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My Hundred Million Dollar Secret
David Weinberger
My Hundred Million Dollar Secret
© 2006 David Weinberger
self@evident.com
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identical to this one.
2
Chapter 1
I can’t say that Friday, April 13, was a good day even
though that’s when I won the lottery.
It’s not that my standards are too high. It certainly wasn’t a
bad day. It was more like a complex day: That Friday took my
simple kid’s life and made it as knotty as a sweater knit by a
squirrel who just got off a roller coaster.
You’d think that having money would make everything
easy. If you get grass stains on your best pants, you just reach
into your closet where another hundred pairs hang. If you can’t
decide which video game to buy, you buy them both and throw
another dozen into the shopping cart…which is being pushed
by your butler. But being rich had exactly the opposite effect on
me. Maybe it was because I became so rich so suddenly. Or
maybe it was because of the way I became rich. Or maybe it was
because buying pants and video games is the easy part.
Or maybe it was because … Well, it’s a long story.
On the Monday before that Friday the 13
th
, I was at the
Pick-a-Chick. That’s what the sign said outside, although it
wasn’t really a Pick-a-Chick anymore. It was Herb’s This ‘n
That Store. I’m only thirteen, and I can name three other
businesses that used to own that store. First it was McCardle’s
Milk, which was cool because they had Pop Gums, a slime-
green ice cream bar with bubble gum in the middle of it. Then it
was Moishe’s Meats, which pretty much put it off my map since
when I was seven I was unlikely to want to browse in a
butcher’s store that had slabs of dead cows and featherless
chickens in its window as if that would really draw people in. I
think that’d be true even if I weren’t a vegetarian. Then it was
The Nickel House, which sold newspapers and comics and
other things that cost a lot more than a nickel. They went out of
business, maybe because you can’t lie in your store’s name and
expect to get away with it for long. And then someone named
Herb bought it and I guess gave up on trying to figure out what
he would be selling, so it became the This ‘n That Store, which
was exactly what it was. But, throughout all this time, the old
Pick-a-Chick sign stayed where it was, running the long way up
the side of the brick building. By the time it got to Herb, the
Pick-a-Chick sign was practically a local landmark. So, there the
sign hung on the This ’n That store although chicken was one
of the few things you absolutely couldn’t get there.
My parents hadn’t exactly outlawed Herb’s, but they
weren’t crazy about my going there since there was hardly
anything in there that was Good For Me. Candy but no fruit.
Comics but no books. Joke soap that turns your hands black
but no ruled notebook paper. So, when I went, I tried to do it
on the way to somewhere else so I could just sort of sidle on in.
Sidling is the right word because Herb – whoever he was –
had put in three rows of shelves where only two really fit. So
you had to walk sideways, and if you ran into someone in the
same aisle, one of you had to back up all the way and move
down another aisle. In fact, I always thought it cruel that Herb
put the diet foods in the middle of one of the aisles, because if
you really needed them, you probably wouldn’t be able to fit in
to get them.
But that’s not why I was there on that Monday. My violin
lesson was over and I thought I would treat myself to a Ding
Dong Doggie before walking the eight blocks back home. You
know you have to really like Ding Dong Doggies to be willing
to ask for one by name. What Ding and Dong and Doggie had
to do with a butterscotch cake with vanilla creme insides I’ll
never know. But I liked them, and so I sidled on in to the Pick-
a-Chick.
I had my Ding Dong Doggie – please, can I just call it a
“triple D” from now on? – I had my Triple D in my hand and
headed to the counter to pay for it. But there was a woman
2
ahead of me buying lottery tickets. She had filled out 20 forms
where you choose what number you want to bet on, and Mrs.
Karchov was typing the numbers into the lottery machine on
the counter. One by one. At that rate, before I got home I’d be
old enough to shave.
So, I dug my hand into my pocket and fished for coins. But
a Triple D costs 85 cents – and is worth every penny – and who
ever has 85 cents in coins? If I did I could have just left them
on the counter and showed the Triple D to Mrs. Karchov. It’s
the type of cutting ahead in line that you’re allowed to do, at
least according to my father who sometimes pays for
newspapers that way. But, since I didn’t have the coins, all I
could do is leave the dollar bill I had clutched in my hand. And
I’d be darned if I was going to pay an extra fifteen cents for a
Triple D. Money doesn’t grow on trees you know. (By the way,
neither do anvils. And it’s a good thing.)
So, I waited. And waited. And Mrs. Karchov typed and
typed. And I watched the lady in front of me. She was older
than my mother but not as old as my grandmother. Somewhere
in between. But nothing else was in-between about her. She was
built like the original Starship Enterprise: not very high, very
wide, and, because of her hat, flat on top. Without her hat, she
wouldn’t have looked very much like a starship at all. The hat
was round like a pancake with a double pat of butter on top. It
was blue, like the color of fake blueberry syrup. It looked like it
was made out of some sort of shiny plastic that was sticky the
way your fingers are when you’re done with your pancakes. In
fact, the whole thing looked like maybe she’d gotten it at the
International House of Bad Hats.
And the woman seemed a bit nervous or unsure of herself.
She kept muttering apologies and politenesses like, “Here’s
another, if you don’t mind,” and “I’m sorry to be such a
bother,” and “I do appreciate all your help.” And after about
every third ticket was typed in, she’d turn to me and half smile
to let me know she felt bad about holding me up.
The thing was that she didn’t have to make Mrs. Karchov
do all that typing. The lottery machine in the store is a
computer and it’s perfectly happy to choose numbers for you.
There’s no reason to pick your own numbers, unless you think
that you have some type of direct connection to the bouncing
balls they use to pick the winning numbers every week. The
only thing picking your own numbers does is make Mrs.
Karchov stand there and type them in.
I know about this because my dad is the type of parent
who doesn’t just tell you not to do something but has to explain
to you every detail of what it is that you’re not supposed to do.
For example, when he told me not to pour paint remover down
the sink after washing out the brushes I’d used to decorate a
model car, he didn’t just tell me not to, he also told me
everything human beings have learned about the effect of
flammable solutions on the environment.
And when he told me not to play the lottery, I also learned
everything known to science about it. Oh, this was a rich topic
for Dad. It took most of the trip to overnight camp – a three
hour drive – for me to find out exactly how lotteries work, their
effect on the economy, their history throughout the ages, and
why they are evil. As a result, I knew more about the lottery
than I learned about U.S. history in an entire year of seventh
grade. (No offense, Mr. Saperstein!)
Too bad the woman ahead of me didn’t know what I knew.
If she did, she wouldn’t be playing the lottery at all, or else she’d
have just let the machine pick her numbers for her. And my
entire amazing experience wouldn’t have happened.
Or if I’d just been willing to give up the fifteen cents, I
would have slapped the dollar on the counter and been on my
semi-merry way.
But no, I waited while Mrs. Karchov typed and the woman
ahead of me kept looking at me apologetically. And finally, the
woman was done. Almost. She paid for her lottery tickets with a
crisp twenty dollar bill. And, then, at the last minute, when I
thought my turn had finally come, she remembered she had also
bought a bag of buttons. She pulled it out of the pocket of her
orange jacket, and said, “Oh my! I almost walked out of here
without paying for these!” Another two dollars changed hands,
4
and at long last the woman was done. Nothing stood between
me and my Triple D except handing Mrs. Karchov my dollar
bill and getting my change back.
I placed the bill on the counter and heard the sound of
about a hundred little taps. Without even looking I knew the
lady had dropped the bag of buttons. “Oh my!” she said.
The floor was polka-dotted with buttons. “Let me help,”
said I, for I happen to be a nice boy…you can ask anyone. The
woman barely fit in the Pick-a-Chick at all, and there was no
way she was going to be able to squat and pick up the buttons.
So, down I went on my knees, and gathered the buttons, at
first several at a time, and then, as they became harder to find,
one by one. And I did a good job. Some were obvious, but
others had skittered under shelves like mice afraid of a cat. But I
peered and bent and twisted and felt until I thought I had them
all.
“Thank you so much,” the woman said over and over again
as I hunted down the buttons. And when I was done, she said,
“You really are the kindest boy. Your parents must be very
proud of you.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said because it seemed like the sort of
thing a kind boy would say, especially if his parents were very
proud of him. In fact, I think it was probably the first and only
time I ever called anyone “ma’am.” The truth is, all I could
think about was getting my Triple D and rushing on home
before my parents started picking a photo for the “Have you
seen …” posters they’d be putting on the telephone poles.
“Here,” she said, “you must take one of these as a reward,”
handing me the top lottery ticket in her pile.
“Oh, I couldn’t,” I said, thinking about the expression on
my parents’ faces if I came home not only late but with a lottery
ticket in my hand.
“Oh, you really must,” she said, handing it to me. And
being a nice boy, and a kind boy, and a boy who really wanted
to eat a Ding Ding Doggie, I said, “OK. Thank you very
much.” And, without thinking much about it, I opened my
violin case a crack and shoved the ticket into it.
“And if you win,” said the woman, “you can think of me as
your fairy godmother.”
“Thank you. Goodbye,” I said, in a pretend cheerful voice.
But what I was thinking was, “Yeah, and the day I win the
lottery will be the same day I’ll think that my sister Maddie is
fun to be with and, oh yeah, pigs can fly.”
It just shows you how wrong you can be.
6
Chapter 2
I didn’t think about the ticket again until Tuesday night.
After all, everyone knows that if you have a violin lesson on
Monday, you don’t have to practice until twenty-four hours
later. Even parents understand this. It’s practically a law.
So, of course, I didn’t open my violin case until Tuesday
night. I had just finished my math homework and figured I’d
get my violin practicing over with. This turned out to be lucky
for me for two reasons. First, it meant that I opened up my case
in my room, instead of in the den where I usually practice, so
that when the lottery ticket fluttered out, no one saw it but me.
Second, having just finished working on math problems put me
in the right frame of mind.
I had just been busting my brain on those problems where
you have to figure out what the next number is by catching on
to the pattern in the numbers before it. For example, if the
series were 1,3,7,15 the next number would be 31 because
between 1 and 3 is 2, and between 3 and 7 is 4, and between 7
and 15 is 8, so you keep multiplying the difference by two and
adding it. And that turns out to be the same thing as multiplying
by two and adding one. How almost interesting!
So, when the lottery ticket floated off of my violin and
fluttered down to the floor, for the first time I saw the number
that the hat lady had picked. 35-8-27-9-18-9. Now, normally I
have a real hard time with these types of problems, but this one
I got right away, even though there was no reason to think there
was anything to get. Maybe that’s why I got it. Or maybe it was
just that I noticed that the digits of the first number – 35 –
added up to the second number. And, then, while I was at it, I
noticed that if you subtract the second number from the first
one – 35 minus 8 – you get the third number. And, wouldn’t
you know it, if you add the digits of the third number, you get
the fourth. And if you subtract the fourth from the third, you
get the fifth. And if you add the digits of the fifth, you get the
sixth.
Coincidence? Maybe. If you look hard enough at any series
you can begin to find some ways they work out. But this was
too neat. The woman in the Pick-a-Chick must have had her
own twisted mathematical mind working overtime in picking
her numbers.
But I had more important things to worry about: I had to
finish my violin practicing in time to be able to watch The
Simpsons rerun on TV. So, I put the ticket back in my violin case
and got to work.
And there it stayed … until the next day.
I was in the den, playing Commander Keen on the kids’
computer. Keen’s an old game, but it’s a real time waster and
because there’s no blood and gore, my parents practically
encourage me to play it. My mother was sitting at the roll-top
desk, going over the bills, opening envelopes and shaking her
head. And in comes my sister Maddie, holding the ticket, and
saying, “What’s this?” all innocently.
Maddie, you have to understand, is five years old and
enough to drive any brother insane. She’s the worst variety of
cute: the type that’s cute and knows it. All she has to do is pull
her little lower lip under her upper one and look at her shoes
and shuffle her feet, and you can practically hear a crowd say
“Awww.” And then she gets what she wants.
Not that there’s anything really wrong with that. I’d do it
too, if I could get away with it. But, Maddie seemed to me to be
doing it more and more, as if recognizing that she was only
about a birthday away from it not working for her anymore.
You had to give her credit. She was milking it for all it was
worth.
I was out of my seat in a flash, thinking about how to
explain how I ended up with the ticket when, to my amazement,
my mother actually ignored Maddie. The telephone rang, and
Mom was annoyed enough about being interrupted while
working on the bills that she went for the phone to stop it from
8
[...]... every dollar I win So, if I win thirty dollars, I’ll give you three dollars and I’ll keep 27 dollars And if I win a hundred dollars, I’ll give you ten dollars and I’ll keep ninety dollars.” “You’re going to give me ten dollars?” This was just about beyond her comprehension “Yes, but only if the ticket wins a hundred dollars Never mind, just believe me that it’s a great deal.” “I’m going to get ten dollars!”... us will get any dollars at all.” “Ten dollars!” she said, as I handed her the marker set But I could tell that she understood Now she was being the jerk But at least now she was my partner in crime and wouldn’t go blabbing to our parents – not if it was going to cost her ten dollars So, confident that my secret was safe – because now it was our secret – I tucked the ticket back into my violin case and... To dream about coming home from school with dollar bills stuffed into every pocket and down my shirt and in my cap and in my lunch box Dollar bills hanging out all over me And my mother and father were waiting for me, asking me how my school day had been and if I’d like a snack, while I frantically kept shoving bills back into their hiding places, hoping my parents wouldn’t see It was nine thirty when... to put myself to sleep, and had gotten up to treble boosting wah-wah’s with bass thumper reverb, when I finally dropped off I woke up feeling like I had lost something Only after shaking my head a couple of times did I realize that I was feeling the loss of the hundred and eleven million dollars I never actually had On Mondays, I usually feel rich because I have my five dollars of allowance in my pocket... by Mom and Dad without me I was looking at them, but my ears heard nothing but Ginny Ginny was suddenly my favorite person in the whole world And she said my favorite word in the whole world: “Eighteen!” she squealed It was all I could do not to squeal along with her One number away Oh my gosh, I thought Suppose I actually win A hundred million dollars! But I wasn’t thinking about what I could do with... bed,” said my father “You’ve been up late enough already,” said my mother “Um, ok, I guess I’ll be going to bed,” I said, as if I weren’t one number away from a hundred million dollars So I went to bed But not to sleep Chapter 5 The next morning I was not up bright and early That’s because I was up dim and late the night before I tossed I turned I practically did land-based synchronized swimming My blankets... lottery is worth this week?” my father asked with just a little bitterness “Over 100 million dollars A hundred million dollars! Can you believe it? When I drove home, I saw a line coming out of the Pick-a-Chick store People lining up to buy their tickets, last minute Poor suckers They might as well just put their dollar bills into the trash can in front of the store and skip the line.” I didn’t ask... know my number." "Don't be silly 'Richter' is in the phone book." The waitress came back and left the bill on our table I stuck my hand in my pocket, looking for money, but then remembered that I only had the fifty cents change from the newspaper I looked at Mrs Fordgythe, embarrassed “Oh don’t be silly, dear,” she said, as she left money for the bill “You don’t have your hundred and eleven million dollars... shattered.) “This is the last in the series, isn’t it?” my mother asked as my Dad served her oven roasted potatoes “Yup Which makes more sense than putting one in the middle of the series on the front page In this last one, I summarize all the others.” I suddenly lost interest in the potatoes, normally one of my favorite foods The front page announcement that my father hates the lottery while I had a lottery... tell you later Now just keep quiet or I’ll tell Mom you were playing with my violin again.” Quickly shoving the ticket into my pocket, I went back to Keen, Maddie wandered back to her room, and my mother hung up on the guy from the credit card company with an evil smirk on her face That night, Maddie came into my room to borrow my good markers There was a reason why they were mine and not Maddie’s They .
My Hundred Million Dollar Secret
David Weinberger
My Hundred Million Dollar Secret. dollar I win.
So, if I win thirty dollars, I’ll give you three dollars and I’ll keep
27 dollars. And if I win a hundred dollars, I’ll give you ten
dollars
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