The New Champion (8 page)

B
ut what did that mean? Where should he go?

The man who had brought him to the obstacle course stepped through the curtain. “Good job, Cameron!”

“Good enough?”

“Don't know. I'm just here to usher you to your family in tent twenty-four. After that, Sharryn, I believe, will let you know the rest. Let's go.”

The rest of what? This would be the hardest part. The waiting, knowing he might have a chance. No way he'd racked up any penalty seconds. He'd been fast with
stressed
and
hogtie
. Some kids must have been slower. Some probably ran the obstacle course.

Poor Spencer. He would. Nothing distracted him when he was in game mode.

Inside the tent was a bank of six large TVs, each showing a different obstacle course. He didn't see his mom and dad and Walker until they charged him.

“You were amazing,” said his dad. “How's Spencer?”

How's Spencer? They all looked at him as if he were holding Spencer's fate in his hands. They didn't bother to ask exactly how he himself was feeling.

“In game mode.”

“Oh, crop-rot,” said his dad.

“I was afraid of that,” his mom said. She bobbed her head toward a girl crying in the corner. “Didn't see the directions.” She shook her head. “Poor Spencer.”

They all turned to the monitors. His mom pointed to the second one. “There he is!”

“C'mon, Spence!” said his dad. “Let's hope he flies past anyone we've seen so far.”

His mom kept her eyes glued to the screen. “He meant except you.”

“Right, right,” said his dad. “I meant, he's so fast he has that ability if he sees the plank.”

Cameron didn't bother to mention he'd also have to answer those two questions, which they weren't showing on the monitors. Then again, Spencer had finished the other puzzles faster than Cameron.

Spencer rocked forward and back and raced past the starting mat. So fast. He took a flying leap and hit the ladder on the third rung, his eyes already above the plank.

Was it wrong that Cameron gave a silent cheer?

Spencer took the monkey bars two at a time, slid down the chute, ran the hamster ball to the high hurdles, jumped those, high-stepped through the line of tires, raced across the dragon's spine, sped into the tunnel, and did it all in less than two minutes, their dad said.

Their mom had stopped watching.

Spencer had already heard the bad news before he came into the tent. His mom and dad pulled chairs into a little circle and consoled him.

Cameron kept his sights on the video feed. Some kids messed up the flag order; some pulled a Spencer; some were even more turned around than Cameron had been; most of them ran it perfectly, but it was impossible to tell if they were faster or slower than he had been. For all he knew, he could lose by a nostril, the wrong nostril, where he'd almost planted the first flag.

He'd know something soon. Sharryn was back. She leaned toward his parents. “I need to borrow Cameron,” she said. “Wanda will come explain.”

Explain what? But Sharryn didn't say. She smiled at Spencer; but his head was in his hands, and he was stomping at the ground.

At least his dad gave Cameron a hug and his mom mouthed,
Good luck
.

Sharryn led him away. “It's tough on him,” she said. “I guess in his world the little brother's not supposed to beat him.”

“In his world no one's supposed to beat him.” Cameron slowed down. “Wait. I
did
beat him. Sort of. I mean, he beat himself. But still I'm—” He kept pace with Sharryn again.

“Those're the most words you've strung together today,” Sharryn said as they walked out one tent and into another. “You know, Cameron, I'd often love more silence, but can I tell you a secret?” she said. “Your mouth is not your enemy. You might want to listen to the questions and thoughts inside your head and learn to spit them out, just in case.”

“In case what?” Cameron managed to ask.

“Right question,” she said, “but not one I can answer. Next question?”

“Can you tell me where we're going?”

“To the holding tents.”

Holding tents? “What are holding tents?”

“Places we go to torture you.”

Cameron smiled.

“It's where we take contestants like you, ones who have the twenty fastest times so far. You'll sit there until either you're out of the top twenty or until we run out of contestants. Meanwhile, our judges will be reviewing tape to make sure there's been no cheating or other funny business. And all you can do is wait. See? Torture.”

Cameron's whole body was buzzing even though twenty was far from ten. He took a deep breath, kept putting one foot in front of the other, and concentrated on the heavy concrete structure of the stadium, the fluttering Gollywhopper Games banners, and so many details he'd missed earlier. Good thing they hadn't tested him on finding his way back to the tents. He'd never have made it without a map.

As they entered a smallish room within the tent city, Cameron suddenly detected a puddle on his upper lip, and no doubt his head was sweating buckets.

Sharryn directed him to a chair in the far right corner. Catty-corner was a girl sipping a drink. “What can I get you?” Sharryn asked. “Water? Soda? Juice? Lemonade?”

“Anything wet.”

Sharryn disappeared through a tent flap and came back with four cups. “One water, one orange juice, one cola, one lemonade. All wet.” She set them on the table next to him, then draped a hand towel over his head. She laughed, then waved to the girl. “How're you doing, Clio?”

“I'm still here, right?”

“Yes, you are.”

Clio either had found a shower and fresh clothes or had never felt pressure a day in her life. She looked, well, it was stupid, but it was the only word Cameron could think of: She looked crisp. Her cheeks were flushed. Her black hair was silky and straight, no sweat pouring out, and not a strand out of place.

“Do you need anything else?” Sharryn asked her.

“Maybe a bag of chips this time. I've pretty much eaten everything else you have.”

“You're not the only one,” said Sharryn. She handed Cameron a card. “It's a small menu, but it beats nothing, especially after the long day you've had.”

It didn't matter what she brought him. He ordered the first things he saw. “Hot dog and potato chips, please?”

“Catsup? Mustard?”

“Mustard, please.”

“You might want Sharryn to bring you a chocolate chip cookie,” said Clio. “Best ever.”

“And one chocolate chip cookie,” said Sharryn. She paused at the tent flap. “Clio already knows this, but you can talk about anything except personal details. No last names, no hometowns, no schools. We don't want you researching each other in case you happen to officially meet tomorrow.” She pointed to a camera in another corner of the tent. “It has a sharp microphone.”

That sounded ominous. Best to stay silent. He finished his water and started the lemonade.

“Yeah,” Clio said. “When I first got here, I was scared to talk about anything, too. But another kid asked me about
stressed
and
hogtie
, and Sharryn okayed that. The kid said he'd been here forever, but a few minutes later some guy beckoned him with a finger, and poof! Disappeared.”

“Eliminated?”

“Kinda creepy. Another kid was here for like one minute. Didn't even get her juice before they beckoned, and poof!” Given the circumstances, her laugh might have belonged in a horror movie, but Clio's was a happy, warm, funny laugh.

He made a mental note: Create a laugh video.

He'd have been laughing if he weren't suddenly so wiped. He took the towel off his head. He must look ridiculous. “How long have you been here?”

She motioned around the tent. “No clocks. But long enough to eat a chicken sandwich, a hamburger, some fries, an apple, and two cookies. I get hungry when the pressure's off.”

“Me, too.”

On cue, Sharryn came through with food. Two hot dogs, two cookies, two bags of chips for Cameron. Chips and an extra cookie for Clio. “This should hold you while I'm gone. I need to send another contestant to the airport. Poor thing doesn't know it yet.” She looked at Cameron's cups. “Be back with more water and lemonade.”

Cameron allowed himself a small smile. At least for now he was here. “Do you know how long we'll need to wait?”

“Forever,” said a Golly person leading in another boy. “We are evil and want to keep you captive as long as possible.” He sat the kid in another corner. “P.J., this is Clio and Cameron.”

The man in the Golly shirt disappeared behind the food flap, then leaned back just seconds later with a cup in one hand, beckoning P.J. with the other.

Clio nodded at Cameron, and they waited in silence until P.J. disappeared. “We'll never see him again,” she said.

Cameron had to laugh.

“What?”

“You make it sound like he'll vaporize without a trace.”

“Maybe he will. We'll never know.”

Four more kids came and went. Each time a Golly person beckoned, Cameron's heart deflated, then soared when they didn't kick him out. He and Clio would come to the middle just long enough to high-five. “Survivors!”

“You know,” Clio said after the fifth kid had left, “if my best friend, Janae, can't be in here with me—she, of all people, tripped on the obstacle course—I'm glad it's you. You're good at just letting me be.”

That might have been the nicest thing Cameron had ever heard. He smiled, then looked away to let her be.

He stretched his arms, his legs. His whole body had tightened the same way it did after his track meets, not that he'd run so much today. Could stress do that?

Clio was lying across three chairs, beating a drummer's cadence on her legs. Maybe that was how she worked out her nerves.

If only he had his videocam to work out his. He'd pan around the tent, then zoom in on little details. Clio's hair swaying off the chair. The drinking straw from his lemonade. Sweat beads on the upper lips of new kids who came in. Once he'd reviewed all the footage, he'd know what to do with it. Just the thought gave him a new sense of calm, but only for a moment.

They had to be near the end. Their plane had landed at 2:02 this afternoon, and when they got to the stadium, the dashboard clock had read 3:08. Hundreds of kids must have finished and headed home before he'd even arrived.

Funny. He'd imagined they'd get to Orchard Heights, check into a hotel, swim, sleep, then compete together in the morning. He'd never pictured sitting here, waiting.

Sharryn strode into the tent. Clio bolted upright. Cameron leaned forward. Who was next to vaporize?

Sharryn beckoned with both hands.

“Nice meeting you,” Clio said to Cameron.

“Yeah.”

Maybe they'd let him shower before they shoved him back on the plane. There was always the sink in the airport.

“So,” said Clio, “is this the vacuum that sucks up the rejects?”

Sharryn shook her head. “No. This is the vacuum that sucks you up and spits you out in a hotel. Four more kids on the course, and none of them will kick either of you out of the top ten.”

Clio grabbed him. Or did he grab her? Either way, they were jumping and shouting to the muffled sounds of other kids who'd just received the news in their tents.

“Your drivers and your luggage are waiting for you.” Sharryn led them into a central area, where a number of tented hallways spoked off. “Just beyond this point are your families. They only know that you've been on hold. Tell them however you'd like. Cameron, to the left; Clio, to the right.”

Balancing his euphoria with Spencer's depression would be tricky. He peered into the tent and caught sight of Spencer sulking in the corner, his parents hovering close, but not too close.