Disruption by Steven Whibley Read Free Book Online Page B

sure “soccer pitch” was another way of saying “soccer field,” otherwise I wouldn’t have understood much of what the girl said.
    “Fine,” I said.
    “Ten minutes,” the girl said again.
    “I heard you,” I snapped.
    She recoiled a step and then swallowed and forced herself straight again.
    I sighed. “Sorry. Thank you for delivering the message. I’ll be there.”
    She nodded, then turned on her heel and jogged away.
    I turned back to my team and found them all staring at me.
    “ Sorry ?” Amara asked.
    “What?” I said.
    “Deltas don’t apologize if they accidentally stab you in the throat,” Juno said. He pointed out the door. “And you apologize for raising your voice?”
    “You’re not like other Deltas, are you, Cambridge?” Angie asked.
    I shrugged and then pointed at the door. “You guys coming?”
    “Didn’t you hear the runner?” Rylee asked. “It’s a Delta event.”
    I felt my forehead crease and my eyebrows draw together. “Then . . .”
    Angie stood up from her bed and strolled across the space between us. “You’re on your own, mein Spielführer .” I had no idea what Spielführer was, but she patted me on the back, so I decided to believe it was a good thing. “Make us proud.”
    I made a mental note to take Rylee aside and ask her why these guys were so special. They seemed like a bunch of misfits to me.
    “Remember,” Amara called behind me as I stepped out of the cabin, “don’t get killed. You die, and we all get kicked out of the program.”
    I waved away his sarcasm and didn’t look back.
    In retrospect, I probably should have realized that Amara wasn’t the joking type and doing my best not to get killed was probably sound advice.
     
     

Chapter 10
     
     
    Dalson stood on the sidelines and lifted his chin at me as I approached the field.
    “Ah, Mr. Cambridge, we’ve been expecting you.”
    A shorter man with gray hair and a tall, slender woman with brown curls stood together just a few yards to the right of Dalson. Three other adults were positioned around the field’s perimeter. They all looked like angry linesmen, only, rather than flags, they carried clipboards, and each stood, pen in hand, ready to take notes. Presumably the notes would be on whatever I was about to do.
    “Cambridge,” a deep unmistakable voice said from behind me. I spun to see Mr. Smith towering over me and jumped back in alarm. Someone that big should not be able to sneak up on anything. He didn’t smile, but his eyes glinted with pride. I imagined he was pleased that his presence elicited such a response.
    I looked between Mr. Smith and Mr. Dalson. “Um,” I began, “I was told I had some kind of Delta challenge?”
    “That’s right,” Dalson said breezily. He turned and looked out at the soccer field and brought his hands to his hips. He reminded me of a sailor standing on the bow of a ship, looking out over the ocean.
    “Do you see that ball?” he asked.
    The field was completely deserted except for an official-looking soccer ball positioned about ten or fifteen yards from the goal. It was difficult to miss.
    “Uh, yeah,” I said, “I see it.”
    “Your test is quite simple. Put the ball into the net.”
    I laughed and then stopped myself abruptly when I realized that neither Dalson nor Mr. Smith was smiling. “That ball?” I pointed at the only item on the field and felt dumb for doing so, but I thought there must be a trick.
    “That’s the one,” Dalson said.
    I didn’t know what to say. All the kids seemed at least reasonably healthy. Some looked like straight-up jocks. If it weren’t for that, I’d have thought maybe this was a camp for children with disabilities that made simple tasks, like kicking a ball, a challenge. But no one in my cabin seemed especially challenged in that department. This test had to be more than just kicking a ball into an empty net.
    Mr. Smith spoke next. “You’ll be scored by how well you accomplish the task. Do you