“Here!” Antoinette Brede called out.
“Here!” cried Leon a split second later.
Mr. Sparks turned to Antoinette Brede. “You don’t look like a Leon.” Antoinette turned red. Leon was also a little embarrassed, though pleased. His surname usually meant the end of the line, the back of the bus, the last to be called.
“Scientifically speaking,” said Mr. Sparks, once attendance had been taken, “a spark is a glittering spit of energy that travels between two conductors. Well, I’m going to be one of those two conductors. All of you will be the other!” He wiggled his fingers at the pinwheel, hocus-pocus style, and once more, as if by supernatural force, sparks began to fly.
“You see that?” P.W. whispered to Leon. “He’s got a remote in his pocket.”
Leon didn’t respond. He couldn’t. He was entranced. The little sparks Mr. Sparks had set off triggered much bigger sparks in his head. He found himself thinking about his dad, who had worked as a pyrotechnician—the fancy word for fireworks designer—until an accident had taken his life. Leon remembered very little about his dad, but what he did remember usually involved big, bright, colorful bursts of light.
“Um, Mr. Sparks?” It was Antoinette.
“Please don’t interrupt.”
“But, Mr. Sparks. Your sleeve!”
A spark from the pinwheel had landed on his shirt cuff.
“Oh,” he said. “Nothing to worry about. A science teacher always takes precautions when it comes to matters of safety.” He dashed over to the sink and turned on the tap. “Problem solved,” he said as a wisp of smoke rose toward the ceiling.
Lumpkin couldn’t control himself. “Hey, Mr. Sparks,” he shouted, rocking back and forth on his stool. “Students aren’t allowed to be clumsy. Don’t you know our school saying? It’s ‘Nimble fingers make for nimble minds!’”
“And don’t you know that nimble fifth graders avoid annoying their science teachers?” Mr. Sparks shot back.
A chorus of oohs filled the room. Lumpkin abruptly stopped rocking. Leon, P.W., and Lily-Matisse exchanged approving looks.
Mr. Sparks squeezed the water from his sleeve and said, “All kidding aside, I am indeed familiar with the motto of the school. It is one I endorse wholeheartedly. After all, the type of hands-on science we will be performing requires nimble fingers.”
For the next few minutes, Mr. Sparks discussed lab reports and field trips and the science fair held at the end of the year. But just as he started to sound like a normal science teacher, talking about normal science teacher things, he again did something abnormal.
He unbuttoned his shirt.
“I know, I know,” said Mr. Sparks. “Teachers should never undress in class. But this wet sleeve is a nuisance.” He stripped down to a T-shirt that showed a picture of a white-haired old man sticking out his tongue. The T-shirt said:
“ANYONE WHO HAS NEVER MADE A MISTAKE HAS NEVER TRIED ANYTHING NEW.”
—ALBERT EINSTEIN
Mr. Sparks tapped the face of the scientist. “Einstein got that right,” he told the giggling class. “Science demands mistakes. And accidents. And failure. They’re the building blocks of grand discovery.”
The pinwheel in Leon’s brain started to spin again. Mistakes? he said to himself. I know all about mistakes. And accidents. And failures. Pumpkinhead is proof of that. More sparks flew. If Einstein’s right, maybe the launch failure was a good thing. Words spun about in his head. Mistakes … gravity … spit of energy … grand discovery.
All of a sudden, the words came together, and when they did, Leon’s mood needle began to rise. Four … five … six …
NINE
The First R
Seven … eight. Leon’s mood hit eight and a half by the end of science.
“I’ve made a decision,” he informed Lily-Matisse and P.W. as soon as they’d left the lab.
“About?” said P.W.
“About Pumpkinhead.”
“Which one?” Lily-Matisse asked. “The human or the doll?”
“It’s an action figure, not a doll,” P.W. grumbled.
“Whatever,” Lily-Matisse snapped.
“Guys,” Leon interjected. “Focus. I’m talking about both Pumpkinheads.”
“That’s a relief,” said P.W. “I got worried that you might’ve bailed on the whole project.”
“I almost did,” Leon admitted.
“So what’s changed your mind?” Lily-Matisse asked.
Leon stuck out his tongue.
“Einstein?” said P.W.
“Yup—and Sparks. I figure if accidents, mistakes, and failures lead to discovery, we’re pretty much set.”
P.W. grinned. “So what’s the plan?”
“Not here,” said Leon. “Let’s go over the details at my place—if that’s okay with you guys.”
He didn’t have to ask twice. Both Lily-Matisse and P.W. loved Leon’s hotel and its menagerie of guests.
“Better get my mom to call your parents,” said Lily-Matisse. Once permissions were secured, the three fifth graders dashed down the school steps and piled into the yellow cab parked at the end of the block. It pleased Napoleon to see Leon with his two best friends. He tried to ask his usual question, but Leon cut him off.
“Eight-point-five and rising!”
Leon refused to discuss specifics in the taxi. Lily-Matisse and P.W. both knew why. Napoleon might overhear, and that would violate the crossmyhearthopetodiestickaneedleinmyeye spit pledge the three had sworn soon after Leon discovered his special powers. The conversation in the cab focused on science, and on the bald, bearded, ponytailed, green-sneakered teacher who taught it.
Leon said, “Mr. Sparks may be out there, and he may be a little bit clumsy, but I think he rocks.”
“Me, too,” said Lily-Matisse.
“No argument from me,” said P.W. “And man oh man, was it sweet watching him shut Lumpkin down with that crack about nimble students!”
“Not as sweet as it will be when we shut Lumpkin down,” Leon said with renewed confidence.
A few minutes later, Napoleon pulled up to the hotel and released his passengers. Before the cab drove off, Leon asked if P.W. and Lily-Matisse could be picked up around five.
“Bien sûr,” Napoleon confirmed with a silver-toothed smile.
“That means ‘sure thing,’” Leon explained.
The three thanked the driver and pushed through the revolving door (twice).
“Holy moly,” P.W. exclaimed as soon as he’d set foot inside the lobby. The air was filled with dense smoke and an odd, steady buzzing.
“What’s going on?” asked Lily-Matisse, waving a hand in front of her eyes.
“No idea,” Leon replied. He led his friends to the reception desk, where Emma Zeisel was looking unusually flustered.
“Mom?” said Leon.
“It’s those bumbling beekeepers,” she complained. “One of them dropped a hive in the coffee shop.”
Lily-Matisse and P.W cracked up. Leon rolled his eyes.
“What’s with the smoke, Ms. Z?” P.W. asked.
Emma Zeisel pointed to a man wearing a bright white jumpsuit and a wire mesh helmet. “You see the little tin pot that the beekeeper is holding? That’s a smoker. It’s supposed to calm the bees, honey.”
“Anyone get stung, Mom?”
“Not yet, thank heavens. But just to be safe, you three should make a beeline to the elevator.”
“What about the VIP signboard?” Leon asked.
Emma Zeisel checked a list behind the reception desk. “You can change the board later,” she said. “The International Ferret Festival won’t be arriving until tomorrow afternoon.”
Leon, Lily-Matisse, and P.W. did what they were told and headed for the elevator. “Okay, ’fess up,” P.W. said as soon as they were safely inside. “How are we shutting Lumpkin down?”
“Have you guys ever heard of the three R’s?” Leon asked as he jabbed a button marked B.
“Duh!” said Lily-Ma
tisse. “Reading, writing and ’rithmetic.”
“Not those three R’s,” Leon teased.
“Okay, I’ll bite,” said P.W. “Which ones are you talking about?”
“Glad you asked,” said Leon as the elevator doors opened. “I’m talking about rescue, repair, and reanimation.”
“I like what I’m hearing,” said P.W.
Lily-Matisse received the news more tentatively. “Rescue what?” she demanded. “Repair what?”
“You’ll see,” said Leon. He guided his friends through the basement, to a door marked HOUSEKEEPING. “We’ve got to pick up some stuff before we hit the garbage room.”
“And we’re going to the garbage room why?” Lily-Matisse asked nervously.
“To perform the first R,” said Leon.
“What exactly are we supposed to be rescuing?” said Lily-Matisse.
“Pumpkinhead.”
“What’s Pumpkinhead doing in the garbage room?” she asked.
“I tossed him.”
“Why?”
“Lily-Matisse!” P.W. cut in sharply. “Stop giving Leon the third degree.”
“It’s okay,” said Leon. “I do have to explain the situation. Remember how Lumpkin attacked me after school yesterday? Well, when I fell I landed on the spit bottle. It got smashed. Everything got all goopy and torn up. I was so bummed, I tossed the mess away.”
“Everything?” said Lily-Matisse. “Even the pouch?”
“Even the pouch,” Leon confessed.
“But I made you that pouch for your tenth birthday,” Lily-Matisse said sullenly.
“I know,” said Leon. “And I feel bad about that. But we’ll get it back. I promise.” Leon opened the door to Housekeeping. “Okay, let’s see.” He looked around the cluttered room. “We’ll need a broomstick, a pair of rubber gloves, and a plastic bag.”
The first two items were easy enough to locate, but the bags proved tougher to find.
“Hold on,” said Leon. He walked over to a trash can, tugged off the black plastic can liner, and reached inside for a fresh bag.
“How’d you know there’d be a spare?” asked P.W
“Old housekeeping trick,” said Leon. “Maria always stashes extras inside the cans.”
“Is that everything?” P.W. asked impatiently.
“Don’t rush me,” said Leon. “We’ll also need Maria’s sewing basket.”
“Better write her a note,” Lily-Matisse advised.
“Good idea,” said Leon. “What should I say we’re using the stuff for?”
“How about telling her it’s for a science project?” P.W. suggested.
“Perfect,” said Leon. “And, actually, that is what we’re doing.”
He scribbled a note:
“You’re not returning the science project,” Lily-Matisse quibbled. “You’re returning the stuff. The note’s confusing.”
“Hey, can we keep things moving here?” said P.W. “The note’s fine.”
“Just one more thing, and we’ll be all set,” said Leon. He scrounged up a big jug from a closet of cleaning products. “When you live in a hotel with an all-pets-welcome policy, this stuff is a must!”
Lily-Matisse looked at the label and grimaced. “‘Poop-B-Gone’?”
“Maria calls it her ‘miracle potion,’” Leon said as he led his friends down a narrow corridor.
The garbage room was dark and hot. A network of water pipes crisscrossed the ceiling. Wire fencing cut the space in half, and it was the caged-off half that contained a dozen or so wheeled Dumpsters and a singularly nasty-looking machine that had a thick metal pole rising up from the middle.
“What is that?” P.W. asked.
“The trash masher,” said Leon.
“Oh, great,” Lily-Matisse said miserably. “I bet my pouch has been crushed like a pancake.”
“Not a chance,” Leon reassured her. “The trash masher is directly below the reception desk and makes such a huge racket that we only smoosh things on Sunday nights, when no one’s in the lobby.”
P.W. yanked down on a heavy padlock that secured the cage. “Hey, Leon, did you bring the key for this thing?”
“It’s locked?”
“Affirmative,” said P.W.
“Darn. I’ll have to find Maria. Be right back.”
“Hold on,” said Lily-Matisse. Quick as a whip, she bent her knees, sprang into the air, and grabbed hold of an overhead water pipe. “Watch and learn,” she said, dangling off the ground.
She swung her legs up and around the pipe and slithered through the narrow gap at the top of the cage.
“Nice move,” said Leon as she dropped down on the far side.
Lily-Matisse blushed. “Gymnastics camp,” she said.
Leon shoved the rubber gloves and the broomstick through the fencing. “You’ll probably want these,” he said. “Could be nasty in there.”
“Which Dumpster is the stuff in?” Lily-Matisse asked.
“No idea,” said Leon.
“Super,” said Lily-Matisse as she snapped on the gloves. “I’m going to have to eenie-meenie-minie my way through garbage.”
“No, you won’t,” said P.W. “If Leon dumped Pumpkinhead last night, it makes sense to check the Dumpster underneath the garbage chute first.”
“He’s right,” said Leon.
Lily-Matisse peered into the bin positioned underneath the mouth of the chute. “Empty,” she announced.
“Check the one next to it,” P.W. called out.
Lily-Matisse followed his advice. “Nope,” she said. “Just recycled stuff. Newspapers and cardboard.” She moved on.
“Yuck!” she cried. “What a stink!”
“Our guests tend to have a lot of accidents,” Leon told her.
“It’s not a poopy smell,” she observed. “It’s more fishy.”
“Really?” Leon said excitedly. “I tossed some clam-flavored potato chips a few hours before I got rid of Pumpkinhead and the pouch.”
Lily-Matisse probed the Dumpster with the broomstick. “I see it!” she called out. A carefully aimed poke harpooned the soiled pouch. Pumpkinhead, however, proved elusive. “I can’t find him,” she said.
“Then what are you waiting for?” P.W. shouted. “Dive in!”
“Are you nuts?” cried Lily-Matisse.
“He’s right,” said Leon. “It’s the only way.”
Reluctantly Lily-Matisse took a running jump and vaulted into the Dumpster. When she resurfaced, she was clutching Pumpkinhead in her rubber-gloved hand.
“Way to go!” Leon yelled.
“Not bad,” P.W. allowed.
Lily-Matisse hopped out of the Dumpster and returned with the rescued items. She peeled off the gloves and pushed them through the fencing, then passed back the broomstick and the pouch. But once again Pumpkinhead caused headaches.
“He won’t fit through,” said Lily-Matisse. “The holes are too small.”
“We can see that,” said P.W.
“Toss him over the top,” Leon suggested.
After a couple of tries, Pumpkinhead cleared the fencing and landed on the cement floor with a plop!
“He looks like a dead jellyfish,” said P.W.
Leon placed Pumpkinhead and the pouch inside the plastic bag snatched from Housekeeping.
“Is that it?” said Lily-Matisse. “Can I come back over?”
“That’s a roger,” said P.W.
Lily-Matisse jumped up, grabbed hold of the water pipe, and shinnied back to freedom. As soon as she dropped down, she let Leon and P.W. have it. “I got slime all over my brand-new sneakers!”
“Stop your bellyaching,” said P.W. “Look on the positive side. We’ve just completed the first of the three R’s.”
“And don’t worry about your sneakers,” Leon quickly added. “We’ll clean them up upstairs.”
TEN
The Second R
The first R—rescue—went off without a hitch. The second R—repair—would be trickier. Up in the bathro
om of his apartment, Leon put on a pair of rubber gloves and extracted the two soiled objects recovered from the trash.
“The pouch is okay, just stained,” he declared.
“And Pumpkinhead?” P.W. asked anxiously.
The silence that followed made it clear the action figure hadn’t been so lucky. The free fall down the garbage chute had added more damage to an already battered body.
“Take the slivers out first,” Lily-Matisse advised. “They can be super-dangerous.”
“I’m on it,” said Leon. He found a pair of tweezers in the bathroom cabinet and used them to pick out the bits of broken bottle.
“What’s next, doc?” asked P.W.
“Despitification,” said Leon.
“Count me out!” Lily-Matisse said adamantly.
“What a surprise,” said P.W.
“Hey, leave her alone,” said Leon. “She just dove into a Dumpster.”
“Fair enough,” P.W. acknowledged. “Sorry.”
“Apology accepted,” said Lily-Matisse.
Leon turned to P.W. “You despitify the pouch, I’ll work on the doll.”
“What about my sneakers?” Lily-Matisse pressed.
“We’ll get to them, I swear,” said Leon. “Can one of you grab the Poop-B-Gone?”
Lily-Matisse backed off as soon as she heard the name.
“I’ll get it,” said P.W. He picked up the jug. “Hey, listen to this.” He began to read the label out loud:
“Take the POOP-B-GONE Challenge!
We’re sure this potion is entirely able
To clean the things on this label
And if it doesn’t, in the time
It takes to read the following rhyme,
Poop-B-Gone will GUARANTEE
To reimburse the purchase fee!*”
He took a deep breath and continued:
Leon and the Champion Chip Page 4