“Hardly.” Clint slaps at the blinker. “Where did these tests come from and who have you been talking to?”
My fingers itch to pull out my phone to contact the police. And say what? That my daughter is being threatened online by someone who knows she profited from stolen tests and that they might have that picture she took? My head pounds. I guess they’ll see the threats on her phone. They’ve likely not stopped since we took the phones away.
“This isnothow we communicate as a family, Erika.” Clint is frustrated, and I get it. Erika throws out shocking revelations and then clams up.
“Oh, really?” Erika blows her nose. “What happened on Sunday?”
I look out the window and wait for Clint to answer.
“I mean, no one communicated on that day. Not that I was overlydisappointed not to have to go hiking, but then we were driving to see Grandma. Who definitely hates surprises.” Erika’s voice has rediscovered her teenage brawn.
I squirm in my seat. “She was happy to see us.” Eventually. My mother’s face when I showed up with the kids, unannounced, on her doorstep in Narragansett... She recovered well. She always does.
“Mom.” Erika’s eye rolling has a tone. “She stood in her doorway and wouldn’t let us pass for a full minute. She was like the Praetorian Guard.”
“What do you know about Roman bodyguards?” I scrunch up my eyebrows and swivel in my seat to look at her.
“Don’t deflect.” She sniffles. “Why did you bring Reid and me to Rhode Island when we were supposed to be hiking with Dad?”
The pot calling the kettle. My clever one is currently deflecting from talking about stolen tests. We need to get back to who might be threatening her online, but I want to do that sitting face-to-face, not awkwardly in the car. I sigh. “The weather wasn’t great, and I just wanted to see my mom. It’d been too long.”
Clint stays silent. Apparently, neither of us wants to step back through the minefield of insecurities and hidden truths that got us to our blowup on Sunday.
I glance up at my husband’s face as he stares out the front windshield.
43
THE CAVERNOUS PACE UNIVERSITY GYMNASIUMhas been transformed into a bustling showground of creativity and innovation. Playing host to a bunch of middle schoolers obsessed with robotics is no small or tidy undertaking. Crumbled Doritos and Cheez-It baggies litter the ground. I am struck by how many middle school kids were willing to give up their fall break and the rest of the school week to participate.
Most of the bleachers, usually occupied by cheering fans, are now collapsed, and the space is lined with tables adorned with laptops, wires, and a myriad of mechanical parts. Banners displaying the names of competing schools flutter overhead, adding splashes of color to the otherwise industrial setting.
In the center of the gymnasium floor, an elevated makeshift arena has been erected, complete with a maze of obstacles and challenges for the robots to navigate. Based on the stooped postures and splayedbodies huddling around their creations, the teams are making articulation adjustments and fine-tuning their programming.
Erika steps forward. “There he is.” She points toward the arena.
At that moment, scratches boom from a central announcement system. “Good morning, parents. If you are just joining us, we are running a bit late this morning. We’ve had quite the battle to the final three. Instead of formal presentations, we’re inviting you to just wander the space. Every team has a flag. Ask them about their experiences this week, what they’ve learned, and the amazing maneuvers they’ve learned to perform. In the center ring, Peekskill Junior High, Scarsdale Middle, and Pinepoint Academy are currently competing for the top prize. Enjoy your explorations.”
“He did it.” Erika claps. “Made it to the end. Little stinker. Head to the middle?” She strides forward.
A bumping sound over the speakers, and then the voice continues. “Your students should be ready to leave in about ninety minutes. We will make announcements then. Thank you.”
“An hour and a half?” Erika abruptly stops walking, and I bump up behind her, taking the opportunity to give her a quick hug.
Clint and I glance at each other over her head. The tightness around his eyes says it all. “Yeah, we won’t be waiting that long. I’ll go talk to the coach.”
Reid’s dark hair, spiky in the crown, is about all we can see of him as he bends low over a thick laptop. Erika and I find a few metal chairs off to the side. The rest of his team is doing assembly, but as Reid is one of their strongest programmers, they probably know to leave him alone.
Erika suddenly straightens. “I’ll be right back.” She stalks away.
My eyes follow her. Two teen girls in identical wide-legged jeans and huge hooded sweatshirts stand about thirty feet behind us. They look familiar, but no names come to mind.
I shift back to watching Reid. He hasn’t moved. So focused. I imagine him designing some elaborate air and space control system. He’s always chatting about how plane travel will look so different in twenty years. I swallow the lump forming in my throat. We need to get us all out of here. I glance back at Erika and then pull out my phone to take a picture of Reid. A couple missed texts from Alyssa glare up from my screen.
We found something.
Call me.
44
