been living in the apartment, but he got a job in Prince George and moves out in January. Felix and his mom will move in then, and while no one would give this reporter an exact dollar figure, I am told the rent is reasonable.
I would write a much longer piece, but the editor gave me only a limited amount of space, even though I repeatedly pointed out that this story is journalism gold. I suppose it is a good life lesson to be reminded that one will encounter certain bosses who suffer from a lack of vision and imagination. Fortunately, I doubt the editors at Le Monde, the Guardian or the Washington Post have this affliction, and they are my top three picks for work once I am through university.
On that note, and only twenty words away from my maximum word count, I wish you all a very happy holiday.
(For the French edition of this article, please go to page 6. This reporter convinced our editor yet again that a story of this scope and importance should be published in English and in French—obviously.)
“Millions of people all over the world have never seen God, but they still believe in him,” Dylan is saying. “And I have no problem with that.” His braces are full of bits of Oreo cookies from his DQ Blizzard.