Ethan Marcus Stands Up

by Michele Weber Hurwitz

  And the worst part is, nothing’s changed. My legs still fall asleep and my brain still shuts down and scomas still happen on a daily basis.

  I close the book with a loud slap. The little carrot seed dude wouldn’t have sold out and written a dumb Reflection essay. He would have done something. He would have believed.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Brilliance (I Think)

  ETHAN

  Later, when I get into bed, I put the book next to me. I’d appreciate it if you don’t mention that to anyone. No one needs to know.

  For some reason, I start thinking about how Gilardi wouldn’t take the Invention Day form when I tried to give it to her. How she told me to sleep on it. I don’t know what she thought I’d come up with after a night of sleep, because people who invent things gotta have way different dreams than the rest of us. Involving electronic circuits and jet engines and atomic particles, I’d think.

  I usually dream about food. Or showing up at volleyball tryouts in my underwear and without my gym shoes.

  Except everything must be bouncing around in my head, because I don’t dream about food or tryouts. I have this mixed-up dream with Gilardi waving a pencil and running away from me, Delman yelling at me to sit down or I’ll go to jail, and then it’s all calm and I’m planting carrots. I’m wearing Wesley Pinto’s boots through the whole thing, but they’re way too big and I keep tripping.

  Finally I wake up. The weird dream fades away, and all I’m left with is an idea. It just comes to me. And it’s a way to solve my scoma problem, and maybe even cure ESD forever.

  I’m not sure if I’ll feel the same way tomorrow, but in the quiet darkness of my room, the idea sounds brilliant. Amazing. Doable. Rooms at two a.m. are helpful in that way. Very nonjudgmental.

  Are you ready for this? It’s an invention.

  I know, I know.

  I know what I said, and I know what you’re thinking—that this is Erin’s department—but guess what? I have that exhilarated feeling.

  I get out of bed and tiptoe into the hallway, then sneak downstairs, carefully making my way to the garage because there’s not even one light on in our entire house. In the garage, I flip on the light, then open the lid of the recycling bin.

  I have to dig a bit, but then I find it—the Invention Day registration form. It’s only a little crumpled, and sort of wet from being underneath a milk carton.

  I go back upstairs without Mom or Dad waking up, or Erin flinging open the door to her room and shining a flashlight in my eyes, demanding to know why I’m walking around in the middle of the night. Because she definitely would do something like that.

  Safely back in my room, I read over the form. Doesn’t seem too complicated. It’s only one page. Just a few blanks to fill in about your proposed invention. The form’s the easy part, but can I actually do this? Sure, I have an idea, and it sounds good right now, but making it a reality is a whole ’nother thing.

  What did Gilardi say? Science is life and life is science and all that. And how I should sleep on it, and “work within the system.” What does that even mean?

  I open my laptop and type that into the search bar. After finding lots of things that don’t explain it at all and don’t even make sense (because that’s the Internet), I stumble on this: To really change something, you must change the rules. Work within the system, not against it.

  Wait. What? Change the rules? Was Gilardi secretly telling me to work within the system to change McNutt rule number seven? Maybe she gets it and agrees kids shouldn’t have to sit at their desks all the time! Unlike Delman, she’d be the kind of teacher who would.

  It’s two thirty. I yawn, shut my laptop, and get back into bed.

  I slide The Carrot Seed under my pillow and pull up the comforter. I close my eyes, get that heavy feeling right before you fall asleep. And then I’m not in my bed, in my room, in my house. I’m standing at the top of the jungle gym, ready to jump.

  I can feel the cool air on my face and see the tips of my gym shoes balanced on the edge and hear the shouts of the kids on the playground. My hands are wrapped tightly around the metal poles, but I’m so tall, my head hits the top and I have to crouch.

  I’m twelve, not six.

  And I’m standing there, hoping I remember how to fly.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Adaptation

  BRIAN

  On Thursday, Ethan tells me on the bus that he thinks we should do Invention Day.

  I’m literally speechless for a few seconds. I was gonna tell him about seeing Jamie at Target and ask for his take on the situation, but then he comes up with this out of nowhere.

  He waves his hand in front of my face. “Hello? Did you hear what I just said?”

  “I don’t even know how to respond. Except, are you really Ethan Marcus, or an alien nerd who took over his body last night while he slept?”

  He laughs.

  I shake my head. “Two days in Reflection, they completely brainwashed you. I can’t believe it.”

  “No, really.”

  “No, really, what?”

  “Kowalski, I have an idea.”

  “You have an idea.”

  “Yes! So, hey, you know that little kid book The Carrot Seed?”

  “No. Never heard of it.”

  “Okay, doesn’t matter. You and me, we’re gonna make something for Invention Day.”

  I practically choke on my own saliva. “Invention Day. You and me? Brian Kowalski and Ethan Marcus.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What are we making?”

  “The desk-evator.”

  “Okay, sure. What the heck is that?”

  “I thought of the idea last night. It’s an invention that kids can put on their desks to raise up their desktop so they can stand instead of sit all day. Desk-evator, you know, like elevator.”

  “Piece of cake. When do we start?”

  Ethan elbows me. “I’m not joking.”

  “I know you’re not joking, and it’s scaring me. You and me, making this desk-evator thing? You realize that I’m better at breaking things than making them? This morning, I somehow broke off the refrigerator handle. My mom had to tape it back on.”

  “We can do this! How hard could it be?”

  I groan. “Hard.”

  “Listen. When they see how much better it is for kids not to be chained to their desks all day, they’ll change rule number seven.”

  “Rule number seven?”

  “Sit at your own desk. Feet and chair legs on the floor at all times.”

  “There’s a good reason they have that rule. When my brother was at McNutt, some kid tipped back in his chair and cracked his head open.”

  “That did not happen.”

  “Okay, but he got a concussion, apparently. Anyway, dude, I know you have an issue with sitting. Your scoma thing. I get it. But Invention Day isn’t the answer. I’m not doing it.”

  “You have to. I need you.”

  “Ethan, this is gonna require tools. Hammers and nails and stuff. And diagrams, models, probably even the use of geometry. And, like . . . engineering! We’d be a complete train wreck.”

  “No, we won’t.”

  “What teacher at McNutt would let a kid have a desk-evator on their desk anyway?”

  He grins, wiggles his eyebrows. “You never know. This is something called working within the system. Getting the rules to change.”

  I roll my eyes. “Oh, okay, sure. That makes perfect sense. Are you positive you didn’t fall out of bed and hit your head on something?”

  “No. Hey, what’d you say about your mom? How her standing desk is saving her life? People at work are able to stand. Why not at school?”

  “Because. It’s school.”

  He looks around the bus, then leans toward me. “Jamie Pappas will think you’re really smart. Apparently, she told Parneeta she likes smart guys.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Because if that’s not tru
e, you’re playing really dirty.”

  “I swear, it’s true.”

  “Does she also like short guys?”

  “That, I don’t know.”

  I think about it for approximately one second. “Okay, I changed my mind. I’m in.”

  We slap hands.

  The bus pulls up at McNutt and I grab my backpack. “You realize that besides making the desk-evator, which I don’t even know how that’s going to happen, you have to do a trifold display board. Total nightmare. The glue alone can kill you.”

  “I got it covered.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah.”

  Everyone stands and starts getting off the bus. I move to the aisle and wait for the kids in front of me to go. I always see her on the way to my locker, and when I get inside, there she is.

  Jamieeee.

  I know I’m obsessed. Don’t get on me about it. I can be obsessed if I want to.

  ETHAN

  I filled out the form this morning while I was eating my cereal. Erin was thankfully in the bathroom, “getting ready” for school. It takes her an hour to do what up there, I don’t know. I pretty much brush my teeth and I’m done.

  Anyway, the form. I had to answer some questions and explain what my proposed invention would be. Wasn’t too hard, like I thought. What, you don’t believe me? You want to see it? Okay, sure. Here it is:

  HAVE YOU ALWAYS DREAMED OF BECOMING A YOUNG INVENTOR? HAVE YOU FOUND AN INTERESTING PROBLEM AND THOUGHT OF A WAY TO SOLVE IT?

  Calling all ideas! We invite you to participate in McNutt Junior High’s second Invention Day, to be held November 9 at 7 p.m. in the gym. Make your invention, along with a trifold display board explaining the problem and how your invention will solve it, and you could earn a chance to receive an actual US patent.

  Please work on your own or with one and only one partner. Entrants will be judged in three categories: functionality, creativity, and marketability. To enter, please fill out this form and return it to Ms. Gilardi, eighth-grade science, room 9.

  1. Names and grade(s): Ethan Marcus, seventh grade, and Brian Kowalski, seventh grade.

  2. Explain the problem you plan to tackle: How kids sit all day in school and get fidgety and can’t concentrate and their brains turn to soup.

  3. Describe your proposed invention: The desk-evator. It will be this thing you can put on your desk to raise up the desktop so you can stand if you need to.

  4. Briefly explain how your invention will work: It will have a base, two sides that move up and down, and a top. It will clip onto the desk.

  5. Illustrate how this could be marketed: You know how when you go to a football game, you can rent a cushy seat and it clamps on the bleachers? Classrooms could have desk-evators available to fidgety kids who need them when they’ve had enough sitting. They could be in every school, basically, everywhere.

  That’s it. Not bad, huh?

  Once I’m off the bus and inside, I quickly walk to Gilardi’s room so I can turn in the form before the bell rings. And before my sister finds out and laughs hysterically in my face again.

  When I get there, Wesley’s sitting on the side counter, and it looks like he and Gilardi are hanging out or something.

  Gilardi waves. “Ethan, come in.”

  “Yeah, uh, hi.”

  Wesley eyes me, kicks his boots against the cabinet.

  “What can I do for you?” Gilardi asks.

  “So, I thought about it, and I decided to do Invention Day.”

  She clasps her hands. “Wonderful! I’m thrilled to hear that!”

  I give her my form as Wesley pushes himself off the counter and saunters over.

  Gilardi reads what I’ve written. “Quite an interesting idea. I’ve never seen this one before. Okay, you’re working with Brian Kowalski?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Great. I’m so glad. You won’t regret it. You’ll never forget this experience, I’ll tell you that much.” She pushes up her pink glasses. “What changed your mind, Ethan?”

  I kind of laugh. “Well, my spontaneous standing protest got me nowhere. So, I guess it was what you said about working within the system to change the rules.”

  I don’t really want to bring up The Carrot Seed, even though that’s part of it. I probably wouldn’t have anyway, but with Wesley there, for sure I’m not going into that. I don’t even want to imagine what he’d do if he found out I have a soft spot for a little kid book.

  Gilardi nods. “Good choice. Let me know if you run into any roadblocks. My door’s always open.”

  “Thanks. I will.” I walk out, then go up the stairs to math.

  To be honest, I told Brian I did, but I don’t have this whole thing figured out. Does anyone who invents something? Do they know exactly what they’re doing at first or do they just have an idea?

  Last night I read online that Thomas Edison, the light bulb guy, had thousands of fails before he got it right. Thousands! I can’t even believe he kept on trying after, like, five hundred. And the Wright Brothers crashed a bunch of planes before they got one to work.

  I know one thing for sure right now, and that’s okay: where to start.

  This weekend me and Brian are gonna plant a carrot seed.

  WESLEY

  “Loser,” I mutter.

  “I don’t think so,” Gilardi says. “He’s giving it a try. Nothing loser-ish about that.”

  “Whatever. Back to the seagulls. I still don’t get why they’re living in the park. They’re, like, homeless. Don’t they need the ocean? How do they have enough water?”

  “Actually, large populations of seagulls now live on land. It’s a great example of adaptation, Wesley. They’ve become urban birds. There’s ample food to be found in garbage cans, plenty of man-made ponds, as well as protection from their predators.”

  “People hate them.”

  “I wouldn’t say that. They’re quite aggressive, but very smart.”

  “They’re loud and hostile and cause trouble.”

  Gilardi lowers her glasses, studies me. She knows what I’m getting at. “Perhaps,” she says. “But they serve a purpose, like anything else. They’re important.”

  “Important? Some lost seagulls?”

  “Of course.”

  Her students start coming in.

  “See you after school?” she asks. “We’ll continue this interesting discussion?”

  I shrug to make it look like I don’t care.

  I leave the room and walk toward the gym. I have PE first. Kearney, the gym teacher, is as disappointed in me as Dad, I think. Kearney knows I quit wrestling. He’s always spewing crap like You’re not finished when you lose. You’re finished when you quit. And Winners train, losers complain.

  Yeah, right.

  I’m by the locker-room door when one of the wrestling guys shoves past me, then lets the door slam in my face. Thanks, man.

  Then I see Marcus in the hallway. Even if I wanted to try and say something to a kid like him—hey or how’s it goin’—it would come out stupid-sounding. He’s with his friend anyway.

  So I don’t say anything and I go into the locker room and pull off my boots and change for gym and just deal with it.

  Nothin’ else I can do.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The Basement

  ERIN

  Something is going on with my brother.

  At nine a.m. Saturday morning, Ethan’s awake and in the kitchen, wearing what he calls “school clothes,” which are jeans and a T-shirt that isn’t ripped. Usually, he doesn’t come downstairs until almost lunch, and every weekend, no matter if it’s August or January, he wears long shorts and these old, faded sleeveless shirts with—can I just mention this gross fact—his underarm hair poking out.

  Ew, right? I know.

  Anyway, I ask him what he’s doing up so early, but he shrugs and gets the cereal and milk, like this isn’t anything out of the ordinary. Then he stands at the counter eating his cereal, crunching and slurping
milk from the bowl.

  A half hour later, Brian Kowalski rings the doorbell and comes inside. Ethan takes the glue from the kitchen drawer and gets his laptop. Brian’s carrying a big plastic bag with who knows what inside, and a TRIFOLD DISPLAY BOARD. That’s when I knew for sure something was going on. The two of them with a trifold display board? It’s not safe.

  They go down to the basement, shutting the door behind them. When Zoe arrives, she and I get to work in the garage on our research with the invasive plant species, but I’m having trouble concentrating. I keep wondering what they’re doing in the basement. I mean, wouldn’t you?

  On top of it, when I go inside for a drink of water (and yes, to listen at the basement door), the printer in Dad’s office is spitting out page after page. Mom and Dad aren’t home, so I know it’s the boys. What are they printing on a Saturday morning, when Ethan always leaves his homework until the last minute on Sunday night?

  Finally I can’t stand it any longer. I tell Zoe we should take a break and casually mention that my brother and Brian are in the basement. “Let’s go say hi, okay?”

  Her cheeks get bright pink, and then she starts giggling, which turns into nervous-sounding hiccups. “I didn’t even know—hiccup—your brother—hiccup—was home.”

  I tilt my head. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine!” she squeaks.

  We go inside the house, and I softly open the basement door, then tiptoe down the stairs with Zoe right behind me.

  Our basement, by the way, is creepy and chilly and full of spiders. It’s unfinished, so there are all sorts of metal pipes and wood beams on the ceiling, plus a cement floor and walls, an infinite amount of spooky-looking cobwebs, and bare light bulbs. The only furniture is an old, lumpy sofa, a TV, and Dad’s broken air hockey table from when he was a kid.

  Ethan, for some reason, loves the basement. I do not. I barely ever go down there, but today, an exception must be made.