Elliot Allagash by Simon Rich Page A

rubbed my neck.
    “I’m sorry the shirt was so itchy,” she said.
    “It’s okay,” I said.
    “You don’t have to wear it again,” she said.
    My dad turned off the television, grabbed me a glass of water from the kitchen and sat back down next to me.
    “Dad?” I asked. “Are they going to make your book?”
    My parents shared a look.
    “Yeah,” my dad said, finally. “They sure are.”
    I hugged him.
    “Wow, first Monopoly and now this!”
    My dad laughed.
    “Anyone can land on Free Parking,” he said. “But thanks, kiddo.”
    My mom brought me my retainer and the two of them tucked me into bed, making sure to turn on the bathroom light on their way out.
    I was heading into a deep sleep when the phone rang out violently in every room in the apartment. I knew it was Elliot calling (who else could it be?) and that the ringing would wake up my parents. But I was too groggy to answer it immediately. By the time I crawled across the bed and grabbed the receiver, my mother was on the other line. She sounded disoriented. I don’t think anybody had ever called the house that late.
    “It’s okay, Mom,” I said. “I got it.”
    “Good night,” she murmured. “Good night, sweetie.”
    As soon as she hung up, Elliot launched into a monologue. He was speaking so fast that at first it was difficult to understand him.
    “Elliot, I’m sorry,” I said. “I can’t talk about the election right now.”
    “This isn’t about the election,” he said. “It’s a completely new scheme. When I was sabotaging Douglas, I figured out a way to crack his final exam.”
    “Why do you need to cheat on that, Elliot? You’re
good
at history. You’re always reading those books about wars and stuff.”
    “Right—
that’s
history. Not Douglas’s parade of namby-pamby socialist fairy tales! I refuse to devote even one second of mental effort to figuring out which myth he wants me to invoke! The melting pot? Susan B. Anthony? Sacagawea?
Sacagawea?
She was a servant girl!”
    “What?”
    “Listen to me.
If Douglas thinks—
”
    “Elliot, can you tell me about all this tomorrow? I’m kind of tired.”
    He kept on talking. Loud classical music was playing in the background and his voice was slightly slurred.
    “It’s so obvious!” he shouted. “Mr. Douglas writes his major exams over the weekend, so there’s no way to steal it from his desk. But if some higher authority demanded to see the exam in advance, Douglas would have no choice but to submit it! I know what you’re thinking: Which authority, right?”
    “Elliot…”
    “A
fake
one! I have James impersonate the head of a scholastic awards organization. He writes Mr. Douglas a letter on gilded stationary, with a wax seal. ‘Dear Mr. Douglas: We’ve been aware of your exam-writing talents for some time and would like to consider you for the prestigious Gladys Violet Award…’”
    “Elliot, listen…”
    “James asks him to send in his upcoming history final as a sample of his work. I memorize the answers, get a perfect score—and here’s the kicker! I write my test in purple ink! Get it? Gladys
Violet?
Purple? He’ll know I orchestrated everything! Of course, he’ll have no way to prove anything and even if he
could
he would be far too mortified to confront me. He might even convince himself that it was a coincidence and that he really had been nominated for some kind of teaching award. But deep down, the shame would fester in his heart, growing with every passing year, gnawing at his ego, driving him to the brink of madness—”
    “Elliot, listen, it’s late. I need to go to sleep.”
    “Absolutely not. We have work to do.”
    “I’m really tired.”
    “Trust me, you’ll want to witness this! Go downstairs. James will pick you up in five minutes, and you’ll stay the night.”
    “I have to wake up early tomorrow. My dad’s making waffles.”
    “You don’t like waffles. If you come here, James will make you a pie for breakfast, one of