"Why would we want to do that?" I hissed at Brodie under my breath. "I thought the object was to get rid of everyone else?"
He shrugged and gave me a 'shut up' look.
"You can use this ace to your advantage and save a team you're allied with," Chip said. "Or not. The choice is yours. There will only be two aces in the entire game."
The cameras suddenly swiveled again, startling me. All but one began to film our reactions as Chip raised his hand in the air.
"Are you ready to begin The World Races?" Chip bellowed. "At the far end of this stadium, you'll find that the opposite end zone is covered with hundreds of footballs. Ten of these footballs are numbered, and the number you get pertains to your airline seat. Only teams one, two and three will be on the first flight out. Good luck! May the best team win!"
Nervous butterflies began to sprout in my stomach.
Chip lowered his arm. "GO!"
We ran.
Brodie was the first one at the massive field of footballs, and I wanted to cheer my brother on. I stumbled early, twisting my ankle, and yelped in surprise. I recovered quickly and limped over to the footballs, the last one to arrive. Ignoring the cameras that hovered like vultures, I stared at the others as they pushed forward. People were tossing their packs aside and grabbing footballs like they were covered in gold.
Okay, clearly I'd missed out on the memo that told us we had to act like insane people.
I picked my way forward and kicked aside a football, looking for a number.
"Hurry it up, Katy!" Brodie bellowed at me. "Flip them and flip them fast!"
I sighed and shrugged off my backpack, tossing it aside and then diving into the fray. People were shoving and pushing like wild animals. I charged into the fray, grabbing the first football and flipping it over. Nada. I tossed it back down to the ground and headed for the next. And when that one was blank, the next. And the next.
"I got six," someone called. Another team yelled out their number - nine - and were less excited. No one wanted a high number.
I grimly picked up football after football, looking for a number amidst the chaos. I'd probably flipped about twenty footballs and dodged the other pushy contestants (and rolling balls) when I noticed one sitting alone at the back of the field, clearly overlooked. I could see a hint of white behind the football stand and a clench in my stomach told me that this was a numbered ball. Perfect!
As soon as I began to run for it, the rocker guy did too. Frowning, I picked up the pace, running faster. He didn't slow down. That son of a bitch had seen it and was going to race me for it.
We both dove for it at the same time. I landed on the ball, triumph rolling through me.
He landed on top of me.
The air blew out of my lungs. I groaned, wheezing, even as the ball popped out from under me and launched into the air a foot.
It bounced once. The rocker rolled off of me and neatly plucked it from the ground.
I remained on the ground, struggling to breathe.
He moved to stand over me and offered a hand down, ball tucked under his arm.
I slapped it away, my chest burning with the need for air.
He looked down at me a moment longer, shrugged, then flipped the football in his hand. "I got number two," he called out. Somewhere in the distance, I heard his partner squeal with delight.
Damn it! That jerk had just stolen second place from me. I clutched my ribs and groaned, forcing myself to my feet. A camera hovered nearby, no doubt catching my black scowl as I staggered to the next football and began to flip.
The field was clearing out as teams departed. Brodie trotted up to me, a football in hand. "I can't believe he stole number two from you. You should have fought him."
I rubbed my ribs. "Thanks for asking, Brodie. I'm fine."
He raked a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. "Sorry, Katy. You ok? Seriously? Want me to get a medic or something?"
"No. I just need to suck it up. My pride smarts more than anything." I nodded at the football under his arm. "What's that one?
"I found number ten," he told me, disgruntled. "Keep flipping and maybe we can find something better."
I rubbed my ribs one more time. "'Kay."
More teams departed around us, and after about five minutes, I looked up and realized that the team that had found the number nine was handing in their football to Chip Brubaker. That left just us on the field. We were stuck with number ten. Brodie straightened and tossed aside the football he'd just picked up, as if coming to the same conclusion.
The race had just started, and we were already last.
CHAPTER THREE
"Some of these people are stronger than they look. That short blonde with the pigtails? She looks all sweet and innocent, but she's scrappy as hell. The brother's kind of a jackass, though. I hope they go home soon." — Liam Brogan, Greenland Leg of The World Races