Spin the Golden Light Bulb

by Jackie Yeager

  Spin the Golden Light Bulb

  Jackie Yeager

  Amberjack Publishing

  New York | Idaho

  Amberjack Publishing

  1472 E. Iron Eagle Dr.

  Eagle, ID 83616

  http://amberjackpublishing.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to real places are used fictitiously. Names, characters, fictitious places, and events are the products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places, or events is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 by Jackie Yeager.

  Printed in the United States of America. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, in part or in whole, in any form whatsoever without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data

  Names: Yeager, Jackie, author.

  Title: Spin the golden light bulb / by Jackie Yeager.

  Series: The Crimson Five.

  Description: New York, NY: Amberjack Publishing, 2018.

  Identifiers: ISBN 978-1-944995-44-7 (Hardcover) | 978-1-944995-46-1 (ebook) | LCCN 2017941027

  Subjects: LCSH Inventions--Fiction. | Inventors--Fiction. | Schools--Fiction. | Family--Fiction. | Teamwork--Fiction. | Science fiction. | BISAC JUVENILE FICTION / General | JUVENILE FICTION / School & Education.

  Classification: LCC PZ7.Y321 Sp 2017 | [Fic]--dc23

  Cover Design & Illustrations: Gabrielle Esposito

  THE AMPHITHEATER

  My sixth grade class marches into the amphitheater, an outdoor stadium with a crumbly center stage, at the same time the Piedmont Challenge theme song thunders through the speakers. Grandma Kitty said I would freak out when I saw all the banners and balloons, probably chew my nails right down to the skin. But my nails aren’t even bleeding, and the amphitheater looks perfect. Just the way I imagined it.

  Well, except for maybe one thing. My name won’t be listed on any of these bleacher seats. Mine will be marked with number 718 to match my uniform shirt, my books, and everything else at school. And that’s so annoying. Just once I wish I’d see Kia Krumpet written someplace. It’s like my name isn’t even real.

  Principal Bermuda stands on stage wearing a suit that barely buttons over his belly. Next to him stands a lady in a purple dress. I’ve never seen anyone’s hair piled that high or with so many purple ribbons woven through it. She must be from Piedmont University. I tighten my ponytail and march up the bleachers as straight as I can because Grandma Kitty says winners have good posture and hold their heads high.

  When all the seats are filled, Principal Bermuda flings open his arms and a siren blasts so loudly we cover our ears. Before I have time to wonder what’s happening, an aero-car zooms straight for the amphitheater, but it screeches to a halt high above the stage. The motor quiets to a hum, whirring like an old-fashioned ceiling fan, and lowers a golden sign:

  Welcome to the Piedmont Challenge!

  Think More. Work Hard. Dream Big.

  I smile as the aero-car flies away. One of the winners of the Piedmont Challenge invented the first flying car like twenty years ago, and she was a girl—a fifteen-year-old girl. I could be like her someday. Only I would be Kia Krumpet, the girl who invented the first underwater bubble bike—at age eleven.

  Grandma Kitty always tells me, “Butter Cup, the best inventions come from thinking of things you already know and dreaming up ways to make them better.”

  Well, I do know a lot of things. Like, nail biting is a habit people do when they’re nervous, but it’s also a sign of being a perfectionist. And when you divide the circumference of a circle by its diameter you’ll always get 3.14—that’s called Pi. Oh, and I also know best friends can stab you in the back without even owning a knife. Just ask my ex-best friend, Charlotte Montgomery. Her stabbing skills are stellar.

  But I didn’t know the sun would scorch my head so much that my ponytail would feel like fire. This is the Piedmont Challenge, though. I don’t care if these sun-fried bleachers burn my legs right through my uniform skirt. This sunshine is going to bring me luck in the competition; I know it is. The sun is one of the brightest stars in the universe, after all.

  Principal Bermuda taps the microphone and combs his greasy hair with his fingers. So gross! Doesn’t he know some of us have butterflies in our stomachs? Mine almost force my morning oatmeal onto Charlotte’s lap. It would serve her right for sitting next to me, though, and for being the best-friend-turned-traitor that she is. But I can’t throw up. I have to think about solving my first task of this competition, and puking at the Opening Ceremony wouldn’t be smart at all.

  “Welcome sixth graders, to the 50th Annual Piedmont Challenge!”

  The theme song roars through the amphitheater. I’m not looking at Charlotte, but I can feel her looking at me.

  “Psst,” she says.

  I don’t answer.

  “Kia,” she whispers.

  “Shh! I’m listening to the music.”

  “I want to tell you not to be nervous. None of us are going to win anyway.”

  I glare at her as hard as I can.

  “No one from Crimson Elementary School has ever won a Golden Light Bulb.”

  “I know that.”

  “Everyone knows this competition is cursed or something.”

  I barely move my lips. “It’s not cursed.”

  “In fifty years, no one from the whole town of Crimson has ever won. Why else would that be?”

  Maybe if I ignore her, she’ll stop. I stare at the trees towering above the amphitheater and see the shape of a light bulb woven into the branches.

  “Well?” she says.

  I sit up straight. “That’s because no one from Crimson has ever tried hard enough to win.”

  She stares at me like I just flew in from Mars.

  The music fades and Principal Bermuda states the rules of the competition, the things we’ve all heard a bazillion times since the beginning of the school year. I bet I could stand on that stage and recite his speech myself.

  “The Piedmont Challenge is a national event where tasks are given to every sixth grader, including all of you!” He points his finger straight at us and spins in a circle, like a rooster perched on top of a weather vane. “Over the next week, you’ll solve a task in each academic category: Art Forms, Communication, Earth and Space, Human History, Math, and New Technology. The scores will tell us what category you’ll study in seventh and eighth grade, and high school after that. The process is called ‘Programming.’”

  I bite my thumb nail hard. That’s six whole years of studying one thing. I can’t do that! I’ll never get to build my sixty-seven inventions—or even one. If I’m forced to study one category for the rest of my life, my best ideas will shrivel up for good. I’ll probably have to study math. I’ll be stuck in a building with really tall walls. Walls!

  “However, the Piedmont Challenge is also a search for the brightest and most creative sixth graders in the country. For that reason, you’ll also solve a seventh task: The Swirl and Spark Recall. The Swirl and Spark Recall is a task where anything goes. You won’t know what you’ll be asked to do until you walk into the testing area.”

  Charlotte nudges me. “That shouldn’t be hard for you, should it, Kiiiiaaa?” The way she says my name makes me want to spit in her face. I know she’s talking about all the times I’ve made up plays for us to perform and games for us to play, and probab
ly all the times I’ve tried to get her to build inventions with me. Those things used to make us best friends. Now they don’t.

  “The five elite students in each state with the highest score will travel to Camp Piedmont in Maryland this summer and eventually enroll at PIPS, the exclusive Piedmont Inventors Prep School instead of getting programmed into one academic category.”

  My knuckle cracks. I don’t realize how hard I’m squeezing my hands until I feel the pop. I could go to PIPS instead of getting programmed into math. I could meet kids who appreciate my ideas. I could finally build my sixty-seven inventions. They wouldn’t just be incredible ideas on my list. I know my chances stink, but somebody has to win—I pick me.

  “At the Day of Brightness Ceremony, most of you will receive your programming placement, but the top five students in New York will be given Golden Light Bulb trophies instead.” He flips a switch and the outline of the Golden Light Bulb flashes in the trees. Even in the daylight, it illuminates the amphitheater brighter than the blazing sun. If I could, I’d climb up that tree and let the light pour into me, for luck or something.

  He waves a flag in the shape of the infinity symbol. “I now declare the Piedmont Challenge at Crimson Elementary School officially open.”

  We stand up, turn on our heels, and I’m facing the back of Charlotte’s head. But I don’t think of her as my ex-best friend who rides aero-scooters without me now. Today she’s one of the 200,000 kids that I’m going to beat, and when I do, I’ll find someone else to ride aero-scooters with, and, hopefully, underwater bubble bikes too.

  THE MERMAID SONG

  We inch down the bleachers like a bale of turtles. I’m not even sure we’re moving at all. Charlotte’s messy disaster of a braid is in front of me. It looks like she slept on it. I smooth out my ponytail and straighten the collar on my shirt. That’s what the Piedmont people want to see—someone neat and prepared. I picture myself in my perfectly pressed uniform flying over my classmates, swooping down first and grabbing my competition tickets, but instead I wait my turn like everyone else, biting my nails down to their nubs.

  I finally step onto the center stage, the very spot where Principal Bermuda stands next to the Piedmont University lady with the ribbons. She hands me seven tickets and looks me right in my eyes. Then she smiles. A warm, knowing smile . . . I think she just sent me her Piedmont good luck vibes.

  I squeeze the tickets tight and peek at the one on top.

  Student No: 718

  Crimson Elementary School

  Task 1: Human History

  June 1, 2071

  Emerald Room J

  I tuck the tickets into my shoulder bag as my classmates march past me—my competition. Some look nervous. Some look like they don’t care about this challenge at all, which is so weird. I can’t underestimate any of them, though. That would be foolish.

  We head out of the amphitheater, across the school yard, and up to the front archway of Crimson Elementary School. Two teachers dressed in red robes hold the doors open and we travel down the hallway. Emerald Room J flashes above my first task room.

  I bite the skin around my pointer nail. What year was the Boston Tea Party? What side started the Civil War? What year was the Crossover? I know that’s when all the schools changed. Was it forty years ago? No, fifty—in the year 2020. I force myself to focus. I can’t let all these facts defeat me. Not when this competition is my only chance to get into PIPS.

  I step out of line and into Emerald Room J, a creepy dark room with lights glowing out of stations. At the turn-style, I slide my ticket into the card reader. It tells me to go to station thirty-four, and I find it in the back. I don’t go in right away though. I fix the pleat in my skirt and give myself a pep talk: Just answer all the questions right. Don’t mess up. Take deep breaths like Grandma Kitty said, the big kind that will make the butterflies go back to sleep. I do it, and some of the butterflies in my stomach listen, but not all of them. I can be as stubborn as they are though, so I hold my ticket up to the reader and the door slides open without a sound.

  Hmm. It smells like oranges in here, kind of like Grandma Kitty’s house.

  A voice inside a speaker startles me. “Hello, Number 718. Please sit down at the desk.”

  I do as the voice tells me and tighten my ponytail again.

  “Thank you. On the screen you will find Task One.”

  The monitor flashes: No: 718: Task One-Human History. My eyes blink a bunch of times until they adjust to the light.

  “In thirty seconds, you will receive the first of three hundred questions. Use the air pad to select your answers. You will be released at the end of the testing time, three hours from this point. Begin.”

  ***

  After six days of tests, experiments, art projects, recitals, and written exams, I’m used to the butterflies that stay awake while I’m solving my tasks. I need to ignore them for just one more though: The Swirl and Spark Recall. This solution is worth triple points so I have to make it amazingly good.

  I sit in a waiting room trying to convince myself that answering one question to a table full of judges will be easy. I’ll walk into the auditorium and act like an idiot if I have to. I’ll sing, maybe quack like a duck, whatever I can think of to answer that mystery question better than all the other kids. I bite my thumb nail and then my pointer. I can’t help it. If nail biting was judged in this competition, that Golden Light Bulb would be mine.

  The clock ticks. 11:11 a.m. I jump out of my seat. A Piedmont usher appears in the doorway and leads me to the auditorium. I walk down the aisle to the judge’s table where I swipe my ticket through the reader and step into a taped off area on the stage. Six grown-ups with matching shirts stare at me. Of course I smile like I’m not nervous.

  One judge, a man with a long neck says, “Please state your student number.”

  “I’m Number 718, sir.”

  “Thank you, 718. Now that you’ve completed your six academic tasks, you’ll solve your final task of this competition—The Swirl and Spark Recall. It’s your chance to think up a creative answer the judges will not expect. First, I’m going to read your question. Then, you’ll have one minute to think before you are required to respond. You may ask questions during that time only. After one minute is up, I will ring this bell. That is your signal to begin. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir. I understand.”

  “Very well. You will have a total of two minutes once the bell rings to respond to the following question: If you could be anyone else besides yourself, who would you be and why? Your one minute of thinking time begins now.”

  My mind jumps all over the place before an idea comes to me. I rush to ask, “Can I use props in my answer?”

  “Yes, as long as you do not move outside the taped off area.”

  “Can I sing part of my answer?”

  “Yes.”

  I reach for my shoes. The straps are tricky but I manage to get them off. I set them down, take off my knee socks, and unfasten my belt. I tug it from the loops of my skirt, wrap it twice around my legs, and then buckle it back together. I pull one sock over each arm. I lay on the floor sideways and prop myself up on my elbow. A tune from a TV commercial pops into my head . . . If I can just change the words—

  Ding!

  “If I could be anything, I would be a mermaid. I would invite human kids to spend their summer vacation with me. First, I’d speak to them in the language of the water world, which, of course, is made up of songs like this:

  Summer break is here at last and you need something new,

  Let me show you where I live and all that we can do.

  I’ll teach you how to use your mind to breathe first out then in, and give you water gliders, that work just like real fins.

  We’ll dive deep down into the sea and find a sunken ship,

  Or play some soccer with the squids an
d take a submarine trip.

  When I’m done singing, I slide across the floor like I’m swimming and hold up my shoes. “Then, I’d present these water gliders to the human kids. They’d put them on, and together we’d explore all summer. I’d have a million new friends, and that’s why I’d choose to be a mermaid if I could.”

  The judge with the long neck dismisses me. I take a deep breath and try to read the expression on his face. Did he like my answer? Did he think I looked like an idiot? No luck. His face is stone cold.

  The same usher leads me out of the auditorium, down the hall, and into the Exit Room. “718, now that you’ve completed your tasks, your scores will be sent to the Piedmont Committee for review. The winners will be announced Friday on the Day of Brightness. Good luck to you.”

  “Thank you.” I chew my pointer nail.

  I sink into a chair by the window and stare at the blowing branches beyond the amphitheater. I squint to see if the outline of the Golden Light Bulb is still out there—if the glittery branches are still glowing—but it’s too far to tell. I can’t tell if I did okay on my Swirl and Spark Recall task either. Why did I have to sing that stupid song? It probably didn’t even make sense, but maybe the judges give extra points for mermaid songs. Maybe they like when kids swim across the stage.

  I bite my pinky nail. I wish Grandma Kitty had seen my solution. She would know if it was good enough. She won the Piedmont Challenge when she was in sixth grade, way before she wore sparkles in her hair like she does now. I hold her shiny Golden Light Bulb every time I visit her, only it’s not so shiny anymore. Maybe gold isn’t supposed to be rubbed that hard.

  At the end of the day, I weave my way through the factory. That’s what Crimson feels like to me anyway. We punch our student number cards at the door like we’re on an assembly line. Teachers call us by our numbers, not our names, because they want us to focus on the categories we study instead of the kids we study with. I hate that only best friends call each other by their actual names. I like being called Kia. I wish more kids called me that.