WE’VE GOT ONLY one measly hour left to solve our final clue, and then get back down to the finish at the convention plaza. And the travel time alone could take up a half hour. I feel Red Alerts starting to hit me as I race back through the zoo behind Liberty on our way to the exit.
It’s going to be tight. We might not make it. And that thought leaves me more breathless than the running.
When we’re by the bus and shuttle area, I start to rip open our final envelope—but Liberty puts a hand on my arm to stop me.
“Stanley. Wait. I’m really sorry—I wanted to tell you this earlier.” She seems nervous, and keeps looking out at the road. “But I figured I’d wait until you solved the Pym clue so it wouldn’t distract you.”
“Liberty! We have to read this next clue now!”
“No! Hold on.” Liberty tents her hands over her nose and mouth, like she’s afraid to let the words she’s about to say escape her mouth. Finally, she takes her hands away and exhales loudly. “Stanley, sorry to tell you this. But I have to go.”
“What?”
What the heck did she just say?
“I have to go. Back when I was at the park, I felt kind of sick and light-headed, and I stupidly mentioned it to my mom in a text. It was just hunger. Or maybe all that coffee. But what do you know, big surprise, she freaked out. She never wanted me to be running around downtown. So now she’s driving all the way down here—two hours, from LA.”
“Driving down here?” I’m confused.
Liberty cringes and hunches up her shoulders. “To pick me up. She’s almost here.”
I just stare at her. Her words don’t make sense. How can this be? Leave? What is she talking about?
“Hel-LO, Stan? You in there?” She waves her hands in front of my dazed eyes. “I can’t compete with you anymore today. Get it? My mom’s coming to get me. You have to finish the Quest alone.”
“You’re leaving?”
“Yeah. Mom’s mad at my uncle; she’s mad at me; she’s convinced this running around was too much.” She shakes her head. “I’m fine! She’s crazy overprotective. I told you. Ever since—”
“—Ever since what? Why is she so overprotective?” I say. “You’re the most independent person I know! Just text your mom back, tell her to wait at your uncle Dan’s. We’re almost done!”
Liberty’s mouth turns into a sad grimace. I think she’s going to cry. “You don’t know her. I can’t change her mind. And besides,” she says, pointing down the drive, “there she is!”
I feel this explosive ball of urgency, fear, and panic starting to boil inside me. I want to shout at her. But she looks so sad and defeated.
We watch a dented old Jeep Wrangler pull up to the curb. A lady with long, bushy red hair sticks her head out the window and yells, “Baby, get in this car right now!”
Liberty and I stare at each other without saying a word. “It’s four p.m., Stan,” she tells me. “Just one more hour. You can do it. Be flexible. Like the octopus. Brave and flexible.”
“Liberty!” shouts her mom. “Make that boy come with us! Both of you get in the car!”
Liberty looks at me. “I’m not gonna make you . . .”
I swallow hard. “I guess I can handle one hour,” I say. But my voice is trembling.
“Good! I’m shooting you brain waves of superpower!” She widens her green eyes until they’re bulging like crazy, and wiggles her fingers at me.
Then she gets in the Jeep and shouts, “Bye, Stanley! I’m so sorry!” as it pulls out with a roar and a puff of black smoke.
So that’s it, then. She’s gone. I’m alone.
I struggle to breathe calmly. To stand up straight. I told her I can handle this. There’s only one more hour in the Quest. I can do it! I can get through it! Right?
Wrong.
Because I’ve just realized something:
Liberty left with all the golden coins.