Sky Jumpers Series, Book 1 by Peggy Eddleman Read Free Book Online Page A

you and your inventions. You’ve not steered us wrong in forty years.”
    The frustration on Mr. Hudson’s face eased.
    My dad gestured toward the council members. “Debra and Ken brought up some valid concerns. Are there experiments you can do to make sure that both the air we breathe and the stability of the Bomb’s Breath aren’t compromised?”
    It was a weird question for my dad to ask. My dad and Iknew Mr. Hudson would never have brought his invention to the council without doing those experiments first. Mr. Hudson turned to the council. “With the council’s permission, I’ll rerun the necessary tests.”
    I leaned against the wall and smiled. My dad had complimented Mr. Hudson so he wouldn’t be defensive. He’d reminded the audience that Mr. Hudson always looked out for us. He’d made the council members feel their concerns were addressed. He’d caused a delay by requesting the tests, so people could either get used to the idea of using the Bomb’s Breath as a power source or forget about it. But I knew what my dad thought of the Bomb’s Breath, and I knew what everyone else thought of it. None of them would
ever
get used to the idea.
    Watching my dad at work was one of the reasons I liked council meetings. Everyone always said he should run for council head, that he’d have no problem getting elected. My dad loved this town—I knew it was his dream.
    But my dad wouldn’t run.
    I never knew why, until Amy Beckinwood from Fourteens & Fifteens cornered me in the hall a year ago on the morning of Inventions Day. She told me that she hoped my invention didn’t stink as bad as every one of my past inventions did, because her grandma was old and tired and wanted to step down as council head. “She would, too,” Amy had said, “but only if your dad runs for councilhead, because she doesn’t want Mr. Newberry to win. She knows your dad wants to run, but he can’t. Because of
you
.”
    The realization had knocked the breath out of me. She was right—how could my dad be the leader of a town that valued inventing so much, when his daughter was such an embarrassment?
    The memory of last year’s invention, which not only didn’t work but broke the leg of the nearest desk, came back and combined with the fresh hurt of today’s inventions class disaster. My nerves were raw, and suddenly I couldn’t watch my dad in his element, knowing my failure not only made my dream impossible, it made
his
dream impossible.
    I grabbed Aaren’s arm and panted, “I have to leave.”
    He looked at me in alarm. “Um. Okay.”
    He lifted Brenna off his shoulders and put her on the floor, then glanced across the room and to the back, toward the exits. People were
everywhere
—there was no way we could get through them. Aaren nodded toward the loose paneling we’d found last year, a dozen feet behind where we stood. We weren’t going to tell anyone about it, ever.
    Yet here we were in a room full of people, and all I wanted to do was escape through it.

Mr. Hudson sat down and Brock’s grandpa, Mr. Sances, a white-haired council member with black eyebrows, stood up to introduce the next item of business. Everyone’s attention turned to Harvest Festival preparations. It was possible they wouldn’t even notice us moving the paneling. I nodded to Aaren.
    Aaren, Brenna, and I pushed our way through the crowd and said “Excuse us” to Sam Beckinwood’s dad, who was leaning against the wall. He stood up straight without taking his eyes off Mr. Sances, so we grabbed hold of the wood paneling that covered the bottom three feet of the wall and half slid, half pulled, until it opened enough for us to crawl through. We slipped into the opening with our schoolbags and shut the panel behind us.
    When I took a deep breath of the dank and dusty air, I sneezed. The hole behind the paneling led into the hallway they’d built along with the gym ten years ago—the hallway would eventually lead to classrooms when the city grew