“Yup,” Ander responds. “Did you notice the dripping blood? Nice touch, huh?”
“I see that. Dripping blood. Yes.”
Ander grins at me like this is a proud moment for him. I grin back. Gregor doesn’t grin at all.
“So you have no thoughts to alter your presentation?”
Is he crazy? “Why would we do that?”
“I would like you to be certain that this is the solution that will get you to the Global Championships.”
What is he trying to do, make us nervous?
Mare takes a step towards him. “We’re doing a play. No other teams will do that. The judges will love it. We’re sure this will get us to the Global Championships.”
Wow. You go, Mare!
“Very well. I would like to see how your platform mechanism works.”
Jax and Ander take him over to the platform and explain the details. Jillian and Mare show the language to Seraphina and me. “So the language is a bunch of moves to go with the words we say?” I ask.
“Yes!” Jillian replies. “What do you think?”
Seraphina grins. “I love it!”
“Me too!” I say. Mare’s right. No one else will have a solution like this. It’ll definitely get us to the Global Championships. I watch Gregor staring at the Ghost Gallery. Who cares what he thinks anyway?
HUMAN PRETZEL
Only seven days left, but my team is on fire. The paint is dry on the box and Mare has made herself in charge of attaching it to the platform. With all the moving parts, she’s going to make sure nothing falls apart. She’s got a checklist and everything. The boys attach a lever, she checks to see if they put it on the right way. She’s bossy, but they don’t mind, and at least she’s not complaining anymore.
Jillian and I walk outside. Tons of teams are spread out on campus. It looks like one big carnival but without any games or rides. I guess they’re working on the last minute parts of their solutions too. We search for a quiet place away from everyone and find a shady spot underneath a tree where I lean up against the crooked trunk. We flip through the script and examine every single line. Are Ander’s funny enough? Are Jax’s serious enough? Does Mare sound like a teenager? Should Jillian act more dramatic? Do I sound like a little kid?
When we’re sure the script is perfect, we work on the language. We add the moves to the script, making them really big. We try to imagine people sitting way back in the auditorium; will they be able to see what we’re acting out? If our motions are big—then no one will miss a thing.
Later on, Mare, Ander, and Jax find us under the tree. Mare collapses on the grass. “I’m so tired and that shed is so creepy. I feel like real ghosts could be watching us.”
Jillian laughs. “Wait until you see how we added the language to the play. We call it Ghost Garble! It’s the way ghosts communicate with each other—a dance move to go with each word. All the new ghosts must learn the garble once they’re welcomed into Ghost Town, and then use it to choose where to go for all of eternity.”
Jillian and I jump up to demonstrate. “See ghosts don’t just talk, they garble.”
Ander jumps in line with us. “Show me! How do you do it? Like this?” He spins on his heel, and says, “Let’s go tango in the grave yard!”
“Sort of,” I say, and show it to him again. Before long, all of us are garbling, even Jax. His moves look like Frankenstein’s monster, but for the serious ghost director, I guess that’s good. Before too long, we’ve invented something else to go with our ghost garble lines—a finale song and dance. We twist, we dance, we jump—making up lines as we go.
“Dancing Ghosts in the Gallery!” Ander exclaims. “We are so going to win this competition.”
Over the next few days, we spend our time under the tree memorizing our lines and putting together the packet for the judges, that includes our team’s question, our original language, our rotating object, and a list telling how we used all six categories in our solution:
Art Forms: Creation of costumes, designs on the movable object, and the original language.
Earth and Space: Model of a rocket and explanation of how it works.
New Technology: Computer research for the movable object and script ideas.
Communications: Creation of original language and play.
Human History: Script and character histories.
Math: Measurements for costumes and set.
By the afternoon of the ninth day, we meet with Seraphina and Gregor in the shed, where they’ve come to preview our movable object before our first practice in the morning. First, we sit in a circle, each of us reading a copy of the competition task.
Our home, the Earth, is shaped like a circle.
Your task is to create an object that transforms three times into something else, and then transforms back to its original position . . . creating a circle effect. The object you create must answer a question that is universally asked, but has not yet been answered by mankind. Your solution must include elements from each of the six academic categories and one original language. Your presentation to the judges may not exceed twelve minutes.
Seraphina flips the page. “So?”
“That’s it. We’re done,” says Ander.
“Have you forgotten anything?”
I flip through the pages of my booklet. “I don’t think so. We made a document describing our team’s universal question.”
“And we included skills from each category in our solution,” says Mare.
“And we created an original language,” adds Jillian.
“Ghost Garble!” says Ander.
“And our object rotates three times and ends up again in its original position,” says Jax. “You can see for yourself.”
“Very well,” Gregor says, not looking impressed. “I would like to see this movable object.”
“Me too!” Seraphina jumps up from the circle, her platform sandals clomping on the concrete floor. “Let’s see how it turned out.”
Ander jumps up too. “We’ll demonstrate.” He and Jax pull the plastic tarp off the Ghost Gallery. From the front, it looks like a rectangular box held up by metal brackets and cranks. The words Ghost Gallery are painted across the top in shades of black and gray. Oozing from each letter are creepy red drips.
Below the letters are pictures of the three designs: a brown coffin with the top propped open, a crimson-red oven cremator, and a silver-blue rocket ship.
Ander steps in front of the gallery. “Here we have our Ghost Gallery. Kia is playing a little girl who just died. She wonders where she’ll go now. That’s our universally asked question: Where do humans go after they die? Kia will figure out that humans go to Ghost Town after they die.”
“But they don’t stay long,” I add. “And neither will I. I’ll have to choose where to go for all of eternity once I leave Ghost Town.” I look at Jax and nod toward the crank.
“Um yes, I’m playing the Ghost Guide who points out all three choices to Kia. Then I push this button and wind this crank. The box lifts up and turns over.” Jax’s voice shakes, but his face only turns dark pink.
“See? The gallery sign has changed into the coffin,” says Jillian. “The top opens and everything! I’ll say the reasons to choose it.”
“When she’s done, Jax will push the button and wind the crank again. The box will flip again to show the oven cremator.” I wave my arm for dramatic effect.
“I’ll show the reasons to pick that one,” Mare says quickly. “Then, Jax will wind it again and the object will flip, this time to show the rocket ship.”
“I,” Ander straightens up and pounds a hand to his chest, “of course, will demonstrate the rocket choice.” His voice fills with certainty. “Who wouldn’t want to ride in this luxury capsule for all of eternity?”
Seraphina beams. Her purple lips are bright as ever. Gregor
looks stone faced. I’m not sure his lips even know how to make a smile.
“Then I’ll push the button and wind it one more time,” Jax continues. “The object will transform back to its original side, the Ghost Gallery, with the pictures of each choice.”
I twirl around. “That’s when I get to pick which way I want to spend all of eternity!”
“That’s so clever!” says Seraphina, her voice bursting with praise. “So cute! I love it. I like the way the object transforms. It creates that circle effect the judges will be looking for.”
“Yeah,” says Ander. It turns like a circle even though it isn’t shaped like a circle. We thought we’d get extra points for that.”
“You just might,” Seraphina laughs.
“Gregor,” asks Mare. “Do you like it?”
“It doesn’t matter if I like it. It matters if it follows the rules. It matters if the judges deem this solution to be superior to the other teams’ in the competition.”
“So you don’t like it,” Ander replies.
“I didn’t say that. I would ask you though, if this is as original and technologically advanced as you can make it. If history is any indication, teams that have moved on to the Global Championships have created the most scientifically sound and technically advanced solutions to the tasks they’ve been given.”
My stomach flips. “It’s even better with the script. Wait until you see the whole thing put together, with costumes and everything. Maybe the judges want to see something different this year.”
Seraphina pats me on the shoulder. “You may be right, Kia. I think your solution is highly creative. I haven’t seen anything like this in the years I’ve been a preceptor here at Piedmont.”
“See?” Ander gives Gregor an I-told-you-so look.
Gregor doesn’t seem to notice.
“Okay, my creative Crimson Kids, let’s get all of this put away for tomorrow. I’m anxious to see how it works in the play.”
We cover the Ghost Gallery with the tarp and store our paperwork inside the cabinet next to our costumes. While we do, Seraphina drags Gregor to the door. I pretend to check on the tarp so I can hear what they’re saying.
“Why are you so mean to them?”
“I am not mean to them.”
“Oh, yes you are. They are so proud of their solution. They’ve done a great job, but you can’t even give them one compliment.”
His face looks like stone. “Compliments don’t win competitions.”
“They can’t hurt.”
“Sometimes they can.”
“What do you mean?”
“My father has never complimented me. Not once. Not when I won my Golden Light Bulb and not when I became a preceptor. He always said people who need compliments are weak.”
“Well, didn’t you hate when he said that?”
“We don’t need to continue this conversation about my father.”
“Well, it would be okay if you patted them on the back once or twice, especially now that they’ve achieved so much.”
“I’ll pat them on the back when they win the National Finals.”
She shakes her head and I quickly walk away from the Ghost Gallery. So that’s why Gregor is so mean. His father made him that way.
We lock the shed door with our project inside but bring our scripts with us so we can practice our lines before lights out. Seraphina leads us to the team building room. “I have one last thing for you to do before you go to dinner. I know you’re tired, but this is important.”
The Team Building room looks the same as it did the first day we met here—the same day we bombed the team building exercises.
Mare scans the room. “Where’s Gregor?”
“He needed to stop at the Chamber office but we could wait for him.”
“We don’t have to.” Ander’s tone projects what we’re all feeling by now.
Seraphina gives him a knowing look. “You’re right. We don’t actually need him for this. I want you to give the Human Pretzel another try.”
“But we stunk at it the first time.” Leave it to Mare to focus on the bad stuff.
“I told you I would give you another chance, and this is it. Now please arrange yourselves in a circle and hold out your right hands.”
We step into a circle. This time no one seems to care who they’re standing next to. I end up in between Ander and Jax.
“Now, clasp the right hand of someone who’s not next to you.”
I grab hold of Jillian’s hand.
“Now reach in toward the center with your left hand and clasp the hand of a person who is not next to you, and who’s other hand you are not already holding.”
I grab hold of Mare’s hand.
“Now, as you can see, you’re all tangled up. You’ve essentially formed a human pretzel. Please do not let go of each other’s hands. When I say, ‘Begin,’ try to untangle yourselves so that both of your hands are at your sides.”
We work at our pretzel for seconds. Arms lift over heads. Legs step over arms. We turn. We twist. We instruct each other. We laugh, and in forty-five seconds flat, we’re not a human pretzel anymore!
Seraphina grins. “I knew you’d be better at it this time. In the last five weeks you’ve gone from strangers to teammates who can work together to solve a task. If you can do the human pretzel, you can do anything—and that includes winning some Nacho Cheese Ball!”
Wow.
“Now, let’s go get dinner. You have round three of the tournament tonight, and then your rehearsals begin in the shed at eight o’clock in the morning tomorrow. I, for one, cannot wait to see how you do at both.”
I smile inside. She’s not the only one.
At fifteen minutes to seven o’clock in the evening, we head over to the field. Ander’s in competition mode walking backwards as he talks to us. “We have an advantage in this round. We’ve seen this Michigan team, so we should be able to make a strategy that will put us in the finals.”
“I call the nerdy computer kid,” says Mare.
“Okay,” Ander says. “I get Witch Girl.”
“Then who do we get?” asks Jillian. “I’m not taking the skunk-haired kid with cheese hanging out of his mouth.”
“Me neither,” I say.
Jax shakes his head. “Okay, I guess I’ll take him.” That leaves the other two boys for Jillian and me.
The sidelines are filled with teams from all over. We head to the neutral zone and the referees meet us in the middle. “Hey, kids. Nice job reaching the semifinal game. Please keep this game fair but fun. The winner will play either Florida or Rhode Island in the Finals. Good luck.”
I size up my blond boy. He’s taller than me but preoccupied with swinging his bucket. I got this. My team stands ready to run. Witch Girl yells out, “Hey, New York, don’t feel bad when we smear this stuff all over your faces. We know any team who spends their time making costumes can’t be any good at Nacho Cheese Ball.”
Skunk Boy snickers, sticks his finger into his bucket, and licks a glop of cheese.
Gross!
The whistle blows. I fire a cheese ball at Tall Boy before I take off, and another as I run for the target. Witch Girl yells to Ander, “Hey skinny kid, did you build sets for your play too? I bet your teammate over there had to do all the building. You couldn’t even lift a hammer with those scrawny chicken arms!”
Oh no! Ander makes a run for her and chases her down. He lifts his whole bucket over his head. “No!” I shout. “You’ll get disqualified!”
He lowers the bucket and scoops out four cheese balls. He catapults them at her as she runs for our target. Splat! All four explode on her black witch braid. “Ha! That was with my chicken arm!” He turns around and sprints for her target. We’re down but we still have a chance. Jax comes from behind me and fires a shot. It hits the target im
mediately after Ander’s. The buzzer sounds. New York 322 and Michigan 310. Take that, Michigan!
Witch Girl glares at us as we peel out of our suits. We say, “Good game,” to her team anyway and all head back to our bedchambers. On the way, Mare and Jillian argue about who gets the shower first. They take off laughing, but I take my time walking down the hallway.
I open the door to the stairwell and hear a familiar voice. I get to the landing and see that it’s Swissa talking on the phone. I start climbing the steps and she suddenly yells. “What do you mean they gave the part to Clare? Rehearsals don’t start until September. Miss Piper told me I could try out for the lead.”
Her face is red, like she might cry.
“It’s all because I’m stuck working at this stupid camp this summer!”
We lock eyes as I pass by. She lowers her voice and turns her shoulder away, so I quickly open the door to my floor and race for my room. Swissa sure doesn’t like being here at Camp Piedmont. Maybe that’s why. She’s missing her big chance to be the lead in a play.
150 POINTS
The bells ring and Andora’s voice crackles into our bedchamber. “Good evening, boys and girls. We have a special bulletin for this evening’s announcements. All teams must report to Appelonia Dining Hall tomorrow morning at precisely 8:00 a.m.. Thank you. Sleep well. Dream big.”
“What’s that about?” asks Mare.
“I don’t know,” says Jillian.
“Great,” I say. “We have our first rehearsal at eight o’clock so now we’ll have to start late.”
“It’s fine, Kia,” Jillian replies. “It might not take that long.”
But I don’t feel reassured, and I’m not sure why. When Mare turns off the light, I pull my blankets close to my chin and stare out the window. My eyelids feel too heavy for thinking, and soon I drift off to sleep.
I wake the next morning to knocking at our bedchamber door. I’m the first to move. Ugh. Now I have to be the one to open the door. I roll out of bed and drag myself across the room. Swissa walks in wheeling a cart—with daisies this time. Their pretty petal faces are so cheery compared to her grouchy one.
Spin the Golden Light Bulb Page 12
