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Saguaro?”
    â€œWe’re going to pulverize them this year,” Mohawk Guy says.
    â€œThey stole the trophy from us last year,” Sarah explains.
    â€œAll because of Paulson. They were never any good before her.” Bryce punctuates his statement by opening his fist and dropping a handful of doohickeys into a bucket.
    Alternating palms, Austin hits the tarp and chants, “Donner. Dynamos. Donner. Dynamos.” Very camp counselor.
    The rest join in, hunched forward, drumming the floor.
    Who are these crazy, crazy, unbalanced nutzoids? I came here today totally believing the Donner robotics team wouldn’t stalk The Ruler. Now? I’m not so sure. Let me outta here before I get sucked into their twilight zone.
    I glance at the clock on the wall. I just donated almost an hour of my life to the Donner Dementos.
    I’m coming, Josh!

chapter
seven
    I ’m up and outta the frightening robotics meeting faster than you can say “Josh Morton.”
    As I storm through the door, Claire’s bossy voice charges after me. “Be at the practice competition at Emerson Middle School’s gym. Monday evening.”
    â€œSix o’clock,” Austin echoes after her.
    I’m blazing a path to the pool, sparks practically flashing off my ballet slippers.
    Please let me find the pool quickly. Please don’t let the game be over.
    I hear a whistle blast.
    I hear applause and yells.
    I burst through the entrance to the pool and skid onto the deck. I scan the water. Eric swims over toJosh, and they high-five. The ref shows two fingers to the students keeping score in the booth. Two. Josh’s number. Which means Josh just scored. I look at the scoreboard. Five to four. For us.
    â€œYou rock, Josh!” a girl shrieks. “You so rock, Josh!”
    It’s Candy. Her arms fluttering above her head and her too-short skirt flapping above her thighs, she’s dancing in the bleachers.
    The ref blows one long whistle. Game over.
    Ack. Eek. Ike. I missed the game. Which Candy saw. I missed Josh’s winning goal. Which Candy saw.
    The players climb out of the water and walk in a line, shaking hands with the opposing team. When Josh passes me, I clap loudly. He doesn’t turn to look at me. No way he can hear me over Candy, who’s still screaming his name. Yuck. He waves at her. Double yuck.
    I stroll over to the bleachers, bottom level, right side. Basically, as far away as possible from screeching Candy. I sit. Elbows balanced on my knees, I hold my chin and wait. Josh is not going to be happy with me. I watch some of the next game, without really seeing it. Don’t even ask me what teams are playing; I couldn’t tell you.
    Candy sashays by. She shakes her head and her sad limp ponytail at me, saying, “Did you even catch one minute of the game?”
    One minute? I’m lucky if I caught one part of one second. I stand. Then I push past Candy, brushingshoulders with her, and head toward the boys’ locker room. The water polo players are exiting, done with their team meeting, done with their showers. Josh saunters out, his hair still wet, combed flat and cute. He bounds straight to me. Yeah, I did miss his game. And yeah, Candy did scream her guts out for him. But who’s he taking to a sit-down restaurant to celebrate their two-month anniversary? Me, me, me. So there, Candy Lopez!
    Josh reaches for my hand and we walk, legs in sync, to the parking lot. Dumb as it sounds, it’s only now that I think, Yikeserama, I better not run into someone from the robotics club. I look around wildly, swiveling my head.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” Josh asks.
    â€œJust admiring the campus.”
    â€œSherry, you crack me up.” Josh breaks into a jog, pulling me along with him. “I see my mom’s car.”
    Works for me. I wanna hightail it out of Donner. We slide into his mom’s Ford, me in the front passenger seat and him in the back. Josh’s