The Trouble with Mark Hopper (20 page)

No one had any. As quietly as he could, Mark brushed his candy into a pile and transferred it under his desk. He finished his Twizzler and stuck the wrapper in his pocket. Three other adults entered the room one after another. The first were a woman and a man who were dressed similarly to Dr. Latchky and looked friendly enough, if not warm and welcoming. The last was a man so short and squat he had to squeeze through the door sideways. He was wearing a suit and clack-clacking shoes like the others, but his face was drenched in sweat that he wiped occasionally with a light blue handkerchief. As he waddled into the classroom and toward his post in a corner, he was grinning from ear to ear. “Good morning!” he said cheerily to the group. This time Mark and a few others said “good morning” back.

Mark caught him eyeing his candy beneath the desk. He looked down at the candy and back up with eyes as wide as the man he faced. “Would you like some?” he asked.

The judge bounced as he laughed. “Thank you, young man,” he said. “Don't mind if I do.” He started to bend down, but Mark leaned down first and came up with a Twizzler. “Perfect,” the man said. “Perfect!”

Mark liked him. He just hoped he didn't play the bassoon.

After the judges and the students introduced themselves, the games began. Their first task—a warm-up, the judges called it—was to count aloud, with individuals calling out a number at a time starting with one, until they got to fifteen. If two people spoke at the same time, they would have to start back at one. Mark had never tried this before, but it sounded easy.

“Begin whenever you're ready,” Dr. Latchky said.

The group sat in silence for a few seconds, everyone looking at one another. Then Grace and Harrison announced at the same time, “One!”

Mark and some others laughed, including the hefty judge, who had introduced himself as Professor Clugg. They fell into silence again.

“One!” said Grace, who was speaking a few octaves higher and a few notches sweeter now that there were judges in the room.

“Two,” said Harrison and another boy at the same time.

Grace, frustrated, said, “One” again immediately, but another girl had had the same idea.

Then the room became quiet once more. “One,” said Emily slowly.

“Two,” Mark said. He stared at Grace with his eyes wide. If they went in order around the circle, this would be a piece of cake. He figured Professor Clugg liked cake.

She picked up on the idea and said, “Three,” but not before a boy across the circle had already started saying it, too. Grace glared at him. Then, in case the judges had noticed, she glanced at them at smiled.

Emily began again with one, and Mark took two, then Grace three. They made it without a mistake until they were almost back at Emily, when someone who wasn't paying close attention said ten instead of nine. But Emily started up with one again, and they made it around without a problem. “All right!” whooped Mark after they reached fifteen. “That was great!” Emily gave him a high five and a couple others clapped their hands, including Professor Clugg. Grace sat looking smug, as though the number seven had single-handedly bought them the victory. Dr. Latchky congratulated them, but told them to try it once more, this time without having a specific order. That was much harder, but now that they were all in the spirit of the game and up to the challenge, they did it without too much trouble and without any two people shouting out “one” at the same time; it was as though they had a sort of unspoken communication about who was going to go next. After a few tries, two girls said “fifteen” at the same time, and everybody laughed and sighed, but the next time they succeeded without a hitch. Mark unwrapped a Hershey's Kiss and popped it into his mouth. He almost completely forgot that he was not supposed to be there.

The next game was a teamwork classic: the human knot. From the expressions on his competitors' faces, Mark could tell that many of them knew it, too. They pushed the desks to the walls and stood in a circle in the center, then joined hands with people across the circle, creating an enormous web of arms. The challenge was to untangle themselves without releasing their hands. This had been challenging when Mark played it in gym class. But that was nothing compared to playing it with a group of young Masterminds. Everyone had a solution, and everyone wanted theirs to be the one that worked.

“You go under there first,” said Grace, pointing with her chin.

“No,” said the girl she had directed. “I think you—um, Harrison, right?—you need to slide your hand lower and step over that arm.”

“That's not a good way to start, though,” said Harrison. “Why don't we each just get ourselves in comfortable positions first?”

“I like that idea,” said Emily, whose arms were stretched like opposite ends of a tug-of-war rope in the wrong directions.

“But really,” Grace said. “That's not going to help unless
she
goes under there first. Don't you see why?”

“I can't see anything,” said a boy who was bent over to the left in order to keep holding on to Mark's hand.

“Let's do Harrison's idea,” said Emily.

“I'm telling you, it's not going to wo-orrk,” Grace sang.

“Who ca-ares?” sang someone else in the same tone. “We can always come back. I've done this before.”

The judges exchanged knowing looks and took careful notes on their clipboards.

“I've done this before, too, for your information.”

“Me too, but it doesn't matter. We need to start doing
something
.”

“So are we doing my idea?” Harrison asked with a glance toward Dr. Latchky.

“I'm going under here, okay?”

“And I'm going to step over your hand.”

“Ouch!”

“I told you I was going under!”

“I didn't know you were talking to me! I wasn't ready.”

One of the judges sighed.

“You guys,” said Mark. “We need to work
together
.”

“Why don't we pick someone's plan and try it? I say Harrison's plan.”

“What was Harrison's plan?”

“My plan,” Harrison announced, “is to first have everyone get comfortable so that we can think and see straight.”

“Good idea,” said Mark, who was crouched below the center of the knot and couldn't see anything except Professor Clugg, who had bent over and reached for a piece of candy. Mark just wanted to stop arguing and start untangling.

But they carried on in this way for another five minutes. They barely got halfway free, and the judges kept writing long after Dr. Latchky asked them to return to their seats. That was an utter failure, Mark knew, but at least it was an utter failure for everyone. If Mark was there, he probably would have made sure everyone knew that if they had tried his idea, they would have gotten out.

After one last teamwork game, a man came into the room rolling a large cart full of food. Neither Mark nor Professor Clugg could help but stare wide-eyed as he began arranging the spread on a table: sandwiches, chicken nuggets, soft drinks, and brownies. Mark said “thank you!” with such fervor that everyone else rushed to thank him as well, with Grace being the loudest. The judges left the room to confer and give the competitors time to eat, and Mark piled his plate high with some of everything. It was worth being there just for the food! He was finishing his second brownie when Dr. Latchky came in with her clipboard hugged close to her.

“We are now going to begin with the interviews. Please stay here until you are called. After you're called, you may go, and we will see you all at the awards ceremony tomorrow. The first up is Grace Chen. Next up will be Mark Hopper. Grace, come along with me when you are ready.”

Grace threw away the remains of her lunch and smoothed her pink dress. She picked up a large binder overflowing with certificates and report cards before strutting out of the room after Dr. Latchky, stopping in the doorway to fluff up of the bottom of the skirt. “Good luck!” shouted Mark.

With the interviews officially starting, everyone became more nervous. A few competitors who had still been munching on lunch pushed their food aside, no longer hungry. Harrison went into a corner and closed his eyes and mumbled to himself, looking serious but smiling every once in a while. Emily got up and started pacing. Mark sat still, absentmindedly sipping his root beer. The morning was so much fun that he wasn't really worried about the interview. Dr. Latchky and the others were intimidating, but Professor Clugg was nothing but funny. Something about him reminded Mark of Grandpa Murray—though the professor was half Grandpa's age and three times his weight—and there was nothing nerve-racking about talking to Grandpa Murray. He remembered that Mark had said the finalists' art would probably be on display somewhere nearby. He was very curious to see everyone's artwork, especially Mark's. Mark probably submitted a self-portrait, Mark figured. A self-portrait of himself with wings and a halo made of lots of letter
A
s. He laughed out loud at the mental picture, but everyone was too busy preparing him or herself for the final stage of the competition to even look at him. Mark considered slipping out to find the artwork, but since he was next and he didn't want to be missing when he was called, he decided to wait until after his interview.

After about twenty minutes, Grace strutted back in looking perfectly smug. She kept her nose up as she gathered her coat and purse, which Mark assumed she left in the room purposely so that she could come back after her interview and show everyone how confident she looked. Dr. Latchky called Mark's name and told the next finalist to get ready. Amazingly, Mark wasn't nervous at all. All he had to do was be Mark Geoffrey Hopper.

Dr. Latchky led Mark out of the room and down the hall to another, larger room, where the other judges were sitting behind a long table. She motioned to a single chair opposite the panel. Mark gulped as he sat down. Professor Clugg also gulped, as he was finishing off a doughnut. Mark laughed. He really did like Professor Clugg.

“Welcome, Mark,” said Dr. Latchky. “Good job this morning.”

Mark's ears turned red. “Thank you,” he said shyly.

“How was lunch?” Professor Clugg asked.

Mark's eyes brightened. He grinned. “Lunch was awesome! Thank you!”

The judges laughed. “You're very welcome,” one of them said.

One of the registration women knocked gently on the door and poked her head in. “Sorry to interrupt,” she said, “but I've got the painting.”

“Ah, yes,” said Dr. Latchky. “That's great. Bring it in.”

The woman smiled and opened the door wider. She carried in a wooden easel and set it up at the edge of the judges' panel, facing Mark. Then she carried in a canvas the size of Mark's portrait of Grandpa Murray and placed it on the easel. She spent a few seconds positioning it, then stepped back to admire it for a second. It wasn't until she walked away that Mark could see what the painting was. The woman smiled at Mark and crossed her fingers to wish him luck before she left, but Mark was too busy staring at the painting to notice. His eyes were as round as the doughnut Professor Clugg had just finished. It was his painting. It was his portrait of Grandpa Murray.

“Why is this here?” Mark asked.

“Don't worry,” said Dr. Latchky. “After your interview we'll return it to room 104 to display with all of the others.”

“But—” Mark tried to wrap his tongue around the words he wanted. But first he had to wrap his brain around what was going on. “But, how . . . how did this painting—this portrait of my grandpa—how did it
get
here?”

The judges looked at one another with arched brows. Professor Clugg spoke up. “Well, we brought all of the finalists' artistic pieces over here from our headquarters in Baltimore. After you sent it in with your application, that is.” He raised his finger in a sort of semi-understanding. “This
was
your submission of artistic talent, right?”

Dr. Latchky flipped pages on her clipboard. “Yes,” she said. “Mark Geoffrey Hopper. Painted portrait of old man and CD with bassoon solo.” She looked at the painting and squinted. “Your name is on it,” she said. “Did you forget that this is the piece you chose to submit? It was quite some time ago.”

Mark's eyes became even wider as he put the pieces together. So the other Mark had submitted this with his name on it. He had sent it in as evidence of his own artistic talent. Without telling him. How had he managed that? Did he steal it from the art room when no one was looking? Or did he just walk in and say he was Mark Geoffrey Hopper and he needed his painting? Mark felt his breathing becoming heavier and his mouth becoming tighter. How could Mark do this to him? He knew how hard he'd worked on that painting, how proud he was that it was going to be the only portrait by a sixth grader to hang in the public library. How was it possibly going to be in the library tomorrow if it was here right now? His stomach, full of chocolate and chicken and root beer, began to churn and tighten. However Mark had done it, he had done it “quite some time ago.” And then he had just continued to become Mark's friend, pretending like there wasn't a lie between them the size of . . . of . . . the size of Professor Clugg! And here was Mark doing him a favor and cheating for him. Mark was right, he was an idiot.

Here was his chance to give his namesake what he deserved. He would confess to the judges that “he” had stolen the painting, and then Mark would be disqualified.

The judges wrinkled their foreheads and rechecked their records. They looked at one another and at Mark, concerned. “Do you want to take a few minutes to relax, and we'll interview Benjamin first?” Dr. Latchky asked.