Flip the Silver Switch Read online

  We walk through the parking lot toward the Sapphire Terminal, the one that houses our special aero-bus. My little brother Ryne races ahead but soon sprints back to us with his arms wide open.

  “Where are all the people? The whole town was here when you came home from Camp Piedmont.”

  We turn the corner and see a small group gathered around the egg-shaped bus. Mom hurries him along. “Principal Bermuda assured us this will be a private send-off this time.”

  “I hope so. I’m not sure I like people asking me questions about our invention every time I see them—every time I go to the store or sit on our front porch.”

  “I bet he’s afraid that people will ask him more questions about what he did to your project,” Dad replies. “And he should be. That bit he said to your team when you got home last month was a load of crap.”

  That day was horrible.

  All I wanted to do when he “welcomed” us off the bus was punch him in his nasty face. All of us did. But we all did the same thing. Nothing. Nothing at all. We stood there like statues. Even Mare. Like we forgave him or didn’t mind that he wrecked our whole project because it forced us to make an even better one. Yeah sure, it worked, but we didn’t forgive him. Not one bit.

  We get closer to the crowd of people, and Ander breaks through, bouncing a tennis ball. “KK, what took you so long? You missed me entertaining the audience with my juggling skills.”

  Mare rolls her eyes. “Yeah, they were entertained all right.” She looks at me and smiles. It’s not a huge grin like Ander always gives me, but it’s definitely a smile. For Mare and me, that’s progress.

  “Hi guys,” I say. “Did I miss anything else? Besides the Ander show?”

  Ander grins, obviously proud that I would call his “juggling” a show.

  “Nope,” says Mare. “We’re just waiting for Jillian and Jax.” She nods in the direction of the bus. “Here comes Jax. Let’s see how long it takes for his face to turn red.”

  “Mare, don’t be mean,” I say. “His face doesn’t turn red all the time—well, not anymore anyway.”

  “Yeah, we’ll see.” She smiles her intimidating smile, the one that still comes out every once in a while.

  Jax walks over with the best posture of any kid I’ve ever seen.

  “Big Guy!” Ander calls. “Glad you made it. Our team is not a team until every teammate is here.”

  Jax’s face doesn’t even turn red. “Uh, thanks, I guess.”

  “Where’s Jillian?” I ask. “She’s not here yet?”

  Ander laughs. “Well, if you mean Jillian and her two-ton suitcase, I think that’s her.”

  We turn around and Jillian is dragging her oversized suitcase behind her. It’s probably five times the size of mine. Instead of wearing shorts like Mare and me, she’s wearing a skirt and boots, looking like she stepped off a Paris runway. Her hair is curled to perfection, and her jacket even matches her backpack.

  “Darlings! I missed you all so much. Are you ready for our international adventure? Glad to see you all dressed up for the occasion.”

  I shake my head. Leave it to Jillian to turn on the drama before we even get on the bus!

  Jax looks down at his shirt, and his face turns the shade of red we’re all used to. “Were we supposed to dress up?”

  Ander bounces the ball and pats Jax on the back. “We look great, Jax—as usual. Khaki shorts and collared shirts are the perfect attire for traveling internationally, if I do say so myself.”

  I look up at Jax and smile. “Seraphina’s probably going to give us shirts to change into when we get there anyway.”

  “True,” says Jillian. “But that’s after we arrive. I like to travel in style.”

  “Since when?” asks Mare tucking her straight blond hair behind her ear.

  Jillian shrugs. “Oh look, girls, you have matching Converse sneakers!”

  Mare looks at her feet and then at mine. “Oh, goody.”

  I place my foot next to hers. “We do, Mare. See, we’re twinning!”

  “Just what I want—more matching. Like we won’t be wearing the exact same shirts for the next two weeks again.”

  Jillian links her arms through mine and Mare’s. “This is going to be the best trip ever—I just know it is.”

  I smile because I hope she’s right. I hope this will be the best trip ever.

  Soon a motor whirs and sputters overhead. I should have known—Grandma Kitty! She circles above us on an aero-scooter with red, white, and blue streamers trailing behind her. She waves, hovers above us for a second, and spins in a circle. Our mouths hang open as she lands on the pavement in a not-so-graceful plunk.

  She brushes herself off and grins. “Hello, Lemon Drop! I told you I’d make it.”

  “That was awesome!” says Ander. “KK, your grandma’s cool.”

  She cuts the motor, takes off her helmet, and the red sparkles in her hair pop out from underneath.

  “Grandma Kitty! Where’d you get the aero-scooter?”

  “This was a present to me from me. I figure if riding on an aero-scooter fuels your creativity, it has to be able to re-fuel mine too. A lady’s got to do more with her time than make fancy earrings. I’m thinking of switching to sparkly scooter goggles instead. They’d be real useful riding in the air all day. I may even fly this thing to Québec later this month—if I can figure out how to navigate the birds.”

  “You should! Then you can take me for a ride through the university campus.”

  Mare peeks inside the aero-bus. “The bus driver’s in there. What’s the holdup? I thought Principal Backstabber was supposed to be here to send us off or something.”

  Before we can answer, an aero-cart zooms over and three men hop out—one with a television camera, one with a microphone, and one with slicked back hair and a bulging belly.

  Ander drops the tennis ball. It bounces under the bus.

  Our families quickly gather around us in a pack. Principal Bermuda waddles over. “Hello there, everyone. Glad to see you’re on time.”

  “What’s the TV camera for?” asks Ander. “I thought you wanted our send-off to be private.”

  “Private in person. You don’t think the town wants to miss out on your grand departure, or watching you solve your send-off task, do you?”

  “Our send-off task?” I ask.

  “That’s not even a thing,” says Mare.

  “Yeah,” Ander replies. “We got a letter from the Piedmont people about what’s happening today. There is no Piedmont send-off task.”

  “You’re a smart boy, Mr. Yates. There isn’t a Piedmont task but there is a Crimson task.”

  Grandma Kitty shoulders her way toward the front of the group. “What for?”

  “To show the people of Crimson just how smart and creative all these kids are, to generate more buzz about their travels.”

  “I think you’ve generated enough buzz about their travels, don’t you?” Mom says with more Mare tone than I thought she had in her.

  “Ah, Mrs. Krumpet, one can never generate too much buzz. Your daughter and her teammates are making history as we speak. I plan to document it all.”

  “With all due respect, Principal Bermuda, because of your involvement with the project these kids created during their time at Camp Piedmont, it’s my understanding that you are to have no contact or interaction with the Piedmont competition.”

  “And I intend to fully cooperate with the Piedmont Organization’s decision. While these kids may be both representatives of New York State and the United States of America at the Global Championships, they are also representatives of the town of Crimson Heights and the Crimson Central School District. It is within my rights to give this community what they desire—a glimpse into the adventure these amazing kids are about to embark on.”

  What does that even mean?
r />   “You don’t object to interviewing the kids before they leave—asking them a few questions?”

  “Well,” Mom replies, “I think we should ask the kids.”

  Principal Bermuda licks his lips. “Kids, what do you say? Take one for the team, the team that supported you back home? Answer a few questions for the cameras?”

  I’m not sure what to say. All this attention feels really weird. My teammates and I look at each other. I’m not sure we’re allowed to tell him no though, and the camera man is waiting. “I guess that’s fine,” I say.

  Principal Bermuda claps his hands. “Okay Larry, let’s roll ’em.” He pulls a wrinkled piece of paper out of his coat pocket. “Parents? Do you mind stepping away from the cameras, please? Kids, stand right here next to me in front of this spectacular aero-bus.”

  We shuffle over and the man with the microphone steps toward us. He motions to the camera man, and the tiny blinking light on his camera flashes. “In a continuation of our on-going story, we’re here live with the kids from Crimson Elementary who placed second in the Piedmont Challenge National Finals and have since become known in our community as The Crimson Five. With the Piedmont Global Championships just a few weeks away, they’re packed and ready to take off on the aero-bus right behind them for Québec City. I’m joined today by Kia, Ander, Mare, Jax, Jillian, and their school principal, Blake Bermuda.”

  “Kids, we’ve said it before, but we’ll say it again. Your accomplishment is inspiring. We wish you luck in global competition. Now, Kia, we’ve learned that you’ll present your solution to the judges once again in this competition. How is it different from your last competition?”

  The red light blinks at me angrily. My heart pounds, but I resist the urge to bite my pinky nail. “Well, sir, last time we were competing against other American teams for a chance to compete at the Global Championships and a chance to enroll at PIPS—the Piedmont Inventors Prep School. This time, we’re competing against teams from all over the world to have our invention chosen.”

  The reporter nods and looks at Jax. “Chosen for what? Jax, can you tell us?”

  Jax stands up even straighter than he already is. “The top inventions will be built at PIPS, or the other creativity schools at the teams’ respective countries—they will become more than a prototype and eventually be used by people all over the world.”

  “Ander, the solution you created for the National Finals has been kept under wraps. Is there anything you can tell us about it?”

  Oh no! I think back to when Ander let it slip to nasty Witch Girl from Michigan that we were doing a skit to explain our task solution and invention—something no other team had done before.

  Ander leans toward the microphone. “No, I’m sorry, but I can’t. According to the rules, our solution needs to be kept a secret until we present it in Québec.”

  The reporter turns to Mare. “Okay then. Mare, can you at least tell us how you came up with it? Whose idea was it?”

  Mare shrugs. “We all came up with it together.”

  “Well, it had to have originally come from one person, right Jillian?”

  “No,” Jillian says. “It came from all of us—all our small ideas turned into one big idea.”

  He looks around at each of us. “I see—then your solution is even more impressive. I like the teamwork. You certainly seem to have that skill perfected.”

  I stare at the red blinking light. None of us say anything; we just smile.

  “Now, Principal Bermuda, what do you think it is about these kids that makes them special—that got them this far in the competition?”

  “Well, that’s easy. The education they received at Crimson was top notch.”

  The reporter nods. “You told me earlier that you have a question you want to ask the kids.”

  Principal Bermuda grabs the microphone with his plump hand. “Yes, I do. This competition began with a series of tasks. I’d like the kids to solve a task right here for our viewers.”

  What?

  Ander’s eyes get big. “Right here?”

  “Sure. I bet our viewers would like the opportunity to watch you solve a quick-thinking task—one like each of you solved in your Swirl and Spark Recall. So, here’s a quick one for you: Starting with Mare, in thirty seconds or less, name one thing that bothers you about the teammate to your left—and go!”

  Mare looks at Jillian and then at each of us.

  “The timer is ticking,” he says.

  “Um, well, I don’t know. She’s kind of messy, I guess.”

  “Next!” Principal Bermuda says.

  Jillian looks at Ander. “Well, if I had to say something, I guess I’d say Ander can be bossy.”

  “Next!” he says again.

  Ander looks at Jax. “Well, Jax doesn’t say much. He could loosen up a little.”

  “Next!”

  Jax turns to me. “Um.”

  Principal Bermuda taps his watch.

  Jax’s face turns crimson. “Um, Kia’s kind of intense.”

  Intense? How?

  “Next!”

  I look at Mare and then at the blinking light. “Mare can be . . . outspoken.”

  She glares at me.

  “Time! And that’s how quickly these kids can think on their feet without even knowing ahead of time what they will be asked.”

  “Wait a minute,” says Mare. “I have a response to add about you, Principal Bermuda. Principal Bermuda can be—”

  “Cut!” calls Principal Bermuda.

  The light on the camera disappears. “Larry, please cut Mare’s last remark.”

  The reporter nods and heads back to the cart with the camera man.

  Grandma Kitty stomps over to us dragging her scooter alongside her. “Principal Bermuda, what on Earth was that?”

  He straightens his tie, a fat one with weasels printed all over it. “I told you, a chance for our viewers to see these kids think on their feet.”

  “With a question like that—designed to tear them apart? The Piedmont judges would never ask them a question like that.”

  “Well, well, I think we have all we need for our commentary on the Crimson Five. It’s time for lift-off. Say your goodbyes, kids—and remember the whole town of Crimson will be watching you. Make us proud. Make me proud!”

  Ick. I’d rather choke him with that stupid weasel tie.

  My dad wraps me up in a hug, and my stomach drops. Québec is even farther away than Maryland, where Camp Piedmont was held. I wish that was where we were going now, back to our star bed, to the spinning food flowers, to the air purification sparkles, to Mable, to Meeting Room Twelve, and even to Swissa. I know what to expect there. At the university in Québec, I don’t know anything at all.

  “Bye Kia!” says Ryne.

  “Remember what I told you,” says Malin. “I want stories. Good ones.”

  Mom kisses me on the side of the head. “See you soon, Baby Girl. Be safe.”

  I catch the tears running down her face even as she fumbles for a tissue to hide them.

  Dad wraps his arms around us both. “We’ll see you in two weeks, Little Bear. It won’t be as long as last time. You can show us all around the university when we get there—I have a feeling there’ll be a lot to see.”

  I hug them tight then make my way toward the aero-bus. Grandma Kitty is standing guard by the doorway with a serious look on her face. “You have fun, Sugar Plum. Show those global teams what the Crimson Five are really made of! That invention of yours is spectacular—it’ll win, I just know it. Mark my words.”

  I hope she’s right. If the Ancestor App gets picked, then everyone can talk to their ancestors like we did. Besides, somebody’s invention has to win. I pick ours.

  THE SKIT MIXER GAME

  I follow my teammates up the steps to the aero-bus and the door closes beh
ind me. The driver smiles as we pass by. My breath catches when I see the sparkly walls and all the red couch seats. This time though, the couches aren’t arranged in rows; they’re situated along the sides of the bus. We set our luggage in a cupboard and each claim our spots.

  Ander plops into his couch. “I like this new arrangement.”

  Mare grins. “Now this is the life. I’ll see you guys in nine hours. Wake me up when we get there.”

  Jillian heads to a table in the back where a red box awaits. “Look, guys, it’s a present.”

  Mare sits up. “Who’s it for?”

  She flips open the tag. “All of us.”

  We scurry for seats around the table. I head to the only seat that’s left in between Jillian and Jax. Jillian pats the seat. “Here, Kia, sit next to me.”

  Mare looks at her. “Where else would she sit? It’s the only chair left.”

  “I know,” says Jillian. “I was trying to be polite. Have you forgotten your manners? It’s proper etiquette to welcome a newcomer to the table, especially if they’re the last to approach it.”

  Mare’s left eyebrow shoots up.

  “What? I’m just practicing for when we’re in Québec. The French people have perfect manners, and I want to fit right in.”

  “Well,” says Ander. “That will be real useful for when you go to France. Newsflash: Québec City is in Canada—the people are Canadian.”

  “I know that, but the people speak French there too.”

  “Merci bou coup!” he replies.

  I laugh. “That was the worst French accent ever.”

  Mare reaches across the table for the box. “Well, what are we waiting for?” She opens the envelope as Jillian peeks over her shoulder.

  Hey Crimson Kids,

  I can’t wait to see you in Québec. To help you pass the time on the aero-bus (not that you need help doing that) and also to help prepare you for the Global Championships, I’ve left a game for you to play. Have fun. See you soon!

  Seraphina

  “Awesome,” I say. “We have nine hours on this aero-bus. Lots of time to play.”

  Mare looks at me with her Mare-ish scowl. “Are you crazy? I’m not playing this game for nine hours—no matter how great it is. I know you’re all about team bonding and everything, but we’re already bonded, practically for life.” She waves the medal around her neck as proof. “So I’ll play, but then I’m taking a nap. It would be stupid to waste the couches.”