Billy Sure, Kid Entrepreneur and the Stink Spectacular

by Luke Sharpe

  Jody steps forward. “I’ll try it,” she says bravely. “How bad can it be?” I pour her a glass. She takes a tiny sip, then smiles. “It’s good! Like fruit punch!”

  “That’s because it is fruit punch,” I say. “But for the video, you’re going to pretend it’s something called Stench Quench. You’re also going to pretend it smells and tastes terrible, but that you love how gross it is.”

  “Let me get this straight,” Maggie says. “That’s actually fruit punch. It looks horrible, but it tastes good. We’re going to pretend it smells awful and tastes awful. And we love that because we love gross things.”

  “Exactly!” I say, delighted that Maggie’s got it all figured out. I think I remember Emily saying that Maggie is her smartest friend.

  “So we’re pretending to be crazy people?” Willa asks.

  “No, you’re just normal kids who like gross stuff,” I explain.

  “You were right,” I overhear Emma whisper to Emily. “Your brother’s really weird.”

  “Just think about all the nail polish we can buy after we get paid,” Emily reassures her.

  I shoot several takes, and the girls get more and more into pretending that they love Stench Quench. “IT’S SO GROSS, IT’S GOOD!” Maggie says right into the camera.

  In a couple of takes, Emily forgets that she’s not supposed to use her British accent. When I say we have to do those over, she says “Why? Couldn’t this be an international group?”

  “Ooh, I want to be French!” Emma says. “Zis ees zee grossest zing I ever tasted!”

  I convince them to just talk like themselves without any accents, and we do another take. I’m starting to worry that I didn’t make enough Stench Quench.

  In one take, Emily takes a sip and pretends the Stench Quench is so great that she faints. She lies in the grass for a second. “You can get up,” I tell her. “I’m not sure we can use a version where the drink makes you pass out.”

  “The problem with you,” Emily says, “is that you’ve got no imagination.”

  We finish with a shot where the girls scream like they’ve won the lottery. “WHERE CAN WE BUY STENCH QUENCH?”

  “That’s it!” I say. “Great job! We’re done!”

  In the office Manny and I use video-editing software to cut the different takes together into a single video. “Not too smooth,” I say as Manny trims a few more seconds out of it. “We want this to look like a video of a marketing research test, not a TV commercial.”

  When the video’s ready, we practically run with it up to Manny’s bedroom. We can’t wait to send it to Alistair Swiped. “I just hope that old computer’s capable of sending a video,” I say. “We may have to shovel some extra coal into its engine.”

  “I checked the requirements for sending video,” Manny says as we clamber up the stairs. “It should be able to do it . . . slowly.”

  He’s right about the “slowly” part. It seems as though it takes forever for the video to load onto the old computer’s hard drive. Then I write an e-mail to go with the video.

  Hi, Mom,

  Just a quick note to say I’m sending you a recent video of a Stench Quench test-marketing session. It went well, as you’ll see! All the sessions have gone great. Just thought you might enjoy seeing this one.

  Love, Billy

  “Oh no,” Manny says, looking worried.

  “What’s the matter?” I ask. “Did I misspell something?”

  “I just thought what if he recognizes Emily?”

  “How would he recognize her? It’s not like she’s famous or anything?”

  “She was on Better Than Sleeping! with you!”

  He’s right. I went on the late-night talk show Better Than Sleeping! to demonstrate the All Ball. At the end of my part of the show, the host, Chris Fernell, brought Manny, my dad, and Emily out onto the stage.

  “That was just at the very end,” I protest. “He probably didn’t see that.”

  “Probably,” Manny repeats ominously. “She was also with you on Wake Up, America!”

  He is right about that, too. When I went on the talk show to promote the Sibling Silencer, I demonstrated how it worked on Emily.

  “If Swiped went through all the trouble to make up a fake e-mail address for your mom and e-mail you with it,” Manny continues, “why wouldn’t he make sure he recorded every one of your appearances on national television talking about your inventions?”

  It’s a really good point. I can’t believe I didn’t think of this when I decided to put Emily in the phony test-marketing video. “I don’t think we have time to reshoot the video,” I say. “Swiped might get suspicious if we take too long to send him any proof that kids like gross stuff.”

  Manny gets up and starts pacing around. He says it helps him think. I think he’s just burning off nervous energy. “Could we re-edit the video to cut out Emily?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t think so. She’s right in the center of just about every shot. Emily likes being on camera.”

  “Maybe,” Manny says, still pacing, “I could put a circle over her face, and we could explain that after we did the testing, one of the participants refused to let us show her face on video.”

  “Why?”

  “Um, because she’s in the Witness Protection Program?”

  “I don’t know. . . .”

  Then I get an idea. “How about this?” I say, turning back to the computer keyboard.

  P.S. One of the test participants may look a little familiar! Yes, that’s Emily. She insisted on taking part in one of our marketing tests. (You know how she loves to be on camera.) That’s why I’m sending you this particular video out of the dozens of Stench Quench test videos we’ve made. I knew you’d love seeing Emily again when you’re so far away.

  “Okay?” I ask.

  Manny thinks a long time. Finally, he says, “Yeah. I think that’s okay. It’s believable that Emily might do that.”

  “Totally believable.”

  “All right,” Manny says. “Let’s send it.”

  It takes the computer quite a while, but finally a box pops up saying, “Message sent.”

  “I just hope Swiped takes the bait,” Manny says.

  “I bet he will,” I say, trying to sound confident. “Taking stuff is his favorite hobby.”

  Just Sleep On It

  THAT NIGHT IN MY ROOM, after I finish my homework, I check my e-mail to see if there’s anything from Alistair Swiped. I know I’m not supposed to open his e-mails on my bedroom computer, but I’m pretty sure it’s safe to see if there’s one in my in-box.

  Nothing.

  I hope Emily appearing in the video didn’t ruin everything. Maybe I shouldn’t have sent that video. Maybe I should have taken the time to reshoot the whole thing without Emily in it.

  I decide to write an e-mail to my real mom. When I type in the e-mail address, I triple-check to make sure I’m sending it to Mom and not to Alistair Swiped.

  Hi, Mom,

  We sure do miss you around here. Can’t wait till your work lets you come back home. We’ll all be so happy to see you. Philo might wag his tail right off.

  Thanks again for your help with the corporate spy. We know who he is—he’s the head of a rival company. And he’s terrible—he steals ideas and then sells crummy products to kids. Manny and I decided that we want to put him out of business for good. So we e-mailed him, telling him we had this idea for something called Stench Quench. He acted interested and asked for more info. We sent him a video of some fake test marketing. We’ll see if he takes that bait. . . .

  I tell her some more stuff about what’s going on at school and home and with Sure Things, Inc. I think about asking her if she really is a spy, but then I think if she could tell me, she would. So either she isn’t a spy, in which case I’ll seem silly for suggesting it, or else she is a spy, but she can’t tell me, so asking her will just make her feel bad about lying.

  I decide not to ask.

  Not long after I send the
e-mail, my computer makes the chiming noise that tells me I’ve got a new e-mail.

  Alistair Swiped?

  No, it’s my mom, writing back right away!

  Hi, honey,

  I’m always happy to hear from you and learn all about how you’re doing.

  I think you and Manny are doing an excellent job trapping the corporate spy. I’m impressed! I’m proud of you! (Of course, I’m always proud of you.) You and Manny would make great spies! That is, I imagine you would, based on what I see in the movies.

  Good night, honey. Go to bed. But first pet Philo for me.

  Love, Mom (real one, not impostor)

  Smiling, I pet Philo and get ready to go to bed. But before I do, I get an idea.

  Ever since I thought of the Stink Spectacular, I’ve been working on coming up with the formula for it. That is, I’ve been working on it whenever I could get a free moment from schoolwork, the Stench Quench spy trap, walking Philo, and choking down Dad’s meals.

  I know Manny’s not too enthusiastic about this idea, but I love it, so I’ve been working on it anyway. Without telling him. That part’s weird. I hate keeping secrets from Manny.

  I’ve been able to make some drinks that taste good. And I’ve been able to make some drinks that smell terrible, like rotten eggs mixed with moldy cucumbers. But I haven’t been able to come up with a drink that smells awful but tastes wonderful. I’ve been getting closer, but I still haven’t nailed it.

  I look up at the framed blueprints for the All Ball and the Sibling Silencer, which I came up with in my sleep. I have finished all of my big inventions in my sleep. I actually get up out of my bed and work on the inventions without ever waking up. In the morning, I find the finished blueprints on my desk. I know I do this, because Manny videotaped me finishing the Sibling Silencer blueprints in my sleep.

  Some people sleepwalk. Some sleep-eat. I sleep-invent.

  So far this has always happened when I wasn’t expecting it to happen. I didn’t even know yet that I was a sleep-inventor. It just happened.

  But now that I know, can I make it happen? Or at least help it along somehow?

  I’m getting pretty close on the Stink Spectacular formula. When I’m close is when I sleep-invent.

  I open a drawer and dig out some blueprint paper. I lay it out neatly on my desk. On the left side of the paper, I carefully place a pen and a pencil. I’m right-handed, but when I sleep-invent I use my left hand. I know because I saw myself doing it in Manny’s video.

  MURF! MWURF! MOOF!

  The muffled barks are coming from Philo. He’s already asleep in his doggy bed next to my bed. He doesn’t sleep-invent, but maybe he sleep-chases rabbits. Or cats. Or maybe even dragons—who knows what dogs dream about?

  I look at the stuff laid out on my desk, satisfied. But is there something else I can do to nudge my brain into a little sleep-inventing?

  I open another desk drawer and find an index card. With a marker, I write “STINK SPECTACULAR” on the card. And even though this seems kind of silly, I put it under my pillow. I guess instead of leaving a tooth for the tooth fairy, I’m leaving a suggestion for my own brain.

  Once all that’s done, I lie down and fall asleep quickly.

  • • •

  I’m tied to a chair again. In an empty room. The walls go up so high that I can’t see the ceiling.

  The man dressed in gray enters the room. He stands in front of me, completely still, with his arms hanging at his sides. He’s got his gray mask on, but there’s a hole for his mouth.

  He smiles, but it’s not friendly. “Did you really think you could fool me?”

  “Did you think you could fool me?” I ask defiantly. “I know who you are!”

  “Stench Quench,” he says slowly, as though it was a ridiculous combination of words. “Absurd. You expected me to believe that?”

  “Let me go,” I say.

  “Oh, I’ll let you go,” he says. “Up.”

  I’m confused. “Up?”

  He nods slowly. “Up. Way up.”

  The man in gray walks over to the wall and flips a switch. Then he seems to get smaller.

  But that’s because I’m rising. He must have turned off the gravity in this room. Still tied to the chair, I’m floating.

  Up.

  Higher and higher and higher, until the man in gray is just a speck far below me. His quiet, mocking laughter floats up.

  And then someone is licking my nose. . . .

  • • •

  The someone is Philo, naturally. Time to get up. Groggy, I roll out of bed and pull on some clothes, getting ready to take Philo outside.

  But then I notice something.

  The blueprint paper and the pencil and pen I put on my desk have moved. Suddenly I remember the card I put under my pillow! I pull it out. The word “DONE!” is scrawled across it. I try a quick experiment: I write “Done!” on the card with my left hand. It matches.

  I hurry over to my desk and look at the blueprint paper. It’s been written on!

  I snatch up the papers and stare at them, a big grin spreading over my face. It’s definitely a formula for the Stink Spectacular!

  • • •

  “The Stink Spectacular? I thought we agreed that was a bad idea,” Manny says.

  “Uh, no. You thought it was a bad idea. I thought it was a great idea.”

  We’re in the office, playing foosball.

  “So you went ahead and worked on it without telling me?” Manny says, twirling a line of miniature players.

  “I don’t have to tell you every time I’m working on inventing something! Sometimes I’m just thinking about an invention in my head. Do I have to tell you every time I start thinking about an invention?”

  I realize that I sound like Emily. Not because I’m speaking with a British accent (because I’m not, of course) but because I sound defensive. But I’m getting kind of mad. I’m also feeling a little guilty about going ahead with an idea I knew Manny didn’t like. After all, we’re partners. I wonder if Emily has such complicated feelings going on all at the same time, and maybe that’s why she’s so obnoxious?

  “We’re partners!” Manny says as though he’s reading my mind. “When it comes to the business of Sure Things, Inc., we have to tell each other everything!”

  “Okay, I’m sorry,” I say. And I mean it. “I should have told you. But last night I sleep-invented the formula! I think it’s perfect!”

  “Perfectly gross,” Manny says.

  “Yes, exactly! It’s a million-dollar idea!”

  Manny sighs. “You keep saying that, but I’m not sure I see it. I mean, I guess there might be a niche market for it.”

  “ ‘Niche market?’ Is that French?”

  Manny makes his “I can’t believe you don’t know this” face.

  “A niche market is a small, specialized market—a little group of specialized buyers with a particular, unusual taste for something. I think the niche market for Stink Spectacular is kids who are being bullied out of their drinks.”

  I think about that for a moment. “Okay, well, I think it’s bigger than that. I think it’s for kids who want to show they’re brave enough to drink something that smells awful. Which is, like, almost every kid.”

  “It still sounds like a niche market to me. It might not have the big, general appeal of the All Ball and the Sibling Silencer. For our next invention, what about the Personal Force Field? Or the Dog Translator? Those are products with appeal for lots of people. I love those ideas!”

  THWACK! THWOCK! The ball’s really flying back and forth now, with both of us spinning the rods like mad, moving quickly from one end of the table to the other.

  “I love those ideas too,” I agree. “But I have a really good feeling about the Stink Spectacular. And now that I’ve sleep-invented the formula, I can’t wait to try it out. All I have to do is get the ingredients, mix up a batch, and see if it works!”

  Manny’s face scrunches up so I can tell he’s thin
king hard about what I said. I’m hoping I managed to change his mind.

  “I’m sorry, Billy,” he says, not taking his eye off the ball. “I just don’t think I see it.”

  For a while we just play foosball. THWACK! THWOCK! And then, CLONK! The ball goes in the goal. On my end. Manny scores! He raises both fists above his head. I pretend to be mad he won, but Manny knows I’m only kidding. He usually beats me at foosball.

  “You may have won the great foosball challenge, but I’m still going to make the Stink Spectacular,” I say.

  Manny just shrugs. He walks over to the free throw line, picks up the ball, and starts shooting free throws.

  For the next several minutes, the only talking either of us does is Manny counting free throws. “One . . . two . . . three . . .”

  The Fish Takes the Bait

  LATER THAT DAY MANNY AND I are taking a break from our Stink Spectacular debate when an e-mail arrives from Impostor Mom!

  Manny’s working at his computer in the office, checking sales figures. I’m working at my desk. It’s almost like we’ve both been zapped with the Sibling Silencer. It’s that quiet in the room.

  I glance at my e-mail in-box and see there’s new mail. “Swiped!” I yell, getting out of my chair.

  “What about him?” Manny asks.

  “He sent an e-mail!” Manny jumps up out of his chair and heads inside. I’m close behind.

  We race through the kitchen. “Hi, Mom!” Manny yells. She gives a little wave, looking slightly confused. “Did you see more bugs out there?” She looks ready to spring into action.

  “No!” Manny answers as he sprints up the stairs. “No bugs! Nothing to worry about!”

  Unfortunately, the old computer isn’t turned on. “It gets really hot if you leave it on,” Manny explains. It takes forever to power up. We finally get through to my e-mail. I click on the message to open it.

  Hi, honey,

  Thanks so much for sending me that video! It was so nice to see Emily. She looked like she was having a great time. And so did the other girls. It’s clear that they really do like the idea of the Stench Quench.