by Luke Sharpe
Then, to go with your soda, there’s pizza. We have this machine that dispenses hot slices. Enter the toppings you want, press a button, and a perfectly cooked slice of hot pizza comes sliding out. And like our soda machine, Manny and I made sure there are some crazy flavor combos. You can put chocolate chips on your pizza or use peanut butter instead of tomato sauce. The craziest slice we’ve come up with so far had graham cracker crust, soy sauce, shredded coconut instead of cheese, and jalapeño peppers on top. Neither of us was brave enough to actually try it, but it was fun to create.
It’s really great having so many food options at the office, because my father thinks he’s a gourmet cook, but he’s completely wrong about that. Lately he’s been trying to master something he calls beets à l’orange. Emily calls it BLECH À LA YUCK.
We can’t always work nonstop in the office, so we’ve also got a pitching machine for batting practice, a basketball hoop, and a punching bag. (We tell people those are for testing out the All Ball. Well, not the punching bag. That’s for punching.) Oh, and every video game console ever made, going back to the eight-bit systems that my dad used to play. Thank you, Internet!
And a pinball machine. And foosball. And air hockey.
Actually, we’re thinking about getting rid of the desks.
Oh, and probably the most important feature of the office is Philo (named after Philo T. Farnsworth, the inventor who helped make TV possible). Philo has shaggy brown hair and big brown eyes. He’s technically my family’s dog, but I think of him as my dog because I’m pretty sure I’m his favorite person. I think Emily’s mood swings are a bit much for him, and he learned the hard way to steer clear of my dad when he’s in the kitchen. Philo loves hanging out in the office with me and Manny. He even has his own doggy bed in the corner. Philo’s the unofficial mascot of Sure Things, Inc.
The first thing I do when Manny and I arrive at the office today after school is dispense myself a slice and a raspberry-ginger root beer while I tell Manny about the rest of my day.
“My day was pretty strange too,” Manny says when I’m done. “Everyone kept asking about you, and how much money you have now, and whether you were interested in giving some to them.”
“What did you say? ”
“I told them we were broke,” he says, laughing. As we talk, Manny tosses a small All Ball from one hand to the other. I hold the unit’s remote, hitting a button every time the ball reaches the top of its arc, changing it before it falls into Manny’s hand. From tennis ball to baseball to golf ball to hockey puck to Ping-Pong ball and back to tennis ball . . .
Manny never drops the ball.
“Hey!” he says suddenly. “I haven’t checked All Ball sales in over three hours!” He sets down the small All Ball and turns to his laptop. Manny loves to review sales figures and see them going up. But it isn’t about the money for him. He hardly ever spends any money, other than what we spent decking out the office. He just loves big numbers and setting records. It’s like he has a collection he’s obsessed with, only his collection isn’t stamps or pencil toppers, but sales figures.
I decide to check my e-mail. Once Manny starts looking at sales figures, there’s no talking to him until he’s done.
There’s an e-mail from my mom:
Hi, Billy,
How are you doing? How’s business? And school, of course? What new inventions are you working on? I’m super busy just now, so I can’t write a long e-mail, but I wanted you to know I’m thinking about you and I love you.
Love,
Mom
P.S. Please note my new e-mail address. The old one got hacked, so I had to change it.
I hit reply right away.
Hi, Mom!
Today was the first day of school. It was crazy. Everyone wanted to talk to me about the All Ball, even Principal Gilamon! The Hyenas are doing great. Well, not really, but Carl Bourette hit an in-the-park home run during the last game. I was shouting so loud that Emily threatened to duct-tape my mouth shut.
That reminds me. I had a great idea for a new invention that you can eat when your mouth isn’t covered in tape. It’s Mud Pie Seasoning, and it’ll turn regular mud pies into delicious desserts. What do you think?
Write back soon.
Love,
Billy
After I send the e-mail, I think about how much I miss my mom. It’s not the same watching Hyena games without her. Dad and Emily aren’t interested in baseball, but Mom loves it. She says that watching the games with me helps her relax. Since my mom left at the beginning of July, she’s missed a lot of games this year.
Eventually, Manny stops looking at his laptop and turns back to me. “So,” he asks. “What’s next? ”
“Another slice of pizza? ” I suggest. “I’m thinking of adding jelly beans to this one, but I’m not sure.”
“No,” Manny says, getting up and wandering over to the foosball table to give one of the rods a spin. “I mean what’s next for Sure Things, Inc.? The All Ball’s doing great, but we don’t want to be a one-product company.”
That’s Manny. Always thinking about the business stuff. It’s a good thing he likes the business side, because it doesn’t interest me all that much. I’m much more interested in inventions. I have been since I was a little kid. My mom says that when I was a baby, I invented a new use for diapers (throwing them), but I don’t think that counts.
“You mean like a new invention? ” I ask.
“Exactly,” Manny says.
“How about MUD PIE SEASONING? ” I suggest. “Mud pies can finally taste like pie pies.”
Manny thinks about it and then frowns. “But who would want to eat dirt? ” he says. “No, we need something bigger. And less disgusting.”
We both sit there thinking. I start messing with the air hockey table, spinning a puck on its edge. Manny wanders over to a chess set, stares at it a minute, and moves the black knight. He’s playing a match against himself, which I don’t get at all. I mean, how can you play chess when black knows exactly what white’s going to do, and vice versa?
“What about the CANDY BRUSH? ” Manny asks as he sits down behind his desk.
Ah, the Candy Brush! The first invention I ever told Manny about. It was the first day of first grade. I’d thought of the Candy Brush that morning when my mom forced me to brush my teeth before school, and I couldn’t wait to tell someone about it. At recess I spotted Manny standing by himself, so I blurted out my idea and he liked it. We’ve been friends ever since.
“I still haven’t really cracked that one yet,” I admit. The idea for the Candy Brush is that it would make ordinary toothpaste taste like candy. It’d make kids run into the bathroom to brush their teeth after every meal!
“The sweet and sour angle is key,” Manny says, drumming his fingers on the desk. Manny thinks we should sell two different kinds of Candy Brush. One would make toothpaste taste like sweet candy, while the other would make toothpaste taste like sour candy. Manny figures kids would want to have both, so we’d double our sales.
With another product Manny would have a whole new set of sales figures to obsess over. He’d be so happy.
We talk about the Candy Brush some more, but I remind him again that I haven’t figured out exactly how to make it work. Manny looks disappointed, so I suggest that we should keep thinking about what our next product will be. Maybe there’s an even better idea out there. Manny reluctantly agrees. He really loves the Candy Brush idea. I think he wants one for himself. He hates toothpaste.
• • •
When Philo and I get home, I can smell Dad’s cooking. Yeech. “I’m adding a new ingredient to my beets à l’orange!” he calls from the kitchen. “Kale!”
Emily sticks her finger in her mouth, making a gagging gesture. Then she sees me, and her eyes narrow. “Thanks for ruining my life.”
“How did I ruin your life? I thought you were taking care of that yourself.”
“
My very first day of high school and all anyone asks me about is you and your stupid All Ball,” she says. “Everyone wants to know how much money you have, and if my family is rich now, and if we’re going to buy a summer house, and if they can come to our summer house and spend the night. Or the summer.”
I shrug. “That doesn’t sound so bad. At least people are talking to you. And you didn’t seem to think the All Ball was so stupid when Dustin Peeler was playing with it.”
She snorts. “Dustin Peeler. I’m totally over him.”
“How can you be over him? ” I ask, amazed. “You were completely in love with him, like, thirty-six hours ago! Did he do something? ”
“Yes,” she says. “He played with your stupid All Ball!”
She stomps off to her room.
I manage to eat a little bit of Dad’s dinner, watch some TV, and do my homework. (I can’t believe we already have homework on the very first day!) Philo gets into his bed in my room, and I get into mine. “Good night, Philo,” I say. He sighs, snuggles down, and quickly falls asleep.
I lie there staring at the framed blueprints on my wall.
They’re the original blueprints for the All Ball—the diagram showing how to make my amazing invention.
I didn’t really want the blueprints hanging on my bedroom wall, but my parents were so proud of me that they gave the framed blueprints to me as a surprise. My dad even made the frame (he’s an artist, so he knows all about frames). What could I do? Take them down and slide them under the bed?
So now I find myself staring at them every night before I fall asleep. And I’m always thinking the same thing . . .
Where did they come from?
That’s my secret. I didn’t draw the blueprints for the All Ball. I didn’t fully invent it, but I’m getting all the credit. Every time someone congratulates me, I feel guilty. In fact, my secret makes me feel guilty all the time.
Yes, the All Ball was my idea. I thought of it last year. But I was struggling with a way to make it work. I worked on it all spring, every time I had a free moment. But I just couldn’t crack it. I was getting close, but there were still a few crucial details I was stuck on.
Then one morning in June I woke up and found the blueprints on my desk. They were perfect. They solved every problem I’d been wrestling with. I was so excited, I ran to Manny’s house with the blueprints and we got to work right away.
I never told him that the blueprints just appeared on my desk. He was so excited, and I didn’t want to let him down. I thought whoever left the blueprints would fess up soon, but it’s been months now and I still don’t know who put them there.
Dad? He’s an artist, so he could draw a really good set of blueprints. But he’s never invented anything in his life, as far as I know.
Mom? She’s a researcher, and really smart, so maybe she could figure it out. But why wouldn’t she tell me?
Emily? No way. She’d definitely want to take credit for figuring out how to make the All Ball.
A ghost?
I thought about asking my family members, but it sounded so weird in my head. “Hey, did you figure out how to make the All Ball and draw up blueprints and put them on my desk but then forget to tell me you did it? ” It sounds crazy.
But how did they get there?
The Flying Phone
WHEN I WAKE UP THE next Morning, I hope that on the second day of seventh grade things will be a little more normal and everyone will be over staring at me and making such a big deal out of everything. But that’s not what happens.
“Hey, Billy!” I hear from behind a tree on my walk to school. At first I think I must be hallucinating. Trees are trying to talk to me?
But then a boy from my homeroom pops out from behind it. His name is Steve Stallings. I don’t know Steve well, but I do know that in gym class last year Steve fell during a game of kickball and dislocated his knee. His kneecap was on his thigh. It was weird and scary and cool at the same time.
“What’s up? ” I reply to Steve. I notice that Steve’s kneecap has made it back to its correct position.
“Not much,” he says. We walk almost a block in silence.
“So,” he says, “you’re an inventor.”
“Yeah.”
“So am I.”
“Cool,” I say. We walk a little farther.
“Don’t you want to know what I invented? ” he asks, sounding a little annoyed.
“Um, sure. What did you invent? ”
Steve smiles. Then he looks around, checking to see if anyone is eavesdropping on us, before he tells me about his invention.
“THE FLYING PHONE,” he whispers.
“Oh,” I say. “What’s a flying phone? ”
“Not so loud!” he says in a loud whisper. He looks around again, and then I guess he feels satisfied that no one can hear us so he speaks in a normal voice. “It’s a phone that flies!”
“Yeah, I kinda figured that. But why? ”
“Why what? ”
I stop walking and face him. He stops too. “Why would you want a flying phone? What would you do with it? ”
“Well,” he says. “Let’s say your phone is ringing, but you’re on the other side of the room. After a few rings, these wings pop out on the side of the phone. Then the phone flies over to you.”
“Huh,” I say, walking again. “It seems like you could just walk across the room and get your phone.”
Steve frowns and I suddenly feel bad. I don’t want to dash Steve’s dreams. It’s just that inventors have to really ask themselves why people would want their invention—that’s the first thing I do when I come up with an idea. The second thing I do is try to come up with a cool name for my invention. Steve had come up with a cool name for his invention, at least. “Can I see it? ” I ask.
“Oh, I haven’t made one,” Steve replies. “That’s where you come in.”
“What’s a flying phone got to do with me? ”
“You’ll figure out how to make it, and then your company will produce it. Since it was my idea, I’ll get ninety percent of the money we make,” Steve explains.
“Or possibly eighty percent,” he says after a minute of my silence. “It’s negotiable. To a certain extent.”
“I’ll think about it,” I tell Steve as we walk into homeroom. Steve huffs off to his seat.
At least the WELCOME, BILLY SURE! banner has been taken down. That’s a relief.
But before I can get to my seat, Mrs. Welch waves me over. “So,” she asks quietly, “have you started working on your speech? ”
I don’t know what she’s talking about. “Speech? ”
“About your adventures over the summer!” she explains. “As an inventor! And a businessperson!”
Oh, right. I completely forgot about that. “I’m thinking about it,” I say. “Getting my thoughts organized.”
She smiles and nods, as though we’re sharing a secret. “Very good! Well, I look forward to it. And I’m sure your fellow students do too.”
In science class Mr. Palnacchio takes me aside too, wanting to talk more about which lessons I might be willing to teach. “Now, I know you can’t reveal any secrets about the All Ball, but based on the way it changes color, I was thinking you might like to teach the Science of Color unit,” he suggests. “After all, I thought I understood color science, but I have no idea how you get the ball to change from white to brown to orange. Fascinating!”
I love science, but I can’t teach a class in it. What if some of my classmates started goofing around? How would I get them to stop? I’d rather be goofing around myself. I tell Mr. Palnacchio I’m not really sure about helping him teach the class, but I’ll keep thinking about it.
It seems as though the teachers are determined to give me lots of things to think about. As if I don’t already have plenty to think about.
At lunch more kids come up to me with their idea
s for inventions, all of them hoping to make millions of dollars. Here are some of their ideas:
• A knife that comes prepackaged with peanut butter and jelly in the handle.
• Shoes that can change from sneakers to flip-flops to dress shoes with the touch of a button. (I think maybe the All Ball inspired that one.)
• Flying skateboards. (Pretty sure they saw that one in a movie.)
• A device you can hide in your mouth that turns you into a great singer.
No one other than Manny ever used to be interested in talking with me about inventions. But now that I’ve had a successful one, everyone wants to talk to me about inventions! I can’t get them to talk about anything else! I like talking about inventions, but not all the time.
By the end of the day I feel lousy, like the time Manny dared me to ride the MegaCoaster seventeen times in a row. My guilt over not really inventing the All Ball is making me feel even worse than the MegaCoaster did. (By the way, I was only able to ride it thirteen times before I threw up. And after that they wouldn’t let me back on the ride.)
I can’t take it anymore. I need to talk to Manny.
The Next Big Thing
WHEN PHILO AND I GET to the office, Manny’s already there. I smell pizza. Manny is eating a slice.
“Sales figures look good,” Manny says, staring at his computer. “Especially South America. Which is a little surprising, since I thought they only loved to play soccer down there.”
Philo sniffs around, then settles into his bed in the corner. I hit the punching bag. Whap! “Manny, we need to talk.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s what we’re doing right now,” he says, still staring at his computer.
I sit down next to him. “No, we need to really talk. About something important.”
Manny finally looks up from his screen, surprised. “What could possibly be more important than sales figures? ”
“The whole thing,” I say, spreading my arms open. “I want to talk about the whole thing.”