Spin the Golden Light Bulb Page 10

  “Okay. Cool. Jax, I’ll meet you for lunch. Come on, KK, let’s go.”

  I grab my backpack from my bedchamber and fill it with pencils, my notebook, water packs, and granola bars. I know I’ll have to keep Ander focused. Maybe snacks will help. We race down the path toward the pond. After a sprint, he finally slows down first. “Wow, you’re faster than I thought you would be,” he says, catching his breath.

  I smile. I was not about to slow down first.

  “But not faster than me.”

  “Are you sure about that?” I take off. He scrambles to start up again, but soon he’s right on my heels. Just as I reach the fallen tree, he gets there too. We collapse on the ground trying to catch our breath. I smile in victory even though I’m not sure I actually won.

  “I guess we share the running title for now, since you got a head start.”

  I shake my head and hand him one of the water packs. “We better get started. This ghost story isn’t going to write itself.”

  “Nope, but I have a feeling you could write it all by yourself.”

  “Me? No, I couldn’t—I need your help. We have to make it really good. Remember, we have to be memorable for the judges.” Ander shakes the pack and watches the bubbles rise to the top. “So how should we start the script?” I ask.

  He tips the pack over and examines the bottom. “Why do you want to win so badly?”

  I look at him, surprised by his question. He’s still watching the bubbles. I’m glad because I think my face is turning red. “What do you mean?”

  “We all want to win, but for you it’s different. You’re super intense about the whole thing. How come?”

  He’s right, but I didn’t think it was so obvious. “I don’t know. I just don’t want to get programmed for Math or Human History or whatever.”

  “Are you gonna get programmed into Math or Human History?”

  I laugh. “Math, yes. Human History, no way. I’m terrible at Human History.”

  “You can’t be that bad. You won a Golden Light Bulb, remember?”

  I think of my trophy sitting on the windowsill, all shiny and gold. “Yeah, I just hate thinking about being forced to study one category for all of seventh and eighth grade. That sounds like prison.”

  “Human History wouldn’t be so bad for me. I like reading about all the people that came before we did. I wonder all the time about my ancestors and what they did when they were alive. Sometimes I look them up and try to find out.”

  “Hmm . . . I just imagine all of mine creepy and dead.”

  He shakes his head. “Not me. I imagine mine doing something cool, like my Great-Great-Grandpa Jim who played professional hockey.”

  “So is that why you like hockey?

  “No, I just like playing it. But that’s why I might want to be president. Think of all the cool stuff my great-great-grandson will say about me.”

  “So if you like Human History so much, and want to be President, why do you want to win this competition? If you lose you can just go back home and get programmed for Human History?”

  “Because I also want to design the first house in space. If I make it all the way to the Global Championships, I can enroll at PIPS. My dad always tells me that to run fast, you have to run with the fastest runners. That will make you faster. So, if I can work with the best kids, I may be able to learn how to design a space house. I can run for President after that.”

  I never would have guessed any of that about Ander. “That’s a good plan.”

  “Maybe, but I still have to get to the Global Championships. Besides, I hate losing.”

  “Yeah, me too. And . . . I have sixty-seven inventions waiting to be built.”

  “You have sixty-seven inventions?” His eyes open wider than usual. I can see the thick, black rim around his pupils. Maybe that’s why his eyes look so blue.

  “Well, sixty-seven ideas for inventions. I have a whole list. I just need to learn how to build them all.”

  “Wow. That’s a lot of ideas.”

  I take a sip of water. “But only kids at PIPS get to build inventions. If I get programmed, the only thing I can do is send my ideas to them. They’ll get to build my Underwater Bubble Bike, or my Pants Pockets That Bake Muffins. It’s just not fair.”

  He nods. “Cool inventions,” he says and sets his pack on the ground. “But is there another reason you want to win so badly? I think there is.”

  “I don’t know. I just do.” I draw a circle in the dirt. I can feel him staring at me, but not in a creepy way—like he really is wondering. I decide maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to tell him the real reason. “Maybe it’s because my Grandma won the very first Piedmont Challenge.”

  “The first one?”

  “She’s been to Camp Piedmont and everything. She says creativity runs in our family.”

  “Yeah, it must, since you won too.”

  “I guess so.”

  “Don’t you think so?”

  “I don’t know. Sometimes I think I only won because she gave me tips for the competition.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She told me to do something crazy for Swirl and Spark Recall like sing my answer or talk in an animal voice or something.”

  “So?”

  “So, maybe I wouldn’t have thought of that by myself.”

  “KK, lots of our teachers have said to do stuff like that.”

  “Yeah, but most kids forget what their teachers say. Grandma Kitty drilled it into my head so I wouldn’t forget.”

  “Well, that’s good. You won. That’s all that matters.”

  “Maybe.” I scribble out my circle. “She’s told me tons of stories about PIPS. She thinks I belong there just like her. She said you get to talk about your ideas all day long with the other kids and then make the things you talk about. The teachers teach you ways to build your inventions.”

  “Yeah, it sounds like a cool place.”

  “I bet you can even sit on the ground while you think. I bet they don’t have chairs in the classrooms either.”

  “I hate chairs!”

  “Me too!” My stomach gets all fluttery, but I’m not sure why. I open up the notebook and write big letters across the top: GHOST STORIES and underline it twice. I hope we get to go to PIPS. It would be fun to be there with Ander.

  He sits up. “I guess that means we have to work on the script now?”

  I hand him a granola bar. “Yup, the ghosts aren’t going to write their own story.”

  BUILDING A GHOST TOWN

  Ander and I jog into the dining hall where Jax, Jillian, and Mare are already eating. “Hi, guys,” I say. “We wrote the script.”

  “All of it?” Mare asks.

  “Most of it,” says Ander. “And it’s spectacular. Wait until you hear it.”

  “You didn’t give me stupid or embarrassing lines did you?”

  Ander grins. “Every single one.”

  Mare scowls and I hold in my laugh. I look over at the team from Michigan, sitting at the table next to us. Witch Girl is watching me again. What the heck? Her team is eating pizza even though all the other teams are eating ham sandwiches and Jell-O.

  Ander calls over to them. “Where did you guys get the pizza?”

  A skunk-haired boy pulls the stringy cheese from his slice and stuffs it into his mouth. “Our preceptor brought it in because we finished our task.”

  “Already?” asks Ander. “We still have three weeks to go.”

  “Yup, we did. And it’s good. It’s really good.”

  Witch Girl grins. “He’s right. We have Oswald over there on our team. He’s brilliant.” She points to the scrawny boy barely sitting at their table—his chair pushed far away from it. He’s sitting with one leg crossed over the other and staring into a small computer.

  Witch Girl le
ans in. “The National Finals are going to be a breeze. I don’t see how we won’t make it to the Global Championships.”

  Are you kidding me? I almost say something, but Ander beats me to it. “Well, you should see our solution. It’s totally original. No other teams will even think to do a play. It’s really cool.”

  “Well, you guys better hurry up. Last minute preparation equals last place.” She turns around and her braid whips around after. His eyes get huge. I want to slap her. Instead, I grab Ander’s arm and pull him toward the lunch line. The rest of our team walks with us, all squished together.

  “I’m going to go punch that girl!” says Mare.

  “No, you’re not,” says Jillian. “She’s just being an idiot.”

  “She’s trying to intimidate us,” says Jax.

  “But did you hear her?” asks Ander. “And her stupid witch hair almost whipped me in the face again.”

  Mare looks disgusted. “Did you see the skunk-haired kid sitting there eating his greasy pizza and that nerdy kid on his computer. He probably made up their whole solution. I’d hate to be on that team.”

  Ander plops ham on his bread. “Their solution probably stinks anyway.”

  “Yeah,” says Jillian. “They probably rushed through it.”

  My stomach feels sick. What if their solution is amazing—and better than ours? “Maybe they did, but let’s eat fast so we can get back to work.”

  The Michigan team is gone by the time we get back. They left the empty pizza boxes, cups, and crumpled napkins all over the table. What jerks!

  We finish eating and run out to the shed so we can show Mare and Jillian the rotating object.

  “Ew, it’s gross in here,” says Mare. “It’s so dreary.”

  “No, this is perfect,” says Ander. “This is just the kind of place we need to get into the spirit. Get it? The ghost-spirit!”

  Mare smirks. “Yeah, I get it.”

  We gather around the wooden box, and Jax explains his idea. “I did some research on how to make an object rotate. There are several ways. We can put together something that will make it move up and down, or we can make something that can slide back and forth, or we can build something that will make it turn.”

  “It sounds like we need to make it turn,” I say.

  “I think so too,” he says. “I got some cranks and gears from the Piedmont Pantry the other day. We can attach them to the box.”

  “That will make it turn?” asks Jillian.

  “Yes, it will.”

  “What if we put it up on metal legs so it’s even higher,” says Mare, “like the height of a real coffin when it’s set up for a funeral.”

  “That’s a good idea,” I say.

  “Okay then, since I came up with that idea,” says Mare, “I get to take a break. I want to call someone.”

  “If it’s break time, we’re playing street hockey,” says Ander.

  I want to explode. “It’s not break time! We have to read the script and see the costumes.”

  “We can’t work all the time,” says Mare. “We have a life outside of this camp you know—well, some of us do.”

  “Well some of us want to win this competition, and if we’re going to win, we can’t take breaks!”

  “Why are you such a bummer?” asks Mare. “It’s okay to have fun sometimes.”

  Ander puts his arms around both of us. “No need to get into a fight, girls. KK’s right. We have a lot to do. Mare, we can take a break in a while, okay?”

  “Whatever,” she says.

  “Thank you,” I say. She doesn’t smile but at least she doesn’t yell at me.

  “So Jax,” says Ander. “What do we need to do to get this thing turning?”

  “We have to build a metal stand to support the box’s weight. Then attach the box to it and add the crank and gears.”

  “I’ll work with you on that.”

  “We need to paint and decorate the box before you attach it to the stand,” I say.

  “Okay,” says Jillian. “I love painting.”

  “Can we at least go back to our bedchamber first so we can show you the costumes? It’s creepy in here,” says Mare.

  “Sure,” says Ander. “Then Kia and I can show you the script.”

  We walk around to the front of Piedmont Chamber. The afternoon sun feels good, especially after being cooped up in the musty shed. Teams are playing Frisbee and lying in the grass. I wish I had my aero-scooter. My brain un-jumbles when I’m riding. Somehow though, since I’ve been here, my brain has managed to un-jumble itself without my scooter—strange.

  My team is now lying in the grass. I thought we decided not to take a break. Ugh. I guess I don’t have a choice, so I lie down too, but just for a second. The blades of grass tickle my skin, and soon the sun puts my whole body in a trance. Maybe a short break would be okay.

  I look up into the clouds, shielding my eyes from the direct sunlight, and think of Grandma Kitty. I wonder if she ever laid down in the grass when she was here, watching the clouds change shapes with her team. I bet she did.

  Eventually, we go back to our bedchamber and Jillian and Mare get ready to give us a fashion show. First Jillian comes out in her pink dress, but it looks different than it did before. The pink pieces are tattered and torn—ripped to shreds. Her hair is messed up and falling in her face. She looks like a ghost who’s been roaming the afterlife forever. “Wow!” I exclaim. “That’s even better than I imagined.”

  She takes a bow. “Why thank you, Dah-ling!”

  Ander nods his head. “Not bad. Not bad.”

  Mare comes out next wearing the light blue mini skirt and leg warmers. Gray lace that looks like cobwebs hangs from them both. Her hair is piled in a high pony tail, and she’s wearing the choker necklace too. “That’s perfect,” I say. “You definitely look like a teenager ghost.” I want to add that she looks like a bratty teenager ghost but I don’t. Fighting with Mare will take up way too much time.

  Ander says in his cool voice, “Hey Baby, how you doin’?”

  She flips her pony tail around. “Too cool for you.” He covers his heart and pretends his feelings are hurt. He’s so weird.

  Jillian calls from the bathroom, “Come on, Kia. You’re next.” I walk in and she hands me the yellow overalls covered in ghost-like tatters and an orange T-shirt with holes in it. “Be careful when you put this on. It’s fragile.”

  I can see why. I carefully slip it on and admire myself in the mirror.

  “You’re amazing, Jillian! I love it!”

  She laughs like it’s no big deal. Mare helps me put my hair into two pigtails and rubs brown dirt stuff all over my face, squishing my cheeks in strange positions. She’s probably doing it on purpose. I slip all my rings on and get ready for my runway debut.

  “Are you guys ready?” Mare calls out to the boys.

  “Yessss,” Ander replies. “I get dressed in my hockey equipment faster than this.”

  Jillian calls out, “Introducing, Little Ghost Girl!”

  I open the door and skip around in a circle.

  “Doesn’t she look cute?” Jillian sings.

  Ander stands up. “You look like you’re six years old.”

  “She’s supposed to look six years old,” says Mare.

  “Then it’s perfect, KK.”

  I don’t think that was a compliment, but it’s okay. I love my Ghost Girl costume.

  Ander stands up. “Okay, Jillian. What about me and Jax?”

  “Your costumes are in there. We’ll wait out here.”

  “Don’t forget to walk out like you’re on a runway,” Mare calls.

  Ander grins like the Cheshire cat. “Oh, I won’t.” Jax doesn’t look as excited.

  After a few minutes, Ander bursts through the door wearing black baseball pants and a long, furry vest w
ith pointed shoulders. His hair is slicked back, and he’s wearing green sunglasses. “Greetings, ghost friends! May I interest you in the space box option? For the low price of ninety-nine dollars your body can be rocketed into space where you’ll spend the rest of eternity. But if you act now, we’ll even throw in an extra box for your ghost cat too.”

  I laugh out loud. Ander will be great in front of the judges.

  “Pretty good, huh? And now I’d like to introduce you to our guide for the evening . . . Master Ghost Man, the man with the top hat!”

  Jax walks out stiff as an oak tree. His black cape grazes the floor as he walks. He doesn’t smile. Maybe he’s afraid the top hat will fall off.

  “Jax, your costume is great,” I say. “Jillian, where did you get all this stuff?”

  She smiles. “Well, I made the black cape from a big piece of fabric. That was easy. I found the white gloves and baseball pants mixed in with our other stuff.”

  Jax flares out his cape. “Thanks, Jillian. I like it.”

  I look at all of us in our ghost costumes. “We’re going to look so good for this competition! Do you guys want to hear the script now?”

  “Yeah,” says Mare. “I need to make sure you didn’t give me too many lines.”

  “Don’t worry,” says Ander. “We didn’t.”

  Ander and I read the script from my notebook, alternating parts. We read the whole thing through once to see if the rest of the team likes it. I’m pretty sure they do since they laugh really hard at all the funny parts. When we’ve finished, we go through it more slowly, line by line, to see if each person likes what we’ve written for them. By the end of the afternoon, Mare is happy she only has ten lines. Jax is fine with his fifteen, and Jillian is happy with her seventeen. Ander and I are tied at twenty. I’m not sure how we both got so many, but no one else seems to mind that we have the most.

  I lean against my star bed. My whole team is almost sleeping on the floor. The filter revs up and floating sparkles slowly fill the room. I close my eyes. I can’t believe that one of the teams created these to purify the air. What a cool invention.

  I hope we can make our rotating set just as good. Jax is the only one who knows anything about mechanics. I bet it would help if we could see some objects move and get some ideas. Maybe Seraphina and Gregor can point us in the right direction.