Yuah Korlann arrived in the servants dining hall just a moment after her father and Saba. Half a dozen kitchen workers under the supervision of the head cook, Mrs. Colbshallow scurried around preparing for the luncheon. Mrs. Colbshallow had been the head cook since Yuah was a little girl. She was a wonder in the kitchen. She was also Saba’s mother and she gave him a big squeeze as she passed by.

“There’s my handsome boy,” she said.

“Mother!” he whined back.

“Are you looking for something to eat, dear?” Mrs. Colbshallow asked Yuah.

“Yes, I’d better eat while I have the chance. You know how she is.”

“Don’t get cheeky,” said her father.

“I’ll get you a nice plate,” the head cook replied, waving over one of the kitchen staff. “You know I think you need to put on a bit of weight. You can’t catch a man if you’re all skin and bones.”

“Don’t worry about that,” said Yuah, sitting down across the table from Saba. “I’m not likely to run into a man around here, and if I did, no man is going to be interested in me.”

Saba’s adoring gaze, which Yuah chose to ignore, said as plainly as words that he thought he was interested, and he thought no other man worthy of the position. But it was her father who spoke.

“You’re far too young to worry about a man. Why, you’re barely twenty.”

“I’m twenty-three, Papa. Another two years and I’ll be an old maid.”

“Nonsense,” said Mrs. Colbshallow, setting down in front of Yuah a plate with a large sandwich atop a tremendous pile of golden chips. “You’re still young and you can find a man easily enough, if um… well, are you determined that he be of your faith?”

“Of course she is,” said Zeah.

“As long as he has all his parts, I don’t care if he worships apple trees and sacrifices chickens when the moon is full. It’s not as if I’ve been to shrine in years myself.”

Zeah and Yuah belonged to the minority Zaeri religion, a faith that had once been the dominant belief all across Sumir, while Mrs. Colbshallow and her son, and most of the other staff were Kafirites. Kafira Kristos who had lived and died two thousand years before, had been a Zaeri Imam, but her followers had broken away from the main faith upon her death and supposed resurrection. Now millions worshipped her as the Holy Savior and the daughter of God, and those ethnic Zur who remained true to their faith and the few converts to the Zaeri religion were the subjects in most places of animosity, prejudice, and discrimination. At least they were in most places outside the Dechantagne home. Miss Dechantagne would brook none of that.

“Excuse me,” said a voice from the doorway. Everyone in the room turned to see Master Terrence leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe. None of the staff were sure just how long he had been standing there. “Mrs. C, could I get one of those sandwiches? I’m really not in the mood to sit through one of Iolanthe’s luncheons.”

Mrs. Colbshallow had the plate in his hands almost before he finished speaking, and though he hadn’t asked for one, she pressed a chilly bottle of beer into his other hand.

“Thanks,” he said, turning and walking out of the servant’s hall. Nobody noticed Yuah giving him just the same sort of look that she had been receiving from young Saba just a few minutes before.

It was July 12^th; almost a month and a half after the Junior Prom, and Astrid found herself at the Las Vegas Speedway. It was a bright, sunny day and the 106-degree heat made squiggles in the air when one looked down the length of the pavement. The Maxxim Meteor; red, orange, and yellow fading into black, freshly detailed and completely charged, was pushed to the starting line. Waiting next to it was the Shannon Cheetah Tempest XT. With a silver nose fading into spots on its rear, the legendary racecar featured a clawing cheetah painted on the hood, and a running cheetah on either side panel.

“Are you ready to lose a million bucks, little girl?”

Astrid turned around to come face to chest with Tracy Shannon, the legendary auto designer. She had to look up to see the big man’s face. As usual, he was dressed in cowboy boots, jeans, a western shirt, and a black ten-gallon hat.

“I’ll be ready to pay up, should the unthinkable happen,” she said.

Shannon burst into a deep, rumbling laugh. “You got nerve, I’ll give you that! And you’re gonna need it. Anyway, here’s my driver: Jean Claude Sebastien… he’s a Frenchie, but he’s alright.”

“Oh, I know Jean Claude,” said Astrid, “though we haven’t really met.”

Astrid had seen the dashing French racer photographed by paparazzi while on dates with her aunt. He was much more handsome in person, and that was saying something.

“A pleasure to finally meet you, Astrid,” said the handsome driver. “Is Penelope here with you?”

“Oh, she’s around here somewhere.”

“We don’t have a conflict of interest here, do we?” boomed Shannon.

“I don’t think you have to worry about it. Jean Claude isn’t about to throw a race.”

“I’m not worried,” laughed Shannon. “He knows I’d hunt him down and kill him. We don’t take kindly to polecats in Texas.”

The limo driver opened the door and Astrid climbed in the back of the impressive vehicle. Toby followed her. There was a lot of space in the back, but by the time they had picked everyone up, it seemed decidedly less roomy. First were Christopher and Denise. Then they crossed to the other side of town and picked up Bud and then Austin, finally swinging by the Diaz home to collect the two Valeries.

Denise’s dress was of a style similar to Astrid’s, but was a lime green color. Both Valerie and Robot Valerie wore more traditional, ankle-length prom dresses, both deep violet. The boys had all opted for suits, which were the tradition for the Junior Prom, thought male attendees to the Senior Prom usually dressed in tuxedoes.

The limousine came to a stop in front of the school and the driver held the door for them as the gang, one after another, climbed out. The front of the school was decorated with balloons and streamers and posters proclaiming the prom theme: Glitterama.

“Whatever that means,” said Astrid.

They walked in through the front door and suddenly found about fifty pounds of glitter dropped on them from above.

“That’s what it means,” said Denise.

The music was already playing in the multipurpose room, which had been decorated with hundreds of balls of shining tinsel that reflected the light from four disco balls hanging from the ceiling. About a dozen couples were dancing to One Last Time, while twice that many lingered around the walls.

“Shall we?” asked Toby, holding out his hand.

“We shall, replied Astrid, taking it.

Astrid and Toby danced through the song and the next one too. Then the tempo slowed down as the Deejay played Take My Breath Away. When the song ended, they stepped over to the refreshment table for some punch. Bud and Valerie arrived at the same time.

“This is nice, isn’t it?” Astrid said.

The others nodded.

“Who do you think is going to be crowned Queen?” wondered Valerie.

“Um, who’s running again?”

Valerie rolled her eyes. “The posters have been up all week.”

“It’s the usual suspects,” said Bud. “Hannah Stark, Taylor Kirkpatrick, Sierra Brightman, and Gloria.”

“Gloria Maxxim?” asked Astrid.

“The one and only,” said a voice behind her.

She turned to find her cousin, wearing a dress that was very similar to her own, save that it was deep red. Next to her was a young man that looked like he just fell off the cover of GQ.

“This is Alex Brock, my date,” said Gloria. “Alex, this is my cousin Astrid, and three other people.”

“Well?” asked Christopher, leaning over the table and looking at the list of scores on Astrid’s tablet screen, which to him appeared upside down.

“One hundred percent on the American Lit exam.”

“For you or for me?”

“For both of us,” said Astrid. “Looks like it’s still a tie—4.2 GPA for both of us.”

“I guess it all depends on the final for seventh period,” said Christopher. “How do you think you did in Outdoor Survival?”

“One hundred percent,” she replied. “How did you do in Baseball?”

“One hundred percent on the exam. I’m not too sure about the practical. I knew I shouldn’t have taken any sport with a ball!”

“Quit whining,” said Austin. “How did I do on the exam?”

“Seventy-eight,” said Astrid.

“Woo hoo!” he whooped. “I’m calling that a B minus!”

Astrid, Christopher, and Austin, along with Denise were seated in a booth at the Maxxim City Malt Shop. Each had a chocolate soda, and they were sharing an order of special fries. It was the afternoon of the last Friday of the school year. Exams were finally over.

“We don’t really have to go to school next week do we?” asked Austin. “I mean it’s not like we’re doing anything important. The seniors aren’t even going to be there.”

“It’s just for three days,” said Christopher. “It is important, too. It’s academic counseling and planning. You have to pick which classes you’re taking next year. It’s time to start preparing yourself for a career.”

“I’m getting a cushy job at Maxxim Industries,” said Austin. “I know the boss.”

“Keep holding onto that dream,” said Denise. “Astrid’s not going to hire anyone who doesn’t contribute something valuable.”

“I contribute,” he said. “I was a vital part of the invention of the hoverbike.”

“That is kind of true,” said Astrid. “Austin, I will always hold an open job for you as a custodian.”

“A janitor?”

“Well, with C in Geometry, you’re not likely to become an engineer.”

“Geometry’s not my kind of math. What if I worked hard next year? Maybe I could work for Denise’s dad?”

“Flipping burgers?” wondered Denise.

“No, not that dad. The other one. I could be a designer.”

“You’d have to really apply yourself, Austin,” said Astrid. “But if that’s what you really want to do, I’ll be glad to help you.”

At that moment, Astrid’s phone rang.

Astrid Maxxim, brilliant teenage inventor returns. Astrid is looking forward to racing against a professional driving team to prove her electric racecar can take on the gas-guzzlers. Then without warning, she wakes up in the hospital with partial amnesia. What could have happened to her? Now everyone treats her like she’s brain-damaged! What if her IQ really did drop to 184? What a nightmare!

You can get Astrid Maxxim and the Electric Racecar Challenge for just 99 cents in a variety of ebook formats at Smashwords.com.

Uncle Carl arrived just after 5:00 that evening, only moments before Astrid’s father stepped in the front door. Astrid led the two brothers to the sitting room, where they discussed the progress of Maxxim Motor Cars. Although hundreds had been produced for testing and promotional purposes, the nationwide launch wouldn’t start until that September, well after Astrid’s race.

“I hope it won’t hurt sales if I lose,” said Astrid.

“I don’t think we need to worry about that,” said Uncle Carl. “But I did want to tell you that I would be happy to make the donation in your name, should the unthinkable happen and you come in second place.”

“That wouldn’t be appropriate,” said Kate Maxxim, stepping into the room. “Astrid must pay for it herself, if she loses. That might teach her not to make hasty wagers in the future.”

“But it’s for a million dollars!” Astrid squeaked. “I just thought the company would pay it. I don’t actually have a million dollars.”

“I don’t know if this race was such a good idea,” said Astrid into Austin’s ear, as she rode behind him on his hoverbike back to Maxxim City.

“Sure it is,” he said. “Did you see how awesome our pit stop was? I timed it. We got your car charged up in thirty-two seconds.”

The girl inventor laughed. “You did great. I hope you’re not offended that I’ll have a professional pit crew in the actual race.”

“Of course not. You’ve got to get tires changed and stuff. I still get to be in the pit though, right?”

“Sure. The pit stop isn’t the problem. I just don’t know if I can be a racecar driver. I was only going eighty on the test track and I was scared to death.”

“It will be better at the real track,” opined Austin. “You’ll see. It will be just like playing a big video game.”

“I hope so,” she said. “I’d hate to pee myself on national TV.”

“Hah! That’s a laugh. Astrid, you’re the bravest person in the world. You’ve flown a space rescue, dodged missiles shot at your plane, disarmed bombs, and swam in the Antarctic ocean.”

“Wow, Austin. You’ll give me a swelled head. I hope I don’t ever let you down.”

“You never could.”

Astrid could tell from his voice that he meant it, and she gave him an extra tight squeeze.

Once the automobile was charged, they opened the electric vehicle’s doors and climbed in, Astrid in the driver’s seat and Toby in the passenger’s. The interior was filled with the smell of new plastic and leather. With a press of the button, Astrid started the almost silent electric motor, shifted into gear, and drove smoothly away from the building. She maintained a speed of under 40 mph as they took the access road north.

Toby looked at her.

“What?”

“It’s a racecar, right?”

“I’ll go faster when we get on the track,” she said. “Remember, I’m an inexperienced driver.”

About ten minutes later, they arrived at the test track. The two-mile oval had been built years earlier, to test a variety of automotive related technologies. It hadn’t seen much use lately, but Astrid thought that would change with the acquisition of Maxxim Motors. Pulling up to the starting line, the girl inventor looked at her passenger.

“Are you ready to go?”

“Hold on,” said Toby, looking ahead. “What’s this?”

A white security SUV was approaching, the emergency lights on top flashing red and blue. It came to a stop directly in front of the electric racecar. The door opened and out stepped Captain Sergio Diaz, the head of Maxxim security. The two teens could see Agent Magro in the passenger seat, but he didn’t get out.

Astrid put her car into park, turned off the engine, and climbed out. Toby followed her.

“Hey Mr. Diaz,” she said. “What’s going on?”

“I have to ask you not to drive anymore, Astrid,” he said. He seemed embarrassed and didn’t look her in the eye.

“I’ve got to test the Meteor,” said Astrid.

“In this state, it’s illegal for someone of your age to drive without an adult in the vehicle to supervise.”

“That’s only on public roads,” she replied. “This is private property, as you well know.”

“I’m sorry, Astrid. I have my orders.”

“Orders from whom?”

Astrid Maxxim, brilliant teenage inventor returns. Astrid is looking forward to racing against a professional driving team to prove her electric racecar can take on the gas-guzzlers. Then without warning, she wakes up in the hospital with partial amnesia. What could have happened to her? Now everyone treats her like she’s brain-damaged! What if her IQ really did drop to 184? What a nightmare!

You can get Astrid Maxxim and the Electric Racecar Challenge for nook for just 99 cents.

Astrid spent the rest of the week close to home. Friday night, she had dinner with the Bundersmith family next door. Aunt Gerta baked a Schweinshaxe, a ham leg with a crunchy brown crust. It was moist and delicious on the inside. It was served with brown gravy and knödel, a type of boiled dumpling, that while delicious, Toby’s great-aunt seemed almost apologetic about serving.

“It’s not German, strictly speaking,” said Aunt Gerta, “but the boys like them.”

Both Toby and his father nodded.

“I’ve eaten your wonderful apple pies,” replied Astrid. “They may not be German, but they’re pretty fantastic.”

“Not tonight. We’re having Dampfnudel.”

Astrid turned her head to look at Toby.

“It’s like a cinnamon roll,” he said.

“There’s no cinnamon in it!” called Aunt Gerta over her shoulder, as she popped into the kitchen to bring out the dessert.

There might not have been any cinnamon, but it was quite like a sweet roll, filled with sugar and fruits, and topped with vanilla custard. As was usually the case when dining with the Bundersmiths, the girl inventor was very full when she returned home. Toby walked her to her front step and looked like he was going to bend over and kiss her, when Agent Toulson opened her front door.