Chapter 1
Dr. Willa Chen had exactly seventeen minutes to explain why her trebuchet design wouldn’t launch their entire team into the neighboring corn maze along with the pumpkin.
“The fulcrum point is too high,” announced Brad Morrison, crossing his arms like he was delivering a medical diagnosis. “Basic physics.”
Willa bit back her first three responses, all of which involved reminding Brad that she had a PhD in mechanical engineering while he sold insurance for a living. Instead, she tapped her pencil against her clipboard and said, “The math checks out.”
“I’m just saying—”
“The math checks out,” she repeated, sharper this time.
The Harvest Moon Pumpkin Chunking Championship was still two weeks away, but Team Artemis was already fracturing. They’d spent the last three Saturdays in Mayor Patterson’s field, arguing over counterweight ratios and trajectory angles while other teams actually built things that looked like they might work.
Willa’s design was unconventional. She’d admit that much. Instead of the traditional medieval trebuchet everyone expected, she’d engineered something that looked like a giant mechanical praying mantis crossed with a construction crane. It was all angles and precision, leverage and calculated force.
It was also her best work.
“Maybe we should consider a more traditional approach,” suggested Janet from the coffee shop, who’d somehow become their unofficial team diplomat. “The Valkyries went with a classic design and—”
“The Valkyries are going to launch their pumpkin maybe two hundred yards,” Willa said. “We’re going for the record.”
Brad snorted. “If we don’t blow ourselves up first.”
Willa set down her clipboard. The October wind caught her hair, whipping dark strands across her face as she turned to face the man who’d been questioning every calculation she’d made for the past month.
“You know what, Brad? You’re absolutely right. Basic physics. Like the basic physics I learned getting my master’s degree at Stanford. Or the basic physics I used to design the bridge renovation downtown. But please, tell me more about fulcrum points.”
The silence stretched like a rubber band about to snap.
“I didn’t mean—”
“You did mean.” Willa’s voice stayed level, professional. The same tone she’d perfected in a dozen conference rooms where she’d been the only woman, the youngest person, the one everyone assumed was taking notes instead of leading the project. “You meant that you don’t trust my engineering because it looks different from what you expected.”
Janet cleared her throat. “Maybe we should take a break—”
“No break needed.” Willa gathered her papers, stuffing them into her messenger bag with perhaps more force than necessary. “I’ll have the final calculations ready by Thursday. Then we build it my way, or you find yourselves a new lead engineer.”
She was halfway to her truck when she heard footsteps behind her.
“Dr. Chen?”
Willa turned to find a girl, maybe ten years old, wearing paint-splattered overalls and an expression of pure curiosity.
“Are you really going to break the record?” the girl asked.
“That’s the plan,” Willa said, her defensive edge softening automatically.
“Cool. My dad’s on Team Berserker. They’re your biggest competition, he says. But I think your design is better.”
“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”
The girl grinned. “Because it looks like it was built by someone who actually knows what they’re doing instead of someone who watched too many Robin Hood movies.”
Despite everything, Willa laughed. “What’s your name?”
“Sage. Sage Martinez. My dad’s the one with the really nice smile who doesn’t talk much unless someone asks him about metallurgy or beer brewing.”
Willa glanced across the field where Team Berserker was packing up their tools. Last year’s champions, from what she’d heard. She spotted a man loading lumber into a pickup truck—tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a flannel shirt that had seen better days. As if sensing her attention, he looked up and lifted a hand in acknowledgment.
Even from fifty yards away, she could see the smile his daughter had mentioned.
“He builds pretty things,” Sage continued. “But you build smart things. I can tell the difference.”
“How old are you?” Willa asked, genuinely curious.
“Ten and three-quarters. I’m in advanced math because regular math is boring. My dad says boring is the enemy of learning.”
This kid was dangerous. Smart and unfiltered, the kind of combination that usually resulted in uncomfortably accurate observations.
“Your dad sounds wise.”
“He is. He’s also single, in case you were wondering.”
Willa nearly choked. “I wasn’t—”
“Most ladies wonder. He pretends not to notice, but he does. I think he gets lonely sometimes, even though he says he’s got me and that’s enough.” Sage kicked at a clump of dirt with her sneaker. “But I think everyone needs more than enough, you know?”
Before Willa could formulate a response to that piece of ten-year-old philosophy, Sage was already skipping back toward her father’s truck, leaving Willa standing in the autumn afternoon with her heart doing something complicated in her chest.
She looked across the field again. Sage Martinez was climbing into the passenger seat, animated hands already telling some story that made her father laugh. The sound carried across the distance—warm and unguarded and nothing like the carefully measured conversations she was used to.
When he glanced her way again, Willa found herself lifting her hand in return. Just a small wave. Nothing more.
But something in her chest settled, like a equation finally balancing.
The math might check out on her trebuchet design, but apparently there were some calculations she hadn’t accounted for.