“Totally winging a big assignment would freak me out,” Pigeon said.

  Zac shrugged. “People like my weird reactions to stuff. That happens best if I stay in the moment. Low structure, high authenticity. Let’s go inside. It’s about to get busy out here.”

  The gigantic cannon was pulling into the parking lot followed by a horde of people. Zac put on a Giants baseball cap and sunglasses.

  “You’re going incognito,” Summer said.

  “It’s easier to bounce back from hat hair than to face a crowd sometimes,” Zac said. “Especially after an event like this parade, where attention is drawn to me.”

  People were already lining up at the ticket booths even though the windows were not open yet. Extending from either side of the booths was a green fence surrounding the carnival. Nate noticed a variety of signs:

  UNLESS YOU ARE THE ACTUAL TARZAN

  SHIRT AND SHOES MUST BE WORN AT ALL TIMES

  NO OUTSIDE FOOD OR DRINK

  WE HAVE TO PAY FOR ALL OF THIS SOMEHOW

  NO PETS ALLOWED

  SERVICE ANIMALS MUST BE APPROVED

  ROBOTS ARE FINE THOUGH

  WE RESERVE THE RIGHT TO REPRIMAND

  ANY CUSTOMER FOR DISORDERLY CONDUCT

  EXPULSIONS RECEIVE NO REFUND

  NO OUTSIDE MAGIC

  WE HAVE PLENTY FOR ALL

  MAGIC YOU BRING IN WILL BE NEUTRALIZED

  ALL DREAMS SPARKED BY THIS EXPERIENCE

  BECOME THE PROPERTY OF

  THE DREAMS AND SCREAMS INTERNATIONAL CARNIVAL

  DREAM BIG!

  “Lots of rules,” Nate said. He glanced at Zac. “I hope you don’t have any outside magic.”

  “I bring the magic everywhere I go,” Zac said with a grin. “My sponsors count on it.”

  Nate wondered if entering the carnival would neutralize the magical candy he carried.

  Zac bypassed the ticket booths, leading Nate and his friends to a private gate where a female security guard stood. Zac flashed a pass and pointed to his friends. “These guys are helping me out today.”

  The guard stepped aside, and Zac led them into the carnival.

  A long wooden boardwalk formed a main path away from the entrance, fronted with bright signs to lure customers to play games and buy food. The wooden strip ended at a glittering, two-story carousel where tigers, elk, dolphins, and horses awaited riders. In the distance loomed a towering Ferris wheel, the round side facing them decorated like a spiderweb. In another direction rose the steep slopes of a whitewashed wooden roller coaster.

  “First, we need to get tickets and Carnie Coins,” Zac said. “You can’t buy anything with normal money in here.”

  “Clever,” Nate said. “Like needing tokens at an arcade. Use play money to hide how much actual money is being spent.”

  “That might be the idea,” Zac said, guiding them to an octagonal booth topped by a sign that read Currency Exchange.

  A sign beneath it proclaimed:

  WE DON’T WANT YOUR MONEY

  WE WANT OUR MONEY

  Zac approached one of the windows and showed his pass.

  The older man behind the glass leaned forward. “Good morning, Mr. Foster,” he said. “You and your guests are entitled to one hundred tickets and ten Carnie Coins each.”

  “What’s the difference between tickets and coins?” Pigeon asked.

  The man behind the window glanced his way. “Tickets are for food, games, and attractions. Carnie Coins are for vending machines and souvenirs. There may be a few loopholes and special circumstances. Pay attention to the fine print. You’ll get the hang of it.”

  “Thanks,” Zac said, accepting a long strand of tickets and a handful of coins.

  The orange tickets were linked by perforations and featured an image of a Ferris wheel on the front with a complex pattern on the back. Each ticket had a sequential eight-digit number printed along the bottom. The golden coins had a clown face on one side and the back of the clown’s balding head on the other.

  Zac distributed the tickets and coins to the group as they walked a few steps away from the Currency Exchange. “This should be enough for a good day. The public gets fifty tickets and five coins with a standard admission. Technically, you guys don’t get more today, but I can go back for as many as I want, and there’s no rule against sharing, so don’t be stingy with your tickets.”

  “Zac Foster,” declared a confident voice from behind them.

  Nate turned and saw the man in the tuxedo who had ridden the cannon. With a top hat on his head, he looked dignified and comfortable despite the warmth of the day. Up close, Nate could see that the middle-aged man had a thin, debonair mustache.

  “Preston Wilder,” Zac replied warmly.

  “Thank you for participating in our kickoff event,” Preston said. “We look forward to your videos.” Turning to the others, he extended a hand. “These must be your friends.”

  “I bought their love with tickets and coins,” Zac said.

  Preston flashed a gleaming smile. “That’s how it works around here.”

  “Are you the owner?” Nate asked.

  “I’m often mistaken for the owner, especially by kids, but I’m the public face of the establishment,” Preston said, straightening his jacket. “Director of publicity. Emcee. Ringmaster. Your host and friend. And you are?”

  “Nate. You look kind of like a magician in that outfit.” Summer and Trevor glared at him, but Nate kept his attention on Preston.

  Preston regarded Nate more seriously. “I may have a trick or two up my sleeve. Lend me a Carnie Coin?”

  “Sure,” Nate said, handing one over.

  Preston set the coin faceup on his open palm. He closed his hand into a fist, then opened it to reveal two coins where one had been. He closed his hand again and opened it to reveal three coins.

  “You can keep all three,” Preston said. “Unless you want to try for four?”

  “I’ll try for another,” Nate said.

  Preston’s hand closed, then opened again, revealing four coins. “Keep these or try for five?”

  “I’ll keep the four,” Nate said.

  “Fair enough,” Preston replied. He dropped the coins into Nate’s outstretched hand. “A fourfold increase is a successful investment. Want to know what would have happened if you had tried for five?”

  “Sure,” Nate said.

  “The cost of that information is four Carnie Coins,” Preston said. “You’re welcome to find out whenever you like.”

  “I’m good for now,” Nate said.

  “Can I try?” Trevor asked, holding up a Carnie Coin.

  “I prefer not to repeat tricks for the same audience,” Preston said. “You kids have a fun day.” He flicked the brim of his top hat and winked. “Around these parts, magic is always in the air.”

  Chapter Six

  First Impressions

  Have you already explored the carnival?” Pigeon asked Zac as Preston walked away.

  “Nope,” Zac said. “That’s what today is all about.”

  “Here’s a map,” Trevor said, snatching one from a pile on a shelf outside the Currency Exchange. He unfolded it, and the others huddled around. The top read “Basic Map” and listed the date.

  “Where are we now?” Summer asked.

  “Here’s the entrance,” Pigeon said, tapping a spot on the map. “So we must be by that Currency Exchange just inside. At the start of the Grand Boardwalk.”

  Nate looked at the wooden boardwalk stretching away from them. Beyond the carousel, he could see an orange-and-blue-striped big top, pennants hanging limp in the still air. “Lots of games that way,” he said.

  “And some attractions,” Pigeon said. “Serpent House. Terror Castle. Bumper cars.”

  “It looks like the boardwalk leads to everything,” Summer said. “We have to do the Ferris wheel.”

  “And the roller coaster,” Trevor said.

  “I’m impressed they have a roller coaster,” Nate said. “I hope it holds together. Seems elaborate for a traveling carnival.”

  “This carnival is well produced compared to most,” Zac said. “The rides are less rickety. More actual construction.”

  Nate noticed the phrase “more to come” was repeated around the edges of the map. He pointed it out. “How much more do you think they’ll add?”

  “Preston told me that when the carnival does well, they expand,” Zac said. “If they underperform, they sometimes shrink it down or even close the run early.”

  “How long are they scheduled to be here?” Summer asked.

  “Two weeks, I think,” Zac said.

  “Let’s check out the boardwalk,” Nate said.

  They passed a game where participants could try to throw rings around bottle necks, and one where players could try to land Ping-Pong balls into bowls floating in a pool. Another game challenged competitors to pound a target with a mallet and launch a weight up a tall post to ring a bell. The cinnamon-and-oil smell of churros wafted to them from a passing cart. Nate paused at a game with pyramids of three metal milk bottles stacked on cylindrical pedestals.

  “I want to try this one,” he said, approaching the counter. “What’s the drill?”

  The guy behind the counter wore a white button-down shirt and a blue vest and had muttonchop sideburns. “One ball per ticket. Knock off all the bottles with a single throw and you win a prize.”

  Rows of stuffed cows hung at the side of the stall. Below them were two rows of cowbells in various colors and numerous keys on pegs.

  “Are those the prizes?” Nate asked.

  The man nodded.

  “What are the keys for?”

  “Beats me,” the man replied with a wink. “You choose the prize.”

  Nate eyed the pyramids of bottles. They weren’t too far from the counter. He was almost sure he could make contact.

  “Okay,” Nate said, tearing off a ticket and setting it on the counter. “I’ll take one ball.”

  The man smiled and handed Nate a baseball, then brushed the ticket into his palm. The man raised his voice. “This will be the first throw in Colson!”

  “Mind if I film this?” Zac asked Nate, pulling out his phone. “If I end up using any footage with you guys, I’ll need you and a parent to sign consent forms.”

  “It’s fine with me,” Nate said.

  Pigeon pulled Nate a couple of steps away and whispered. “I did some research last night. For three bottles, you want to hit them hard and low, between the bottom bottles.”

  Nate took out a stick of Peak Performance and put it in his mouth. If the gum was working, he should be able to waltz through these games, winning prizes with every try. As he chewed, the gum tasted right, but there was no surge of energy and focus.

  Nate stepped back up to the counter, hefting the baseball. It seemed to be standard weight. He threw it hard at a tidy stack of bottles and hit the bottom left bottle squarely. It went flying, and the top bottle fell and bounced off the pedestal, but the bottom right bottle remained upright.

  “Nice try,” Zac narrated. “Too bad one of the bottles was nailed down.”

  The worker with the muttonchops lifted the remaining bottle to show there was no trickery, then swiftly rebuilt the pyramid. “Try again?”

  “One more,” Nate said, ripping another ticket from his strand.

  His next throw hit the center of the pyramid, smacking all three bottles. The top bottle flew off, and though the bottom two tipped over, both remained on the pedestal.

  “Ouch, good throw, but these bottles are clearly trained,” Zac narrated.

  Nate glanced at Zac. “Forget baseballs. I need a hand grenade.”

  “Almost had it that time,” the worker said. “Go again?”

  “Maybe later,” Nate said, moving away from the counter.

  “No help from the gum?” Summer whispered.

  “It’s just gum here,” Nate replied quietly. “No added benefits.”

  From the entrance to the carnival came the sound of a crowd chanting together. “Ten . . . nine . . . eight . . .”

  “Sounds like the gates are about to open,” Zac said, turning off his video and putting on his sunglasses. “Better be incognito from here on out.”

  The crowd continued, “Three . . . two . . . one!” People cheered, and then customers began flowing into the carnival down the main boardwalk.

  “Let’s head to the Demolition Derby,” Zac proposed, hustling toward the bumper cars. Nate and the others followed. They snaked between the railings where the line would normally form and went to the front.

  “Three tickets,” said the teenage girl managing the ride. A nearby sign confirmed her request. They each handed over three tickets and then went out onto the metallic floor to choose their vehicle. A thick rubber bumper encircled each car, and a pole stretched up to the metallic grate overhead.

  A sign on the wall proclaimed

  STAY IN YOUR CAR

  OR FACE DEATH BY ELECTROCUTION

  There were about thirty vehicles. Nate and his friends had arrived first at the attraction, so they had their pick.

  “Red is fastest,” Zac asserted, claiming a red car. Summer and Trevor grabbed red cars as well. Pigeon went with shiny black, and Nate chose a blue car with some scratches on the hood.

  “Hold on, folks,” the teenage girl said. “I’ll start the ride when we have more drivers.”

  “My car has a coin slot,” Summer said.

  “Mine too,” Pigeon replied.

  Nate checked, and next to his steering wheel was a slot for coins.

  “I think they all have them,” Zac said. “Hey, ride lady, what happens if I put in a coin?”

  “It costs a coin to find out,” she said.

  “This ride doesn’t require tickets and coins, does it?” Trevor checked.

  “The cars will run without coins,” the teenage girl said.

  A line had formed for the ride, and several more drivers surrendered tickets and chose their vehicles.

  Nate checked his controls. There was a gas pedal and a steering wheel. No brake. He fruitlessly pumped the gas pedal, eager for the ride to begin.

  Finally, with about half of the cars occupied and the line empty, the teenage girl closed the gate and went to a microphone. “Please stay in your vehicle with your seat belt fastened at all times. The floor and ceiling are electric, so you could get fried if you jump out while the ride is active. Turn the steering wheel all the way to one side to reverse. No bumping other cars. Just kidding. Crash as much as you want.”

  She paced around the floor, checking seat belts, then crossed to a control panel. The ride hummed to life.

  Suddenly pressing the gas pedal made Nate’s car jerk forward. He grinned at the quick acceleration. He steered around a kid he didn’t know then targeted Summer, bumping into her side. The bumpers had quite a bit of springiness, making the impact less jarring than expected, but with more recoil.

  Nate turned away and started tracking Trevor when Zac came zooming at him at twice the speed of the other cars. Nate tried to dodge, but Zac’s car was too fast. After the jolting impact, Zac’s car steadily pushed Nate’s car sideways.

  “Is red really faster?” Nate called in frustration.

  “With a coin it is,” Zac said, turning away to barrel toward Pigeon.

  After a brief hesitation, Nate inserted one of his Carnie Coins into the slot. When he hit the gas again, his car lurched forward and quickly reached a much greater top speed. He caught up to Trevor and rear-ended him. Trevor’s head whipped back. Though Trevor had been going at full speed, Nate’s car was that much faster.

  “Nate,” Zac called from the far side of the area. “Let’s play chicken.”

  “You’re on,” Nate said.

  They started zooming toward each other. The two coin-enhanced bumper cars rapidly closed the distance. Nate wasn’t going to swerve away, so he braced for the inevitable collision, hoping the designers wouldn’t let the cars go fast enough for riders to hurt one another.

  Zac didn’t swerve either, and the cars crashed head-to-head at maximum speed. Nate heaved forward against his seat belt, roughly jarred as the strap dug into him. The cars rebounded several feet.

  “Awesome,” Zac gushed, his face red.

  Soon Nate, Summer, Trevor, Zac, and Pigeon had all used coins to increase their speed. A few other drivers went for it as well. With so many zippy cars, the driving experience became more complicated. The non-enhanced vehicles seemed more like obstacles than actual participants.

  Nate found the impacts jolting, especially when he got blindsided. He was delighted to discover he could go almost as fast in reverse as he could zoom forward. When the power quit and his car coasted to a stop, he wished the ride would have gone on longer.

  Reluctantly, Nate exited with the others. Outside the ride, the carnival was filling up. Crowds strolled the boardwalk, trying out games and getting in line for attractions. New patrons steadily streamed in from the entrance. The parade had definitely drawn a crowd of paying customers.

  “Nobody loves you,” a girl with pigtails called to Zac.

  “Hey, check it out—Foster Kid,” a teenage boy said.

  “Nobody loves me,” the boy next to him repeated Zac’s catchphrase.

  Zac waved at them and smiled, walking purposefully forward.

  “Terror Castle?” Trevor asked. They shifted in that direction.

  The haunted house was set back from the game stalls, with a switchback line leading up to a two-story stronghold. A few mechanical crows with glowing red eyes perched on the battlements, occasionally cocking a head, cawing, or jerkily flapping their wings. The switchbacks were less than halfway full, so Nate and the others hurried through the empty lanes until they caught up to the actual line.