Flip the Silver Switch

  Amberjack Publishing

  1472 E. Iron Eagle Drive

  Eagle, Idaho 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 © 2018 by Jackie Yeager

  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: Flip the silver switch / by Jackie Yeager.

  Description: Eagle, Idaho : Amberjack Publising, [2018] | Series: Crimson Five ; 2 | Summary: When the Crimson Five travel to Quebec City for the Piedmont Global Championships, they are blindsided by a new task and Kia must get them to pull together as pressure builds.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2017061618 (print) | LCCN 2018005512 (ebook) | ISBN 9781944995706 (eBook) | ISBN 9781944995690 (hardcover : alk. paper)

  Subjects: | CYAC: Interpersonal relations--Fiction. | Contests--Fiction. | Inventors--Fiction. | Quebec (Quebec)--Fiction. | Canada--Fiction. | Science fiction.

  Classification: LCC PZ7.1.Y434 (ebook) | LCC PZ7.1.Y434 Fli 2018 (print) | DDC [Fic]--dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017061618

  Cover Design and Illustrations: Gabrielle Esposito

  For Danielle and Adam, the ones who make my world sparkle.

  THE AERO-SCOOTER

  I probably shouldn’t sneak out of the house. But if I go now while Mom’s buried in her chemistry files, I’ll be back home with my suitcase packed before she can panic about me missing the aero-bus. Seriously? Like I would ever miss this trip with my team.

  The kitchen door opens without a sound. I peek into her office, and just like I thought, Mom’s swimming in papers. Perfect! I run out and grab my aero-scooter from its port and roll it down the driveway. When I get to the street, I push the lift-off button, glide up to the treetops, and let the September wind blow my bangs away from my eyes.

  Soon, I see my whole neighborhood below me, including Charlotte’s blue house. I wonder for a second what she did all summer while I was away at Camp Piedmont. Did she fly aero-scooters with her new friends? Did she have sleepovers with them? But then I remember that ex-best friends don’t wonder about each other, and she’s the one who decided I wasn’t allowed to go to her stupid sleepovers last year anyway. Whatever. If Charlotte still doesn’t think my sixty-seven invention ideas are cool and important, fine. My teammates do. My four awesome teammates who totally get me—and I’m going to hang out with them all day and all night for the next two weeks. It’s going to be like one big, amazing sleepover.

  I steer toward the sun and my whole body warms up. It’s like I just flew into a heat machine.

  Hmm, a heat machine.

  That could be the best invention ever! It could hang from the sky cables and be shaped like a tunnel. When a person’s riding their aero-scooter and they get too cold, they could fly into the heat machine, warm up like toast, and then fly out the other side.

  Yes! That would be a really good invention.

  The town of Crimson Heights is quiet below with all my classmates back in school. It feels weird to be missing the first day of seventh grade at Crimson Academy, but I don’t mind. I have a competition to go to. I leave for the Piedmont Challenge Global Championships in a few hours, and oh my god I still can’t believe I’m going!

  I reach for the medal hanging around my neck. I wear it every day now, just like my teammates do. It’s like we’re all afraid to take them off, like if we do, we’ll wake up and find out we didn’t place in the top five at the Piedmont Challenge National Finals, that we aren’t going to Québec for Globals soon—that this whole summer has been a dream. But when I feel the metal between my fingers and see Kia Krumpet engraved on the front, I know I’m not dreaming at all.

  I wonder what it’ll be like at Globals. Will we eat scrambled apples in the dining hall and wear matching USA shirts like we did at Camp Piedmont? Will we perform our Ancestor App skit in a classroom like we did for the National Finals? Or will we be presenting it up on a giant stage? Will we have enough time to practice first? Our team preceptor, Seraphina, said we have two weeks until we perform our skit for everyone—two weeks! That’s not a lot of time. We might know it backwards and forwards, but what if my teammates forget their lines? What if they’ve forgotten how to activate the Ancestor App? What if Ander wants to take a million breaks? What if Mare wants to skip practice and take a nap? I can’t let any of those things happen.

  I steer clear of a sky cable and think back to a few weeks ago at Camp Piedmont. I know exactly what to do. I’ll bribe Ander with snacks and jump on Mare if she tries to sleep. That’ll work—Jillian and I have done it before. I bet Jax will even help us. I mean, after spending all summer with them, I know my teammates—their good parts and their bad parts—and I know for sure they want to win as much as I do, even if they forget what it takes sometimes. So I guess it’ll be up to me to hold practice sessions on the aero-bus today. They can thank me later—when we’re declared champions of the Piedmont Challenge Global Championships.

  Down below, Grandma Kitty is doing her morning exercises in her yard. When she sees me, she waves and rushes to turn off the music. I touch the brake handle and glide onto the grass, careful not to disrupt her perfectly potted plants.

  “Sweet Tart! What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be home packing up your things? Not that I mind a visit, of course!”

  “Hi GK, I’m mostly packed.”

  “Oh, Jelly Bean, of course you are. But what is it then? I know that look on your face.”

  “What look on my face?”

  “You look as skittish as a mouse in a mousetrap.”

  I take my fingernails out of my mouth. “I’m not nervous.”

  “You have absolutely nothing to be nervous about. Québec is not that far away. You and those creative teammates of yours are going to have the adventure of a lifetime. Your invention is going to whoop the pants off all the other inventions, and when it wins and gets built, all of us will be better for it. The judges will see how important your discovery is. Mark my words.”

  I think about that for a second. “But, Grandma, why do you think the Ancestor App is so important?”

  She looks me right in the eye. “Well, it’s very simple, Buttercup. With the Ancestor App, I’ll be able to talk to my mother again.”

  I make a weird face. I know what she means when she says that, but Grandma Kitty’s mother is dead, so it sounds strange—even to me—that she might be able to talk to her again someday using our invention.

  “I was only thirteen years old when she died, not much older than you are right now, and even though I remember her, I wish I could hear her voice again, ask her questions, and listen to her stories. There’s still so much I’d like to know.”

  Grandma Kitty is so old I forget she had parents once too. And then I feel sad. It would be awful if Mom or Dad weren’t here anymore.

  She wipes her sweaty hands on her stretchy pants. “That’s why I know your Ancestor App is important. I’m not the only one in this enormous world who wishes they had another chance to communicate with someone they’ve lost.”

  “But what if our invention d
oesn’t place in the top three? That means it’ll never get built. All those people will be missing out.”

  “Yes, they will.”

  “I wish the law about that was different.”

  “But it isn’t, so you just have to focus on things you can control—like this competition. Place in the top three, and the Ancestor App will get built.”

  I bite the skin around my pinky nail.

  “You’re not afraid to go on this trip, are you? Winning the Piedmont Challenge has propelled you into this humongous world, with the whole town watching your every move, and I don’t want you to be afraid of what’s coming next.”

  I shake my head. “I’m not afraid.”

  She smiles and her eyes wrinkle. “That’s my Lollipop. Now get flying on that fancy scooter. You have a bus to catch.”

  I start up the motor and she hugs me tight. “I’ll see you at the aero-bus station, right Grandma?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  I lift up above her house. I know Grandma Kitty thinks we’re going to win, but our team didn’t even get first place at the National Finals, and this is Globals. Besides, no United States team has won in ten years. I don’t think our chances are very good. My stomach churns thinking about it, and I realize I need inspiration. I need to see the exact place where I won my Golden Light Bulb trophy. Maybe flying over Crimson will help my jitters.

  I head for the school yard of Crimson Elementary and hover over the amphitheatre where the Piedmont Challenge began. My stomach stops churning and I think about the trip ahead of me. All we have to do is show our Ancestor App to the judges, just like we’ve done before. That’s all. No big deal. No problem.

  I should hurry and get home, but instead I fly across the school yard to Crimson Academy, the school I would have gone to for seventh grade today if I hadn’t won this medal. With its concrete walls and red edges, it looks identical to Crimson Elementary.

  I squeeze the brake and aim for the sidewalk, landing as quietly as I can near a maple tree, hoping no one will hear me, recognize me, or ask me why I’m there. But the motor coughs unexpectedly, so I duck behind the tree trunk and freeze. It’s not like I’m trespassing or anything, but after the big deal the whole town has made since we came back from Camp Piedmont, I just want to be here alone—without anyone asking me about our team’s invention or what I think of Principal Bermuda’s nasty trick.

  My helmet presses into the back of my skull and makes my head ache, so I unbuckle the strap. I wish someone would invent a helmet that doesn’t squish my ponytail. Oh, never mind, I’ll add it to my invention list and make one myself.

  I stare at the red school door and grip the handle bars. I can’t help it. Most kids like going to a regular school. They like getting programmed into one category, forced to study just one subject for all of seventh and eighth grade—but not me. I’d rather eat mud.

  I’m still staring at the school when another aero-scooter zooms up and lands next to me, kicking up stones on the sidewalk. I jump and Ander laughs, flashing his giant grin. “Hey, KK. What’s up?”

  I smile. It still feels weird to hear him call me by that nickname. I mean, nicknames mean you’re someone’s best friend, and, well, I just haven’t been one in a while.

  I shake my head. “Nice landing, Al-ex-ander.”

  “Thanks, you should see me on the rink. I do the same thing in my hockey skates.”

  I’m not too sure about that. Ander has a way of making everything he does sound bigger and better than it actually is. “Yeah, I bet.”

  “So what are you doing here? Trying to confront Principal Bermuda, like me? I’ve been trying to find him ever since we got back from Camp Piedmont, but it’s like he’s got a force field around him or something.”

  “After what he what he did to us there—blackmailing Gregor into smashing our project into a million pieces—just so we’d start over again and create a better invention? No, I’m not going to confront him! I don’t want to see him ever again.” It surprises me how much I still hate him—how much I hate that he was barely punished at all for interfering with the competition.

  “What are you doing here then?”

  I picture the metal card reader on the wall just inside the red door. I imagine all my classmates who filed in one by one this morning and swiped their student number cards through it. 718, my own number, flashes in my mind like a bolt of lightning. “I wanted to remind myself what I won’t be missing when we leave here.”

  “Like getting programmed?” He picks up a random pebble from the ground, searches for another about the same size, and tries to juggle them.

  “Not just getting programmed,” I say. “Well, yeah, mostly getting programmed.”

  “Everyone I know—except our team—is excited about the class they were programmed into. I guess they think it’ll be easier to focus on one category.”

  “That’s so crazy, Ander! Art Forms, Communications, Earth and Space, Human history, Math, New Technology—none of them are interesting enough to study for all of seventh and eighth grade.”

  He drops a pebble. “KK, did you see how high that pebble went? I’m practically a one-man circus act.”

  I shrug. “But you dropped it.”

  His hands flail out. “Before that! It soared way up over the flag pole. That’s the best I’ve ever jugged!”

  “Jugged? It’s called juggling, and besides, it’s not even juggling when you only use two items.”

  “Ha! That’s where you’re wrong. I said jugging. Jugging is the beginner version of juggling—using two props. It says so in the juggling rule book.”

  “There’s no such thing as a juggling rule book.”

  “Sure there is. I have it at home, and it says right in there that jugging is the way jugglers first learn to juggle. I read up on it when we got home from Camp Piedmont. I figured if I’m going to be Freddie Dinkleweed, the mystical jester in our skit, I should learn to juggle. According to my book, the word juggle comes from the Middle English word jogelen, which means to entertain by performing tricks.”

  Ander knows more random facts than anyone I know.

  The red door clicks and creaks open. We freeze. I plant my eyes on the door and hope whoever it is doesn’t look over at the tree. A man with hair so slick you could wax your scooter with it, and a belly that’s totally trying to escape from his shirt, steps outside.

  Ander leans over. “It’s him!”

  “Shh! I know,” I whisper, trying not to move my lips.

  Principal Bermuda stops just outside the door, adjusts his belt, and slowly turns toward us. I guess we’re not as smart as the whole town thinks—this is a really crappy hiding spot.

  His face breaks into a smarmy grin. “Well, if it isn’t two of the Crimson Five? To what do we owe this honor? Shouldn’t you two be preparing for your trip?”

  My voice is stuck. I look at Ander silently pleading him not to confront him. Principal Bermuda’s a grown up, and even though he’s a bad grown up, he is a principal. Who knows what he could do to us if he thinks we don’t like him? Just look at what he did to Gregor.

  “Uh . . . yes, sir,” says Ander. “We are, but we wanted to get one more look at the Crimson schools. First Crimson Elementary, the school that taught us everything we know, the school that propelled us to success at Camp Piedmont this summer and led us to the Global Championships. And now we’re here stopping at Crimson Academy to remind ourselves of all our former classmates who are counting on us to do great things at the Global Championships.”

  Whoa. Where did that come from?

  “I see, Mr. Yates. That’s very nice to hear, but it’s getting close to lift-off. I suggest you and Miss Krumpet fly back home now. You wouldn’t want to be late for your first task now, would you?”

  “No, sir.”

  Principal Bermuda tugs at his suit jacket an
d waddles his way to wherever it is that he’s going. Ander and I hop on our scooters and kick them into gear. What’s wrong with me? I couldn’t even answer his question. I should have told him what I thought of his nasty trick at Camp Piedmont, but I couldn’t even speak. I’m such a coward. Even if he is a principal, I should have told him that what he did to us—and to Gregor—wasn’t right. But I couldn’t say anything at all.

  Wait, what did he mean by our “first task”? We don’t have another task to solve. We already solved one—a big one—to get to the Global Championships. I look at Ander and I think he’s wondering the same thing—but we don’t dare say anything out loud. Principal Bermuda probably has listening bugs wired into the trees. And after what he pulled at Camp Piedmont, I wouldn’t be surprised.

  THE BLINKING LIGHT

  We arrive at the aero-bus terminal with only minutes to spare, which is not how Mom likes it. She hurries us out of the car, and I look around the parking lot for Grandma Kitty. Dad pulls my suitcase and backpack out of the trunk and glances at me. “Don’t worry, Kia. Grandma Kitty will be here.”

  “I hope so.”

  He crouches down to talk to me face to face. “So, Little Bear, are you ready for this? I mean, really ready?” He waits for me to respond, but when I only let out a breath, he smiles. “Never mind. I know you are.”

  My fourteen-year-old sister Malin jumps in front of me. “Okay, Kia, now listen. This summer was a major fail for you. You may have won second place in the competition or whatever, but you didn’t come home with any good stories.”

  “What? I had a million good stories!”

  “Oh, Kia. Kia, Kia, Kia . . . not those stories. I don’t care about floating playgrounds, Nacho Cheese Ball, or robotic monkeys. I’m talking about the hotness factor of the boys at Camp Piedmont. When I get to Québec in two weeks to watch you in the competition, I’ll be expecting you to provide me with actual stories. Good stories. Stories about boys. Got it?”

  I shake my head. As usual, my sister doesn’t get it at all.