The Impossible Race: Cragbridge Hall, Volume 3 Page 5

  “And this,” Grandpa said, pointing at the screen. It showed an old man lying on a bed in a seedy hotel room, his skin taut around his cheekbones and his eyes sunken. He looked like he hadn’t eaten well in weeks. “This is how Nikola Tesla died. Penniless, unknown, and all alone. The man had over five thousand patents in his name and changed the world forever, but this was his end—forgotten in a hotel room.”

  Grandpa looked toward Abby in the desk chair. “If he had known this is how it would end, would he have made our world better? If he could have foreseen the heartache, the breakdowns, would he have worked as hard?” The image of Grandpa took a few guarded steps. “And what about me? Would I have invented the Bridge if I could do it all again?” He looked ahead very seriously then exhaled.

  That was a good question. If he had known it would lead to him and his son and daughter-in-law lying unconscious for weeks, would he have done it? If he had known it could possibly lead to his grandson’s death, and Muns in control, would he have gone through with it? Abby wasn’t sure.

  Grandpa placed his hand on his chest. “I believe we need to do our very best. We have a responsibility to think about the consequences of our actions, but not to overly worry about the future.” He pointed his cane at Abby. “You need to think very seriously about whether or not you should see the future, if in fact, the Bridge can do that. Seeing the opposition we would face in the future may be a great burden. Perhaps even a pitfall.”

  The top of Grandpa’s desk shifted back and another flat surface rose to the top. On it lay what looked like over a hundred items. One looked like a tangled mess of wire, another like a metal star, another like a silver bowl. There was a great variety in their shapes, but each was small enough to fit in the palm of Abby’s hand. “If you would like to pursue this question further,” Grandpa said, “perhaps one of these objects will help. You will need to make a choice without knowing the future, without knowing the consequence of picking that object.”

  “Wow,” Carol said. “Those are kind of amazing, but I have no idea how they will help us answer the question.”

  “I guess we just pick one and see what it does,” Derick suggested.

  “I’ll take the star,” Carol said, “for obvious reasons.” She walked over and snatched it from the table. Immediately she shook and fell to the ground, dropping the star back on the desk.

  Abby rushed out of her seat. “What happened?”

  Derick reached Carol first. “Don’t touch the star,” he blurted out, as Rafa bent down to grab it. “I think it just shocked her.”

  “Is she going to be okay?” Abby asked.

  Derick put his cheek to Carol’s face. “She’s still breathing.” He checked her pulse for nearly half a minute. “And she’s calming down.” Derick continued to check her breathing every twenty seconds or so, just to be sure.

  Carol’s eyes gradually opened. She looked at Derick, who happened to have his head tilted down toward her. She closed her eyes again.

  “Are you okay?” Abby asked her friend.

  “Shhhh,” Carol said. “Some powerful magic sent me into a deep sleep, like Sleeping Beauty, and I can only be awakened by my true love’s kiss.”

  Derick stood up, his concern wiped from his face. “Well, it looks like we’re going to have to figure all of this out without Carol.”

  “Oh, come on!” Carol said, sitting up. “That was a magical setup! When are we ever going to have that situation again?”

  “Magical?” Derick questioned. “You were shocked unconscious and I was making sure you weren’t dead.”

  “Ahhhh,” Carol said, fixing her blonde hair, which was a bit frizzy at the edges. “I knew you cared.”

  “Why would Grandpa shock you?” Abby asked. She looked around the room until she found a pair of thick gloves on a work table next to a branch to the Bridge. She slid one glove on and timidly pushed the star. Little sparks arced out of it.

  “Toss me that other glove,” Derick said. Once protected, he picked up the ball of wire. He held it for several seconds, but then the glove began to freeze. He dropped it back down on the desk. “It’s seeping out liquid nitrogen or something, because it’s freezing instantly.”

  “So apparently we’re supposed to learn to never touch anything,” Carol said.

  “There are too many objects to really know yet,” Abby said. She pushed a bowl gingerly. Nothing. Then she held it up off the desk. Several coins slid from a secret compartment near its top into the bottom of the bowl.

  “You have made several choices,” Grandpa’s voice said. He had appeared again and gazed in the direction of the desk. “Making choices without knowing the results—or in other words, knowing the future—can be difficult. Perhaps it is somewhat like choosing these items. Each choice has a consequence. Some choices hurt, and some reward. Those coins,” he pointed where the bowl had been, “are rare and worth a good deal of money. I went back in time and stole them from Thomas Jefferson.” He winked. “I’m kidding, but they are rare.”

  Carol scooped them out of the bowl and lifted one to the light to inspect it.

  “You’d think you’d be a little more careful after the last thing shocked you and sent you to the floor,” Derick said.

  Grandpa was still talking. “Can you imagine how life would be if we knew the results to every choice before we made it? It is possible that we would spare ourselves every difficulty and only find rewards. But what would that lead us to be? I’ve already taught you that going through difficulty makes us stronger. Facing tragedies and trials is when ordinary people rise up and become heroes.”

  Grandpa paced in front of his desk. “If one of your choices causes pain and sorrow, you learn and grow. You become stronger and don’t look back.”

  He cleared his throat. “You must make the best choices you know how, not fearing what will come. Study your choices, use your mind, and follow your heart and your instincts. But once you’ve made a choice,” he pointed his cane at the objects, “make the most of it.”

  And then he was gone.

  “I totally knew he was going to end all cryptically,” Carol said. “And we would have no idea what to do next.”

  “I guess he’s a bit predictable that way,” Abby said. “But we need to see the future. We need to know if what we are doing is on track to stop Muns or not.”

  “Yeah,” Derick said. “I think he taught some good stuff there, but I can’t just choose not to die.”

  The Announcement

  The marble hall, the gentlemen in doublets, the ladies in elaborate gowns, and the small orchestra all faded away. Several hundred students at Cragbridge Hall clapped and awaited the next number. Tonight the dance committee was putting the Bridge to very creative use. Abby’s favorites had been dancing to Miles Davis playing jazz on his trumpet, watching and hearing a group of Ghanaians chant and dance together, and seeing the Beatles play at Shea Stadium.

  Three-dimensional images of Polynesian men twirling torches appeared in the gym. The flames spun into what looked like full circles and the crowd gasped and cheered. A drumbeat pounded in the background and the students began to move to the rhythm.

  Carol flung her hair and bounced up and down. “Best dance everrrrrrrr!” she yelled over the music then threw her hands in the air and let out a scream of sheer delight. Guitar and bass entered into the song and the fire spinners whirled, threw, and caught their burning torches.

  Abby was very glad she had used extra deodorant—not that girls sweat or anything. She bounced and shook next to Carol and a few other girls. They could only sit and think about her grandfather’s message for so long. They needed a break, and the school always had a dance to announce the Race. Of course, knowing the announcement was coming made Abby nervous. Was Muns about to do something? Rafa’s mother had been assured that security had it all under control.

  Soon the fire twirlers faded and another scene came into view. It was a band on a beach. “Let’s slow things down a bit,” the long-haired singer
called into his microphone, the guitarist beginning to pick out a melody.

  Oh, no. A slow song. Abby had no idea who the band was, or the name of the song, but she knew it was a ballad.

  “Um . . . do you want to dance?” It was a boy’s voice, coming from somewhere behind her. Abby’s heart beat faster. The music had only been playing for a few seconds. She didn’t know whether to be scared that she was actually about to slow-dance with a boy or relieved that a boy had asked. At least she wasn’t going to have to worry about awkwardly standing against the wall, watching all of her friends have a good time.

  She turned around to see a boy with dark hair wearing a bright orange button-up shirt. And of course he had blue eyes. But he wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at a brunette standing next to Abby.

  “Sure,” the brunette answered and followed him a few steps away from the group.

  “I’m so excited to awkwardly waddle with a boy,” Carol said and began peering into the crowd. “Oh, no.” She palmed her forehead. “Looks like some girl snatched up Derick before he could get to me.” Abby found Derick in the sea of dancing students, swaying side to side with a girl with curly black hair and a red dress. Abby knew it was possible that Derick kind of liked the girl. She also knew it was possible that in near-panic he had asked whatever girl was closest to him to prevent Carol from snagging him.

  “Um.” Another boy had approached, a little shorter than the last, this one with an olive complexion.

  “Did you come over here to ask me to dance?” Carol asked. “My answer is definitely yes! Let’s boogie!” Abby wasn’t sure if the boy had intended to ask Carol or not, but caught up in the whirlwind of her excitement, he strolled out onto the dance floor with her. Carol looked back at Abby over the boy’s shoulder and mouthed the words “Awkwardly waddling,” and gave a thumbs-up.

  Again a boy approached the group, and again he chose someone other than Abby. Then another. Soon Abby was the only one left. She didn’t know whether to stand there and hope someone would come, or pretend she needed a drink or to go to the bathroom. She looked around. With no boy prospects in sight, she started toward the door.

  And then she saw Jacqueline, her former roommate who had kicked her out of their room when she found out her grandfather had helped get Abby into the school. Jacqueline was dancing with a boy who looked a year or so older, maybe fourteen or fifteen. Jacqueline’s eyes met Abby’s and she led the boy toward her former roommate. “Hey, Abby,” Jacqueline said, her black hair sleek and perfect, her smile beaming with teeth whiter than natural.

  “Hey, Jacqueline,” Abby responded.

  Jacqueline looked around. “Why aren’t you dancing?”

  She wanted Abby to say it. Abby wished she could think of something clever to say, something that would send Jacqueline right back out on the dance floor, but she couldn’t think of anything. She shrugged. “I didn’t get invited.” She forced herself to look directly at Jacqueline and not let her eyes fall toward the floor. She hoped she didn’t look embarrassed.

  “Huh,” Jacqueline said, feigning surprise. “Better luck next time.” She sounded nice enough, but the boy was listening. She turned with the boy to go back out to the dance floor, but when he was a couple of steps ahead of her and out of earshot, Jacqueline turned back. “The boys are smart here, Abby. They can tell what you are. I wouldn’t expect any invites anytime soon.” She flipped her hair and rejoined the boy.

  Why did she have to do that? Abby felt bad enough, but now she didn’t know whether to clench her teeth in anger, or her eyes to keep them from crying. She stepped out into the hall and didn’t come back in until she heard the music start to fade.

  Please, no more slow dances for a while.

  The band on the beach faded, but nothing immediately replaced it. Abby and Carol found each other next to the refreshment table. The crowd started to grow restless.

  An announcer’s voice finally broke the silence. “Here to announce this year’s competition are two of your student body officers, Sarah Ani and Landon Beane.”

  The crowd cheered as Sarah walked out onto the stage. She was several years older than Abby and wearing the blue blazer of Cragbridge Hall with a class officer patch beside her lapel. She had short, dark, hair and wore a super-cute peach skirt. Abby wanted one just like it. “Are you ready for the announcement?” Sarah asked, her voice amplified by a small microphone sticker she wore on her cheek. She cupped her hand to her ear. The crowd answered with a burst of noise. She seemed very confident in front of the audience.

  Landon came running out onto the stage, raising his hands in the air to get the crowd to scream louder. It definitely worked. He wore a similar blazer and had blond, spiky hair.

  Then image after image flashed on screens throughout the room. A falcon flying through the sky. A boy hooked up to an avatar suit. Someone climbing a mountain in the Arctic. A robot moving vertically up a wall. A group of students running from a furious giant in someone’s virtual world. Someone riding a horse beside an army of Roman soldiers. “These are images of the Race from years past,” Landon explained. “But who is ready for this year’s challenge?” Again the crowd erupted.

  “It is time,” Sarah took over, “to introduce this . . . year’s . . . Race!” She pronounced each of the last words with great power and enthusiasm.

  Abby twisted her hair into a ponytail. Everyone else seemed thrilled, but Abby’s heart pounded for a different reason. Was Muns’s plan about to start? Was he about to strike and take hostages? She surveyed the raucous crowd, looking for anything unusual. She saw several security guards and robots at their posts. That brought a little comfort.

  “Around the world,” Landon whirled his finger, “there are celebrations in March: Heroes Day in Paraguay, independence days in Morocco, South Korea, Ghana, Tunisia, Cyprus, and Greece, St. Patrick’s Day—there’s even the NCAA basketball tournament. But no celebration, no challenge is a match for what happens here at Cragbridge Hall!”

  More cheers, then a chant, “Race. Race. Race. Race. Race.” It sounded primitive and tribal, but thrilling.

  “For those of you in your first year here at Cragbridge Hall,” Sarah explained, “the Race is a challenge in March every year. It is completely voluntary. If you want to compete, you can make your team as small or as large as you would like, though no team over twelve players or under four has ever won.” Images of former winning teams flashed on the screens as the girl spoke. “Each team competes in four challenges, each requiring you to use your intelligence and the great inventions here at Cragbridge Hall to succeed.” Scenes of students in high-tech suits, controlling robot animals appeared and disappeared. Then students searching through Bridge events, seeing history in 3-D. Next were students making their own virtual worlds and storing them on spheres. Plus a few things Abby had never seen before. There must be some inventions she didn’t know about yet. “At the end of each round, half of the teams are eliminated. By the last event, a small number of teams compete for the championship.”

  “One of the best parts is that all four of the challenges are provided by you,” Landon said, and paused for the yells of the crowd. “Students and groups of students have been working all year and have submitted their challenges. It makes for an amazing variety and a great time!” Landon paced back and forth on the front of the stage. “A committee of students and teachers pick the events—and then we see how you do. If you are the best, you get this!”

  A student rushed to the stage and handed Sarah a trophy. It was immediately cast on the screens showing its black obsidian base with a collection of silver figurines on top: a boy thinking, a girl running, a lion roaring, and a humanoid robot reaching forward in an action pose. Each figure represented different possible elements of the challenge. “Each member of the winning team gets a trophy,” Sarah explained. “Plus, winning looks great on a résumé. It shows your skill, intelligence, ingenuity, and willingness to work on a team. Team registrations begin tomorrow, the moment the l
ast class ends,” Sarah continued. “Be sure to gather your friends, your enemies, the kid who looks at you cross-eyed, whoever you think might have a chance of winning.”

  “And,” Landon said, “there is always a secret prize that goes along with winning the Race. One year, it was a weekend field trip through the city. Another year, it was three days off of school. And one year, there was actually permission to get an A in the class of your choice.” The crowd especially cheered at the last reward. Another student brought him a small metal box. “This box is irreversibly programmed so that it cannot be opened except by the fingerprints of the team that wins. Every challenge is logged through our program and there are ways for us to verify each member of the team during each event.” Landon shrugged. “Basically, there is no way to cheat.” Wow. They took their prize very seriously. Of course if it was possible that winning the Race might help their grades, some students would do anything.

  But it was what Landon said next that left Abby reeling: “And I can give you one hint about the secret prize.” Sarah looked over at him in surprise. Perhaps she didn’t know the hint. “This year, inside the box is a key.” A picture of a simple metal key filled the screen. Abby stared at the image in disbelief. She looked at the design on the top of the keys and the series of notches along the bottom. There was no denying it. This wasn’t just any key, but the same kind Abby kept in the secret compartment of her belt—a key that allowed her to interact with the past. “When the winning team presses their fingertips to the box, as it unlocks, it will automatically send them a message with a full explanation of the awards and opportunities your key will open.”