Supergifted

by Gordon Korman

  “I can’t come,” I told her. “They want me at school before the governor gets there.”

  There was a scuffle on the other end of the line, and a muffled voice barked, “Give me that phone!” Abigail came on the line. “Now listen, Noah. Heavy Metal isn’t performing, and if you don’t get your bony butt down here this minute—”

  I hung up on her. I once saw a YouTube video called “Keep Negativity Out of Your Life.” It seemed like good advice for a big day like today.

  “What was that all about?” my father asked.

  “Nothing,” I replied. “I think we should go to the school now. I want to be early.”

  We were in the car when my phone rang again. Donovan this time.

  “We really need you here, Noah. Everybody’s freaking out. Even Oz is losing it a little.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I can’t. We’re almost at school.”

  There was a very long pause. Then, “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

  “Don’t I always?”

  “All right.” Donovan sounded resigned. “Good luck.”

  That made me feel warm inside. Even though we hadn’t been getting along too well lately, he was still on my side. “Good luck to you, too,” I replied, and meant it. They were going to need it. There really was something wrong with Heavy Metal.

  Dad dropped me off, promising to be back with Mom for the ceremony.

  The first person I saw was Russ Trussman, who was directing his camera crew as they carried equipment into the cafeteria. He stopped what he was doing and pulled me aside into the empty kitchen.

  “Noah, we’ve got to talk.”

  “Can’t it wait until after?” I inquired. “Dr. Schultz wants me with him when the governor arrives.”

  He looked me straight in the eye and announced, “I know.”

  “Right. Well, obviously, the governor is only coming because of me, so—”

  “No,” Mr. Trussman cut me off. “I mean I know. I know you’re not the one who saved the Mercury home.”

  I didn’t see that coming. “I—don’t understand.”

  “Come on. You’re a nice boy, but you’re not exactly hero material. You had no idea that a car has to be in neutral for the steering to be active. You couldn’t even explain the folding chair in the Mercurys’ pool. Whoever diverted that truck, it wasn’t you.”

  “I can explain the chair,” I said quickly. “It was mine. I brought it with me.”

  He goggled. “Why?”

  “For hitting people over the head. You know, like in the WWE.”

  He stared at me as if I was speaking a language he couldn’t understand. “Look, Noah—I can help you, but you have to help me too. First of all, do you know who the real superkid is?”

  Well, I couldn’t answer that even if I wanted to. I’d promised Donovan to keep his secret.

  The reporter got sick of waiting for me to say something. “All right, here’s what you have to do. You have to tell the governor that the ceremony is off. It won’t be easy, but I’ll be there to smooth things out for you. You’re not the first kid who ever got caught in a small lie that snowballed out of control. All I ask in return is an exclusive interview. You’ll come on my show and explain to my viewers how it all happened. Do we have a deal?”

  I might not have been a real hero, but it took a lot of courage not to throw up right there on Mr. Trussman’s shoes. More than anything else, this proved that I was right, and that cause and effect really was curved. Somehow, I’d missed the turn that would have saved me from getting stuck in this dead end, with the governor on one side and Russ Trussman on the other.

  Donovan had warned me about that from the very beginning. He could see it, even though his IQ was barely half of mine.

  I considered the person I’d become, the new Noah, and the good friends I’d made in these past few weeks—people like Hashtag and Zane and Vanessa and the other cheerleaders.

  But there was only one Donovan. It was Donovan who’d made the change in me possible—who’d made me realize it was even possible to change.

  I felt a surge of fondness toward him.

  Then I asked myself: How would Donovan deal with the kind of tight spot I was in right now?

  The answer came to me: If Mr. Trussman had solid proof, he wouldn’t need me to confess or go on his show or anything. He had his suspicions and otherwise he had zilch. If I just kept my mouth shut, there would be nothing he could do about it.

  Through the doorway to the main cafeteria, I could see a motorcade of black SUVs pulling up outside the school.

  “I’m going to greet the governor now,” I told the reporter. “I’m out of here.”

  Which was exactly what my friend Donovan would have said.

  24

  SUPERKID

  DONOVAN CURTIS

  The whirlwind around Heavy Metal grew more and more frantic as the minutes ticked down to the one p.m. ceremony. Oz and the team bustled around the hot lab, sweating every bit as much as the athletes who ran cross-country. Screwdrivers opened panels and tightened connections. Soldering guns sizzled, attaching and reattaching wires. Computers flashed through endless pages of code, searching for the faintest sign of a glitch.

  As for me, all I could do was watch while my stomach did backflips. I was more scared than anybody, because I was totally powerless. I was just the driver. I had never been a real robotics expert. My eyes flipped back and forth between the clock and Tina’s baby picture on Heavy Metal’s body. Noah had put it there—Noah, the one person with half a prayer of figuring out what was wrong with the robot. Noah, who could have cracked the case weeks ago if he wasn’t so distracted with this superkid stuff.

  Noah, who had blown us off to go play hero.

  Abigail was bright pink, rattling off the names of colleges that would never accept her if Heavy Metal laid an egg in front of the governor. Latrell was vibrating with tension. Jacey was in tears. Even levelheaded Chloe was babbling high-pitched instructions that she had to know didn’t make sense.

  Only Oz was calm—although it was a deathly calm, like he had accepted the worst. At 12:45, he said a single word: “Time.”

  “It can’t be time!” Abigail practically yelled. “We’re not ready yet! We have to cancel the demonstration!”

  “Not an option,” the teacher said sadly. “Dr. Schultz has been bragging about the robotics team for so long that the governor asked for us by name.” He took a deep breath. “We did ten trial runs and Heavy Metal performed in seven of them. Probability is on our side.”

  “But there’s still a thirty percent chance that he’ll screw up!” Latrell protested.

  Oz sighed. “There’s a hundred percent chance that he won’t perform if he isn’t there. Come on, people, this is a good lesson for all of us. Life can’t always be boiled down to a computer algorithm. Sometimes you have to cross your fingers and hope for the best.”

  “Hope?” echoed Abigail. “There’s no hope in science! It’s science!”

  The other team members looked on in stunned agreement. In their world, life was a computer algorithm, and who needed hope if you had all the possibilities covered? For them, depending on hope was like betting your life on a single lottery ticket.

  But by then the bus to take us to the ceremony was pulling up the drive outside the lab door. Ready or not, Heavy Metal had a date with the governor.

  Dr. Schultz had hooked us up with the district’s “kneeling” bus to make it easier to transport the robot. We carefully guided the Mecanum wheels onto the lifting platform and watched as the stainless steel body was raised aboard. Nobody suggested that Heavy Metal should move under its own power. We were treating this robot like it was filled with nitroglycerine, and could blow sky-high at any second. I didn’t have much in common with the big-brained Academy geniuses, but right now, we were all thinking the same thing. We were praying that Heavy Metal could roll across the cafeteria, give Governor Holland his tote bag, put on a little show, and roll
back before his next meltdown.

  We were almost late because Hardcastle Middle School was a madhouse. The parking lot was jammed, and vehicles clogged the main drive, so we had to go in through the service entrance in the back.

  The cafeteria was packed. Every chair was full, and standees four deep ringed the large room. In the VIP chairs at the front, I caught sight of Governor Holland’s famous face. Dr. Schultz was also there, and between them Noah. For me, it was a wakeup call that, yes, this was really happening. As much as this chapter in all our lives felt like a bad movie, here was the highest official in our state to remind us that it was all too real, and going down right now. And the blinding floodlights from Russ Trussman’s film crew would make sure everyone could see it.

  Students were there by the hundreds, not only from Hardcastle Middle, but from all over town. Kids made up about half the crowd; the rest were adults. The superkid had fans—practically everybody had been following the story in the newspapers and by watching The Russ Trussman Hour. I spied my parents at a cafeteria table. And there was Brad, his six-foot-four frame elevating him above the rest of the standees. He was right next to Mr. Kaminsky, the driver of the propane truck—who, in a way, was the guy who’d brought us all together today. The Youkilises were front and center, along with the Mercurys. Also the Taggarts—for sure Hashtag wasn’t going to miss this big moment in the life of his new BFF. All the Hornets had come with their parents, and all the cheerleaders, too. I even saw the Sandersons and the Nussbaums. The Daniels mugged at me with cake-eating grins—a reminder that they knew who the real superkid was.

  There was a buzz of interest as we rolled Heavy Metal onto the scene. Oz flashed a thumbs-up that was supposed to be encouraging but was really kind of pathetic. Anyway, there was no mistaking the anxiety on the faces of his robotics students.

  I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to find Megan standing behind me. Wonderful. Her presence was the only thing missing from my perfect day so far. To be honest, I was surprised to see her there. She seemed like the last person who’d want to show up at a celebration of Noah’s heroism. On second thought, what choice did she have? Her house had co-starred in the superkid story.

  She was looking at me with an intense expression I couldn’t quite identify. She held out something and placed it in my hands. I stared down at the purple plastic. It was Kandy’s missing bowwow bone.

  “Where did you find this?” I asked, mystified.

  “It was in our pool filter,” she said in a husky voice, far from the haughty, dismissive tone she always used on the rare occasions when she had to talk to me. “Thank you for saving my house.” Then she put her arms around me and hugged me.

  Oh, no.

  She knew. My eyes shot to Noah. The principal. The superintendent. The mayor. The governor. The hundreds packed into the cafeteria. Oh, Megan—not here. Not now!

  “I—I—”

  “Donovan!” Oz hissed. “We’re on!”

  Megan released me and I hurried to catch up to the team as Dr. Schultz stepped to the microphone. “Honored guests. Ladies and gentlemen. Students. I think our turnout today says a lot about how a certain young man has affected our lives here in Hardcastle . . .”

  Typical Schultz. What a gasbag. Still, as he rambled on about how the superkid’s shining example had changed all our lives, I thought of something that had never occurred to me before. Okay, he was talking about Noah, and that was pure baloney. But he was really talking about me. I was the hero who had not only prevented a disaster but inspired thousands. Me. Donovan Curtis.

  When people heard my name, their first thought was don’t try this at home, not hero. I was a mythic screw-up—just ask the Daniels, who were my official scorekeepers. But on that Saturday morning, which now seemed like fifty years ago, I actually got something right—and not a small thing either. I risked my life and saved people. Even Brad’s Marine Corps called you a hero for that. I may not have been the superkid, but I was a superkid. At least I had been for a single shining instant when my town had really needed one.

  The superintendent asked Governor Holland to step forward. My warm, fuzzy moment ended, and the uneasiness returned. It was time for Heavy Metal to do his stuff.

  Oz handed me the controller. I stuck the bowwow bone in my pocket and took charge. Breathing a silent prayer, I eased the joystick forward and the robot began to roll.

  An ahhhh of appreciation went up from the crowd as Heavy Metal moved across the linoleum floor, approaching the chief executive of the state. My hand was none too steady, but I managed to stop the robot at the governor’s feet. The lifting arms came up, bearing the Hardcastle tote bag. Beaming with pleasure, Governor Holland accepted the gift and held it over his head for all to see. The audience went wild. Even the people who had managed to find seats were on their feet, cheering not just Heavy Metal, but the award-winning Academy robotics team.

  Beside me, Chloe sighed with relief. I knew exactly how she felt—how all of them felt. After so many glitches and so much aggravation, it was starting to seem as if Heavy Metal just might pull this off.

  Then I heard the clunk.

  The governor heard it too, but he didn’t recognize the sound for what it was: a golf ball dropping from Heavy Metal’s hopper into the robot’s launch mechanism.

  “Hit the deck!” I bellowed.

  For an older guy who was kind of overweight, Governor Holland had quick reflexes. He ducked down just as the ball shot through the spot where his head had been a split second before. The small projectile sailed across the cafeteria and came down in the seats, sending spectators scrambling.

  Clunk! Clunk!

  Another two golf balls were airborne, spraying over the crowd as Heavy Metal spun around on his Mecanum wheels. One shattered the plastic front of the Gatorade machine. The other hit a fleeing seventh grader right between the shoulder blades.

  I twisted the joystick and pounded every button on the controller. Nothing happened. Our worst nightmare had come true, and at the worst possible time. Heavy Metal had gone rogue with a hopper full of golf balls in a packed cafeteria.

  The robot lurched around the room, firing projectiles in all directions. Cries of shock and pain rang out as golf balls bounced off heads and shoulders. People tripped over each other’s feet and ran into one another trying to get out of harm’s way.

  “Calm down!” ordered Dr. Schultz. “Everything is under control—” A wayward shot swept his glasses clean off his nose. If looks could kill, the entire robotics team would have been dead, starting with Oz.

  One ball took out the warming light at the food service line; another cracked the sneeze guard over the salad bar. Brad snatched a third out of the air just before it would have knocked Mr. Kaminsky’s teeth down his throat.

  Chaos reigned. People scrambled every which way, but the place was so packed that nobody could get anywhere. The governor’s aides were draped over him in the middle of the floor, protecting him from harm. Noah crouched under his chair, not very heroically at all.

  “Donovan!” Oz cried. “Shut down!”

  I raised the controller over my head so he could see me trying to cut power. “Heavy Metal’s not responding!”

  “We’re so dead!” Abigail quaked. “How could it be worse?”

  The answer came almost immediately.

  Chloe pointed. “Look!”

  The door slid open at the top of the robot’s body and the miniature drone lifted up over the cafeteria. It hovered there for a moment and then began swooping low over the panicked crowd, dive-bombing heads.

  The only word for it was pandemonium. We were being attacked from the ground by a barrage of golf balls and from the air by a runaway drone, all while Heavy Metal barreled around the floor at increasing speed.

  Oz ran after the robot, his arms stretched out in front of him. What was he trying to do—tackle it? He had to know better than anyone that the stainless steel body was too bulky to knock over. The team had built it that way on his instru
ctions.

  Then I remembered: the kill switch!

  I sprinted through the crowd, ducking to avoid the drone, which passed so close that I felt it part my hair.

  I did what I always do, without a second thought, because thinking wasn’t my big talent. I flung myself at Heavy Metal with every ounce of strength I could muster.

  “Oof!”

  I landed on top of the out-of-control robot, knocking the wind out of myself and nearly sliding right off. Frantically, I clamped my arms around the body and hung on for dear life. Heavy Metal whipped around a tight corner, almost as if he was trying to buck me off. I reached my arm down for the kill switch, but it was just a few inches too far away. I stretched for it, overbalancing on the fast-moving machine. My legs flung out behind me, kicking and flailing.

  A final desperate extension, and I was falling. As I tumbled off, my hand swept down the stainless steel body and flicked the kill switch. I hit the floor hard and somersaulted over in time to see Heavy Metal coast to a harmless halt on his Mecanum wheels. The drone set itself down a few feet away. A final golf ball dropped out of the firing turret and rolled toward me. I picked it up. I had no idea why.

  In the cowed silence that followed, the first person I saw was Brad. He raced over, scooped me up like I weighed nothing, and squeezed hard enough to collapse my rib cage. “Donnie—are you okay?”

  “I was!” I gasped.

  A loud voice cut the air. “That’s him!” Mr. Kaminsky climbed up on a table and pointed at me. “That’s the guy I saw sticking out of my truck! The same legs! The same scissor kick! He’s the real superkid!”

  Brad shook me like a rag doll. “Is that true?”

  I thought of Beatrice and kept my mouth shut.

  Megan stepped forward. “It is true. I found proof in my pool filter. Donovan’s the one who saved our house.”

  Hundreds of pairs of eyes turned on Noah, who was just crawling out from under his chair.

  Dr. Schultz’s face was a thundercloud. “Noah—please explain. Did you lie to everyone?”

  I watched as the terrified expression on Noah’s face became suddenly peaceful, even confident.