The poetry assignment, although relegated to the background in all the excitment over Gavin Gunhold’s career, was almost finished. Raymond had lost interest ever since “What SACGEN Means to Me,” feeling that the project was no longer a factor in getting to Theamelpos. It was Ashley Bach, once described by Raymond as a “death sentence” to the project, who was doing most of the work. Steve Semenski’s little sister had agreed to do the typing at $1.25 a page.
There were still only seven Gunhold poems, but this was easily explained. Gunhold’s sudden popularity left him little time for original work. The project contained analyses done by all three partners, and included many opinions supposedly belonging to the poet himself. In addition, there was a videocassette of all the Gunhold TV interviews, and copies of all his press clippings. This made up for the fact that the written work came to only sixteen pages instead of twenty-five or thirty, according to Raymond.
“The bottom line is, who cares?” he commented. “My essay on the windmill is coming out great.”
***
Monday was the deadline for “What SACGEN Means to Me,” and by the time Sean arrived at school, Raymond had already made his submission, skimmed through some of the competition, and estimated how many potential entrants he had scared away with his poisonous snake rumor. (There were two hundred and seventy-three essays. He figured at least that many had opted out.)
“I put my paper about a third of the way down the pile,” he told Sean. “Not at the front, but not so far back that Q-Dave’ll be bored when he reads it.”
“Oh, there you are.” Mindy O’Toole jogged up to them. She was trying to act casual, but was clearly unnerved by Raymond. “Danny wants to know how the plans are coming along for the Christmas activities.”
“They aren’t coming along,” said Raymond.
Mindy frowned. “Danny said you guys are helping him on this.”
“No,” Raymond insisted. “We’re not ‘helping’ him with anything. Tell him to leave us alone.”
“Say that we’re really busy, so we don’t have any time to work for him,” Sean suggested diplomatically.
Raymond shook his head. “Tell him that we have all the time in the world, and could very easily work for him, but that we don’t want to because he’s a jerk.”
“Don’t tell him that,” Sean told Mindy.
“Yes. Tell him that.”
Mindy looked frightened and ran off.
***
On Wednesday, Sean found himself on his own for lunch, since Raymond was off helping Miss Ritchie in the library, and Ashley was at Burger King with Steve. As he made his way toward Miami Beach, he was taken completely by surprise when Mr. Hyatt came up to him. The principal was hardly seen at all lately, as he had locked himself in his office to read the “What SACGEN Means to Me” essays.
“Mr. — Delancey, is it?” asked Hyatt.
“Yes, sir,” said Sean tentatively.
Mr. Hyatt awarded him a pat on the shoulder. “Excellent paper on SACGEN, young man. I’m very impressed.”
“Oh, you must be thinking of the other guy — Jardine. Raymond Jardine.”
“His was outstanding, too. Both of yours were enlightening, informative, well-researched, and enjoyable to read. I’ve got my eye on you two.”
“What paper?” Sean mused aloud after Mr. Hyatt had walked away. Clearly, something was up, and it was a good bet that Raymond was at the bottom of it.
He found Raymond in the library atop a ladder, struggling with an enormous READING IS FUNDAMENTAL poster. Every time he succeeded in lining up one corner to the wall, the other three would curl up on him. When he tried tacking the bottom edge first, the top of the sheet rolled up and conked him on the head, causing him to lose his grip. The poster fluttered down to land at Sean’s feet.
Sean picked it up and shook it at Raymond accusingly. “I just found out that I handed in a SACGEN essay. What’s the story here, Raymond? And you’d better make it good!”
From his perch, Raymond shrugged. “What can I say, Delancey? Sure it was me. I realized I couldn’t convince you to do an essay, so I got to thinking. All along that tough, cruel road, who was with Jardine every step of the way? So I wrote one for you.”
“You had no right to do that!” Sean exclaimed hotly. “You know exactly what I think of that stupid windmill!”
Raymond studied his sneakers. “I’m sorry, Delancey.” He sighed. “How’d you figure it out?”
“Because Q-Dave stopped me in the hall to commend me on my paper.”
Raymond jumped and almost lost his balance. “He did? Fantastic! That means he liked mine, too, since they were almost exactly the same! Sorry to be so happy while you’re chewing me out, but we’re back on the road to Theamelpos!” He snapped to attention and gave a rigid salute to the west. “Secaucus, hail and farewell. You put up a heck of a fight. Jardine had to try fifty times as hard as everybody else to avoid your diabolical clutches, but this time you lose.”
“Raymond, I’m not finished with you yet!” Sean thundered.
“Don’t you see?” said Raymond. “You’re more than Jardine’s English partner. You’re his cohort his comrade — his fr—”
“Don’t say ‘friend,’ Raymond. Just — don’t say it!”
Raymond looked dejected. “Well, the least you can do is climb up here and help me with this poster.”
“No way,” said Sean, tossing the roll up to his partner’s waiting hand. But as Raymond resumed his struggling, Sean could bear it no longer. “Oh, let me show you how to do it before you end up killing yourself!” He scrambled up the ladder and grabbed the rolled-up paper from Raymond.
Suddenly a loud grinding noise roared through the school, and the lights began flickering erratically.
“Attention, students,” said Engineer Sopwith through the PA system. “It is imperative that you —” his voice was drowned out by static “— immediately. Thank you.” Then the power went dead.
“Terrific,” groaned Sean into the gloom. “Perfect timing.”
“Hey, shove over, Delancey,” came Raymond’s voice. “You’re hogging the ladder.”
“I’m on my half, you’re on yours. Shut up and hang onto that poster.”
“I don’t have the poster. You have the poster.”
“I don’t have the poster. Where is it?”
“Maybe it’s on the wall.”
“How could it be on the wall? It was rolled up. Wait — here it is. Raymond, stop shaking the ladder!”
“I’m not shaking the ladder!”
“Well, somebody’s shaking the ladder! Raymond, we’re tipping over! Raymond! Do something!”
There was a great crunch as the ladder fell over, sending Raymond and Sean reeling into a magazine display rack, which keeled over on top of them just as the lights came back on.
“That’s right. Throw Jardine off a ladder. And hey, while he’s down there, so it shouldn’t be a total loss, drop a shelf on him. What the heck.”
Sean shook off the copy of Techno-Living magazine that had landed on his face open to the feature on argon-neon lasers. He wriggled out from under the rack and, with the help of Ten-Ton Tomlinson, set the freestanding shelf back upright. “Just another day in the life of SACGEN, miracle of technology,” he said sarcastically. He looked down at Raymond. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
Raymond made no move to get up off the floor. “I can’t, Delancey. My ankle is broken.”
“Don’t be an idiot, Raymond. I’m not in the mood.”
“I’m serious, Delancey. My ankle is broken.”
On the point of walking out the door, Sean wheeled and regarded his English partner sprawled on the floor. Raymond looked decidedly unhappy, and very pale.
“His ankle’s broken!” howled Sean in a voice that carried throughout the building. “Don’t just stand there! Do something! Get a doctor! Get an ambulance! Boil water!”
“I don’t want any tea, Delancey, and I’m not having a baby.”
Sean didn’t stop babbling hysterically even as the ambulance arrived and two uniformed attendants moved Raymond carefully onto a stretcher.
“The windmill did this!” Sean seethed. “I’m going to go into that control room with an axe, and then Q-Dave is really going to know what SACGEN means to me!”
“Delancey, shhh!” admonished Raymond, momentarily forgetting his ankle. “If you open your mouth in front of Q-Dave, you’ll blow Theamelpos for the two of us!”
But Sean raved on. “Who cares? This is the last straw! I’ll say it to the Secretary of Energy himself! The windmill is a piece of —”
“Oh, the pain!” bellowed Raymond suddenly, completely drowning Sean out. “The a-gon-y!”
Quickly, the attendants hustled the stretcher into the ambulance. Sean clambered up with them, refusing to leave without a physical struggle.
“You guys brothers?” asked one of the attendants as they pulled out of the school drive.
“Much closer than that!” Sean exclaimed fervently. “And SACGEN will rue the day that it did this to Delancey’s best friend!”
Raymond’s stay in the hospital was a very short one. A few hours after the cast had been put on his leg, his mother and father were able to take him home. Sean was still there, still issuing wild threats against SACGEN. Raymond seemed more upset at having to move temporarily out of his garage apartment than at anything else.
The Jardines dropped Sean off in time for dinner, giving him a whole new audience for his ranting and raving. It broke up the evening meal. Gramp let out a roar of outrage and ran for the telephone to call Raymond and make sure he was all right. Nikki beat him to the phone, however. She could not eat while Raymond was suffering and had to notify Marilyn and Carita of these ill tidings. This left Sean alone with his parents.
Mrs. Delancey refused to accept that SACGEN could be responsible for the accident.
“What do you mean, Mom? I was there! I fell, too!”
“You kids blame SACGEN for everything,” she retorted.
“A thirty-three million dollar project can’t go that wrong,” her husband added reasonably.
“You think I don’t know why you’re making this up, Sean Delancey?” his mother went on. “You’re feeling guilty because you were acting up in the library, and your friend got hurt as a result of it. That’s the real reason for all this.” At that, she and her husband walked out, heading for the den to “eat in peace.”
Gramp came back into the kitchen. “I got through. He’s okay.”
“How’d you get past Nik?” Sean asked.
“I just threatened to melt her Rolling Stones records. You know, Jardine said you made a real spectacle of yourself at school when it happened.”
Sean grinned sheepishly. “He’s taking it a lot better than I am, I guess. Honest to God, Gramp, the guy’s got no luck! None at all! Zero! Zip! Zilch! And does he complain? Well — he does, but he’s got a right!” He shook his head. “SACGEN’s got to go.”
Gramp pushed his dinner away, lit up a Scrulnick’s, and chuckled. “You’d better think twice before you take on the whole Department of Energy. But if you do decide to bomb the school, let me know so I can express-mail the argon-neon laser over. No sense wasting all that good dynamite.”
“I’m not kidding, Gramp. It may sound crazy, but in the ambulance I swore I’d get SACGEN this time. I don’t mean blowing it up, but showing the world what a big lemon the whole business is, and putting an end to it once and for all!”
Sean couldn’t get to sleep that night, the day’s upsets running riot through his mind. A month ago, he would have been sublimely grateful for anything that would have put Raymond out of commission. Now here he was, foaming at the mouth, ready to do battle over that same Raymond, Raymond the embarrassment, Raymond the pest, Raymond the schemer, Raymond the obnoxious, Raymond the eleventh-grade garbage bag.
Well, at least Raymond was okay. In six or seven weeks, the cast would come off, and everything would be fine — until the next time SACGEN conked out. Then someone could end up with more than a small fracture. Maybe a concussion, or worse. There were no two ways about it. SACGEN was a menace, and the students deserved protection.
Fat chance. All the newspapers and magazines were positive that SACGEN was the big success of the decade. Everyone was so busy patting everyone else on the back that, when the students tried to give the real story, they were dismissed as spoiled brats making trouble. And because of the cover-up, it was only the DeWitt kids who had seen blackouts and breakdowns. There was truth to be told here, and no one would listen.
Sean sat up in bed, shaking his head to clear it. There was something wrong with a world where no one would listen to twenty-two hundred students whose education and well-being were in danger, while an eighty-eight-year-old poet with a yo-yo had the ear of the entire nation.
Wait a minute! Of course! No one would pay attention to twenty-two hundred teenagers, but what if they had a spokesman? A famous spokesman, like Gavin Gunhold?
Flinging the covers aside, he crept out of bed and padded barefoot out of his room and down the hall to Gramp’s door.
Gramp was enjoying a good dream, as his face was blissful in repose. His right middle finger was moving rhythmically, as though attached to an imaginary yo-yo, and he was murmuring, “On registration day at taxidermy school …”
“Gramp — are you asleep?”
Gramp opened one eye. “Buzz off.”
“Gramp, it’s me — Sean.”
Drowsily, the old man sat up, squinting at the clock on his night table. “It’s four o’clock in the morning! What are you — crazy?”
“I just had the greatest idea for Gavin Gunhold.”
“Oh, him. He’s pretty much booked up until May. Call Ashley.”
“No, no!” Excitedly, Sean related the idea of having the poet speak for the students of DeWitt and expose SACGEN to the world.
Gramp was unimpressed. “I’ll say whatever you like, but there’s no reason for anyone to take my opinion of SACGEN seriously. I’m a poet.”
Sean shook his head. “All we need you for is to get the people and the media to show up. We organize a special ‘Thank You’ reading at the school, fill the place, and wait for SACGEN to go on the frizz. When people see it, they’ll have to believe it.”
“But you claim the Department of Energy sends over a busload of engineers every time SACGEN is in the public eye. Surely they’ll do it again for us and our reading.”
“Yes,” said Sean, “but you’ll explain exactly what we’re doing, so the reporters won’t let the Department of Energy pull any cover-up. We’ll let Sopwith and Johnson work the windmill, just like it was a normal day at school and, with everyone watching, the other engineers will have to sit tight. Then it’s “The Gavin Gunhold Show” until the windmill breaks down.”
“And will it?”
“Of course it will. It always does.”
Gramp thought it over. Finally, he said, “You know, you’re not a robot after all. You’ll never end up pledging your life to an argon-neon laser.”
Sean grinned. “It’s a good plan, huh, Gramp?”
Gramp lay back down. “If it works, I’ll be the first one to admit you’re a genius. But if something goes wrong, you’re the one who explains to your mother why we have to move to a new town.”
***
Howard Newman was so impressed by what Sean had to say that he stopped dealing the cards. “No way!”
“Yes,” Sean insisted. “We’re going to get the windmill once and for all.”
Carefully, Howard refunded the five toothpick ante to Randy, Chris, Leland, and Ten-Ton, and shut down the game in order to give Sean his full attention. “Talk to me.”
Quietly, Sean explained to them the upcoming Gavin Gunhold presentation and the plan to discredit SACGEN. “Mr. Gunhold has already agreed to do it, and if I can count on a few helpers to make sure the engineers don’t try to pull a fast one, it should go off smooth as silk. The windmill will break down in front of witnesses and reporters.”
“Yeah, but it’ll still be standing,” said Howard, vaguely disappointed. “I was hoping for something with a little more violence. But listen, hey, whatever does the job.”
“Awesome idea, Sean,” Chris approved.
Leland nodded. “The vub resonates, baby.”
“Great,” said Sean. “One last thing. Raymond will be back at school in a couple of days, and he’s really mad at the windmill because of his ankle. Don’t tell him about the plan. I want it to be a surprise.”
This was something that had occurred to Sean on the way to school. Someone who brought shame and ridicule onto SACGEN, and therefore Q. David Hyatt, would be the last person in the world selected to go to Theamelpos. So Raymond could not be told about the plot against SACGEN, because he would do anything and everything to stop it. It was a little sneaky, keeping him in the dark, but it was necessary. SACGEN had to go, for Raymond’s and everyone’s good.
“Right,” agreed Howard. “We don’t tell Raymond. It’ll be our get-well present to a dear friend.”
Ten-Ton looked confused. “Howard, you don’t like Raymond, remember?”
“I am big enough to forgive and forget,” said Howard piously. “As soon as the windmill did a number on his ankle, I forgave and forgot.”
“So I can count on you guys,” said Sean. “Great.”
The plan was in motion. Ashley had already pledged her full support to the venture, although Sean hadn’t mentioned anything about SACGEN. To her, Gavin was appearing as a thank-you gesture to the school that had discovered him. This way, Ashley couldn’t leak the news to Raymond.
The two made an appointment to see Mr. Hyatt for permission to go ahead, and naturally, the principal was overjoyed. Here was an opportunity to show off his suit, his car, his SACGEN and his poet, all on the same night. He praised Ashley and Sean for their initiative, escorted them out of the office and rushed to phone the Department of Energy with the good news.
***
The next day, Raymond was back in school, thump-swinging deftly around on his crutches. By the time Sean arrived in the morning, his English partner was being waited upon like some Oriental warlord by Nikki, Marilyn, and Carita. His cast already bore several smart signatures, including that of Leland Fenster, with the dedication Zunging negatoid, baby. Get positive soon. The victim was seated on an inactive radiator (from the good old days before SACGEN), balancing on his lap a tray that held an enormous Burger King breakfast, while his fans hovered around, watching his eating with great concern.
“Don’t forget about your French toast, Raymond,” Nikki counseled wisely. “Here, you can wash that down with some coffee.”
“Hey, Delancey,” Raymond greeted Sean. “Come on over and grab some hashbrowns.”
Sean kept his distance until the girls went off, bearing the empty tray.
“Having a broken ankle isn’t too bad,” Raymond proclaimed as Sean settled himself on the radiator beside him. “Everyone’s treating me like delicate crystal. Miss Ritchie can’t hit me up for any garbage jobs, because I’m injured. And the cast comes off in six weeks, add another month to strengthen the ankle, and a nice safe caution period after that, and Jardine will be good as new to zoom off to Theamelpos in July.” He chuckled. “Wouldn’t want to give Miss Stockholm damaged merchandise.”
Sean felt a sudden pang of conscience. The attack on SACGEN was sure to put hopes of Theamelpos in the grave. He grimaced. It was just Raymond’s consistently lousy luck that the chance to get a shot at SACGEN had to come up now.
“I’ve got some news,” he began carefully. “Ashley and I are setting up a public appearance for Gavin Gunhold right here at DeWitt on the sixteenth.”
Raymond’s face broke into a big smile. “You’re a real pal, Delancey. This’ll be the icing on the cake for Theamelpos. Q-Dave’ll die of happiness. But how are you going to fix it so your folks don’t show up?”
“They’ve got a big party in the city that night, so they won’t be around.”
Raymond nodded in contentment. “Fan-tastic. Before, I was pretty sure we were going to Theamelpos; now I’m positive. Gramp is the sweetest guy in the world to do this for Jardine. And I’m not going to forget you either, Delancey.”
Sean was sure of it.
Danny Eckerman walked up to them, oozing charm. “Well, well, and how are we feeling today?”
Raymond scowled. “We were feeling fine, but then something real ugly came up.”
“I was really shocked to hear about your leg,” said Danny in concern. “Do you think it’ll interfere with your preparations for the Christmas activities?”
“I’m working just as hard now as I was before,” Raymond assured him. “I was doing nothing, and my future plans include a lot of the same. Now beat it.”
Danny’s smile never wavered. “If you need some help, I can arrange to get you somebody, because the time really is running short.”
“Now I know why the doctor gave me two crutches,” Raymond informed Sean conversationally. “One is to lean on, and the other is to beat off annoying idiots.” He raised a crutch threateningly.
“Well, I’d better be going,” said Danny pleasantly. “Keep me posted on your progress.”
Raymond patted his crutch. “That’s another good thing about having a broken ankle.”
Ashley did her usual thorough job of publicity, and the Gavin Gunhold reading at DeWitt was assured of a large audience. With her faithful boyfriend, Steve, at her side, she sent out press releases, printed up thousands of flyers, and recruited students from her art class to deliver them door to door. Mr. Hyatt was so excited over the project that the school paid the expenses. For good measure, he sent notices to all parents, urging them to attend. Long Island’s Newsday published an article on the upcoming reading, and even the New York papers mentioned it. Gavin Gunhold was news.
Gramp was serene during the big buildup, and continued to answer his fan mail and smoke his Scrulnick’s as before. There were a few anxious moments when Mrs. Delancey asked who this famous poet was, and how she, an English teacher, had never heard of him. But Sean and Gramp managed to bury the issue under many other subjects. Nikki, fortunately, chose to keep quiet.
Howard was happy but nervous over the upcoming sneak attack on SACGEN. The sheer importance of the plan was taking his mind off cheating at poker, and he began losing thousands of toothpicks. So he postponed the game until after the windmill’s demise, and the poker players just sat around their table, chortling over their roles as SACGEN-busters.
Sean himself was completely wired over December sixteenth, a mass of tingling nerve endings, vibrating in a vacuum. There was nothing for him to do except be scared — that, and to appear totally nonchalant in front of Raymond. With everything in motion rolling up to the big event Monday night, he couldn’t help reflecting that he didn’t even recognize himself. As recently as September, his life had been normal. Sure, he was a basketball star, and a popular guy, but everything had been safe and easy and straightforward; now here he was, embroiled up to his nostrils in a plan to put an end to a thirty-three-million-dollar project. He had gotten Gramp into it, too, not as himself, but as a long-dead Canadian poet, scheduled to emcee the revolution.
With Raymond and Nikki the only people aware of Gavin Gunhold’s true identity, and Howard and his crew the only ones who knew the real purpose of the gathering, Sean felt himself at the center of a web of intrigue and deceit, withholding at least some information from everything else. It was definitely not Sean Delancey. This kind of scheming and conniving would have been a bit much even for Raymond Jardine.
Well, it was all worth it. This was the windmill. All year, he’d been blabbing about how something should be done about it. And now was the time when he would put his money where his mouth was. Sure, he was going to catch a lot of flak for this. He might even get booted off the basketball team. But let it never be said that Sean Delancey wasn’t ready to stand up for his principles.