The Potato Chip Puzzles: The Puzzling World of Winston Breen (7 page)

The last team was West Meadow Junior High, home of the eccentric Brendan Root. His team was led by the school’s vice principal, a balding, genial man who introduced himself as Carl Lester.

“Okay!” said Simon. “I’m glad we’re all here. I know you’re anxious to get started, so let me tell you what’s going to happen today. You’re going to face six puzzles. The first team to send me the answers to all six puzzles will win fifty thousand dollars for their school.” Everybody already knew what the prize was, but hearing Dmitri Simon say the number out loud added an extra degree of excitement. The room filled with the murmuring of kids wondering what their schools would do with that money. Winston could feel waves of urgency radiating off Mr. Garvey.

Simon smiled out at them. “I have a present for all of you,” he said.

“Potato chips!” someone said loudly, to general laughter.

Simon chuckled. “Maybe we’ll get you some potato chips, too. But right now I have something else.” He gave a little signal, and Simon’s assistants began walking among the audience, holding boxes. They were giving out something.

“One per team,” said Simon. “Just take one.”

A young man handed the “present” to Mr. Garvey. It was covered in protective bubblewrap. Mr. Garvey peeled this away and looked quizzically at what he’d uncovered. He handed it to Winston. Mal and Jake bent in to see what it was.

It was a small handheld computer—a personal digital assistant, maybe—not quite as large as a paperback book. There was a small screen and a keyboard. A stubby gray antenna poked out of the top.

“You’ll need to keep this with you all day,” said Simon. “This little device is going to be your best friend. It will tell you where you need to go next, and it’s how you’re going to send me the answers as you find them.”

Winston found the power button and turned the device on. The screen came to life to the sound of a short electronic tune—
teedly-teedly-TEE!
—and then displayed the Simon’s Snack Foods logo. This blinked away after a moment and was replaced with a message: “The Game Has Not Yet Begun.” There was a flashing Enter button under that, so Winston hit the Enter key on the keypad. The device thought about that for a moment and then returned with the same message, almost a rebuke: “The Game Has Not Yet Begun.”

All around them was the
teedly-teedly-TEE
ing of little computers starting up. Simon said over the din, “You can turn them on if you want, but you won’t get very far just yet. I want to explain a few things first, and then Game Control—that’s us—will send out the information you need to get going.” He turned to one of the people by his side and said, “I told you the sound effects were a bad idea.”

When the tweeting had died down, Simon said, “Okay. As you’ve all learned by now, the game has not yet begun. Here’s what’s going to happen. After I’m done talking, my people here will wait five or six minutes so that you can all get back to your cars. Then they’ll push the button or throw the switch or whatever it is they do. . . . Anyway, they’ll start the game.

“
Then
when you turn on your little devices, you’ll get that very annoying start-up sound and you’ll see a menu of six pages. Each page will give you information about one of the puzzles. But—aha!—you’ll soon discover that only the first page is unlocked. Solve that first puzzle, type in your answer, and you’ll learn the location of the second puzzle. Solve
that
, and you’ll get directions to the third puzzle, and so on.”

Simon looked slyly at them. “The sixth and final puzzle is a little bit different. You won’t need to go anywhere to solve it. The only thing you’ll find on that sixth page is a clue and the input box for sending us the answer. That’s it.”

Someone had turned on a computer again, and there was the now-familiar tweedling start-up sound. Everyone tittered restless laughter, and Simon rolled his eyes. “I absolutely promise, the game isn’t going to start until I say so. You can turn those computers on and off all you want—but don’t!” Simon said, realizing he was inviting a chorus of
teedly-teedly-tee
s.

“The first team to send us all six answers wins the loot. It’s exactly that simple. We’ll send out a message to all the teams when that happens, and then we can meet back here and have some hamburgers and hot dogs—and potato chips, of course—and I’ll give the winning team a big, fat check.”

A murmur of excitement buzzed through the room. Winston ached for Simon to dismiss them so they could get going.

Simon looked around the room. “Are there any questions?”

There are always questions, and Winston found himself clutching the tabletop in exasperation as they were asked.

“What if nobody wins?” somebody asked.

Simon shook his head with a small smile. “Somebody’s going to win, believe me,” he said. “We made the puzzles challenging, but not impossible. And the prize, I think, is big enough that you guys are going to give it your all, am I right?” There was general agreement and a couple of hearty “yeahs!” from around the room. Simon nodded his approval. He said, “If aliens invade and suck out your brains, well, I guess I’ll come up with something. But I’m willing to bet that someone’s going to win without any extra hints or clues. Anything else?”

Then somebody had to ask if you had to answer all six puzzles to win, which Winston thought was the stupidest question in the history of the world. He slumped down in his chair. He could feel Jake and Mal buzzing with anxiety as well.
Yes! You have to answer all six puzzles! Let’s get going!

But Simon answered that question patiently and a couple of other ones besides. After that, the room filled with a tense silence. There were no more questions. The game could now begin.

Simon smiled at them all, drawing out the moment. Then he said, “Okay. Get back to your cars and check your computers in about five minutes. And good luck to all of you!”

He had to shout this last bit over the explosive din of dozens of people all scrambling for the exit at the same time. There was no reason to run, but it was hard not to get swept up in the excitement. The clock was ticking down, and the game was about to begin!

“All right, stay close,” said Mr. Garvey.

Office workers who had nothing to do with the contest threw themselves against the walls as a flood of kids suddenly filled the hallway. A businessman in a three-piece suit coming through the front doors was frozen in shock as the chaotic crowd rumbled toward him. He leapt to one side like a stuntman in an action movie, and gawked in amazement at the passing riot.

The kids and their teachers flooded out into the parking lot. Mr. Garvey said to Jake, who was holding the mini computer, “Turn that thing on, see if we get anything.”

Winston knew that only a couple of minutes had gone by and the game would not have started yet. But he understood Mr. Garvey’s impatience. Jake pressed the power button as he walked.

“
Teedly-teedly-TEE!
” said the computer.

“Nothing,” said Jake. “Same message as before.”

They approached Mr. Garvey’s blue car. As they waited for their teacher to unlock it, Rod Denham walked by them with his students. “So these are your boys, eh, Garvey?” He had a politician’s grin on his fleshy face. It was the smile you wear when you don’t particularly like what you’re smiling at.

Mr. Garvey, for a moment, looked like a small, tense dog, one who isn’t sure whether to run or fight back. But he finally put on a similar smile and said, “Ah, logic was always your strong suit.”

Mr. Denham’s grin only got wider. He looked at Winston and his friends. “Good luck today, boys! You’ve got some serious competition out there.”

“So do you,” said Mal.

Mr. Denham laughed. His students didn’t. They were sizing up the competition, their arms crossed, their expressions carefully neutral. The three of them looked like they had nothing in common—they were a freckle-faced girl, a tall but overweight boy, and a second boy who, with his thick glasses and oily hair, was almost a cartoon version of a math nerd. But somehow they gave off the impression that they were a team, a real team, organized and well-prepared, ready to work together as effortlessly as the gears in a clock. Winston hoped he and his friends looked half as serious.

“All right,” said Mr. Denham. “Let’s go, people.” His team climbed into Mr. Denham’s car, which was nearly as long as a motorboat. Around them in the parking lot, Winston could hear the sounds of people turning on their computers, hoping that the game had started.

Jake climbed into the passenger seat this time, so Winston and Mal got into the back.

“That man is very hard to take,” said Mr. Garvey, getting into the driver’s seat.

“He’s used to winning,” said Jake.

Mr. Garvey glanced at him, perhaps surprised by this observation. “You’re right. He is. How did you know?”

Jake shrugged. “I’ve seen baseball coaches with that same expression. Not just confidence, but—”

“Yes,” said their teacher. “Certainty. He knows he’s going to win.

That wouldn’t be so bad, except he
does,
all the time. Drives me crazy.”

“We can tell,” Mal said in a low voice.

If Mr. Garvey heard that last comment, he chose to ignore it. He said, “Try that thing again, will you?”

Jake fiddled with the computer. Winston closed his eyes in an attempt to block out that opening sound effect.

“Hey! I got something new,” Jake said.

Mr. Garvey’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Read what it says. Where are we going first?”

“Hang on,” Jake said, pushing buttons. “Okay. Puzzle one is at the Burstein Space Museum. Oh, hey! We get in free when we show them this computer.”

“Cool,” said Mal.

Mr. Garvey said, “That’s right nearby. I wish it would tell us where the other puzzles will be. I’d love to skip ahead and have a puzzle entirely to ourselves.”

Jake pushed buttons. “When you click the button for the second puzzle, it says you can’t have it yet. Same for the others. You have to solve them in order, just like Dmitri Simon said.”

Their teacher shrugged. “All right, then. Tune up those brains, gentlemen. We are on our way.” He put the car into reverse and backed out of the parking spot.

Immediately there was a strange popping noise. Winston looked around but couldn’t tell where it had come from. Mr. Garvey shifted gears and drove forward, and everyone became aware that something was wrong. The car was making a strange, struggling sound, and felt slightly lopsided. The teacher turned out of the parking lot, perhaps hoping the car would miraculously heal itself. But the sound didn’t go away, and he decided he couldn’t ignore it. He pulled over by the side of the road, just ten yards from the potato chip factory.

As other teams drove past them, leaving them behind, Mr. Garvey got out of the car. Muttering, he walked around inspecting it, and then stopped as he saw something he didn’t like. Winston saw a look of unleashed horror on the math teacher’s face. Jake opened the door and peered out, to see what Mr. Garvey was looking at.

“You’re not going to believe this,” Jake said. “We have a flat tire.”

 

THE BOYS GOT OUT
of the car. Yes, it was true. The right rear tire looked like it had been in a fight and had lost. Mr. Garvey stared at it, more shocked than angry. He seemed unable to process the idea that this was happening, that things could go this wrong.

And then he processed it after all: He gave a great, unholy yell and kicked the dead tire as hard as he could. Winston took a step backward.

“Do we have a spare?” Jake asked.

Mr. Garvey stopped kicking and looked around, as if surprised to see the kids standing there. He nodded, a bit wild-eyed. “A spare,” he said, like he didn’t know the word. “A spare.” Maybe he thought Jake was referring to bowling. Then he regained his senses and said, “Yes, of course I do.” He opened the car’s large rear door and began removing the supplies he had placed there. “This is going to take a few minutes,” Mr. Garvey said. “This is terrible, just terrible.”

“Can we help?” Winston said.

Mr. Garvey waved his hand as if the question itself was too much interference. “I know how to change a tire. Just stand back. I need fifteen minutes, that’s all I need.”

They watched him get set up for a minute or two, feeling useless. Then Jake elbowed Winston. “I want to go back to the parking lot for a minute. Come on.” So the three boys walked back to the potato chip factory.

The visitors’ parking lot had only a couple of cars left in it—all the puzzlers were long gone.

Mal looked behind him at Mr. Garvey, on his knees, removing the lug nuts. He said, “If he finishes that tire and we’re not there ready to go, he is going to have a heart attack.”

Jake said, “I know, but I want to see something. Where were we parked? Here, right?”

They looked around. “Seems right,” Winston said. “Maybe one space over.”

“Yeah. Look.” Jake nudged some green shards of glass with the toe of his sneaker.

“Whoa,” said Mal. “Broken glass in a parking lot! I’ve never seen that before!”

Jake gave him a withering look. “Do you see glass anywhere else? Look around.” They glanced up and down the gray asphalt. Winston couldn’t see any broken glass anywhere except where they were standing.

“So that’s what gave us the flat tire,” Winston said.

Jake nodded. “I think someone did it to us on purpose.”

Winston blinked. “What?”

“Did you hear that popping sound right as we started moving?”

Winston thought about it. “Yeah. I heard that.”

“He’s got the tire off,” said Mal, gesturing back to Mr. Garvey. “Let’s start walking, huh?”

So they started back to Mr. Garvey’s car, walking slowly. Jake kept talking. “You know Mark Mazslos? From the baseball team?”