Billy Sure, Kid Entrepreneur

by Luke Sharpe

  Manny gets up and comes over to the foosball table. “What’s wrong? I know you’re under a lot of pressure to come up with this Sibling Silencer, but you’ll do it. Just like you did the All Ball.”

  It’s time to tell him. I’m sick of this secret. Maybe I’m finally fed up, or maybe I’m just tired, but, either way, it’s time to come clean to Manny.

  “I didn’t.”

  Manny looks totally confused. “Didn’t what?   ”

  “Didn’t come up with the All Ball. I’m a complete fraud.”

  For a second Manny’s speechless. “You mean you . . . stole the idea for the All Ball?

  I shake my head. “No, I didn’t steal it. It was . . . given to me.”

  “By who?   ”

  “I don’t know.”

  Manny sits down on the closest chair. “Okay, I’m totally confused. You didn’t invent the All Ball, but you didn’t steal it. Someone gave it to you. But you don’t know who.”

  So I tell him everything. About how I was struggling with the plans for the All Ball, trying for the breakthrough that would make it possible. About how I went to bed, and in the morning the blueprints were right there on my desk in my bedroom. And how I was so excited to have the solution to the problem, I just shared it with Manny, forgetting to mention how I got it. And then the whole thing just took off like a rocket, and I was too busy (and guilty) to tell Manny where the plans came from.

  I’m afraid Manny’s going to be mad at me for holding out on him, but he isn’t. He’s just confused.

  “That’s . . . bizarre! Why would someone draw up blueprints and then just give them to you anonymously? And never come forward, even when the All Ball’s a huge success? Who would do that?   ”

  We talk about my family, since they were right there in the house. “Emily, no. Doesn’t make sense,” Manny says emphatically. “Your dad? He’s a good artist. I bet he could draw plans.”

  “That’s what I thought. But inventing’s not his thing. Or keeping secrets.”

  “Your mom? Was she home then?   ”

  “Yeah, she was home. I guess it’s possible she did it. But I don’t get why she wouldn’t just say, ‘Here. I did this for you.’ She knows how guilty this secret would make me feel, and she wouldn’t want to do that.”

  “Guilty?   ” Manny says, making a face. “Listen, whoever left those blueprints for you wanted you to use them! They wanted you to make the All Ball! And you did. So you did exactly what they wanted you to do! You have nothing to feel guilty about.”

  Somehow I’d never thought about it that way. I feel about ten thousand times better. Reason #1001 why Manny is the greatest CFO and best friend: He always makes me feel better when I’m superlow.

  “How about a slice?   ” Manny suggests. We go to the pizza dispenser and pick our toppings.

  “Okay,” Manny says after he’s bitten through a long string of mozzarella cheese, “now I understand why you’ve been feeling like a fraud. But let me ask you something. Before these mysterious blueprints showed up, had you done some work on the All Ball?   ”

  I chew and swallow. “Yeah, of course. You know I had. Tons of work. I’d been working for weeks.”

  “And were the blueprints completely different from anything you’d come up with?   ”

  “No. They followed the same lines I’d been following. But they solved a couple of crucial problems that had stumped me.”

  Manny smiled. “That’s what I thought. See, you’re not a fraud at all. You’re still an inventor. I’ve known you a long time, and I think you’re a genius.”

  That’s really nice to hear. I don’t think Manny’s ever actually called me that. Emily’s called me genius lots of times, but she’s always being sarcastic. I can tell that Manny really means it.

  Manny finishes his slice. He picks up a small All Ball and starts tossing it up toward the ceiling and catching it. “So it seems to me that you’ve just lost your confidence. The mystery of where these blueprints came from is eating you up inside.”

  I pick up the All Ball’s remote and aim it at the ball. When it goes up, it’s a golf ball. When it comes down, it’s a tennis ball. Manny catches it and tosses it like he doesn’t even notice the change.

  “What we have to do,” Manny continues, “is solve that mystery, so you can stop thinking about it and concentrate on the Sibling Silencer.”

  The ball goes up a tennis ball and comes down a hockey puck.

  “How are we going to solve it?   ” I ask.

  “I don’t know,” Manny admits. “But figuring out a way to solve the blueprint mystery is my new number-one priority. Right now, that is the most important thing!”

  The ball goes up a hockey puck and comes down a Ping-Pong ball.

  “More important than sales figures?   ” I ask with a small smile.

  Manny’s so shocked by that idea he drops the Ping-Pong ball. It bounces across the garage floor and Philo chases it.

  “Let’s not get crazy!” Manny says.

  Manny with a Plan

  THAT NIGHT I SLEEP BETTER than I have in weeks.

  At breakfast Emily says, “Not that I really want to, but do you need me to look at more of those stupid videos? I could use the money.”

  “For what? Did they get a new shipment of clothes at Goths ‘R’ Us?   ” I ask as I eat my bowl of cereal. (Luckily, Dad hasn’t turned his gourmet ambitions to breakfast. Yet. He likes to paint early in the morning. He says he loves the light.)

  “Ha-ha,” Emily says. “Hilarious, genius. So do you need your vice president again or what?   ”

  “Not right now,” I answer. “We’ve got more on our plate than we can handle. The last thing we need is another Next Big Thing. But I guess eventually we’ll have to get back to the videos. They keep coming in.”

  She looks disappointed for a second, but her face quickly slides back into who cares mode. “Okay, whatever,” she says, getting up from the table. “There’s always asking Dad for money. I think I’ll ask him right now. Here’s a little tip from your big sister: When he’s painting, Dad’ll say yes to just about anything so he can get right back to his work.”

  Like I don’t already know that. How does she think I got permission to get Philo in the first place?

  My school day really isn’t that bad. Having gotten some decent sleep really helps make the day better! Plus, no one asks me to lend them money, or teach their class, or give an inspirational speech. I hand out a couple of Next Big Thing cards, but by now most of the kids at Fillmore Middle School who have ideas for inventions have already gotten cards.

  One of the kids I give a card to is a short sixth grader. His invention idea is “underpants that secretly make you strong, like a superhero.” Since I’m not feeling like a zombie today, I actually smile and encourage him to keep working on it.

  “Make a video and send it in!” I say.

  “I will!” he says, taking the card and running off. When he gets to the end of the hall, he sticks his arms out like he’s flying.

  When I stop back home before going to the office, I pick up Philo. As usual he’s thrilled to see me.

  Philo seems to be in a rush to get to the office. Maybe he’s hoping for some pizza. He’s really pulling on the leash, so we start running. Philo practically drags me all the way to Manny’s house.

  “Hey!” I say as I enter the office. “How’s it going? How are the latest sales figures?   ”

  “Oh, I haven’t checked,” Manny says.

  That’s unusual.

  “I’ve been too busy thinking about your problem, the blueprint mystery. And I think I’ve come up with a way to solve it!”

  I take off Philo’s leash and hang it on a hook. He does a quick sniff-around and then settles into his bed in the corner. I toss him a treat from a jar we keep at the office.

  “Great!” I tell Manny.

  Manny dispenses himself an orange-lime cola and takes
a drink. Then he says, “Okay, here’s what I’m thinking.”

  He walks over to a dry-erase board mounted to the garage door. He sets his drink on a table and picks up a marker.

  “Some nice person left you the blueprints for the All Ball,” he says, drawing a smiling face on the whiteboard. “Let’s call them X.” He writes a big X above the face.

  “Hi, X,” I say.

  Manny continues. “Person X obviously wanted to help you. He or she likes you. Maybe even loves you.” He draws a heart on the board.

  “So I’m guessing that if this person sees you really worried about another invention, they’ll want to help you again,” Manny says, drawing a worried face, with a frowning mouth and eyebrows pointing up. “That’s just logical.”

  “Another invention? You mean like the Sibling Silencer?   ”

  “Exactly!” Manny says, writing Sib Sil on the board. “Have you been talking to your family about your struggles?   ”

  I think about it and shake my head. “No,” I say. “I guess Dad and Emily might have noticed me working late in my room, but I haven’t said anything about what I’m working on. I don’t want Dad to worry. Emily probably knows we picked the Sibling Silencer, since I’ve tested it on her a couple of times, but I doubt she knows I’m worried about it. Or cares.”

  Manny smiles. “I think it’s time to lay out the bait and let them know you’re worried.”

  • • •

  Manny, Philo, and I walk into the house just in time for dinner. “What’s that smell?   ” Manny whispers, looking scared.

  Dad’s in the kitchen, cooking.

  “Don’t worry,” I reassure Manny. “It’ll be okay. Remember, you’re doing this for the good of Sure Things, Inc. The company’s very existence may depend on your ability to eat my dad’s cooking.”

  Manny still looks scared. “But I don’t know if I can.”

  “If it gets really bad,” I whisper, “just suck on the ice cubes in your drink before you take a bite. The cold helps kill the taste.”

  “Can’t I just sneak my food to Philo?   ” Manny asks. “I thought that’s what dogs were for. They’re like garbage disposals with legs.”

  I shake my head. “When Dad’s cooking, Philo steers clear of the kitchen.”

  Manny sniffs the air. “Smart dog.”

  “Hey, Dad,” I say as we walk into the kitchen. “Is it okay if Manny stays for dinner?   ”

  Dad looks up from chopping something that resembles a brain. “Of course! We’ve got plenty! Manny, you can tell me what you think of my latest creation.”

  “What are you making?   ” Manny asks, trying to erase all the fear from his voice.

  “MAC AND CHEESE!” says Dad.

  Manny breathes a sigh of relief.

  “With garlic and cauliflower!” Dad continues.

  “Wow, my two favorites,” Manny says. “I always ask for them on my birthday instead of cake.”

  “Well, isn’t that lucky!” Dad cries, not picking up on Manny’s sarcasm. “I’ll have to give you an EXTRA-BIG PORTION!”

  The blood drains from Manny’s face.

  Since Manny’s here, we eat in the dining room instead of the breakfast nook. Dad even gets out our nicer plates and the real glasses instead of the plastic ones.

  “Are we celebrating something?   ” Emily asks, puzzled.

  “Sure, why not?   ” Dad says. “Let’s celebrate the success of the All Ball and Sure Things, Inc.! We’ve all been so busy that we haven’t really taken the time to celebrate together!”

  As we push the food around on our plates, holding ice cubes in our mouths, Manny and I exchange a look. Dad’s just given us a good cue to put our plan into action.

  “Thanks, Dad,” I say, trying a bite of the mutant mac and cheese and then quickly spitting it into my napkin. “But actually, to tell the truth, things aren’t going all that smoothly at Sure Things, Inc.”

  Dad stops eating to look at me, concerned. “Really? What’s the matter? Is one of the big sports equipment companies giving you trouble? They’re probably not too happy having five of their products replaced by just one of yours. But that’s business! COMPETITIVE!”

  As an artist, Dad basically knows one thing about business: It’s competitive. He says that’s why he never wanted to go into business, but from what I’ve seen, art is incredibly competitive too. Maybe even more than business.

  “No,” I say, “it’s not that. It’s the new product we’re working on. Our Next Big Thing.”

  “I helped them find it,” Emily volunteers in a smug voice. “I’m their D.U.M.B. vice president.”

  Dad gives Emily a look. He doesn’t know that Emily uses the D.U.M.B. system. “That’s not a very nice thing to call yourself.”

  Manny says the stuff we decided he’d say. (He actually insisted on writing it down and memorizing it.) “You see, Mr. Sure—”

  “Please, Manny,” Dad interrupts. “Call me Bryan.”

  “Okay . . . Bryan,” Manny says a little awkwardly. “Anyway, developing a new product is very challenging. Billy’s got to solve a lot of problems and get everything just right. And unfortunately, I’ve put some extra pressure on him.”

  We explain about the deadline for the Sibling Silencer and how we have to have it ready in time to demonstrate it on the national morning news show.

  “I don’t care when you have to have it ready,” Emily says. “You’re not testing it on me again!” She turns to Dad. “Billy tested it on me, Dad. Like I was some kind of . . . lab rat or something.”

  “Billy, stop using your sister as a lab rat,” Dad says to me automatically. “So you’re worried about inventing this Sibling Silencer thing in time? Meeting your deadline?   ”

  I nod a little too vigorously. “Exactly. So worried. SO VERY WORRIED. SO VERY, VERY WORRIED.”

  Emily shoots me a look. “And so very, very weird.”

  I ignore her. “In fact, I’m so worried that I don’t think I’ll be able to finish my dinner.”

  Dad looks a little crestfallen. “Oh dear.” Then he perks up. “Still, that just means more for you, Manny!” He ladles another big helping onto Manny’s plate.

  • • •

  After dinner Manny comes up to my room.

  “How do you think it went?   ” I ask.

  “Eating that dinner made me never want to eat again,” Manny groans, clutching his stomach.

  “I don’t mean the food,” I say. “I mean our plan. Do you think they got the message? That I’m worried about inventing the Sibling Silencer?   ”

  Manny nods, smiling a little. “I think so. I think they picked up your subtle hint: ‘I’m so worried. So very, very worried.’ ”

  I hold up my hands. “Okay, so I may have overdone it a little bit.”

  “Or a lot.”

  “The important thing is, now my dad and Emily both know I’m worried. So if either one of them slipped me the blueprints for the All Ball, they might do it again for the Sibling Silencer.”

  “What about your mom? Should you send her a worried e-mail?   ”

  I’d been thinking about that. “No, because she’s on the other side of the planet, probably, so even if she wanted to help me out, she couldn’t just fly home and sneak some blueprints onto my desk. So now what?   ”

  Manny jumps up enthusiastically and walks over to my dry-erase board. He picks up a blue marker. “Okay!” he says. “We’ve laid out the bait. Now we just have to set the trap!”

  For good measure, he writes TRAP on the whiteboard.

  “What are we trying to catch, exactly?   ” I ask. All this talk of bait and traps has got me a little confused.

  “For a genius, you can be kind of an idiot,” Manny says in a friendly voice. “We’re trying to catch whoever put the All Ball blueprints on your desk. Let’s call him or her the antithief.” He tries to draw a rolled-up set of blueprints on the board, but they end up k
ind of looking like a burrito. Which I could go for right about now.

  “Are we thinking some kind of cage that drops down from the ceiling?   ” I ask.

  Manny thinks for a minute, tapping on the whiteboard with his marker, leaving little blue marks. “As much as I like the idea of a cage, I think it presents several problems. One: How would we hang it in your room so that the antithief wouldn’t notice?   ”

  “Unless it was an invisible cage, like a force field of some kind,” I suggest.

  “We seem to keep coming back to force fields, but we have to admit they don’t actually exist yet,” Manny points out.

  “True. And we don’t have time to invent one.”

  “Right. Let’s put force fields on hold for now,” Manny agrees. “So when we say ‘trap,’ we don’t necessarily mean a cage. We might just mean some kind of alarm that goes off, waking you so you catch the antithief red-handed.”

  To indicate the alarm, Manny draws a bell on the board.

  “An alarm sounds good to me,” I say, getting up and walking over to pet Philo.

  “It’d be pretty simple to rig up alarms that get tripped by someone knocking into or stepping on something,” I go on. “Like a booby trap. If someone is trying to leave blueprints for the Sibling Silencer on my desk and unknowingly steps on a piece of string, an alarm goes off.”

  I draw a simple diagram on the dry-erase board. “We’ll attach one end of a piece of string to my desk and the other end to an alarm, but make sure it’s low enough so that the antithief doesn’t trip on the string. But tight enough so if you step on the string, you trip the alarm. We can plant a few of these so that the anti-thief is sure to step on one.”

  It doesn’t take us long to put together an alarm system with stuff I have in my bedroom.

  “There,” I say, stepping back to admire our work. “If someone tries to put another set of plans on my desk in the middle of the night, I’ll know it right away.”

  “Let’s hope they do,” Manny says, crossing his fingers. “We really need those plans.”