Spin the Golden Light Bulb

by Jackie Yeager

  I don’t understand. “What?”

  “I have never been here before.”

  “Do you mean that Camp Piedmont was held someplace else?”

  “No. Camp Piedmont has always been held here at Piedmont University. I’ve never been to Camp Piedmont.”

  My brain clogs up. “But you won the Piedmont Challenge.”

  She purses her lips together and lets a big breath out of her nose. “I didn’t win the Piedmont Challenge.”

  “What are you talking about, Grandma? Yes, you did. You won a Golden Light Bulb!”

  A tear runs down her cheek. “I did win a Golden Light Bulb . . . for being an alternate.”

  My stomach drops like a brick. “An alternate?”

  “Yes. Back then, they awarded a trophy to the person in sixth place too, the student who would go to camp in the event that something happened to one of the other five kids, like if they should get sick or have a family emergency. I was that person, but no one got sick. No one had an emergency. I never got to go.”

  I think I’m going to be sick. “But you told me all about it. You told me everything.” I feel tears floating in my eyes. “How would you know all this stuff if you were never here?”

  She tightens her lips again. “My best friend won. She was the one who came to Camp Piedmont.”

  I choke back a sob. “Your friend?”

  She takes hold of my hand. “Her name was Annabella, and that’s how I knew everything about this camp.”

  I don’t understand.

  “I was crushed when I didn’t win and she did. It was my dream to come to this camp. Annabella felt really bad for me. She promised to write me letters and tell me everything about this place. But she did more than that. She kept a journal and gave it to me when she came home. She wanted me to be a part of Camp Piedmont just like she was.”

  “But I’ve read that journal. I thought—”

  “—I know. You thought I wrote it.”

  “But why did you tell me that you did? Why did you lie to me?”

  “I’m sorry. I should have told you the truth.”

  Grandma Kitty is a stranger. “You made me think you were the best. You made me think you went to this awesome school for really smart and creative kids. But you didn’t.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “You told me I was so smart. You told me I was the most inventive child you had ever known. You told me I could be just like you!”

  “I did tell you that.”

  “And I believed you. And I thought I was those things because you were. But you weren’t!”

  She leans in to hug me, but I pull my hand away from hers. “I better go, Grandma. I have to go back to my team.”

  She stands up slowly. “I was wrong to mislead you, Smartie Girl.”

  “My name is Kia.”

  As soon as I hear my own words I wish I could take them back. But I don’t.

  “I’m sorry I brought this up now. I never should have told you right before Rehearsal Judging. You’re going to be amazing. You’re meant to go to the Finals. Mark my words.”

  What does she know? She’s never even been here.

  She leaves, but I don’t get up from the bench. Why should I? I can’t go back to the Prep Room. Everyone will see me crying. All those teams will stare at me. All those smart kids. All those kids with awesome ideas. Why am I even here? Grandma Kitty said I belonged because creativity runs in our family, but she’s a liar. It doesn’t, and maybe I’m not that creative anyway. I’ll probably crash and burn in front of the judges like she did. I don’t think I can do this.

  Seraphina comes running down the hall in her clunky heels and finds me on the bench, hugging my knees.

  “Kia, what’s wrong?”

  “I can’t go back in there.”

  “In where?”

  “The Prep Room—I don’t belong here.”

  “Of course you do. What are you talking about? You’re about to compete!”

  “No, I’m not. I can’t do it. I’m not as good as all those other kids!” I bury my head in my arm and cry and cry for a long time.

  I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here, but at some point I feel her rub my back and push the hair out of my face. “I thought I was really smart and I thought I had great ideas. Grandma Kitty told me I did. But she was wrong!”

  Seraphina doesn’t say anything. I look up at her, but instead, it’s Mom—kneeling down next to me. She looks back at Seraphina and Seraphina leaves us alone.

  “Kia, your Grandma was wrong to lie to you about attending this camp, but she wasn’t wrong about the other things. You are extremely smart. Why else would I wish so much for you to be programmed for math?”

  I don’t want to hear about programming—not now.

  “You could be an amazing mathematician with the mind you have.”

  I want to hide under the bench.

  “But Kia, that would be a waste.”

  I look up to see her green eyes staring into mine. “What?”

  “Your Grandma was right. You have bigger and better ideas than anyone I know.”

  Why is she saying this?

  “I was wrong to keep you from challenging yourself in ways other than math. This camp is where you belong.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Why? Because Grandma didn’t belong here?”

  “Why did she do it, Mom? Why did she lie to me about all this?”

  She rubs her hands together. “Kia. She didn’t lie to you. I did.”

  “What?”

  “You were a very little girl when you first found Grandma’s Golden Light Bulb trophy in the bottom drawer of her bed side table.”

  “That’s where she keeps it, wrapped up in a yellow towel.”

  “And you pulled it out of her drawer every time you visited her. She told you that she won it in the Piedmont Challenge and that part was true. But one day, you found a journal telling details and stories of a girl’s time at Camp Piedmont. By then you were probably seven years old.”

  “Grandma and I walked in on you that day. You were snuggled under the blankets on her bed, holding her Golden Light Bulb and reading every page. By the time we realized what you were reading, you had read halfway through the journal. You looked up at Grandma, with those big, beautiful eyes of yours and said, ‘Oh, Grandma. You are the smartest and best inventor lady in the whole world.’

  “I knew how hurt she had been over being an alternate. We had talked about it many times while I was growing up. I knew she questioned her abilities, always wondered how much more creative she could have been if she had made it to this camp. So when you spoke to her with such admiration in your little voice, I couldn’t help myself. I blurted out, ‘Yes. Yes she is.’

  “Your Grandma looked at me in confusion, but I wanted her to have that gift—the gift of knowing that someone else thinks you’re the greatest person on the planet. Because to me, she was that.

  “So as the years passed, whenever you both talked about the competition, she embellished a little. Anabella’s stories became her stories.”

  “That’s sad.”

  “But it became something positive for your Grandma, Kia. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time. After that day, your Grandma became the person she always thought she could be. She wasn’t living a lie. She was living the life she always dreamed for herself.”

  “But then why were you always so mad at her? Every time we talked about the Piedmont Challenge, you tried to discourage me.”

  “Yes, I did. Your Grandma eventually took it too far. She made it her life’s goal to get you to Camp Piedmont. I saw how she was filling your head with ideas and making you believe that you could win. I always knew you had the ability to win. I just didn’t want you to be disappointed the way she was for all thos
e years.”

  “Really?”

  “Of course. You know how small the chances of winning are. I didn’t want you to lose faith in your abilities if you lost.”

  My brain is completely tangled. My mom did all this for Grandma Kitty? I didn’t even think they liked each other.

  “But I was wrong, Kia. I was wrong not to encourage you all this time. You are an amazing student, and an amazing person. You are similar to your Grandma, but you’re so much more too. You’re both extremely smart and creative. That part is obvious. You, however, are very determined to succeed, like no one else I know. Nothing she has said changes that.”

  I lean over and hug her tight for a long time. I was really, really mad at her before. All this time I thought she thought I was only smart in math. I thought she thought the Piedmont Challenge was stupid. But she didn’t think any of that. She does think I’m good at a lot of things.

  “So you really think I belong here at this camp?”

  She looks at me and smiles. “More than any other place.”

  I don’t know what to say.

  Footsteps pound on the floor like a stampede. My team is running at us like a herd of elephants. They stop, out of breath and stare at me.

  My mom smiles. “Maybe we should ask your team that question too. Kia is wondering if she really belongs here in this competition.”

  Ander pulls me off the bench. “Nah, actually I don’t think she belongs here.”

  “What?”

  “You belong in the Prep Room with us, KK. We need you to play four square.” He tosses the tennis ball to me and I catch it in one hand.

  “Uh, no,” says Mare. “We need you in the bathroom. It’s time to change into our costumes!”

  I wipe my eyes. “What time is it?”

  “It’s time to get ready,” says Jax.

  “Good luck, Baby Girl. You go do your thing—all of you, and have fun. We’ll be out there cheering for you!”

  “Thanks, Mom. I love you. But wait. I have to talk to Grandma Kitty first.”

  “We don’t have time, Kia,” says Jillian. “We have to do your hair.”

  “But I can’t compete like this. Not after what I said to her.”

  “I will tell her how you feel right now and then you can tell her yourself after Rehearsal Judging is over.”

  That doesn’t feel good enough, but I can’t let down my team. I can’t forget about my dream. This is our one chance. I hug my mom and run off to get my costume bag. I look at all the kids in the Prep Room waiting and talking. I know they’re smart. I know they have great ideas, but I do too, and so does my team.

  Before I run to the hallway bathroom, I ask Seraphina for a sheet of paper. I try to write a note to Grandma Kitty, but I don’t know exactly what to say. I hope she can forgive me for the mean things I said to her. Finally, I write in my best handwriting:

  Grandma,

  You are the smartest and best inventor lady in the whole world.

  Love, Smartie Girl

  I hand the note to Seraphina. “Can you please take this to my Grandma while we change? I can’t do this without her knowing that I’m sorry. Please, Seraphina?”

  She looks at the clock on the wall and then down at her platform heels. “I guess these shoes weren’t the best choice for today, but . . . I am a fast runner.”

  I smile and sprint down the hall with my costume bag.

  REHEARSAL JUDGING

  Our walk through the halls takes forever. There are no voices, only the echoes of our footsteps bouncing off the walls. An usher with a floppy hat leads the way, as my teammates and I follow him, pushing our circle spinner, team sign, paperwork, and the computer to control the Ancestor App. Gregor trails behind but his footsteps are on my heels. I’m sure he’s watching every move we make, hoping we don’t do anything stupid, like tip over the spinner.

  We stop at a closed set of doors and a man with a sunny smile greets us. He’s wearing a red shirt that says JUDGE in white letters. He checks something on his clipboard, looks at each of us, and then at our materials.

  “Hello there, kids. I can see from your sign and from my schedule that you are the team from New York.”

  “Yes, we are,” says Jax. His face looks serious but doesn’t turn red.

  “Look at those costumes! I’d name you winner for most elaborate clothing right now if that was a category.” We laugh our nervous laughs and he smiles bigger than ever. “Don’t tell me you’re nervous?”

  “A little,” I say.

  “Well, no need for that. It looks like you have prepared something special. I’m sure the table judges will be happy to see what you’ve put together.”

  “I hope so,” says Ander. He’s now bouncing on his toes.

  “When I open this door, I’d like you to bring your items inside. The head judge will tell you when to begin. Do you understand?”

  “Yes!” I say. I need to get inside that door.

  “Before we do,” Mare says, “can we have a second, please?”

  “Of course,” he says. “You have a minute or two.”

  I look at Mare. What is she doing?

  “What?” she says. “I thought we were going to do that chant thing.”

  “Oh yeah!” says Ander still bouncing. “I got this. Crimson Five?”

  Together we shout, “Activate! Be Curious. Be Creative. Be Collaborative. Be Colorful! Be Courageous!”

  “1—2—3.”

  “Let’s show ‘em what we’ve got!”

  We smile at each other, not with our nervous smiles but with our we-got-this smiles. This is it.

  The Judge opens the door. There’s no stage—just a giant room with desks lined up in rows. Hundreds of people are sitting in them, including our families. All here to watch us. I’d bite my nails off right now if I wasn’t so afraid to tip the spinner. The judging table stretches in front of the desks and like on the day I gave my mermaid performance, the table judges are wearing matching shirts. Today they’re yellow.

  We pour into the room and put down our sets. I bite my ring finger nail. I can’t help it. Besides, biting my nails worked at the Piedmont Challenge. Why wouldn’t it work now? My parents are near the front with my brother and sister. I search for Grandma Kitty but I don’t see her. I look at the back doorway. Swissa is leaning against the wall. Our eyes lock and she smiles. Grandma Kitty walks through the door. She’s holding something. A piece of paper, I think. It must be my note. She unfolds the paper and holds it up to me like a sign. It says, MARK MY WORDS! She smiles her Grandma Kitty smile, and I know she’s not mad at me. I suddenly let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding in.

  The head judge walks over to us. “Good afternoon, Team from New York. Do you have your paperwork?”

  Jillian hands him the packet. “Thank you,” he says. “When I get back to my seat, I will read the task that you and all the teams were given to solve six weeks ago. Then I will ring this bell. That’s your signal to present your team’s solution. You will have twelve minutes to carry your materials out into the taped off area and give your presentation. Use any space up to the judging table that you like. Do you understand?”

  We answer together. “Yes, sir.”

  “Very well, then. Good luck.” He walks to his seat and my brain flutters the same way it does when I’m home on my aero-scooter.

  He turns on his microphone and powers up a screen displaying our task. “New York Team, you have been given the following task to solve:

  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.

  When he has finished reading, he says, “Team, are you ready?”

  We quick glance at each other and shout. “Yup dee dup dup dup. We’re ready to show you our team’s circle!”

  Ding!

  We sing our song as we carry out our materials and when we’ve finished setting up, we begin. I skip out, saying the first line. My voice sounds loud in the silent room. Everyone’s eyes are on me but it doesn’t make me feel nervous. I feel special, like a star. I can’t hear anything at all, but the voices of my teammates and the magnified sounds of our spinner.

  Some of the judges are writing. Some are watching. They laugh hard at the funny lines, especially the judge all the way on the left. She cracks up almost every time Ander speaks. When the image of his Great-Great-Grandpa Jim shines on the Golden Light Bulb like a friendly ghost, one of the judges gasps. The app is clear—and loud too, I think. I hope the people in the back row can hear what the image is saying.

  We continue performing, rotating the spinner like the rules require. The magical characters use it to show me how my question will be answered. Every single member of the audience is leaning forward in their seats. I wish I could stay in this room and act out this play forever.

  In the last scene, the characters sing a farewell song to me. I join in and we dance the finale together. I can’t help but smile through every step. By the time we’ve finished, the crowd has jumped to their feet, just like the Day of Brightness all over again. It’s amazing to hear their applause and I feel like we should take a bow, but we don’t, because like Mare said weeks ago, this is a competition, not a Broadway play. The crowd gets quiet, and we stand stiff like soldiers next to our spinner.

  The Head Judge stands up. Some of the other judges keep writing. Some keep typing on their computers. “Thank you, Team from New York, for your thoughtful solution and hard work. You are dismissed. Please carry your materials out this door to your right. Your preceptors may pick up your scores at precisely 6:07 p.m.. One hundred fifty points out of a possible two hundred are required to compete at the National Finals. If you do not receive that score you will be dismissed from Camp Piedmont tomorrow morning after breakfast.