Spin the Golden Light Bulb Read online

  My dad wraps me up like a burrito. “Okay, Little Bear, go get on that bus. Show those Piedmont people all the great ideas swirling in your head.”

  I nod. “I will.”

  Grandma Kitty grabs my hand. Her bracelets jingle next to mine. “I know this is a colossal challenge, Butter Cup, but you were born to go to PIPS. I should know. Advancing to the Global Championships can’t be that hard for you. Do what you do best and you’ll make it. Mark my words.”

  I don’t know what to say, so I don’t say anything. I just step onto the bus.

  THE AERO-BUS

  I climb into the bus, and my eyes don’t know where to look first. It’s like a glittery motor palace! The seats are sparkly couches, and the walls are painted all different colors. Control panels fill the back of the seats. What kind of aero-bus is this?

  My teammates have already found their seats. Jax is camped out on the couch behind the driver, his head buried in a magazine. Marianna and Jillian are sitting together a few rows behind him with their heads practically touching. I wonder what they’re looking at. Alexander is sitting by himself on the other side of the aisle. His legs are sprawled over the whole seat. He swings them off and moves over toward the window.

  “You can sit here if you want.”

  I slide in. “Thanks.”

  “You can call me Ander. I don’t like long names.”

  “Okay. You can call me Kia. I don’t have a long name.”

  The bus pulls away and lifts off before I can look out the window and wave goodbye. All I see is the empty amphitheater, but it doesn’t matter. I didn’t want to see my family drift away anyway.

  Ander presses a button on the control panel. His seat reclines, and the control panel extends toward him. “I hope my hockey stuff is okay under the bus. I have a brand new helmet in there.”

  I stare at his skinny body. “You play hockey?”

  “Yup. I’m a winger. I always say, if I can get the puck, I can score.”

  I think he’s making that up. “Why did you bring your hockey gear?”

  “Principal Bermuda told me they have everything at this camp. If I find an ice rink, I want to pull a game together. Do you play?”

  “Me? No.”

  “No problem. I can teach you.”

  “I don’t think we’re going to have time for games. We have a task to work on, remember?”

  “How long can that take? I bet we’ll have a ton of free time.”

  He pushes another button on the control panel and chooses a song. Iridescent headphones descend from the ceiling to cover his ears. I hope he’s kidding. Six weeks is not a lot of time to solve our task, especially now that there’s a chance we’ll have to go back home for programming.

  I sink down in my seat. I wonder what category our task will be in. I hope it’s not in Human History. I look at Ander. He’s mouthing the words to a song. I nudge his arm, and he pulls the headphones away from his ears. “Do you want to talk about which task they’re going to give us? You know, guess some of the possibilities?”

  “Nope. I want to enjoy the ride.” He jumps up and turns around in his seat. “Can you believe this bus? Look at it back there.”

  All I see are rows of couches and a curtain behind them. He pushes another button on the control panel. A map of the aero-bus appears on the back of his seat. “Look! There’s a movie theater behind that curtain and an ice cream shop too.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, come on. Let’s go check it out.”

  I think about it for a second. “Maybe later. I want to study my task notes.”

  “What for? We have eight hours until we get to camp. Can’t you do it later?”

  “No. I’ll find you when I’m done.”

  He takes off his baseball hat, messes up his brown hair, and shoves the hat back on his head. “Okay, see ya.”

  I quiz myself on as much Human History as I can, but it’s hard to concentrate. I feel like Principal Bermuda played a trick on us. In all the years of talking to us about the Piedmont Challenge, he never told us that if you make it to camp, but don’t do well in the National Finals, you can still be sent home for programming. It’s not fair. I can’t study one subject for seventh and eighth grade and high school too! How can anyone expect us to do that? I bite the corner of my thumbnail and the nail polish flakes off. I pick a piece off my tongue.

  I skim my category notes but my eyelids flicker when I get to the Revolutionary War. I force myself to read about Paul Revere’s midnight ride, but soon I close my book and make a wish that our task will not be in this category.

  I peek down the aisle at the girls. They look like they could be sisters, or cousins maybe. Jillian’s blond hair is long and wavy but Marianna’s is stick straight. Jillian is pretty. She seems nice, like we could be friends. I like her headband and her flowing skirt. I’m not so sure about Marianna. She seems too perfect. I think whenever she looks at me she’s laughing at me. I look up the aisle at Jax. All I see is the back of his head—and the flat top of his haircut. His face is still buried in the magazine. I don’t get it. Later today we could find out our task. Why don’t any of them care?

  That’s when I jump out of my seat. I don’t even know my teammates. How can we work together when we don’t know anything about each other? Crimson Elementary School is really big, and except from meeting them on the Day of Brightness, we haven’t even talked!

  I change my plan. Maybe getting to know each other is more important than studying right now. I head up the aisle to Jax’s seat. “Hi, what are you reading?”

  He sits up straight. Now he’s way taller than the back of the seat. “It’s a magazine of machine parts, all about the way things work.”

  Hmm. So Jax likes mechanical stuff. Interesting.

  “Do you want to go to the back of the bus? Ander said there’s a movie theater back there.”

  He slumps back down. “Nah.”

  I walk back towards the girls. They don’t notice me standing there until I say, “Hi, Jillian. Hi, Marianna.”

  Marianna giggles. “Um, no one calls me that.”

  I feel my face get hot. “Oh, sorry. What should I call you?”

  “Mare.”

  “Okay. Well, I’m going to the back of the bus. Ander said there’s movies and ice cream. Do you guys want to come?”

  “No, thank you,” says Jillian. “We’re watching a video my dad made of the crowd this morning at Send-Off.”

  I try to catch a glimpse, but they don’t turn the player my way. “Oh, well maybe later we can study for our task together.”

  Mare looks at me with a crinkled forehead. “Why would we do that?”

  “So we can be ready for whatever task they give us when we get to camp.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Well, yeah. I want to get a head start, don’t you?”

  She shakes her head. “No.”

  “Oh. I guess I’ll talk to you guys later. Come find us when you’re done if you want to.”

  Jillian smiles. Mare laughs at something on the screen. I walk away. I’m not sure my “Getting to Know My Teammates Plan” is working.

  Behind the curtain I find a small room with a giant screen and a row of seats. Ander is sitting in one of them.

  “Ha! I knew you’d change your mind. You have to see this. We can pick any movie ever made, or make our own. What do you want to see? I already started two different ones, but you can pick now if you want. Go ahead.”

  “Any movie ever made?”

  “Or make combinations of movies too.”

  “Okay!” We scan through the list, pick the funniest ones we can find, and splice them together. Two hours go by like two minutes and the lights turn on by themselves. My ribs hurt from laughing, but I can take it. This is all part of the “Getting to Know My Teammates Plan.”

&n
bsp; Ander puts his hat back on. “What should we do now? Want to eat?”

  “Sure.” We step out of the movie compartment and the aero-bus shakes. I reach for the railing. Maybe we drove through a patch of turbulence. We cross the aisle into a restaurant called the Circle Café, where colorful rings like hula hoops hang from the ceiling. Each wall is painted a different color: red, blue, yellow, and green.

  “Whoever designed this bus must have a thing for circles,” he says. “Let’s sit over there.”

  We spin on circle-shaped chairs at the counter and drink blueberry milkshakes while Ander talks and talks about his hockey team. I don’t care about that team, but he’s so excited that I listen. He plays with the straw paper, and somehow he turns it into a mini sailor hat. “Look, I made a hat for my hockey puck. Let’s make some more. We can turn my hockey bag into a ship, and the pucks can be the crew.” His smile is big, like he just came up with the most amazing idea ever. Weird. I wonder if he has an invention list too.

  “Okay,” I say. “I’ll get more straws.” My insides churn as I walk away. My plan is working. I’m getting to know Ander! Now I just have to convince the rest of my teammates to build the Hockey Puck Hats too.

  PILLARS AND STONE

  Hours later, our aero-bus lands on the Piedmont University campus in front of Piedmont Coliseum, a brick stadium set in a forest of trees. A banner hangs from the eaves.

  Welcome State Champions to Camp Piedmont.

  Training Center for the Piedmont National Finals.

  I’m one of those state champions!

  We run down the steps, and it’s like we’ve entered a fairy tale. The buildings surrounding the stadium are old but really pretty! I stare at the grass, the flowers, the stone pathways, and all of the people. Kids with suitcases are scattered everywhere.

  I spot a sign in the grass with the Piedmont Challenge crest painted on the bottom:

  Piedmont Training Camp . . . This Way.

  “Come on!” I yell and race down the path pulling my suitcase behind me. My teammates can hardly keep up. I can’t slow down though. They may think we’re not in a hurry, but six weeks is not a lot of time to prep for this competition.

  We weave in between the brick buildings. Another sign directs us through a bumpy alley. We round the bend and enter a square, grassy area surrounded by buildings with fancy white pillars. Kids from all over the country have invaded. A band plays under a tent. Flags from all fifty states hang from the buildings. I have to stop for a second to catch my breath. None of us say a word. My teammates must be swallowed up by the sight like I am.

  Finally, Ander yells above the music. “Let’s go check in!”

  The check-in line leading to Piedmont Chamber winds through the square like a snake. We take our place at the end of it, and I look up. The Chamber looks like a castle! I shade my eyes from the sun and imagine what could be inside. Before long, the band music stops and a voice booms through the cobblestones beneath my feet. I jump off the path and realize there are speakers down there!

  “Welcome to the Piedmont Training Camp at Piedmont University. To make this check-in process run smoothly, all team members must be prepared to show their Golden Light Bulbs. This is your ticket to camp, and you will not be admitted without it. There will be no exceptions.”

  I open my suitcase as the music starts up again and unwrap my Golden Light Bulb. No scratches and still shiny. I trace the plate with my name. It seems strange that the Piedmont Challenge was only last week. I’ve let myself feel like a princess ever since I won, but now I better forget about all that. I have to start prepping for our task because I’m not a big deal here like I was back home. I’m not really a princess. Here, I have to ace my task all over again—with teammates this time.

  Piedmont Chamber is up ahead, but there must be at least twenty teams still in front of us. I clutch my Golden Light Bulb. My teammates haven’t even taken theirs out of their suitcases yet. I wonder if they wrapped them up like I did. Ander probably didn’t—he seems more worried about his hockey gear. Mare might have placed hers in a safe spot. Everything about her seems perfect. Her packing skills are probably perfect too. I’m not too sure about Jax. He’s one of those kids who looks older and more mature than everyone else in our grade. I never let looks fool me though. I bet his mom packed it for him. Jillian seems too spacey to worry about that kind of stuff. I’ve already had to remind her twice to grab her suitcase as we’ve crawled along this sidewalk.

  I tug at my own suitcase. The wheel is stuck in a crack in the sidewalk. I break it free, and we scoot up a few inches. Jillian trips on the crack and bumps into me. My Golden Light Bulb fumbles in my hand, but I don’t drop it.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry!” she says.

  “It’s fine,” I say. “I didn’t drop it.”

  Ander laughs. “Nice one. That would be funny if you got up to the registration table and had to show them your chipped trophy. You’d be the girl with the broken light bulb for the rest of camp.”

  That would be horrible.

  To pass the time, I study my teammates. I keep wondering how each of them won their trophies. They each scored a ton of points on their seven tasks like I did, but I want to know which category they scored the highest in. I guess once we get to our rooms, I’ll try to talk to them again.

  I can see now that one team at a time is allowed into Piedmont Chamber. I can’t stop staring at the tall stone building. Tiny question marks and stars have been chiseled into the giant door. At the entrance, two matching magnolia trees stand watch as teams from all fifty states pass by.

  I can’t be sure, but I think the tree on the right just raised its branch, and then lowered it again! Did it really do that? Its white flowers look like tiny bowls of vanilla ice cream and smell like it too. I wait to see if the branch moves again until Ander pulls on my ponytail. “Hey, Kia Krumpet, if I had duct tape and a few branches from that weird looking tree over there, I could make us some wings. Then our team could fly to the front of this line.”

  I laugh. “Or maybe we could make stilts and step over all these other teams.”

  “What are you guys talking about?” asks Jillian. “This is Camp Piedmont. Aren’t you just happy to be here? There’s nothing like this place anywhere in New York.”

  A girl in front of us, with witch-black hair spins around. “New York? Oh . . . you’re that team.”

  “What do you mean, that team?” Ander asks.

  She smirks. “My team has heard about yours. All of you came from the same school, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah,” says Mare.

  “It must be nice to be famous.”

  “We’re not famous,” I say.

  “Okay, whatever you say.”

  “Where’s your team from?” Mare asks.

  “Nowhere as exciting as New York.” She spins around and her braid whips Ander in the face.

  Ander rubs his cheek. “I hope the other teams here aren’t that friendly,” he says under his breath.

  “She’s just mad because she has to work with those four dorky boys,” says Mare. “Look.” She points to three tall boys and one scrawny one with glasses.

  I shrug. “Who cares if the other teams are friendly or what the kids are like? We have a competition to win, remember?”

  “I care,” says Ander. “I want to meet kids from all over the place.”

  The massive doors open and the girl with the witch hair and her team pass through. They slam shut before I can peek inside. I hear a clicking sound coming from the vanilla ice cream tree. The petals on each flower close and then open right back up again—all at the same time.

  That’s weird. How did they do that?

  I forget about the tree and watch for the doors to open again. I have more important things to focus on anyway. I’m about to walk into Camp Piedmont, one step closer to getting to PIPS. I pull my suitcase and loo
k for my Golden Light Bulb. It was just in my hand. Wait! Where is it? I look every which way. It’s not here. It’s not anywhere!

  The doors swing open.

  “My Golden Light Bulb! Where is it?” My team stares at me. We freeze in the doorway. “I just had it!”

  Ander looks at me, confused.

  I blurt out, “I don’t have it!”

  Mare points to the side of my backpack.

  I see it there, shining in the pocket. And then I breathe again.

  We step through the doorway and I take an even bigger breath.

  The arched ceiling above us must be a hundred feet tall. Now I’m definitely sure this is a castle! In the center of the lobby is a table. A small lady with tiny eyes and a bun on top of her head sits behind it. Her chair may as well be a throne. Behind her is a two-sided winding staircase covered with red carpet. The two sets of stairs curve and meet up in the middle on the second floor. I can barely see up that high.

  We stop at the table and the lady’s crackling voice surprises me. “Welcome, children from New York State. I am Mistress Andora Appelonia. You, of course are the New York team—all from Crimson Elementary School, yes?” Her smile is warm. Her eyes are accusing.

  My throat feels like sand but I answer anyway. “Yes, Miss Appelonia. We are the team from Crimson.”

  “How refreshing—a team where all five finalists come from the same school. I can’t imagine a more peculiar occurrence. That doesn’t happen often, you know.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “Well, we will be expecting great things from you this summer. Welcome to Piedmont, the Camp of Champions. May you create a task solution worthy of a team in your situation.”

  Ander speaks a little too loud. “What do you mean, ‘a team in our situation’?”