The Unusual Mind of Vincent Shadow

by Tim Kehoe

  “Please, boys, please put the inventions down,” Calli said. “We don’t want anyone’s invention to break before tomorrow’s competition.”

  “So this is the kite?” George Sr. asked.

  “Yup.”

  “I see you have wire instead of string. What, this big box zaps the kite somehow?” George Sr. asked.

  “Yeah, something like that,” Vincent said as he grabbed the high voltage spool out of Mr. Spinowski’s hands.

  “Be careful, Vincent,” Stella whispered in his ear. “I don’t trust those Spinowskis.”

  “Okay, you with the kite, could you kneel in front of the larger boy in the red shirt?” the photographer said.

  “Great. And you two”—the photographer pointed to Liam and Seamus—“could you kneel down in front, too? Great. Now move closer. A little closer everyone, come on, no one here bites. Good,” the photographer said as he started snapping pictures.

  “Great. Now let’s get a picture of each of you alone with your invention. You,” the photographer pointed to Alli. “Come on over here. Great. Perfect.” He snapped a few shots of Alli and the remote-controlled Slinky in front of the window.

  “All right, let’s get the kite boy next. Please come on over here,” the photographer said.

  Vincent stood up and carefully held his kite out in front of him. The kite’s tail trailed behind as he walked toward the photographer. George Jr. looked over to his father. His father motioned with his foot. George Jr. shrugged his shoulders. He had no idea what his father was trying to tell him. His father pointed down. George Jr. looked down and saw the tail of the kite trailing behind Vincent. George Jr. stepped on it, and the kite came to an instant stop. Unfortunately, Vincent did not. The kite ripped in half. Vincent spun around to see what was wrong, got tangled in the kite tail, and began to fall. He landed on the kite, breaking it into pieces.

  Stella ran to his side. Vincent didn’t say a word. He just lay there. The kite was a tangled mess.

  “Oh no!” people yelled. The Spinowskis were smiling. With Vincent out of the contest, George Sr. thought his son was sure to win. A summer internship at Whizzer Toys would provide George Jr. with plenty of opportunities to steal inventions from the great Howard G. Whiz.

  “Oh boy, oh boy,” Calli said kneeling down next to Vincent. “This has never happened before. Maybe you can glue it back together.”

  “I’m sure we can fix it,” Stella said.

  Vincent said nothing.

  “Are you okay?” Stella asked.

  Vincent said nothing. He stood up. He bunched the tangled mess into a ball, walked over to the trash can, and threw the kite away.

  “Are you okay, Vincent?” Stella asked again.

  Vincent nodded yes and then asked Calli, “Which way to the bathroom?”

  “Down the hall,” she said. “Take the first left and then a quick right.”

  Vincent couldn’t believe his bad luck. It had taken almost every minute of every day for the last two weeks to build his kite. There was no way he could build another one by the next morning. Devastated, he slowly wandered down the hallway.

  Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be, he thought. Maybe I am not meant to be an inventor.

  Vincent was dazed. He thought he had taken a left, but maybe it was a right. Or a left and then a right. The hallway seemed to go on forever. He couldn’t remember what Calli had said, and he wasn’t quite sure where he was now.

  THE ROOM OF FIRSTS

  26

  People collect all kinds of things: stamps, baseball cards, spoons, and even salt and pepper shakers. Howard Whiz collected inventions. He had one of the first pedal bicycles, invented in 1818. He had one of Edison’s first lightbulbs from 1879. He had the first drinking straw (1888), movie camera (1891), paper clip (1899), box of crayons (1903), and hair dryer (1920). He even had one of Les Paul’s electric guitars, which he first built in 1941.

  Vincent couldn’t believe his eyes. He had accidentally stumbled into Howard G. Whiz’s private museum. It was a large room with shelves on all four walls. The shelves held some of the greatest inventions of the twentieth century. Hundreds of them, each with a brass plate inscribed with the invention, the inventor, and the date of the invention. The Monopoly game, patented by Charles B. Darrow in 1935. The skateboard, built by Bill and Mark Richards in 1958. The teddy bear, invented by Morris Michtom in 1902, Itch Toilet Paper, invented by Mike Spinowski, George Jr.’s grandfather, in 1935, and the Slinky, invented by Richard James in 1943.

  Four large, red curtains were hung in the middle of the room, concealing what Vincent imagined to be the most magnificent invention of all. The curtains were surrounded by the other inventions that were too large to fit on the shelves. There was a 1938 Triumph Speed Twin motorcycle, invented by Edward Turner. Even a diving suit invented in 1921 by the magician Harry Houdini.

  Vincent walked slowly from invention to invention, reading every name and date. Then he saw it. The invention he had seen in the basement of the Met. The one Stella had cranked up. It had been cleaned up and several new pieces had been added to the device, but Vincent knew it was—

  “One of Tesla’s greatest inventions,” a voice said behind him.

  Vincent turned around to see a frail-looking old man dressed all in white.

  “Mr. Whiz? Sir?” Vincent said, startled. “I’m sorry, sir. I was, I was just looking for the bathroom.”

  Vincent noticed the kite on Mr. Whiz’s tie.

  “It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”

  “No, Vincent. The honor is all mine.”

  Vincent couldn’t believe the great Howard G. Whiz knew his name.

  “I see you are admiring one of the latest additions to my collection,” Howard said, leaning on his cane.

  “Yes, it’s beautiful.”

  “You know, I met him once when I was a little boy,” Howard said, motioning to a photo of Tesla on the wall. “Yes, he had striking eyes. They were a brilliant blue. Most unusual,” Howard said.

  “Wow. What was he like?” Vincent asked.

  “Charming. Brilliant. Too brilliant for me to actually understand.” Howard chuckled. “I didn’t understand most of what Tesla said, but I think you would have, Vincent. I just saw your kite on TV. It’s brilliant, Vincent. Just brilliant.”

  Vincent didn’t know what Mr. Whiz was talking about. His kite hadn’t been on TV.

  “And my cousin Dennis has great things to say about you,” Howard added.

  “Do you mind if I ask you what’s behind the curtain over there?” Vincent said.

  “Ah, that, my boy, is one of Tesla’s most ambitious and misunderstood inventions,” Howard said. “It isn’t done yet, but maybe you will be around this summer to help me finish it.”

  “I saw this invention at the Met, but it didn’t have all of these pieces.”

  “Yes, it’s taken me quite some time to piece it all together.”

  “What is it, Mr. Whiz?”

  “You are looking at one of the first vacuum tube Tesla coils,” Howard answered.

  “Does it work?”

  “It sure does,” Howard replied. “Most everything Tesla built, worked. It’s criminal, what they did to him. Just criminal. He’s given us all so much, and we let him die penniless and hungry. They called him crazy at the end of his life. Crazy because he had the courage to create. People are too quick to dismiss what they don’t understand.”

  “How did you find all the pieces?”

  “It wasn’t easy, Vincent. Tesla lived in several different hotels. Often he would move, leaving notebooks and prototypes behind. I’ve spent the last twelve years scouring New York and looking for Tesla prototypes, trying to put his collection back together,” Howard said.

  “Is this a—” Hundreds of glowing bubbles filled the room as Vincent touched the glass tube attached to the Tesla coil. Vincent could hear the blood rushing to his head. The room began to spin. Not now, he thought. The bubbles glowed brightly against the now completely
black room. Vincent waved his hand in the air in an effort to pop dozens of bubbles that seemed to be floating around him. A strange device came into focus. It looked like his Pop Tunz bubble blowers attached to the vacuum tube Tesla coil.

  “That’s it!” he muttered. The solution to Pop Tunz had been right in front of him. “The vacuum tube keeps the high voltage from getting out of control.”

  “Right! Absolutely right! See, I knew you would understand Tesla’s work. I knew it!” Howard said.

  Vincent could see the solution clearly. But the solution and the bubbles were the only things he could see. The rest of the world was dark.

  “Are you okay, Vincent?” Howard asked.

  “Yes sir, I… I just got something in my eyes. Would you mind showing me how to get back to the group, sir? I have a lot of work to do before tomorrow.”

  FAME

  27

  Erik Norsted e-mailed the pictures of “this amazing kid and his windless kite” to his wife. Charlie and Maria Girsch had also taken pictures of “some kid flying a kite inside the airport!” Rollie Black shot a video of Vincent and posted it online. Someone recognized him in the video and by 6:00 PM Vincent was famous.

  By 8:00 PM more than twenty-five million people had seen the photos and watched the video of Vincent and his kite. Reporters were camped out in the Shadows’ front yard, wanting to know more about the amazing young inventor already being hailed as the next Thomas Edison. It seemed like everyone had seen the video. Everyone but Vincent. As Vincent blindly felt his way down the hall, trying to get back to Stella, he had no knowledge of his newfound fame.

  “Vincent, are you all right? I was getting worried about you,” Stella said.

  “I’m great. I met Mr. Whiz!” Vincent said.

  Stella looked down the hallway.

  “What was he like? Was he nice?”

  “He was charming. But I had an idea and, well… well, I need your help getting out of here. We have a lot to do.”

  “No problem. Here, I grabbed your kite out of the garbage. You know, I get the feeling the Spinowskis tripped you on purpose.” Stella looked over to the table and both generations of Spinowskis were wearing stupid grins.

  “Oh, there you are, Mr. Shadow,” Calli said. “I reread the rules and unfortunately we are unable to grant you an extension. You need to fix your invention by the time the contest starts at 8:00 AM tomorrow morning or I’m afraid you will be disqualified.”

  “Isn’t there anything you can—” Stella started to ask, but Vincent cut her off.

  “No,” Vincent said as he held the tangled mess that used to be idea No. 50. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll be there tomorrow morning at 8:00 AM. Do you have a bag I can put this in?”

  Stella looked at the food-soaked, tangled mess in Vincent’s hand and said, “How are you going to fix it in time, Vincent?”

  “Come on. We have to go shopping before we go to the lab,” Vincent said.

  “Lab? What lab?”

  DANGER BOY

  28

  “Hey, Vincent! Long time no see,” the clerk said from behind the counter.

  “Hey, Googie. How’s it going?” Vincent asked.

  “Good, man, good. Dude, I haven’t seen your dad in here for months. He hasn’t stopped playing his guitar, has he?”

  “No. He’s just been real busy with work.” Vincent didn’t want to explain that his dad had met a woman online and destroyed his life by moving them to Minnesota.

  “What can I do you for?”

  “I need—I mean, my dad needs some new vacuum tubes for his guitar amp.”

  “Cool, cool. So he’s still playing.” Googie walked out from behind the counter. “Here, he likes the Groove Tubes the best.”

  “Great,” Vincent said. “Give me three Groove Tubes.”

  With his new Groove Tubes in hand, Vincent led the way.

  “What are we doing here?” Stella asked as they stood across the street from their old house.

  “We need to get in to my old room.”

  “Your old room? Why?”

  “I have some things hidden there,” Vincent said. “Things that might help us win the contest.”

  “Hidden things? What kind of hidden things?” Stella asked.

  “You know, invention things.”

  “Invention things?”

  “Yeah, like hidden-invention-lab kinds of things,” Vincent said.

  “What? Like you have the Batcave hidden in your old room?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Well then, maybe we should shoot our rappelling ropes around the chimney and swing through your bedroom window.”

  “Come on, Stella. I’m serious.”

  “I have an idea,” Stella said. “Why don’t we just knock on the door?”

  “Yeah, then what?”

  “I don’t know.” Stella started walking across the street. “I’m sure you’ll think of something—inventor boy.” Stella rang the doorbell.

  Mrs. Zimmerman opened the door. “Hello. Can I help you?”

  “Hi. I know this is going to sound a little strange, but my sister and I use to live here and we were—”

  “Oh my, you’re him, aren’t you? You’re the kid on TV with the kite. We saw you flying your kite in that airport. Amazing,” Mrs. Zimmerman said. “Oh, my son Timmy has some friends over for his birthday. I know they would love to meet you. Do you have time to come in?”

  Vincent looked at Stella. “Sure,” they said together.

  “You can set your bag down here. Timmy and the rest of the kids are in the kitchen.”

  A dozen children were huddled around a cake that read “HAPPY 7TH BIRTHDAY DANGER BOY.”

  Danger Boy, known to some as Timmy Zimmerman, had always wanted to be a stuntman. And that had always terrified his mother. At the tender age of two, little Timmy slid down an entire flight of stairs headfirst on his pillowcase. At the age of three, Timmy had jumped off the top bunk of his bed and landed—headfirst—in a pile of clothes. His mom bought him a helmet for his fourth birthday.

  By the time he turned five, Timmy was building makeshift ramps and performing death-defying stunts with his bike. The summer of his sixth birthday, he jumped his bike over Katelyn Meyers, Katelyn’s brother Nick, and their dog Buddy. He earned the nickname “Danger Boy” that summer.

  “Timmy, this is—oh, I didn’t get your name,” Mrs. Zimmerman said.

  “Vincent Shadow.”

  “This is Vincent. He’s that boy who invented that windless kite.”

  “Happy Birthday, Timmy—or should I say—Danger Boy.”

  “What are you doing at my birthday party?”

  “Well, I actually used to live here and—”

  “And we thought it would be fun to see who lives here now,” Stella interjected.

  “Did you bring the kite?” Danger Boy asked.

  “No. No kite. But,” Vincent was desperately trying to think of a way to get upstairs, “I bet we could invent something together.”

  “Oh, yeah? Like what?” Danger Boy challenged.

  “Well, I could show you how to build a crossbow out of an old shoe, clothes hangers, and a couple of pencils. I bet we could find that stuff up in your room,” Vincent said.

  “Sounds lame,” Danger Boy said.

  “Yeah. Lame, dude,” the other kids chimed in.

  “Aahhhh, okay.” Vincent looked around the kitchen. “What if I make fireballs shoot from your birthday cake?”

  The boy sitting next to Timmy started to say, “You can’t do—” but Timmy pushed his hand up against his friend’s chest to silence him.

  “Show me,” Danger Boy said.

  “Okay. I’m gonna need to cut a piece of your cake here.” Vincent cut a piece of birthday cake and put it on a paper plate. He stuck a birthday candle in the middle of the cake.

  “I need matches and a large glass bowl.”

  “Oh, are you sure this is safe?” Mrs. Zimmerman asked as she handed Vincent matches
and a large bowl.

  “Good point. Remember, guys, not to try this at home without your—”

  “Get on with it,” Danger Boy demanded.

  Vincent set the timer for forty-five seconds, lit the candle, and placed the glass bowl over the cake with the lit candle. He closed the microwave door and pushed START.

  Danger Boy held his breath as he watched the cake spin around inside the microwave. Soon the candle flame flickered and then a fireball shot from the candle and seemed to stick to the top of the bowl… still glowing. Then another fireball, followed by another, and yet another. Soon there was a massive fireball trapped inside the glass bowl.

  “Awesome,” Danger Boy said as the microwave beeped and went black. “Do it again!”

  “Did you like that?” Vincent asked.

  “Yeah!” the kids yelled.

  Even Stella was amazed. “How did you do that?”

  “That’s nothing,” Vincent said. He pointed to Danger Boy’s Harley-Davidson T-shirt. “I see you like motorcycles.”

  “Yeah,” Danger Boy answered.

  “You should see his room. It’s covered with motorcycle posters,” the boy sitting next to Danger Boy said.

  “I’d love to see the posters in your room. Can you show me?” Vincent asked.

  “Yeah, that would be cool,” Stella quickly added.

  “Later. Come on. More fireworks,” Danger Boy said.

  “I bet you have more cool motorcycle T-shirts in your closet. I would love to see them.” Vincent was desperate to get upstairs. Time was running out.

  “Shadow, on with the show,” Danger Boy insisted.

  “Right. Right. Ah, who wants to see a—a hydrogen- powered rocket? I mean, who wants to see a crazy, high-powered, dangerously fast rocket?”

  “We do! We do!” Danger Boy and his friends were now surrounding Vincent.

  “Do you have any hydrogen peroxide in the house, Mrs. Zimmerman?” Vincent asked.

  “I don’t know. There might be some up in the closet.”