Billy Sure, Kid Entrepreneur

by Luke Sharpe

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  Backstage at BETTER THAN SLEEPING!

  I’M BILLY SURE. YOU’VE PROBABLY heard of me. Wait, that sounds weird, like “Who is this kid and why does he think I’ve heard of him?   ” But it’s not like that. I mean, I’m not like that. And you probably weren’t thinking that anyway because . . . well, like I said, you’ve probably heard of me. Because I’m that Billy Sure, the famous kid entrepreneur, inventor, and CEO of SURE THINGS, INC. At the moment I am also the kid who is sitting on a blue couch in a plain little room backstage at the BETTER THAN SLEEPING! show.

  Maybe you will see me on the show tonight, if your parents let you stay up that late on a school night. (If not, maybe you can watch it in your room with the sound turned way down. Just don’t get caught—I don’t want to be the kid who gets your TV taken away!)

  “You’re bouncing your legs,” Manny tells me. Manny Reyes is my best friend. He is also the chief financial officer of Sure Things, Inc., which is just a fancy way of saying he likes crunching numbers and has a really smart head for business.

  I didn’t even realize I was doing it. I look at my legs. Reason #35 why Manny is the greatest CFO: He is always right. My knees are definitely bouncing like Ping-Pong balls on a trampoline.

  “Don’t do that when you’re onstage,” Manny continues. “It makes you look nervous. Don’t pick your nose, either. Or burp. Or throw up. Definitely don’t throw up.”

  “But I am nervous. I might throw up,” I say.

  Manny gets a puzzled look on his face. “Why? You’ve been on TV before.”

  “Just the local news. This is national TV. Millions of people will be watching!”

  Manny grins. “Exactly. This is a fantastic marketing opportunity. So don’t blow it!”

  “Way to make me less nervous,” I reply, grabbing my knees in an attempt to stop my bouncing legs.

  My dad leans forward. He’s sitting at the other end of the blue couch. “You’ll do great, Billy. We’re proud of you. I just wish your mother could be here.”

  My mom travels a ton, as a scientist doing research for the government. I don’t know much more than that. She’s been on assignment for a while now, but she knows all about what’s been going on with me because we e-mail a lot.

  “Why do I have to be here?   ” my sister, Emily, moans. She hasn’t looked up from her cell phone in three hours. “I’m bored, hungry, and thirsty.”

  “I couldn’t just leave you at home while we came to New York, Emily. That’d be illegal,” replies my dad.

  “I’m fourteen!” she argues, keeping her eyes on her phone. “And very mature for my age. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself!”

  “Sure you are, Ninja Spider,” I taunt her. Lately Emily wears only black. Black shirts, black pants, black shoes, black everything. That’s why I’ve nicknamed her Ninja Spider.

  Emily finally looks up from her phone to glare at me. She wipes her blond bangs out of her face. Everyone says we look alike, which is weird because she’s a girl. She notices my legs are bouncing again, despite my best efforts to stop them.

  “A kangaroo called. He wants his legs back,” she says.

  Before I can think of a comeback, a can of soda appears in front of Emily’s face. “Soda?   ” someone asks. “I heard you say you were thirsty. In the room across the hall there’s a fridge full of free drinks. Stuff to eat, too. Chips. Candy. Fruit, if you’re feeling healthy.”

  Emily, being in a classic Emily mood, takes in a deep breath. I know her well enough to know that when she exhales, she’ll snap that she doesn’t want a soda; she wants to go home. But before she speaks, she looks up and sees who is holding the can in front of her.

  DUSTIN PEELER!

  I’m sure you know who Dustin Peeler is too. (See? I don’t just say that about myself. Not that I think I’m as famous as Dustin Peeler.) In case you don’t know, Dustin Peeler is the most popular teen musician on the planet at the moment. He can sing. He can dance. He can walk on his hands. He can play guitar, piano, drums, English horn, and didgeridoo—upside down. And according to Emily, he is the most gorgeous human being who ever graced the earth with his presence.

  Dustin Peeler smiles his perfect smile, teeth glistening like ocean waves on a sunny day. Emily’s mouth drops open, her jaw practically scraping the floor. “Thank you,” she manages to squeak out as she takes the can of soda. Her knees begin to shake.

  “No problem,” he replies.

  “Now who’s part kangaroo?   ” I whisper, pointing discreetly to Emily’s shaking knees.

  But Emily ignores me. She still can’t take her eyes off Dustin.

  I try again. My sister is seriously making a fool of herself, and I feel like it’s my duty to let her know. “Emily,” I whisper a little louder this time. “You look really dumb with your mouth hanging open like that!”

  And then Dustin Peeler notices me for the first time. “Hey, you’re the All Ball dude! That thing is awesome!”

  “Thanks,” I say.

  An assistant sticks her head in. “Dustin, we’re ready to do your hair.”

  “But his hair is already perfect,” Emily says like she’s in a trance.

  “Oh, they’re just doing their jobs,” Dustin says, smiling another dazzling smile. “Have fun out there!” He gives us a double thumbs-up and leaves. Emily resumes breathing.

  “Who was that?   ” Dad asks.

  Emily sighs.

  “He said the All Ball was awesome,” Manny says. “Maybe we could get him to do an endorsement of some kind. Or even write us a jingle!” Quietly singing, “All Ball, All Ball . . . the only ball you’ll ever need,” Manny pulls out his phone and taps a note to himself.

  I told you Manny has a great head for business. He has a ton of brilliant ideas about how to sell Sure Things, Inc.’s products. Without Manny, I wouldn’t have a business, just a bedroom full of inventions. And dirty laundry. And a few hidden candy bars (okay, maybe dozens).

  Emily pulls out her phone again and immediately starts texting all her friends that Dustin Peeler just handed her a can of soda. She even texts a picture of the can. “I’m keeping this can forever,” she announces.

  “Be sure to rinse it out,” Dad says.

  I guess it was cool to meet Dustin Peeler. I’ve never bought any of his songs, but I’ve certainly heard them. But I am much more excited about the other guest on BETTER THAN SLEEPING! tonight. Manny spots him first, standing out in the hallway.

  “Hey,” he says. “Isn’t that the baseball player you like? Carl Somebody? The shortstop?   ”

  “Like” is a slight understatement.

  Carl Bourette has been my favorite athlete since I was in kindergarten. I have every Carl Bourette baseball card. Carl Bourette bobbleheads. A nearly life-size poster of Carl Bourette, hanging on my door. I know all his stats. His favorite kind of bat. What he puts on his burgers.

  My brain is screaming, “CARL BOURETTE!”

  But my mouth is saying nothing. My jaw is hanging open, but no words are coming out. Possibly a little drool, but no words.

  “Might want to lift your jaw off the floor, genius,” Emily suggests.

  Then Carl Bourette notices me staring at him. Instead of getting as far away as possible from the weird kid with the
staring problem, he smiles and starts walking over to me.

  “Hi,” he says, shaking my hand. “I’m Carl Bourette.”

  “Billy Sure,” I manage to murmur.

  Carl nods. “That’s what I thought. You invented the All Ball, right?   ”

  Now it’s my turn to nod. “Yes,” I say. “I did.” I seem to be limited to one-syllable words and two-word sentences.

  “I agreed to do the show tonight because they told me you were going to be on it,” he says, chuckling.

  WHAT?!

  “Man, that All Ball is great!” Carl continues enthusiastically. “My kids love it! Heck, my teammates love it! We’ve got one in the locker room!”

  DOUBLE WHAT?!

  I can practically see Manny’s eyes turn into dollar signs. He whips out his phone and taps another note to himself.

  “Thank you,” I croak, keeping to my one-syllable, two-word rule for talking to Carl Bourette.

  Carl reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a pen and notepad. “I’m sorry to do this, but would you mind signing an autograph for my kids? They’ll be so excited I met you!”

  Carl Bourette just asked me for my autograph? What kind of bizarre, backward world am I living in? What next? Emily asking for my opinion on her outfit?

  “Sure,” I reply. “You got it.” Three words in one sentence! A new record for talking to Carl Bourette!

  I sign a shaky autograph on the notepad and hand it back to him. “Thanks!” he says. “I really appreciate it.”

  Before my head can explode, the assistant hurries back into the room. “Billy, we’re ready to do your hair.”

  Carl laughs. “Bet you thought you knew how to do your own hair. Welcome to being famous!”

  Catch!

  NOW I’M STANDING NEXT TO the curtain, waiting to walk out onto the set of BETTER THAN SLEEPING!, where I will be interviewed by the host, Chris Fernell.

  In my hands I am holding a carrying case. Make that “in my very sweaty hands.” I’m really nervous. I can’t help it.

  Behind me another assistant places his hand on my shoulder. I have no idea why. All I know is that I’m supposed to enter when Chris Fernell says my name.

  “Please give a warm welcome to Billy Sure, kid entrepreneur!” I hear from onstage.

  As the studio audience applauds, the assistant gives me a little shove to start me walking. Maybe some people get so nervous they freeze.

  I walk out onto the set, remembering to smile. I don’t know if you’ve ever been on a television set before, but it’s bright. Also, the furniture seems smaller than it looks on TV. In fact, the whole set seems kind of small. And there are big cameras pointing right at me. Now would be a really terrible time to trip, I tell my feet.

  Chris Fernell shakes my hand and motions for me to sit in the chair next to his desk. I have never understood why TV hosts need desks. Do they have homework they need to work on during the commercials?

  “So you invented the All Ball, and now this thing is huge!” Chris begins. “How old are you, Billy?   ”

  “Twelve,” I say. “Thirteen next March.”

  “Twelve years old!” Chris marvels. “When I was twelve, I was just playing video games. And not complicated video games. Simple games. You know, like, ‘click on the door to open it.’  ”

  The audience laughs. I don’t think what he said was very funny, but it seems weird not to laugh, so I do. You need to work on your fake laugh, I tell my mouth. That didn’t sound very good.

  “When did you invent the All Ball, Billy?   ” Chris asks. He seems genuinely interested. Of course, that is his job.

  I explain that I actually came up with the idea for the All Ball last year in sixth grade, but I had trouble figuring out exactly how to make it work. But then at the very beginning of the summer, the trouble all went away and it came together. (At least, that’s what I tell him. The real story is much more complicated than that. But I won’t be telling any of that to Chris Fernell.) Instead I talk about how Manny started a company with me called Sure Things, Inc., and we found a manufacturing company to make the product.

  “The product,” Chris repeats, smiling. “I love that! You’re twelve years old and you’ve got a product! Can we see it?   ”

  The audience applauds again. I open my case. “Here it is,” I say, bringing out two All Balls. “It comes in two sizes: large and small. Wanna play?   ”

  The only ball you’ll ever need.

  The audience whoops and cheers. They want to see Chris play. “Sure!” he says. “Let’s do it!”

  “Great. Let’s start with soccer,” I say. Then without anyone seeing, I press a button on a remote and the All Ball turns into a soccer ball.

  We walk over to the side of the stage, toward the band, where two goals have been set up. I set the small ball aside and toss the larger All Ball to Chris. “How does it feel?   ”

  “Like a perfectly normal soccer ball,” he says. Then he drops it on the ground and kicks it toward me. I kick it back. Chris works the ball with his feet a little, but lets me steal the ball and kick it into the net. “GOAL!” Chris shouts. More applause.

  “Okay, now what if you wanted to play volleyball?   ” I say.

  “I love volleyball,” Chris says. “But we need a different ball.”

  “No, we don’t,” I say, taking a small remote control out of my pocket. “That’s the beauty of the All Ball.”

  I press a button on the remote. And the ball changes from a soccer ball to a volleyball. Just like that.

  “That is amazing!” Chris yells. We hit the ball back and forth. “Incredible! It’s exactly like a volleyball! How did you do that?   ”

  “I’m afraid the ball-morphing technology is patented, proprietary, and top secret,” I say, using all the terms that Manny has coached me on. I gesture toward the basketball hoop set up on the stage. “I see you’ve got a basketball hoop.”

  “Why, yes we do!” Chris says, hamming it up. “If only we had a basketball!”

  I press a different button on the remote, and the volleyball in Chris’s hands starts turning into a basketball. It grows. The seams move. The surface changes. And the ball turns orange.

  The audience loves it. Chris dribbles the ball and shoots a layup, which he makes. The crowd really goes wild at that one.

  “Okay,” Chris says. “This All Ball is, like, the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen. Soccer ball to volleyball to basketball, unbelievable. But I’ve got to ask, what if I want to play football? No way, right?   ”

  “Actually, way,” I say, pressing another button on the remote control unit. With a kind of zzzwoop sound, the basketball shapes itself into a football.

  Chris stares at the football. “Okay, now you’re freaking me out. How? Huh? What?   ”

  As Chris tosses the football to the drummer in his band, I remember another one of the things Manny told me to say. “The large All Ball eliminates the need to buy and haul around five different balls. Now you just have to buy one.”

  The drummer tosses the football back to Chris. Tossing it from one hand to the other, he turns back to me. “Hold it,” he says. “I’m no mathematician, but I’m pretty sure you’ve only shown us four balls—soccer ball, volleyball, basketball, and football. What’s the fifth ball?   ”

  I aim the remote control. I don’t mean to time it this way, but I hit the button just as Chris tosses the football into the air, ready to catch it in his other hand. Zzzwoop! In midair, the large All Ball morphs from a football into a bowling ball. “Catch!” I call out.

  Naturally, Chris isn’t prepared to catch a sixteen-pound bowling ball, and drops it. Clonk! Luckily, the bowling ball doesn’t land on his foot.

  I let out a sigh of relief. I totally don’t want to be that guy who goes on TV and injures the host. Chris looks up at me in surprise and then starts cracking up. The audience roars with laughter, and then breaks into a long round of applause.

/>   It is cool. No, it is awesome. I look around and have trouble believing that this is really my life.

  “Can I try one of those? Maybe the small one?   ” someone asks.

  It’s Carl Bourette! He appeared on the show earlier, but now he’s walking back onstage! The audience starts cheering even louder!

  “Hey, Billy,” he calls. “Toss me that other All Ball!”

  Carl Bourette remembered my name! He just said it out loud! On television!

  I run back to my seat, grab the small All Ball, turn it into a baseball, and toss it to Carl. I’m no pitcher, but luckily it goes right to him. “Nice!” he says, tossing the ball up with one hand and catching it in the other.

  “Get out your remote,” he continues. “And zap it just as I toss this to Chris. Ready, Chris?   ”

  “It’s not going to change into another bowling ball, is it?   ” Chris asks, pretending to be nervous.

  “Here it comes!” Carl says, throwing the ball at Chris.

  I hit the remote. Zwoink! The baseball turns into a hockey puck midair! Chris catches it and holds it up over his head in triumph.

  “Looks like I’m missing all the fun,” someone else says. The audience starts going nuts. I look to see Dustin Peeler strolling onto the stage.

  So I, Chris Fernell, Carl Bourette, and Dustin Peeler play catch, changing the small All Ball from baseball to hockey puck to tennis ball to golf ball to Ping-Pong ball.

  When Chris gets a signal that we are out of time, he puts his arm around me and shouts, “Billy Sure and the All Ball!” As the audience applauds, my dad, Emily, and Manny come out onstage to join me. Chris introduces them as my family, so everyone probably thinks Manny is my brother, which is fine with me.

  On the plane ride home, everybody tells me what a great job I did on BETTER THAN SLEEPING! and how well it went, and how we are going to sell a zillion more All Balls. I feel happy, but I’m also nervous.