understand?”
I nodded. Though I didn’t understand at all.
“Do you have any objections?”
I shook my head.
Mr. Smith raised his hand over his head. There was a whooshas green tarps were raised in overlapping segments around the field. Suddenly everything and everyone outside the tarps were cut off.
“Listen carefully,” Dalson said, “because you’ll get this clue only once.” He paused for a beat. “This challenge can set the tone of the whole session. You may use anything in the confines of the wall to accomplish your task. You’ll be judged on a number of things, but in the end, speed counts above all else.”
He raised a single eyebrow, and I got the impression he was giving me a chance to speak. I stared back. I couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t make me look like I was completely clueless.
“Very well,” he continued. “Your time begins as soon as you take a step.”
Speed counts above all else.
I considered the possibility that that’s all this really was, just some test to see how fast I was. I wasn’t really worried. I once put a cherry bomb in one of the jack-o’-lanterns at a Halloween display in the mall and had to run away from three surprisingly fit security guards, so I knew how to move.
But then maybe it was something else. The time would start when I took my first step, so I tried to take in the entire scene. I studied the observers around the field and peered at the ball and then the net, looking for some sign this wasn’t entirely straightforward. With the exception of the fabric walls around the field, nothing looked . . . weird.
I blew out a breath and told myself not to overthink it. It was a test of speed, and the winner probably got a new set of cleats or a pair of gloves for the team goalie. I gave a quick nod and then sprinted forward. I made it ten or so feet before something clickedunder my foot. I figured I’d stepped on a sprinkler head and didn’t look back, at least I didn’t until I heard something burst behind me and felt something splatter against my back. I whipped around.
A device about the size of a hockey puck sat on the grass, and a cone of red paint marked the grass behind me. I wiped at the wetness on my back and my hand came back covered in the same red paint sprayed on the grass.
“What the . . .” I stepped back. Another clickfrom under my foot, and I instinctively stepped away. I watched as another hockey puck–like object popped out of the grass. When it was about chest high, a blast of yellow paint burst out and covered me from chest to thigh.
I glanced over my shoulder at the sidelines. Mr. Smith and Mr. Dalson watched me curiously while the people with clipboards jotted notes at a blurry pace.
“Paint land mines?” I stood there for another second and added, “Cool.”
Energy surged in my chest. The point was obviously to kick the ball into the net while getting splattered with the fewest colors. I narrowed my gaze at the soccer ball down the field and took off at a mad sprint. Each time I felt a clickunder my foot, I’d dart to the right or to the left, and I managed to avoid the other bursts entirely. The little paint poppers were everywhere.
I reached the ball running full speed and kicked it as hard as I could toward the net. As it left its place on the ground, three mines popped off the ground. I didn’t have a lot of time to think. Less than a second, I imagined. But I figured each mine was aimed a different direction so there was only one way to avoid the blast. I dropped and flattened myself to the ground.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The explosions happened in quick succession and echoed in my ears. Heat, like a giant beast made of flames, lashed out with blazing limbs and scorched the back of my neck, arms, and legs. Flooded with disorientation, I rolled onto my back and blinked at the cloud of black smoke hovering just above my body. A gust of wind spun the smoke into evil shapes before pulling it apart and
I nodded. Though I didn’t understand at all.
“Do you have any objections?”
I shook my head.
Mr. Smith raised his hand over his head. There was a whooshas green tarps were raised in overlapping segments around the field. Suddenly everything and everyone outside the tarps were cut off.
“Listen carefully,” Dalson said, “because you’ll get this clue only once.” He paused for a beat. “This challenge can set the tone of the whole session. You may use anything in the confines of the wall to accomplish your task. You’ll be judged on a number of things, but in the end, speed counts above all else.”
He raised a single eyebrow, and I got the impression he was giving me a chance to speak. I stared back. I couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t make me look like I was completely clueless.
“Very well,” he continued. “Your time begins as soon as you take a step.”
Speed counts above all else.
I considered the possibility that that’s all this really was, just some test to see how fast I was. I wasn’t really worried. I once put a cherry bomb in one of the jack-o’-lanterns at a Halloween display in the mall and had to run away from three surprisingly fit security guards, so I knew how to move.
But then maybe it was something else. The time would start when I took my first step, so I tried to take in the entire scene. I studied the observers around the field and peered at the ball and then the net, looking for some sign this wasn’t entirely straightforward. With the exception of the fabric walls around the field, nothing looked . . . weird.
I blew out a breath and told myself not to overthink it. It was a test of speed, and the winner probably got a new set of cleats or a pair of gloves for the team goalie. I gave a quick nod and then sprinted forward. I made it ten or so feet before something clickedunder my foot. I figured I’d stepped on a sprinkler head and didn’t look back, at least I didn’t until I heard something burst behind me and felt something splatter against my back. I whipped around.
A device about the size of a hockey puck sat on the grass, and a cone of red paint marked the grass behind me. I wiped at the wetness on my back and my hand came back covered in the same red paint sprayed on the grass.
“What the . . .” I stepped back. Another clickfrom under my foot, and I instinctively stepped away. I watched as another hockey puck–like object popped out of the grass. When it was about chest high, a blast of yellow paint burst out and covered me from chest to thigh.
I glanced over my shoulder at the sidelines. Mr. Smith and Mr. Dalson watched me curiously while the people with clipboards jotted notes at a blurry pace.
“Paint land mines?” I stood there for another second and added, “Cool.”
Energy surged in my chest. The point was obviously to kick the ball into the net while getting splattered with the fewest colors. I narrowed my gaze at the soccer ball down the field and took off at a mad sprint. Each time I felt a clickunder my foot, I’d dart to the right or to the left, and I managed to avoid the other bursts entirely. The little paint poppers were everywhere.
I reached the ball running full speed and kicked it as hard as I could toward the net. As it left its place on the ground, three mines popped off the ground. I didn’t have a lot of time to think. Less than a second, I imagined. But I figured each mine was aimed a different direction so there was only one way to avoid the blast. I dropped and flattened myself to the ground.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The explosions happened in quick succession and echoed in my ears. Heat, like a giant beast made of flames, lashed out with blazing limbs and scorched the back of my neck, arms, and legs. Flooded with disorientation, I rolled onto my back and blinked at the cloud of black smoke hovering just above my body. A gust of wind spun the smoke into evil shapes before pulling it apart and
Similar Books
