How Lunchbox Jones Saved Me from Robots, Traitors, and Missy the Cruel by Jennifer Brown

Author:Jennifer Brown
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
Published: 2015-11-27T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 16

PROGRAM NAME: Enemy Down

STEP ONE: Rabid robot returns to mat

STEP TWO: Rabid robot moves to new home base

STEP THREE: All other robots cheer and toss their pincers in the air

I couldn’t have been any less motivated to go to robotics on Wednesday. Now it wasn’t just messing with my gaming on Monday and Wednesday. It was messing with the greatest gaming tournament of all time. It was messing with my life, and I didn’t like it one bit.

The only thing that could have made practice worse was for Missy to be back.

So of course she was. She was standing by the computer with her hands on her hips when I walked into the room.

“I heard you messed up the robot,” she said. “Way to go, Loser Luke. I’m not surprised, by the way. You mess up everything.”

“Even wishes,” I said. “Because I was wishing you wouldn’t come back and here you are.”

Missy looked shocked. I’d never outright fought back with her before. I pulled up one side of my lip and tried for a menacing snaggletooth grimace just to drive the point home. Apparently I was in no mood to be messed with today.

“Well, you may be better at wishes than you know,” she said, and I couldn’t tell if that was supposed to be an insult—like You’re so bad at messing things up, you even mess up messing up—or if I detected a tiny hint of sadness in her voice. “And what’s wrong with your lip?” she added.

But before I could say anything, the rest of the team arrived, Stuart’s pockets bulging so far out he almost had to turn sideways to get through the door. He was definitely not going to run out of seeds again.

Mr. Terry came in right after them, a bandage placed over his eyebrow. I’d heard him tell a kid in Life Skills class that he’d cut it while boxing at the gym. I couldn’t blame him. What guy would want to tell other guys that his face got beat up by a three-pound plastic toy?

“Okay, troops, we have a lot of ground to cover,” he said. He slapped a giant manual down on the robotics table. “So let’s get started. First off, we need to learn how the programming works, so we can minimize future, er . . . accidents.”

“Is Principal McMillan okay?” a Jacob asked.

“I heard he’s in the hospital,” the other Jacob added. “I heard it’s bad. Really bad.”

“Oh, we should put together a fund-raiser,” Mikayla said. “I’ll take charge of the talent portion. I know just which talent to feature.” She kicked off one flip-flop and fanned her toes.

Mr. Terry held out his hands. “No need to put together anything. Principal McMillan is totally fine. He’s in his office, not at the hospital. He and both of his eyebrows.” He touched the bandage gingerly. “Now, we really need to focus on the tasks at hand. This robot will be competing against other robots in less than a month, and he isn’t even programmed to get out of the start box.

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