Zap!

by Martha Freeman

  More silence.

  “Okay, I definitely want to hear it,” Luis said. “Tell me what you think.”

  Maura took a breath. “So NJL cut my grandpa’s pension, the amount he gets paid since he retired. I told you that, right?”

  “Either you did, or your mom,” Luis said.

  “When that happened, my grandpa got mad at the company,” Maura said. “He kept saying how he gave the best years of his life to NJL, and they broke their promise, and it wasn’t fair. He said the average Joe never gets a break.”

  “What about the average José?” Luis asked.

  “Him too,” Maura said. “And Josephine while we’re at it.”

  “Your grandpa might be right,” Luis said.

  “He might,” Maura said. “Anyway, when he talked like that, he sounded like Julia Girardo. You know, big companies and government are out to get the little guy. And she wanted to help the little guy fight back.”

  “Was she telling the truth about that, do you think?” Luis asked.

  “I think she would’ve said anything to get votes,” Maura said. “Anyway, how can you trust a person who would do the damage that she did—the damage she and Uncle Nate did?”

  “That question’s too big for my brain,” Luis said. “But if you’re right, I get why your grandpa helped. He was mad at NJL and maybe the world. He knew about smart meters. That made him useful when they decided a blackout would get more people upset, upset enough to vote for someone new for mayor.”

  “Right,” Maura said. “So he lent them a laptop, or gave them the encryption codes. He doesn’t remember that now. At least I don’t think he does.”

  Luis thought of something—something bad. “Maura, if we figured this out, maybe the police will. Maybe they’ll come for your grandpa.”

  “I’m afraid of that too,” Maura said. “And I’m afraid if they do, it will make him even sicker. But I don’t know what to do, hope it doesn’t happen, I guess. And hey—I have a question for you.”

  “Go,” Luis said.

  “How did you know it was Uncle Nate who sent the text to Grandpa? I’m way smarter than you, and I didn’t know.”

  “Just because you built a fancier science fair project than I did doesn’t mean you’re—”

  “Okay, okay. Sorry. Could you answer the question? Por favor, please?” Maura said.

  “I didn’t know for sure,” Luis admitted, “but you had said that thing about people using birthdays for passcodes. It stuck in my head. And the handle of the guy who texted your grandpa was NB1231.”

  “NB,” Maura repeated. “Nate Bridgewater. And twelve thirty-one . . . that’s New Year’s Eve. So that’s why you asked my mom about his birthday. That was smart, Luis.”

  “Gracias,” said Luis. “I thought of it when you said Nate called your grandpa ‘pops.’ That word was in the text on your grandpa’s phone. And Nate kept interrupting your mom at the hospital. He was afraid I’d see the connection between smart meters and your grandpa.”

  “He was right to be afraid,” Maura said.

  “Sí, obviamente,” Luis said. “So then he sent Julia Girardo’s driver to follow me, see how close I was to solving the mystery, maybe scare me, or worse.”

  “He did scare you,” Maura said. “But I guess that was better than what he did to Tony.”

  Since school wasn’t going to start till Monday, Luis and Maura made a plan to work on their science fair summaries the next day—Saturday. Afterward, Maura could come to Luis’s house for ceviche, a Nicaraguan specialty, raw fish marinated in lime juice and hot spices.

  “Raw fish?” Maura sounded a little creeped out.

  “You’ll like it. You’ll see,” Luis said.

  “I’ll be polite,” Maura said.

  “My brother is coming over too,” Luis said. “You can invite your mom if you want, and your sister.”

  “One of them will have to stay with Grandpa,” Maura said. “But I’ll ask.”

  “I have one other question,” Luis said.

  “My brain hurts,” Maura said. “But go ahead. What?”

  “Do you think I’ll win the science fair?” Luis said. “I, uh . . . owe a friend some money.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Señora Álvaro did not come back from her daughter’s house till Saturday. This gave Luis plenty of time to worry about the four hundred and fifty dollars, but nowhere near enough to make a plan to repay it.

  Finally, he decided to tell her the truth. Looked at one way, that money bought the power back. The news said the blackout was costing Hampton businesses millions of dollars a day. Compared to that, four hundred and fifty was cheap, right?

  On Saturday morning, Luis texted Maura: Meet me at the bodega. Noon?

  He had decided he needed backup. He was relieved when Maura texted back: K.

  • • •

  Señora Álvaro had just turned on the ABIERTO/OPEN sign when Luis rode up on his bike. Maura wasn’t there yet, but he went inside. Most of the shelves were still bare, but a delivery guy was unloading a truck outside.

  “Buenos días, Luis. Did you bring my box?”

  Luis unzipped his backpack, pulled out the box, and handed it over. Señora Álvaro took it without smiling. Luis wished Maura were there. Since the señora would see the IOUs the second she lifted the lid, there was no point putting it off: He explained everything in one long breath.

  “You should be proud, Señora,” he concluded. “You helped save the city.”

  Luis had hoped his grand words would impress her.

  Or not.

  Señora Álvaro nodded but never stopped scowling. “I am happy the loud lady with the truck has been arrested. I am happy we have lights again. And still I want my money. I did not get this far in business by being una buena persona—a good person.”

  Maura walked in just then. Instead of saying hi, Luis said, “So if you win the science fair, will you share the money? I’ll help you with your summary. I promise.”

  Maura’s face flashed surprise, confusion, and annoyance. Luis guessed it might have been a good idea to explain first. Then all at once Maura seemed to figure it out. “Señora Álvaro is the friend you owe money to. That’s how you paid Computer Genius.”

  “Más o menos,” Luis said, “more or less.”

  “Mostly more,” said Señora Álvaro.

  “I don’t need help with my summary,” Maura said.

  Luis felt stung. Hadn’t he brought back the lights? Solved the mystery? Almost gotten burned up in a fire? This being a hero thing was not as good as he expected. In the end it had worked out for Odysseus, but there was a whole lot of cold, wet, bloody, painful misery first. Maybe Odysseus should’ve stayed home. Maybe he, Luis, should’ve stayed home too.

  “What happened to your face, Luis?” Señora Álvaro asked. “You look like a monster—el chupacabra—”

  Luis did not feel like telling her how he got hurt, but Maura did. Was he imagining it, or did Señora Álvaro ease up on her usual scowl? “Maybe we should put on some ointment to help it heal,” she said. “There are tubes in one of these boxes. You want to help the tía vieja unpack them? ¿Por favor?”

  Luis saw a ray of hope. “Could we maybe repay the loan that way—work it off? There’s a lot of boxes to open, stuff to put back on shelves.”

  “We’ll see,” said Señora Álvaro. “But for now, apúrense—vámonos. We have work to do.”

  EPILOGUE

  On a Tuesday morning in February, three months after the blackout, four people are sitting in a drab conference room in an equally drab law office in Trenton, New Jersey. One of them is Nate Bridgewater. One of them is his lawyer. The others are lawyers for the plaintiffs: fifty-seven businesses and one individual who want Nate Bridgewater to pay back money lost while the power was out.

  This morning, the lawyers are going to record Nate’s answers to a whole lot of questions. Nate has decided to tell the truth. Why not? He has almost no money anyway, and very soon he’ll
be in prison with all expenses paid.

  Before the questioning starts, Nate’s lawyer reads over the list of plaintiffs—hair salons, auto shops, bodegas, dollar stores, pawn shops, liquor stores, diners. The lone individual is named Peter Joseph.

  “What’s the deal with this guy?” The lawyer points at the list. “How did he get in here?”

  Nate has to think. “Oh, yeah. That must be the kid, the hacker we hired. I probably never paid him. First we were busy with the campaign. After that we were busy getting arrested and thrown in jail.”

  “Shall we begin?” one of the plaintiffs’ lawyers asks.

  “Let’s do this,” says Nate.

  The legal proceeding is called a deposition. It’s tedious and repetitive. It takes all morning. Finally someone turns off the recorder. Everyone but Nate shuffles papers and returns them to briefcases. One of the plaintiffs’ lawyers announces he has a meeting and leaves, but the other one pushes her chair back from the table and looks at Nate. “I have one more question. Off the record.”

  Nate’s lawyer says, “Don’t talk to her!”

  Nate says, “Oh, go blow your nose. Go ahead, uh—Miss Saunders, am I right? What do you want to know?”

  “Why did you pull such a crazy stunt?” Miss Saunders asks.

  Nate raises one shoulder and drops it. “It’s Politics 101. Scare the people and they’ll look for strong leadership. My candidate was the tough guy, the strong man—even if she did happen to be female. So I manufactured a crisis, scared the people. If you’re a campaign manager, it’s practically part of the job description.”

  “But I thought your candidate was leading in the polls?” Miss Saunders says.

  “Was leading is right. Then that crying baby ad came out, and all of a sudden she was losing. But I had anticipated something might come up. That’s why we had the Zap project ready to go. All we had to do was tell the kid to drop the RAT.”

  Miss Saunders crosses her arms. “There is so much wrong with your reasoning, I hardly know where to start. Think of the damage! Not just to these people but to the city. Don’t you feel bad you did what you did?”

  Nate thinks about telling this woman to blow her nose, too. She sounds like a Sunday school teacher all of a sudden. But he resists. In prison, he probably won’t have a lot of conversations with smart young women.

  “Did you perfect that glare in law school?” he asks her. “What I feel bad about is being outsmarted by two nosy kids with time on their hands. For a while, I felt bad about Pops, too, but my guy here assures me he’s in the clear. It seems nobody, not even the D.A., wants to go after an old man who just had a stroke.”

  Nate’s lawyer pushes his chair away from the table and stands up, but Miss Saunders isn’t done. Wearing a sky-blue jacket and matching headband, she looks younger than she is. “If people can’t trust the candidates, can’t trust the elections, can’t trust their leaders”—she takes a breath—“I don’t know. Doesn’t democracy fall apart?”

  Nate is capable of patience, and he’s good at explaining. He thinks maybe he should’ve have been a teacher. Too late now. “Look, Miss, you seem intelligent, but you’ve got it exactly backwards. Democracy means government belongs to the people, right? Not me, or you, or Ms. Girardo either. But when something’s yours, you’re responsible for it. You own it. And when you own something, you’re supposed to pay attention to it.”

  “But honesty—”

  “Let me finish,” Nate interrupts. “Do the voters study up before they go to the polls? Do they vote for good reasons or because they’re scared or they saw somebody frown at a baby? Your average person spends more time choosing toothpaste than choosing a candidate. And as long as that’s the way it is, somebody’s gonna take advantage. The way I see it, that somebody might as well’ve been me.”

  The young lawyer closes her briefcase with a click. Her expression is smug. “Only it didn’t work out for you, did it?”

  Nate doesn’t answer. “You ready to go?” he asks his lawyer.

  “I been ready,” his lawyer replies.

  Nate and Miss Sanders stand up. Nate holds the door for her. She nods curtly and walks out.

  “Hey,” Nate speaks to her back. “What you said is right. It didn’t work out—this time.”

  APPENDIX

  “How a Circuit Works”

  By Luis Cardenal (edited by Maura Brown)

  To understand a circuit, first you’ve got to understand electricity.

  What is electricity? Electrons moving.

  What is an electron? A tiny particle in an atom that has a negative charge.

  What is a negative charge? It is the opposite of a positive charge. (Not helpful, right?) But particles with negative charges like to hang with particles with positive charges, which are called—surprise!—positrons.

  Electricity is nothing but lonely electrons moving through a substance with the goal of meeting up with their friends the positrons.

  If we’re talking about lightning, the substance is the atmosphere. (That’s what Benjamin Franklin showed in his famous kite experiment.)

  If we’re talking about the electricity in your house, between power poles, or in my circuit, then the substance is metal wire.

  A circuit is a loop of something, often copper wire, made for the electrons to follow.

  In my project, a battery starts the electrons flowing at the negative terminal and gives them a place to go, the positive terminal. On the way, they move through the bulb, causing the filament inside it to glow.

  The electrons move only if they have a clear path to their hearts’ desire, the positrons. In other words, they move only if there is no break in the circuit. When the switch is off, it breaks that circuit and the electrons come to a halt so that the filament stops glowing—the light goes dark. When the switch is on, the circuit is complete and the electrons get going, turning on the light.

  A NOTE TO THE READER

  Dear Reader,

  Growing up in Camden, New Jersey, I never thought anyone would want to write a book based on me.

  But that’s exactly what Zap! is—a book based on me as a kid.

  Of course, the author did change a few details—like my last name and the name of my hometown. Also, I never actually had to play detective in the case of a massive power outage the way Luis and Maura do in the story.

  But the author, who is my good friend, kept the important stuff—like what it’s like to be the American son of immigrants from Nicaragua growing up in a city that’s seen more prosperous times. In the story, Luis hangs out in abandoned houses, relies on his big brother, sees gang violence firsthand, has a lot of tías and tíos who are not blood relatives, fears the police, relies on the neighborhood bodega for groceries, is a fan of The Odyssey, and sometimes has trouble communicating with his very hard-working parents.

  All those things were true for me too.

  Also like Luis in the book, I realized early that I had a choice. I could blow off school, have a good time on the streets, and become another statistic. That was the path of some friends, family members, and neighbors, the ones less lucky than me. Some I never heard from after we grew up, and some are in jail. The alternative was to work hard the way my teachers and my siblings wanted me to. That meant having faith in myself even when other people did not.

  I can’t say I didn’t make mistakes. I got into trouble sometimes as a teenager, and I did some stupid, dangerous things. But I worked hard in high school to earn good grades. Getting involved in cross country and lacrosse helped me blow off steam. My efforts were repaid when I was able to enroll at a good university to study civil engineering. After graduating in 2010, I found a nice job but soon realized I had a greater calling: I wanted to serve my country. In the navy, I shipped out for active duty to help the construction effort in the Kandahar province in Afghanistan.

  My job there was to help coordinate deconstruction of a U.S. base while at the same time supporting the construction capabilities of the Afghan Natio
nal Army.

  I had always thought of myself as a pretty self-disciplined person, and my time in the military reinforced that. Sailors worked under me, so I also had to learn how to lead. Some people might tell you that the culture of Afghanistan is different from America’s, but I felt a strong connection to the people there. Like me growing up, they knew what it was to face violence. They didn’t have much in the way of material wealth. To get by, they relied on family and friends as well as their own inner strength. They were tough because they had to be.

  Today I am back in the States working in the profession I studied for in college, transportation engineering, which means I help cities and towns improve roads and build new ones. Most of the time it’s a fun job. Digging around in old records to find out where water, gas, and electric lines were laid decades ago is a little like treasure hunting. Figuring out the best way to accommodate old structures while building new ones is like solving a puzzle.

  I have lived in several U.S. cities and towns but now am back in Camden, where I recently bought a house. When I’m not working, I run long distances and bike, besides volunteering for Team RWB, which supports veterans. I have also established a local chapter of Students Run for kids ages twelve to eighteen. We meet multiple times a week after school to train for distance races.

  With running, the accomplishments are measurable: Work hard, and you will see your distances and speeds improve. Maybe because I am a numbers kind of person, seeing my own improvement over the years has been a source of pride. I hope to impart my experience and knowledge to a new generation of urban youth.

  I wasn’t sure what to think when my friend Martha told me she wanted to put me in a book. Then she said she thought there should be more stories about kids like me, and I agreed. In fact, I wish I had had a book like this when I was a kid, a book about a bona fide hero who also happened to be tough and Latino, a book about a kid who wants to understand the way things work.

  My experience and my observations have taught me that no one’s upbringing guarantees their future, either for better or worse. Good people can come from anywhere. In my hometown of Camden today there are a lot of good people doing a lot of good things.