“So, this is how you got me here,” Dylan says. “Impressive.” The Popsicle-stick craft thingie floats in the air. “My pencil holder from Boy Scouts.”
Boy Scouts? I was thinking preschool. Hard to believe he went from that lame pencil holder to award-winning robots.
“So, did you get Ms. Paulson to quit robotics?” He gales around me, chilly like air-conditioning. “Is that why you summoned me?”
I sit up straighter, getting ready for business. The small movement wrenches my wrist. I squeeze my eyes shut briefly, to get a handle on the pain.
I position my broken wrist on my stomach and slowly walk my good hand into my pocket. The silver box is cold. I ease it out.
“You brought the silver box?” Dylan’s voice hikes up in shock. “What kind of freak are you?”
“I’m a freak?” I’d put my hands on my hips, if I could. “This from a ghost who won’t move on. Who just hangs around bugging people.”
“You’re not talking me in.” Dylan spits out the words.
The box is dull. Not one single sparkle glints off it.
“Why won’t you move on?” I say. “Don’t you have better things to do?”
“Better than making sure the Donner Dynamos beat Saguaro?” Dylan truly sounds shocked, like he never considered there might be more to life after death. “I want to see the Dynamos back on top and at the world championships for robotics.” The team buttons flip over on the bench where he’s examining them. “Which means we need your school’s team to take a nosedive.”
“So you thought poltergeisting The Ruler, er, Ms. Paulson would freak her out and she’d quit mentoring the Saguaro team?” I say. “In a million years that would never happen. She doesn’t do backing down. She’s kind of a terrier that way. I speak from experience.”
“I have more plans for her.”
I shiver at his words. And yelp at the wrist pain. A one-armed negotiation is not for sissies.
“Why’d you overfeed my fish and take the lid off their tank?” My blood boils at the thought. “Fish! Innocent fish!”
“Because you were a mole on my team.”
“I never did anything bad. I’m useless at robotics.” I roll my eyes. “You know what, Dylan? You are a bully. You bullied Ms. Paulson and you bullied me and you bullied my fish.”
“I have a cause.” Dylan sounds defensive. “Winning at robotics is important for Donner.”
“Winning by cheating isn’t the same as plain old straight-out winning.” The silver box is warm, like banana bread just out of the oven. “Besides, cheating is unfair to Claire.” The box gleams.
“Really?” he says, a huge question mark in his voice. Like I’ve said something he never considered before.
“Claire saw your outline last night at Donner. Did you know that?”
“No,” Dylan says, the o all drawn out. “She saw me?” He pauses. “For real?”
“For real.” I pause, thinking Sam must be halfway to the beans, which means I need to talk Dylan into the silver box quickly, before my mom and grandpa show up. I hold the box a little higher in the air.
“What was she doing at school so late?” he says.
“Checking on the robot. She knew something was up with its performance at the practice competition.”
“She’s working hard, Dylan.” The box is hot. One end cracks open. “She wants to be just like you and take the Donner Dynamos all the way to the world championships.”
“She can’t.” I can just imagine him frowning and shaking his head.
“She can. If not this year, then next year. You don’t give her enough credit. Probably because she’s your little sister,” I say. “Lots of people believe in her. She’s smart. She’s dedicated. She gets the importance of bling on a robot.”
“Yeah, but there’s knowledge and a whole philosophy I didn’t get a chance to pass on to her,” Dylan says.
A philosophy of robotics? Puhleeze. I think we’re taking ourselves a little seriously here.
Dylan must still be at the shrine because the cruise photo, the picture with his entire family, hangs in the air.
The silver box sizzles. I try to visualize Sam’s whereabouts. Three-fourths of the way to our house?
“I met your mom.” I hug my wrist in closer.
“You saw my mom?” Dylan asks wistfully.
“She seems really nice. A great baker too. I love her frownies.”
The silver box glows and sparkles and bounces up and down on my palm.
Dylan’s waiting for me to make the next move. He must sense it’ll be huge.
He’s right.
It is huge.
I know exactly how to talk him into the silver box.