Flip the Silver Switch

by Jackie Yeager

  “What do you need me to do?”

  The Gatekeeper flares his cape. “We need you use your imagination.”

  Little Girl gasps. “Use my imagination?”

  “Yes,” the others reply. “By opening this box and telling us what you see.”

  Little Girl tilts her head. “But why do you need me to do that?”

  The Gatekeeper steps toward her. “Ah, Little One, that is easy. Because when people use their imagination, they see things no one else can. We’ve looked inside this box, but all we see is a pair of eyeglasses, used to improve a person’s vision. It seems that we need you to remind us what else they might be used for.”

  “So you need me to tell you what I see inside the box?”

  “Yes, Little One. Do you think you can do that? Can you tell us what you see in this box?”

  Little girl nods and tries to open the box. But it will not open . . . until she pushes the magic button—the C5 button. And when she does, it illuminates, and the box hums. When the humming stops, she opens it. She peeks inside and gasps. She carefully lifts the glasses out of the box and place them on her face. As soon as she does, a smile breaks free. She spins around and around and while she does, the screen behind them swirls to life. And that’s when the audience sees what she sees . . .

  A world of endless possibilities—a virtual personal assistant powered by satellites and an ever-present air screen, helping her to see more around her than she could see on her own . . . like the dangerous place she’s about to enter because it doesn’t appear that scary. But the audience also sees the spectacles guiding her in practical ways . . . like turning off her game capabilities while she’s flying her aero-scooter, reminding her to study for a test, and allowing her to take pictures with just the blink of an eye.

  Little Girl takes off the Satellite Spectacles and holds them close to her. “That’s it. That’s what I see when I hold these glasses. A safe, organized world where people are good to each other because they see things they couldn’t see before.”

  The Gatekeeper walks toward her. “What did you see? What did you find in the box?”

  “Ohhhh, I saw too many things to list.”

  “But how do you see so many things?” asks Freddie. “With only one pair of glasses.”

  “Oh no, these are not just regular glasses. They are spectacles.”

  “What does a pair of spectacles do?” asks Madam Sparkles.

  “They are like a friend . . . a friend who protects me and guides me and never leaves my side. They help me to see the world more clearly.”

  “Do you think it’s possible that we could see the world more clearly with these spectacles too?” asks the Gatekeeper.

  “Yes,” says Little Girl. “I know you could.” She motions toward the box. “The world, these spectacles, and this box are all you need to see it.”

  After our finale song and dance, Seraphina and Gregor stand up and clap. They grin, and I can’t tell whose smile is bigger. And that’s saying a lot for Gregor.

  “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, you guys, that was beyond amazing!” says Seraphina.

  “Indeed it was,” says Gregor. “That was . . . how should I put it? A solution worthy of your team!”

  We bask in their compliments, but not for long. Our skit may have been amazing the first time, but when we practice again, it’s not great. It’s not a solution worthy of anything. It’s a mess. The button sticks so the box doesn’t turn on, the program glitches so the glasses don’t communicate with the big screen, and our dance is awful because we forget where to stand.

  “It’s fine,” says Seraphina. “Try it again.”

  So we try it again, but this time, the box turns on but the air screen buttons don’t appear. How are we supposed make people see things around the world more clearly if our invention glitches right in front of them?

  “This is bad,” I say. “What’s wrong with it? It worked before!”

  But no one answers me.

  “Try it one more time. I know it’ll work. We saw it with our own two eyes, didn’t we Gregor?”

  He stands there with his hands on his hips. “Yes, we did. But the judges need to see it work also.”

  So we huddle around the table and check the programming. We go over our dance positions, say our lines in our heads, and double-check the C5 button. “I think it’ll work this time,” says Jax. “Can we practice it again?”

  “I’m afraid you don’t have time to practice the whole thing,” says Seraphina. ‘We need to store this all away before the building is locked.”

  “But the competition is tomorrow!” I say.

  “We don’t have a choice,” says Seraphina. “We can’t be here after six o’clock.”

  I look at my watch. It’s 5:55 p.m.

  “We’ll have just enough time to gather our things.”

  This is horrible. “Can we at least try the Satellite Spectacles once more—real quick?”

  And so we do. Twice. They work the first time but not the second. Those are not good odds. But at exactly six o’clock, we pack up and leave the room, sulking as Gregor locks the door.

  Seraphina flashes us a small smile. “It’s fine, my Crimson Kids. You always do spectacular when it counts. You may need to activate the spectacles more than once during the performance, that’s all. That wouldn’t be that bad.”

  Yes, it would.

  “Now run over to dinner. We’ll meet you in the tree suite afterwards to start your Opening Ceremony costumes.”

  “Okay. Yay,” says Jillian.

  We leave the Imagination Centre and my stomach twists in a knot. The next time we’ll be here is for the Opening Ceremony. And I don’t feel like a warrior. I don’t feel ready at all.

  THE COSTUME CHALLENGE

  We walk to le Cantine for dinner. Maelle, Danielle, and Zoe stop by our table just as we’re finishing our chicken lasagna.

  “I am sorry we missed you at the pool the other day,” says Maelle. “We were so excited to get our pretty package that we ran off very fast before we could say hello. And then at the big fire also we looked everywhere for you, but we couldn’t find you.”

  “That’s okay,” I say. “I’m glad you found us this time.”

  “Speaking of the team packages,” says Ander. “What’s your team symbol?”

  “What do you mean by team symbol?”

  “You know, like the thing you need to display on your solution for the judges, the thing that symbolizes your team?”

  “I am so sorry,” says Maelle. “I still do not understand.”

  Ander keeps trying to explain. “Didn’t your team get a metal symbol in your package? Like ours is a C with a 5 for the Crimson Five.”

  “No, we did not get any such symbol.”

  “You didn’t?” I ask. “Maybe you just didn’t see it. But you need it for the competition.”

  “But I am certain there was nothing else in our package. Even Gwyndol tipped it upside down to be very sure. I think he was looking for something else to be there. Like maybe chocolate!”

  “Hmm,” says Mare. “I wonder if any of the other teams are missing symbols too.”

  Ander stands up. “I got this.” He walks over to a boy from Canada. “Hey, random question . . . Remember when our teams got packages at the Creativity Pool? The ones that invited us to the bonfire?”

  The boy replies, “Yeah.”

  “What was inside your team’s package?”

  The boy looks at the rest of us, and then back at Ander. “The invitation to the bonfire.”

  “Was there anything else?”

  “No, why?”

  “Are you sure there wasn’t anything else in there? I mean, I was just thinking maybe we were supposed to get something else, like chocolate or something, and I wanted to be sure we didn’t miss out.”

>   The boy laughs. “Oh, okay. I was wondering the same thing. I tipped it over just to be sure. I was happy about the bonfire and all, but I really was hoping there was something else.”

  “Yeah, us too. Okay, thanks. I just wanted to be sure.”

  We scatter around the dining hall and each ask someone from different teams. Their answers are all identical to Maelle’s and the Canadian boy’s.

  “What do you think it means?” I ask.

  “I don’t know,” says Jillian, “but I have a feeling we’re the only ones who got it.”

  “Why would we be the only ones?” asks Mare.

  I shake my head. I have no idea. But we don’t have time to worry about it. We hustle back to our tree suite to begin work on our costumes for the Opening Ceremony. When we arrive, Seraphina and Gregor are leaning against the swirly ladder at the floating playground.

  “Yay! You’re here! Your costumes are going to be fantastic,” says Seraphina. “You’re each going to wear an outfit represented by a different period of time in American history during the 1900s.”

  “Okay,” says Ander. “What am I going to be?”

  “You’re going to represent the disco era of the 1970s.”

  He grins. “Nice.”

  “What about me?” asks Mare.

  “You’re going to represent the 1980s, and Jillian, you’re going to represent the flapper period of the 1920s.

  Mare nods. Jillian looks like she just won the lottery.

  “What about me?” I ask.

  “Kia, you’ll represent the sock hops of the 1950s, and Jax, you’ll represent the hippie period of the 1960s.

  “That’s awesome,” I say. “What are you two wearing?”

  “I’m going dressed as a gangster from the 1930s, and Seraphina is representing grand ballroom dancing of the 1910s.”

  “You’ll have full access to the Inspiration Room and the Work Room. We’ve also placed an invention inside that you’re free to use—and will totally love. It was thought up by the team from Canada last year. It’s called the Costume Copier and has an air screen attached to it. All you do is look up a piece of clothing on the air screen, feed fabric into the Costume Copier tray, push the button, and the piece of clothing you selected will slide out the bottom, kind of like an old-fashioned copy machine for paper.”

  “Seriously?” asks Jillian. “That’s amazing!”

  Ander grins. “Can we start?”

  “Not so fast,” says Gregor. “You’re only allowed to use the Costume Copier for the main part of your costume. Not the accessories. If you want any of those you’ll need to make them yourselves. The copier is extremely expensive.”

  “And,” Seraphina adds, “the copier cannot make the clothing in the exact size you need so you’ll have to tailor them by hand also.”

  “No problem!” shouts Jillian. “Let’s go!”

  We head to the Work Room and use the air screen to figure out costumes we can copy. We take turns listening to music from our decades for inspiration. We laugh mostly at the music from the seventies though, especially when Ander dances.

  I need to wear a poodle skirt—one that flairs out past my knees. I choose yellow, make one on the Costume Copier, and hold it up to me. It’s huge! So I get to work cutting, trying to make it smaller. Soon it’s nine o’clock, and we have to stop for the night. The rest will have to wait until tomorrow. The boys head into their tree chamber, and the girls and I head into ours.

  “Okay,” says Jillian as we sit in our sleeping eggs, “we don’t have much time tomorrow,

  and the accessories will totally be the best parts of our costumes, so let’s make them tonight.”

  When we’re sure the boys are asleep, we sneak back into the Work Room for more supplies—fabric, felt, sequins, a pair of light blue gloves, glue, and Velcro—and carry them back to our tree chamber.

  “Kia, you’re a girl from the fifties, so you need to wear a scarf around your neck to match your poodle skirt. But you also need a poodle to put on the skirt.”

  “My skirt is yellow, so I’ll cut this yellow silky fabric to make my scarf the right size.”

  “Perfect.”

  “And then I can draw a poodle right on this felt.”

  “That’s perfect too. Then all you’ll have to do is cut it out and glue it to the Velcro and attach it to your skirt tomorrow.”

  “Got it.” I grab the scissors and cut out my scarf. Then I find a pencil and get to work sketching a poodle. Meanwhile, Mare cuts scraps of fabric to tie her hair with and cuts the fingers off the pair of gloves.

  “Why are you cutting those off?” I ask.

  Jillian answers before Mare can. “All the girls in the eighties wore fingerless gloves. It was a thing back then.”

  Jillian gets back to work on her pink sequined flapper headband, and I cut out my poodle. But by eleven o’clock I can’t keep my eyes open anymore. “Come on,” I say. “We better go to bed. The competition is tomorrow, and we need sleep.”

  I look over at Jillian and Mare, but they’re both already sleeping with their materials still scattered all over their sleeping eggs. I move the craft supplies to our cubbies, climb back into my bed, and watch the germ-eating eggs sanitize the room for a second time. The Opening Ceremonies are tomorrow, and our families will be here! I’ve only been away two weeks this time, but I miss my family more than I thought I would—especially Grandma Kitty.

  It’s weird, I haven’t heard from her in a few days. She hasn’t sent me any messages. I think I’ll send her one on my watch before I go to sleep.

  Hi GK! I miss you so much. I can’t wait to see you so I can show you every single thing! Like the sparkling pool and our tree suite and definitely our new invention. It’s a surprise and you’re going to freak out when you see it! I’ll give you a hint. If it gets made for real you’ll be able to ride your aero-scooter without even navigating the birds! I’m getting nervous to compete, but I know as soon as I see you, I won’t be nervous anymore. xoxo

  I slide deep under my blankets. Grandma Kitty is going to love this place. Wait until she sees the tree suites, the floating playground, the Satellite Spectacles . . .

  THE PHONE CALL

  I wake up in my sleeping egg way earlier than I have to. I look at my watch to check for messages. Nothing. I could get up and beat the bathroom hogs to the shower, but I can’t bring myself out of bed for some reason, and then I realize why. Grandma Kitty still hasn’t answered me. That’s really weird. Even late at night, she always answers me. Always. And now it’s been hours. I don’t know what’s taking her so long, but I roll out of bed and I head to the shower anyway. Maybe I’ll get her message while I’m getting ready.

  When I get back to my cubby, I see a message on my watch—from my mom. I’m happy to hear from her and everything, but I still wonder about Grandma Kitty. What the heck is she doing that’s taking her so long to message me back?

  Mom: Hi Kia, tonight’s the big night! I bet you’re really excited. We can’t wait to see you at the Opening Ceremony.

  Me: Hi Mom! I am, but do you know where Grandma Kitty is? I sent her a message and she hasn’t answered me yet.

  Mom: I’m sure she will. You know Grandma Kitty.

  Me: Yeah, she always answers me, and she hasn’t in like twelve hours.

  Mom: Don’t worry about your grandma.

  I decide to call my mom and talk to her instead. I don’t want to wake Jillian and Mare up, so I go outside and sit on the ground.

  “Mom, why hasn’t she called me? Or sent me a message back?”

  “Hi Honey, she has a cold, that’s probably why. Now don’t you need to go to breakfast with your team?”

  “Not yet. If Grandma Kitty has a cold, she can still message me. But she hasn’t sent me any ‘good luck’ messages or ‘you’re going to be so fabulous’ messages or ‘I ca
n’t wait to see all the inventions’ messages.”

  “Kia, you don’t need to be worrying about Grandma Kitty, and now I need to finish up some work so we can leave on time later today.”

  “Well, is she flying with you, or is she taking her new scooter? She promised me she’d practice and take me on a ride through Québec after the competition.”

  “No, she’s not driving with us.”

  “Then she is flying her scooter!”

  “No, she’s not flying her scooter.”

  “Oh, then how will she get here?”

  She pauses for way too long.

  “Mom?”

  “Kia, I didn’t want to tell you this over the phone, but your grandma won’t be able to come tonight.”

  “Wait, what? Why not?”

  “Grandma Kitty’s in the hospital, Honey.”

  “The hospital? What happened?”

  “She had a crash. She crashed while she was riding her new aero-scooter.”

  “Oh no! Is she okay?”

  “The doctors are working very hard to make her better, but she’s going to be in the hospital for a while. I’m so sorry. I know how badly you wanted her to be at your competition.”

  My voice catches in my throat. “She’s not coming tomorrow either?”

  “No, she’s not.”

  “But what’s wrong with her? Is it her leg or something? Can’t they just give her a cast?”

  “It’s not her leg. The injuries affected her brain. She has some swelling that the doctors are trying to fix.”

  “But the doctors have to let her come. She wouldn’t miss this, Mom! Not for anything.”

  “No, she wouldn’t, not if she could help it.”

  “Then I want to talk to her.”

  “Kia, you can’t right now. She’s sleeping. That’s what her brain needs to get better.”

  “Well, can I talk to her when she wakes up, at least before we compete?”

  “I don’t think so, Honey. She’s going to be sleeping for a while.”

  “Awhile!” I choke back a sob. “Is she going to be okay, Mom?” I suddenly realize that she must be hurt pretty badly.