Watch Your Step Read Free Page B

actually a top secret troublemaking training facility?
    I can’t think of another reason. So I’ll give her what she asked for, one more time.
    The Boomaree’s part boomerang, part Frisbee. With the help of a small control box, you throw it like a disc and it circles back to you like a boomerang. I haven’t used one since the UltimateTroublemaking Task at the end of my first semester at Kilter. That’s when Lemon, Gabby, Abe, Elinor, and I successfully completed the mission by making Annika, the school’s director, cry by setting the merry-go-round on fire at the old dilapidated amusement park her father built for her.
    Fortunately, it turns out that throwing a Boomaree is like riding a bicycle. The technique comes back the second I pull it back to fling it forward. The Boomaree flies so fast you don’t see it, only hear it buzz as it whizzes past. Common target reaction is to bat at it like it’s a pesky bug.
    Which Mom does when I throw it again. And again. With every launch, her reaction gets better. Soon she jumps to her feet and shakes out her hair. Rushes to the opposite end of the vegetable patch. Hops between lettuce heads to get to the other side.
    When I think she’s had enough, I stop. After several days of similar tricks, we can call it even. Mom must’ve had her reasons for doing what she did, and maybe someday she’ll tell me what they were. But for now, we can activate a silent truce and try to enjoy the rest of the summer.
    I hide the Boomaree under my bed, then leave my room andhead for the bathroom. Our house is old and doesn’t have air-conditioning, so the best way to deal with the sweltering summer heat is to take lots of cold showers. I was already burning up after miniature golf, and messing with Mom has made it worse. I can’t wait to read Elinor’s note again and write her back, but I don’t want to be distracted by sweat dripping onto my K-Pak screen when I do.
    Inside the bathroom I close and lock the door. Already imagining how great the ice-cold water will feel, I get undressed, step into the tub, turn the faucet—and scream.
    The water’s not ice-cold. It’s molten-lava hot.
    I leap out of the tub. Shake out my arms and legs. Jump from one foot to the other, like the tile floor is an active volcano crater. When I cool down enough to think straight, I turn off the water, then turn it on again, careful to keep the temperature pointer on the coldest position possible.
    Steam billows around me as the water burns hotter.
    I go to the sink and spin the cold knob as far as it’ll go. When only hot water gushes from the faucet, I throw on my shorts, grab the rest of my stuff, and dash downstairs. The same thing happens with the sink in the kitchen and in the first-floor bathroom.
    I’m now melting. Officially. But despite our silent truce, I don’t want to ask Mom for help. Dad’s still in his office, so I don’t want to ask him either. Too hot to think of other options, I grab ice cubes from the refrigerator freezer, go to my bedroom, and collapse onto the bed.
    I’m sucking on ice and pretending my mattress is a glacier, when my K-Pak buzzes with another message from the Kommissary. Congratulating me on my recent Boomaree performance and the one hundred credits it earned, and suggesting that I might like the brand-new Boomketball.
    A movie-reel icon is at the end of the message. Instead of pressing it for a video demo, I hit reply.
    TO: [email protected]
    FROM: [email protected]
    SUBJECT: RE: Nice work!
    Hi,
    Thanks for telling me about this! The Boomketball sounds like a lot of fun.
    But quick question. Since I’m home and not atschool, how do you know what kind of trouble I’m making?
    Sincerely,
    Seamus
    I send the message. Two seconds later, I get an answer.
    TO: [email protected]
    FROM: [email protected]
    SUBJECT: RE: RE: Nice work!
    Hey, Seamus!
    We have no