by Luke Sharpe
Wow! She speaks tech geek like Manny, but she’s also a creative inventor. Kinda like a cross between the two of us.
“Thanks,” Manny says. That’s when I notice something weird. Is he blushing?
“And this is my sister, Emily,” I say.
Abby shakes Emily’s hand. “Nice rings, Emily,” she says. Only I think she means it. It must be a girl thing.
“Thanks,” replies Emily. “The Sibling Silencer is, like, my favorite product of all time. Awesome idea!”
“Hi, Chris!” I call out as casually as if I had just seen one of my seventh-grade classmates at the mall. I’m starting to see how the whole celebrity thing could go to someone’s head. Not mine, of course, but, you know, someone’s.
The whole gang follows Chris into the building. It’s no Sure Things, Inc. office, with our pizza topping machine and foosball table, that’s for sure—but it’s still pretty nice.
“Hey, Billy!” One of Chris Fernell’s assistants yells. “Smile!”
I’m not the most photogenic person, but I’m caught so off guard that I look over anyway. Her camera pops! and out prints a photo of me.
“You need to sign it, Billy!” she says, placing a purple marker in my hand. “We’re going to put you on the wall!”
I sign the photo, and underneath it I write Sure Things, Inc. Only that’s when I realize I’m not Sure Things, Inc.—I’m Sure Things, Inc. with Manny. Manny is my partner and he’s nowhere in the photo. He must feel bad. I never meant to take the spotlight from my best friend. I look over at him, but he’s whispering away with Emily about something, which then makes me feel bad. What are they whispering about without me?
“Come, sit,” Chris Fernell says, leading us into a meeting room. “Let’s just go over the TV show rules one more time.”
“It’s a two-part special TV show contest where young inventors present their ideas and the judges choose which one will be made,” I say quickly. Manny’s face turns a little red. Oh no. This whole TV show was Manny’s idea, and here I am blabbing away like it was mine!
“And the Hyenas will put the team logo on the winning product, with me as the spokesman for the advertising,” Carl adds.
“Love it!” chirps Chris. “So, how do we let kids know about the contest? Of course we’ll promote it on my TV shows, but what else?”
“We could announce it on the Sure Things website,” Emily suggests.
I can hear Manny adding the “Inc.” to Emily’s sentence in his head. He never just calls it “Sure Things.” But both of us remain silent.
“Then KIDS FROM ALL OVER THE WORLD can know about it and enter,” Emily continues. “After all, that’s how we met Abby.”
“Okay. Okay. But how are we going to get kids from across the world to this TV studio?” Chris says, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
“That would be pretty expensive,” Abby says. “And that would leave out lots of kids with good ideas who couldn’t afford to come here. What if we have a live video chat so that any kid anywhere in the world could enter? You could set up big TV monitors on the stage so that the judges and the live studio audience and the viewers at home can all see kids from anywhere, and their ideas.”
Boy, Abby is really smart. The more she talks, the more impressed I am.
“Fantastic!” booms Chris, slamming his palms onto the table. “I love it! Kids in the studio. Kids from around the world on video feed, all broadcast live! This is going to be huge! Big fun! Big ratings! Big ad dollars!”
We get up from the table. The meeting is adjourned.
“It was nice to meet you in person, Abby,” I say. “If you’d like to stop by Sure Things, Inc. sometime, I’d be happy to show you around.”
“Coolness,” says Abby as she heads off to meet up with her mom.
A short while later as I climb into Dad’s sensible hybrid sedan, I almost wish that I was just a regular kid again, instead of a partner in Sure Things, Inc. But not because I don’t want to be an inventor. Because I would have loved to enter this very cool contest.
Visitors
WE ARRIVE HOME past the usual time we eat dinner, which means Dad won’t have time to whip together one of his kitchen creations. My mouth starts to water at the thought of ordering in a pizza.
No such luck.
“I prepared dinner this morning,” says Dad, pulling a casserole dish from the fridge. “A few seconds in the microwave and we’ll be chowing down on MANGO-PARSNIP-HERRING SUPREME!”
Oh joy.
After a dinner filled with excited talk about the TV show and Dad’s casserole, I head to my room where I read an e-mail from Mom.
Hi Honey,
I can’t tell you how excited I am about your TV show. I’m also very pleased that Emily will be part of it and that you guys are getting along so well. How’s it going with Carl? What’s it like to work with one of your heroes?
I am so sorry about your birthday, honey. I’m not sure if I can video chat on that day, but I will definitely try. Which makes me realize I didn’t even ask you—what are your plans for the big day?
Gotta run.
Love you lots,
Mom
I don’t know what I want to do on my birthday. But the only thing I really want is for Mom to be here. And she might not even be able to video chat.
• • •
I arrive at the office the next day just as Manny finishes placing a notice on the Sure Things, Inc. website asking for young inventors to take part in the TV special.
“We went live with this about five minutes ago,” Manny says. “And we already have twenty-six kids who’ve signed up—including one from Bora Bora. This is going to be HUGE!” Manny and I get busy nailing down an outline for how the TV special will go. We need to get this to Chris ASAP so he can sign off on it and get things moving.
“So I think Chris opens the show and gets everyone jazzed,” Manny begins. He’s talking and typing at the same time. I’ve seen him do this before, but it always amazes me. “He explains the premise, lets viewers know that our contestants come from all over the world, then introduces the five judges.”
“Maybe we can alternate between a contestant there in the studio and one from far away up on the monitor,” I suggest.
“I like, I like,” says Manny, his fingers typing away in high gear. I can’t help but think he sounds like Chris Fernell.
“So how do you think we should wrap up the first day’s show?” I ask.
Before Manny can reply, I hear a knock at the door. Manny and I look at each other. Very few people ever visit us here at the office.
I get up and open the front door. Abby is standing there, smiling.
“Hi, Billy. I thought I’d take you up on your offer to come visit,” she says.
“Sure!” I say, maybe a bit too enthusiastically. “Come on in. Looks who’s here, Manny.”
Without missing a keystroke, Manny turns and says, “Hi, Abby. Welcome to the World Headquarters of Sure Things, Inc.”
He just loves saying that.
“Let me show you around,” I say. “This is my workbench.” I point to the pile of stuff in my corner of the office.
“So this is where the magic happens, huh?” says Abby, her eyes opening wide as she looks over the parts scattered across my workbench. “Cool!”
“And this is where Manny works his magic,” I say, leading Abby over to Manny’s desk.
“I saw that the news of the TV show went live on your website a few minutes ago,” she says.
“How did you know?” I ask.
Abby pulls out her smartphone. “I’ve set up my phone to send me alerts for any activity on the Sure Things, Inc. website.”
It only takes Abby about three minutes to fit right in here. Doing this show with her is going to be fun.
“Whatcha working on now?” she asks Manny, looking over his shoulder.
“We’re banging out a show outline for Chris.”
Abby quickly reads through what Manny has wri
tten.
“One of us should probably explain the scoring system to the contestants,” she suggests.
“Good idea,” I say. “I can do that.”
Briiiiiing!
Manny’s phone rings. He keeps typing with one hand, while he swipes his phone’s screen and answers the call on speakerphone.
“Sure Things, Inc., how can I help you?” he says.
“Hi, this is Kathy Jenkins. I’m a reporter for ‘Right Next Door,’ ” says a voice from the phone.
“Right Next Door” is a section of my town’s website. In addition to articles, it also contains the local blog and community newsletters. Dad really likes those—he keeps submitting his recipes to be featured as a Yum Pick of the Month, but no luck yet. Shocking.
“I’d love to do a piece about Sure Things, Inc. and your upcoming TV special,” Kathy continues.
Manny looks at me and shrugs.
“Why not?” I say.
“Sounds great, Kathy,” says Manny. “When would you like to come by?”
“How’s tomorrow?” asks Kathy.
“Okay. See you then.”
More publicity for the TV show and the company. Nothing bad about that.
A few minutes later, there’s another knock at the door. Philo, who was sleeping on his doggy bed before, looks up at me as if to say, “Someone else?” I rub my eyes and get the door.
At the door is a tall blond woman with her hair up in a bun. She looks very businesslike. She extends her hand.
“Kathy Jenkins,” she says, shaking my hand way too firmly.
I guess “tomorrow” means today in the world of journalism!
“My daughter Samantha won’t stop talking about what a GREAT INVENTOR you are,” she says. “She is in your inventor’s club. And she’s your biggest fan!”
Oh yeah, Samantha. She’s a sixth grader in the inventor’s club who asked me to sign her Billy Sure T-shirt. She also who wrote me a poem, and she calls herself a “Billy Surette,” and she gives me chocolate in the hallways on occasion.
“Of course,” I reply. “Samantha is very . . . uh, enthusiastic.”
“So, let’s get right to the interview,” says Kathy. She swipes a few things off my workbench and sits down. I’m a little annoyed, because she didn’t even ask, but I don’t say anything. Abby and Manny are quiet too. “Tell me how Sure Things, Inc. began.”
“Well, it started with the All Ball,” I begin. “I came up with idea, and Manny came up with the plan to get it out on shelves. That’s Manny, my business partner.”
“Hello,” says Manny between keystrokes.
Kathy writes everything down in a notebook on her lap. But she isn’t just writing my responses—she’s jotting down notes about our office space. I can see one of her notes says pizza stain on rug. Hey, it’s not my fault that Manny opted for a slice of triple-sauce pizza today.
“So after you started Sure Things—”
“Um, we started Sure Things, Inc.,” I correct her. “Manny and I created the company together.”
“So, at what age did you know that you would grow up to be a great inventor?” she asks, totally ignoring my comment about Manny.
“Um, well, I had my first invention idea in first grade,” I say.
“And the inventor’s club? How much do you love working with Samantha?”
“Uh, Samantha is great,” I say. “Actually, the inventor’s club was Manny’s idea.”
“So tell me about the upcoming TV show,” Kathy snips.
“That was actually MANNY’S IDEA too,” I explain. “We were going to look for new ideas from young inventors through our website, but Manny, as he usually does, kicked it up a level and suggested the TV show.”
I really don’t want Manny to be left out of this article.
“So I see on your website that you are one of the judges,” Kathy says. “And so is Carl Bourette, the baseball player! How exciting.”
“Yes, it’s great to be working with Carl,” I say. “There are actually five judges. Manny is one of them, and—”
“This is all great, Billy,” Kathy interrupts. “Can I get a picture for the article?”
“Sure,” I say, standing up. Unlike the photo at the TV studio, this time I ask, “Manny?” He stands and walks over next to me.
“Actually, since your name is in the company title, I’d like to just get you in the picture, Billy,” says Kathy. “Sure Things and all.”
Manny walks back to his desk. My heart sinks.
“Smile, Billy!” Kathy says. I force a smile and she snaps the picture. “Thanks so much for your time. I can’t wait to tell Samantha all about our little chat.”
She jots down one more comment in her notebook—this time about Philo, who, according to her, looks like a dog but smells like a skunk and hurries out the door.
“Manny, I am so sorry,” I say.
“Not your fault,” says Manny. “And you know me, I’m not about the fame.”
Then he’s back at work, banging away on his keyboard. Abby looks over his shoulder and doesn’t say anything.
I know Manny says that it’s okay, but I also know him too well. This is the first time since we started working together that I can feel that he might be a little jealous. Which, of course, is the last thing I would ever want. My name may be in the company title, but without Manny, there is no Sure Things, Inc., and I’m just a kid fooling around with inventions in my garage.
He won’t ever tell me, but I can see that Manny is unhappy.
And if Manny is unhappy, I’m unhappy.
The Next Big Thing, Part One
IT’S SATURDAY. THE big day. The first day of the two-part live TV event, which we all agreed to call—unsurprisingly—SURE THINGS, INC. AND THE HYENAS PRESENT THE NEXT BIG THING!
I bound from bed extra early. Although the show will be broadcast live late this afternoon, we need to get to the TV studio early to get ready.
After a quick shower I get dressed and hurry downstairs. Even though I’m early, Emily is already at the kitchen table. Dad puts the finishing touches on a special breakfast of pancakes—not green-bean pancakes or artichoke pancakes or rutabaga pancakes—just pancakes—and shakes his head.
“Sorry about the PLAIN OLD BORING PANCAKES,” says Dad as he places a steaming stack onto each of our plates. “Not enough time to make them extra special this morning.”
I gobble them down. They are delicious. They are also the first food Dad has cooked in a long time that did not need the Gross-to-Good Powder.
“You’re right at the top of ‘Right Next Door,’ you know, Mr. Celebrity,” says Emily, who has gotten very skillful at using her knife and fork without creating a symphony of clanging rings. It takes her only a few tries to cut through the soft pancakes.
She shows me her phone, which is open to the website for “Right Next Door.” Sure enough, my photo is at the top of the page.
I cringe at the headline: BILLY SURE—A SURE THING!
Then I focus in on the photo. It’s just me with that dumb-looking forced smile. My cringing goes into high gear. And then it gets worse.
Billy Sure, the twelve-year-old kid entrepreneur, is, on first glance, like any other seventh grader at Fillmore Middle. But on second glance, he is so much more.
Not only is Billy the successful inventor of his company, Sure Things, Inc., but he is adding “exceptionally awesome TV show star” to his name. Today Billy will be featured on his very own TV special, Sure Things, Inc. and the Hyenas Present the Next Big Thing!
“Billy is really amazing!” says Samantha Jenkins, a sixth grader at Fillmore Middle and Billy’s very best friend. “We are all excited to watch him on TV!”
Samantha, who goes on to say that Billy is charming and handsome, also wrote him a poem, published exclusively by “Right Next Door:”
First it was the All Ball,
Now he’s on a TV show,
Billy Sure is my doll,
And now you all know!
The article continues to talk about me. Not once does it mention Manny. Never mind how EMBARRASSING it is for me, I hope Manny doesn’t see this for his own sake. But of course, there is practically no chance of that.
“You know what would be nice,” Emily says, popping the final bite of pancake into her mouth. “If you got a business partner. Oh, wait! I forgot. You already have one. I guess the reporter who wrote this article also forgot.”
As usual, Emily is a big help.
After breakfast Emily and I get into Dad’s car to head to the TV station. It’s hard to believe that in a few hours I’m going to be on TV, live to millions of people all around the world.
We arrive at the station and meet up with Manny, whose parents drove him and will be sitting in the audience with Dad. A few moments later Abby and her mom arrive.
“Have a wonderful time, all of you,” says Mrs. Nielson, giving Abby a big hug.
“Knock ’em dead!” booms Mr. Reyes. “Another home run for Sure Things, Inc.!”
“I’m really proud of both of you,” says Dad, giving Emily and me high fives. “I’m planning a special celebratory dinner in your honor for tonight after the show!”
Lucky us.
As the grown-ups walk away, I realize again how much I miss Mom. If she were here now, she’d be sitting in the audience with Dad, feeling so proud of us. It’s not just about her being here for my birthday. It’s about missing her all the time. What is so important that she’s doing for the government, anyway?
I’m shaken out of my gloomy thoughts by a voice so sharp it could cut through glass.
“Here are our judges!” shrieks Chris Fernell. “Welcome to the big day. It’s show time! You excited? You nervous?
“Come on, I’ll bring you into the studio,” he says. Manny, Emily, Abby, and I look at each other, shrug a collective shrug, and follow Chris.
We come to a large door labeled: Studio personnel only! Do not enter! Chris pulls the door open and we all walk through. It only lasts for a moment, but for the first time since all this started, I feel like a big shot.