Page 9 - Eighth Grade vs. the Machines

observation deck. By the time—ding!—Becka’s elevator
arrives, I’m outside. But Becka’s fast. Faster than me. I’m
cornered in seconds.
“There’s nowhere to run,” she says. “Give me the
flag and I’ll tell everyone else on your team that you

fought bravely.”
I grin. The observation deck is fenced in on all sides
but open at the top to the clear blue sky. Through the
mesh fence, I can see past midtown, down the length of
Central Park. Somewhere to the west—along the river-
front in downtown Newark—our ship is waiting.
She flicks my comm ring over to me. I catch it and
put it back on my finger.
“Thanks,” I say. “But who said anything about

running?”
I stomp my right foot twice, activating the jetpack
on my back as Becka fires a laser shot right where I’m
standing. Or right where I was standing.
I shoot up into the air, spiraling wildly like a mis-
shapen corkscrew. But after a few seconds, I steady out.
All that practice has been helping, I guess. I yank the

over-the-shoulder clutch and turn sharply around the
side of the building. As I zoom west toward New Jersey,
two of my teammates fly up alongside me.
“Where’ve you been?!” I yell at Ari.
“Sorry!” says Missi Tinker. “We got pinned down
in Times Square.” That’s where Becka and her team hid
their flag. While everyone was distracted, Ari sent in a

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