Free Masterminds by Gordon Korman Page A

iPad.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  On December 16, 1773, American colonists met with representatives of the British government in Boston to discuss turning the thirteen American colonies into a separate country. Tea was served.
    I blink. Once. Twice. It’s still there. No angry colonists, no tea in the harbor, no Revolutionary War.
    Okay, Mrs. Laska taught us that the internet isn’t 100 percent reliable. And sometimes websites will give you slightly different versions of an event. But surely that doesn’t mean a war instead of a tea party!
    I fiddle with my iPad for hours that night, but I can’t track down the story of the tea in Boston harbor. I search everything: Sons of Liberty ; taxation without representation ; 1773. There are entries about Lexington andConcord the places , but nothing about great battles happening there. When I type American Revolutionary War , nothing comes up.
    I’m so riled that I don’t even hear Dad come home. I have no idea how long he’s standing behind me.
    â€œHaving technology is a privilege, Eli,” he says reprovingly. “I trust you not to abuse it by staying up till all hours of the night.”
    Yeah, and I trust you not to tell me you’re going one place and then drive off in the opposite direction!
    I don’t say that. I look at the clock. It’s after one a.m. “Sorry,” I mumble.
    And that would be it. But as he walks out of the room, a spasm of anger comes over me. I’m madder at myself than I am at Dad. I mean, he’s my own father, who changed my diaper when I was a baby; who loves me more than anything! Why am I so afraid to tell him what I think? What’s wrong with us? What’s wrong with me ?
    â€œTrust is a two-way street, you know,” I blurt.
    â€œI beg your pardon?”
    â€œYou said you were going to check the school. How come you turned left?”
    His expression softens. “There’s a lot of flooding in thearea. I had to go around the block.” His gaze moves from me to my screen. The words American Revolutionary War are clearly visible in the search field. “You didn’t happen to notice anything unusual on your tablet, did you?”
    I’m astounded. “Like what?”
    â€œThe storm played havoc with a number of electrical systems around town,” he explains. “I was concerned that your tablet might be damaged if you left it plugged into the charger.”
    â€œNo, it’s fine.” I force my voice to sound calm, but inside, my mind is a blizzard of chaotic thoughts. First: He knows . Next: How does he know? And Randy’s words: Something screwy.
    If this doesn’t count as screwy, I don’t know what does.
    And then something comes out of my mouth even I don’t expect. “Dad, tell me about the Boston Tea Party.”
    For the first time in my memory, I see my father at a total loss for something to say. “I—I hardly think one thirty in the morning is the right time for a history lesson.”
    I regard my father in amazement. He looks tired, even hesitant! The steely gray eyes usually so confident betray doubt, hesitation.
    Maybe it’s because I’ve got the Boston Tea Party on the brain, but I experience this amazing thrill of, well, independence . It’s a genuine rush, and it leads me to make a terrible mistake.
    I pull Randy’s letter out of my pocket, unfold it, and slam it into his hand.

8
MALIK BRUDER
    I don’t have many good things to say about Happy Valley, New Mexico, but here’s one: we don’t get a lot of thunderstorms.
    Which does me no good tonight, because this is a big one. The flashes light up the town like it’s high noon, and the crashes are beyond just loud. You feel them inside your skull.
    The worst part is I’m sitting on my bed, rocking back and forth, praying for it to be over, and I know that Hector, who’s afraid of moths, loves electrical