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The answer word bubbled up in Winston’s throat, but he swallowed it back down. He might not have shared Mr. Garvey’s passion for take-no-prisoners competition, but even he understood that he couldn’t simply give an answer to another team.

Jake understood that, too. “C’mon, we can’t tell you that,” he said.

Michael looked pained. “Yeah, of course not. Sorry. Can you confirm the answer? What we’re typing into the computer isn’t working.”

“What did you get?” Winston asked.

“We got the word THUDS.”

Winston shook his head. “That’s not right.”

Michael slumped. The Demilla team made a mistake and had come up with the wrong answer. What were they supposed to do? Michael turned back to his team and shook his head. His teacher and the two girls looked at each other, dismayed. The teacher, Mr. Meyer, came over, frowning.

“We really have the wrong answer?” he said to Michael.

“It sure looks like it.”

Mr. Meyer looked at Mr. Garvey, smiling ruefully. “Perhaps you can give us a small break here. You know we went through the maze, the same as you.”

Mr. Garvey, his expression carefully neutral, said, “Solving the maze was only part of it. You know that. You had to keep track of the letters you passed as you went along.”

“I believe I did,” Mr. Meyer said.

“You must have made a mistake. I’m sorry.” They all stood there for another awkward second. Perhaps Mr. Garvey was waiting for the Demilla team to admit defeat and walk away. When that did not happen, Mr. Garvey said softly, “Come on, boys. We need to get going.” He looked at Mr. Meyer and said with some sympathy, “Good luck.”

Winston waved at Michael. He felt awful for them, but Mr. Garvey was right—the Demilla team had made a mistake, and they would have to figure out what to do about it. And there was only one thing they could do: Go through the maze again and pay more attention this time.

“Well, now we know we’ve pulled ahead of one other team,” Mr. Garvey said as they approached his car. Winston looked behind him to see the Demilla team standing once again at the entrance to the maze. They had to go in, and they knew it . . . but none of them were willing to take those first dreadful steps.

Mr. Garvey was unlocking the doors to his car when Mal said, “So maybe we can run across the street and get some sandwiches at the farm shop.”

Their teacher looked amazed, even appalled. He couldn’t seem to think of any way to respond other than, “What?”

Mal said, “Well, it’s nearly lunchtime.”

Mr. Garvey waved his hands in the air like a television preacher praying for strength. “Guys!” he said. “My young teammates! Does anybody remember the flat tire that cost us twenty minutes? How about us wandering around the space museum like a bunch of lost sheep? We’re slowly gaining back the time we lost, and now you want to stop for lunch?”

As if to bolster his point, a car drove by and the driver gave them a sarcastic little salute. There were three kids in the car, wearing satisfied smiles. It was Rod Denham and the Lincoln Junior High team. Mr. Denham steered out of the parking lot, leaving a cloud of dust behind them. Mr. Garvey watched them go, his teeth clenched. He then turned back to his team and spread his arms as if to say, “See?”

But Mal said, “We gotta eat sometime.”

Winston expected Mr. Garvey to start yelling, but for once he maintained his temper. “We will eat in the car while we drive to the next location. I’ve got snacks, drinks, and beef jerky. You won’t starve to death.”

“Beef jerky?” Winston asked.

“Good, fast energy,” Mr. Garvey said, unlocking his car’s hatchback. He dug through one of the grocery sacks and came out with a pouch. “Here,” he said, handing out slabs of jerky.

Winston had never had beef jerky before and wasn’t about to start now. It looked like something a person could use to make a pair of shoes. Jake bit into his slab and tore off a piece, like a German shepherd with a chew toy.

“In the car, please, boys,” Mr. Garvey said. “If you don’t like beef jerky, I’ve got other things, but let’s figure it out while