Those crazy Donner Dynamos totally freaked. Like when you kick over an anthill and the entire colony scrambles all chaotic and panicked.
In a calm, reasonable voice, I explained to them I would just ride home on my bike. I would not sabotage their bot. I would not talk to any judges. I would not even think one single robotic thought.
But, alas, the Donner Dynamos were all ants in their pants with Claire furiously flipping the long side of her hair back and forth and stomping around the booth. The others glared hot anger in my direction.
But it was Austin I felt the worst about. Austin, whose eyes usually sparkle with excitement for everything robotics, stared past me with a lackluster gaze. When I tried to apologize, he turned away. His flash drive hung still and lifeless around his neck.
Bryce got his big brother to drive me out to nowheresville in the desert so that by the time I walked back to town, the competition would be over.
I look around. It’s me, a bunch of saguaro cacti, scraggly bushes and tumbleweeds. The Arizona desert is not pretty. At least it’s May, and there’s still daylight.
From my backpack, I pull out the bottle of water Sarah gave me. I drink. I swallow. I think. This is the most bizarro mystery. Not that I have masses of experience, but still, absolutely nothing makes sense. Nothing. We don’t have one solid suspect.
I flip open my phone to call Grandma.
Ack. No cell service.
I’m sitting there, sipping away and minding my own business, when a tumbleweed starts rolling in my direction. Yikes. I jump up and sidle left, out of its path. It slows, turns, then veers left. I jog to the right. It loops right. It’s coming right at me, like I’m magnetized or something. I turn my back.
Whack. Whack. Whack.
Ouchie mama.
Suddenly, the crazed tumbleweed stops and just squats, like a giant pimple. There’s no breeze. What set it in motion? I sniff. There’s a faint odor of honey + dirty socks. So not a tumbleweedish smell.
Just as I raise the bottle to my mouth, it’s ripped from my hand. The bottle skitters across the dusty desert floor, droplets arcing through the air like a watery comet.
And then I fall. More like I’m pushed.
I go to stand. I’m shoved over again.
So there I am, lying on the hard-packed ground, cell phone serviceless, water bottleless, scratched up from a mean tumbleweed and surrounded by the yucky smell of honey + dirty socks. Something is way way wrong with the world.
“Stay out of robotics!” a raspy male voice shouts.
I leap to my feet and gaze around.
No one.
Not one single person.
Just me, a bunch of saguaro cacti and tumbleweeds.
The stalker is a ghost!