Ethan Marcus Makes His Mark

by Michele Weber Hurwitz

  She jerks opens the fridge. “Don’t say anything!”

  I don’t dare.

  She whirls around. “If you must know, I flat-ironed my hair this morning and accidentally burned my forehead.” She grabs an apple, shuts the fridge, then starts arranging things in her briefcase.

  Mom and Dad both drive us, and apparently, they feel it’s a good choice not to mention Erin’s forehead either.

  “Go out there today and hit a home run,” Dad says as we arrive at Gotham City.

  Mom turns around. “But of course I don’t have to tell you, it’s not about whether you win or lose. It’s about the journey, right? We’re proud of you no matter what.” She winks at us. “Text me, though, anyway, okay? I admit I’m dying to know who wins.”

  “Sure,” I answer. Erin’s already out of the car.

  When we get inside, Jet announces that we have about twenty minutes for our final touches before everyone starts presenting to the panel of investors, industry experts, and of course Z himself.

  Natalia peers at Erin. “Would you like me to put a dab of essential oil on that red mark? I think lavender would help calm the skin.”

  Erin’s hand flies to her forehead. “No, thank you. It’ll be fine.”

  Connor and I take a last look at the Desk for Success. We couldn’t really put a screen on the top, but we have Natalia’s tablet on it to demonstrate the concept. We got the top piece to slide up and down better (Connor figured that out, don’t ask me how) and made the whole thing steadier by adding another leg to the pop-out stool. I think it looks awesome.

  Erin flips through her notes and quietly rehearses our presentation, talking and gesturing to herself. I don’t think any of us had to vote on who’s going to speak on behalf of the Innovative Four.

  “It’s time, Z people,” Jet announces. “Let the final lap begin.”

  We’re ushered into what was the Zation room, but now there are three men and three women sitting at a long table in the front, a microphone on a stand, and chairs set up in rows facing the table. The judges, I guess they are, have name cards in front of them.

  Erin’s oohing and aahing. “These people are super important,” she whispers.

  Of course they are. Except, how come I’ve never heard of them?

  There’s an empty seat in the middle with a gold Z on the back of the chair. “I wonder who that’s for,” I mutter, and Erin shushes me.

  Jet makes this speech about how amazing the week was, how we’re all amazing kids, and we have amazing futures ahead of us. He says “amazing” about twenty more times. Imani, Asher, and Maddox are standing next to him, bobbing their heads in unison. I realize they’re all the same exact height. Another weird thing.

  Then Z makes his entrance. He glides into the room, goes to the Z chair, and stands behind it. Everyone applauds until he finally sits. Black shirt, sunglasses. At least the guy keeps it consistent.

  The first group is called to present. It’s the kids who are creating the improved hearing aid. They each take a turn speaking, going over the device and explaining how it’s better than what’s currently in use. They even do a demonstration of how it feels when you lose your hearing.

  The judges ask them some questions and make notes. Z says nothing.

  The kid with the I AM THE FUTURE cap is up second. He hasn’t taken off that cap once the entire week. His future is apparently in drive-thrus. No kidding. He’s created a completely computerized process for fast-food places. He even sings a couple of jingles and asks the judges to guess which restaurants they belong to. They look very entertained by that, but I spot Erin rolling her eyes.

  More presentations—everything from climate-change solutions to “huts for the homeless” to a robot that can take people’s vital signs in an emergency room—then it’s time for a lunch break. Everyone goes into the atrium. I’m starving, but Erin says she’s not hungry. She presses a hand against her stomach. “I feel sick.”

  I grab a piece of bread from the buffet and offer it to her. “Mom would tell you to eat something. You’ll feel better.”

  “No. I can’t.” She stumbles toward the door.

  Connor takes off his glasses, rubs the side of his nose. “Is she gonna bail on us?”

  “Maybe some ylang-ylang oil,” Natalia suggests.

  “No.” I shove the bread into my mouth. “I’ll handle this.”

  Erin’s standing outside the front door without her coat on, and she doesn’t look so good. Her face has a greenish tinge, except for the red mark, and she looks like she might puke right onto the sidewalk.

  “I’m not okay,” she says.

  “How can you not be okay? You’ve, like, trained for this your entire life. Remember how excited you were when you got the invite? We have a big project, Erin. I know we do! It’s good! Don’t start doubting.”

  She looks at me. Her forehead is all wrinkly. “Ethan . . . listen to me. I know how to study. Do assignments. Excel on tests. But this . . . this is the real world. These kids here—what I’ve realized this week—I’m not like that. Planning, researching, and organizing is one thing. Being an innovator is another. They have something I don’t have. Maybe it’s TADA, I don’t know.”

  “Erin, you’ll be fine. You always are. C’mon, let’s go back in.”

  She doesn’t reply. Or move.

  “Hey, I know you’re gonna get up there and wow the judges and make everything sound great. You were awesome when you said all that stuff to Mr. Delman after the stand-in!”

  She blows out a breath.

  “Good. Breathing is good. And we need to do something else right now. Just go with me here, okay?”

  “What?”

  “We’re gonna spit.”

  “I’m not doing that. You know I don’t spit.”

  I elbow her. “Rin, trust me.”

  “Spitting is gross. It’s a disgusting habit.”

  “Trust me,” I repeat, then smile. “I did it last night at Brian’s. His gram is the real genius. I swear. She said it clears the cobwebs.” I gather the saliva in my mouth and spit on the grass.

  “Oh, fine!” She makes this loud gurgling sound and shoots out a giant wad of spit. It lands on a snow-covered bush.

  I clap. “How do you feel?”

  She pats her mouth with the end of her sleeve, then burps. “Better, for some unexplainable reason.”

  “Told ya. Now let’s go.” I take her arm and practically drag her through the door. I grab some food from the buffet and wolf it down, but Erin says she still can’t eat. Then lunch is over and we’re up.

  Our model is at the front of the room, and Natalia’s blue-and-yellow virtual design is projected onto a screen. We all stand in front of the judges, and Erin walks unsteadily to the microphone. “Hello,” she says. The microphone reverberates because she’s too close. “Sorry.” She steps back. “Um, we are the Innovative Four, and our project is . . .” She looks over at me and I give her a thumbs-up.

  “Our project is the Desk for Success. Research shows that students . . .”

  One of the judges looks down at her phone.

  Erin swallows. “Sitting in school is a real problem, and so is keeping track of your assignments and test dates.” Another judge crosses his arms. Erin shifts her feet, clears her throat. The room is silent.

  My sister saved me in LA when she got everyone to stand up and protest. Now it’s my turn to save her. I walk to the microphone. Erin starts to step aside, but I grab her arm. “Together,” I say.

  “Together,” she whispers.

  “Desk for Success,” I announce. “Unique, inventive, groundbreaking. Please turn your attention to our virtual model and physical prototype, and I will walk you through it.”

  And then I just go. Give the smoothest speech of my life. You do things like that when you have to.

  Erin doesn’t look green and wrinkly anymore. She leans in and adds a few details at just the right moments. We’re like, well, Orville and Wilbur.

  Mom a
nd Dad questioned me, and Erin said I wouldn’t survive, but I did. My invitation wasn’t a mistake, and I’m not the slacker example.

  I belonged here and I did this.

  With, okay, yeah, a little help from my sister and Connor and Natalia.

  And at the end of my talk, are you ready for this? Z lowers those freakin’ sunglasses, tilts his head, and looks directly at me for the briefest second. He slides them back up, but I saw his eyes. They’re light brown, with this sort of yellowish rim. And you know what they made me think of? This might creep you out, but a coyote’s eyes. I once saw one by our house, and I swear, it had eyes just like Z’s.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  And the Winner Is . . .

  ETHAN

  The judges ask a few questions. Connor answers one; I answer another. We sit down, and Romanov is called next.

  Connor low-fives me. “Couldn’t have done better myself.”

  “Namaste,” Natalia whispers, applauding softly.

  Erin touches my arm and nods.

  I grin, shrug. “Yeah, yeah.”

  “You guys are actually pretty tight,” Connor says. “Even if you don’t think so.”

  Erin and I give each other a quick smile. Sometimes, I guess, we are. When we need to be. When it counts. Like now.

  Romanov starts his presentation. He talks sort of stiffly, but it doesn’t matter. Once he explains his project, the judges aren’t fiddling around or acting distracted. They’re paying 100 percent attention.

  He’s created a virtual model of a device he says will be possible in the very near future. It’ll be a tiny unit you wear on your forehead, resembling a small microphone that actors use onstage, and it will augment your thinking. You won’t have to tell it what to do or what you need; it will know.

  “It is called,” Romanov says, “FRIEND. Simply put, FRIEND will help you navigate the world better than you can on your own. This isn’t artificial intelligence; it is your intelligence, magnified. It will harness the power of your brain. Increase its capacity and abilities. And it may be able to detect and stop dementia.”

  Erin’s staring at him, her mouth open slightly.

  I’m lost in two seconds, as Romanov talks about neurons and sensory input and object recognition and electrical impulses. When he finishes, the judges seem too stunned to ask questions, but Z actually stands. “You came up with this yourself?” he asks.

  “Yes,” Romanov says.

  “You didn’t copy this idea from something you read online, perhaps? There are things like this being researched, I believe.”

  Romanov shakes his head.

  Z nods once. “Thank you.”

  The rest of the kids present; then we have a short break while the judges decide on the winners.

  Connor, Natalia, Erin, and I hang out in a corner of the atrium. “That’s it,” Erin says. “What do they have to decide? Marlon’s the winner.”

  “FRIEND is pretty amazing,” Connor says. “If it’s possible. I think it’ll be a while before something like that is. There were some other strong projects. My money’s on that ER robot.”

  “Money,” I say, smirking a little.

  Natalia hands Connor and Erin energy bands, and Erin accepts hers this time. “However this ends up,” Natalia says, “it was a truly enriching experience to be the Innovative Four.”

  “Yeah,” Connor agrees, then asks where Erin and I live. Erin tells him; then he says he’s not that far from us. “We’ll have to make plans sometime,” Connor says.

  Natalia smiles. “New Year’s Eve is tomorrow! Is anyone doing anything?”

  “I’m in,” I say. “We have a great basement.”

  “Maybe,” Erin says, rubbing her stomach. “Let’s get through this first.”

  A few minutes later Jet calls us to come back in for the “Zannouncement.”

  “Okay,” I say, “whatever goes down, I think we did our best.” I sound like Dad. Or worse, Mom.

  We file in, take our seats. Z has the microphone. He thanks us for our hard work and outstanding presentations, then announces third place—the hearing-aid group—and everyone applauds. Second place is the emergency-room robot. Two girls go up to accept their trophy.

  “And the winner,” Z says, “is Marlon Romanov, for FRIEND.”

  “He won,” Erin says, over the applause. “He said he would win and he did.”

  Romanov goes up to shake the judges’ hands and pose for photos. Even now he’s not smiling. It quickly becomes a mob scene, as kids crowd around. Erin stands. “He won,” she repeats. Then she moves toward the front of the room. I’m watching her. She’s going toward . . . Romanov.

  Oh no. What’s she gonna do now? Demand a recount? Punch the guy? I can’t look, but I do. And my sister, with her pasted-on straight hair, red mark on her forehead, and Mom’s unsteady high-heel shoes, pushes through the crowd, goes right up to him, and says something. It doesn’t look like she’s yelling. No punches are thrown. Then Marlon says something to her.

  She comes back a minute later.

  “What’d you just do?” I ask.

  “I congratulated him.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes. I—I realized something when they announced his name and not mine.”

  “What?”

  She blinks back tears. “It didn’t hurt as bad as I thought it would. I was invited to ZCIC, wasn’t I? It’s not about Marlon, or anyone else at the camp.”

  Connor nods. “Not that I’m saying I told you so, but I am.”

  I raise my hand. “Clueless again.”

  “Just something I pointed out to Erin. Even though I think she knew it.”

  Erin gulps, looks at Natalia. “I might’ve had a Zen moment.”

  Natalia hugs Connor. “Ethan told me you weren’t supposed to be here. But you were! And this is why. To help Erin work through this issue she’s had with Marlon.”

  Erin wipes her eyes and then smiles. “Truthfully, you guys, I think it was the spitting.”

  “Ha!” I say. “I knew it! So, what did Marlon answer?”

  “He just said . . . thank you.”

  Z’s talking into the microphone. “Attention. If I could have a word with the Innovative Four in the conference room?”

  We all look at each other.

  “Did we do something wrong?” Erin says.

  “What’s going on?” Connor adds.

  I watch Z leave. “Let’s go see.”

  Imani ushers us into a room around the corner from the atrium, then closes the door. Z’s standing at one end. It’s just the four of us, and him.

  “Well done,” Z says. “Quite impressive. The Innovative Four. I like that. Sit. Make yourselves comfortable.” We pull out chairs and he continues. “Unfortunately, your Desk for Success didn’t win. But we do something special here at ZCIC. A select offer to those we feel have a superb idea.”

  Erin creases her brows and tilts her head, just like Mom does when she’s confused about something.

  “I’d like to offer you what we call a development fee. A Z fee.”

  I jab Erin as Connor repeats, “A Z fee?”

  Z puts his fingertips together and makes a sort of dome with his hands. “I’d like to look into developing your idea. I’ll reward you with an amount you’ll find quite generous, I’m sure. I believe it has potential. However, you certainly wouldn’t have the resources to put this into production, market it to schools, publicize it, et cetera.”

  I almost fall out of my chair. Brian was onto something! I stare at Z. He’s not a maker; he’s a faker! If anyone can spot a faker, it’s me, the king of duct tape. And right in front of me is one big, smooth-talking, phony, sunglasses-wearing faker.

  Connor asks, “How much are we talking about?”

  But before Z answers, Erin bolts up. “Just a second! This is sort of unethical, don’t you think?”

  “Not at all,” Z says calmly. “You came up with the idea; I am buying it from you. Happens all the time. It’s the way t
he world works.”

  Erin’s face goes pale. “But it’s our idea. Our project. Would you give us credit?”

  Z shrugs. I’ll take that as a no.

  Erin looks like she’s half in shock, half disgusted.

  “Actually, I—my family—could use the money,” Connor says.

  “Precisely,” Z replies, smiling with his mouth closed.

  “Have you done this before?” Erin asks in a low voice. “Developed a kid’s project from your camp?”

  “As I said, it’s how the world works, my dear. Success is success, however it happens. In collaboration with others, or on your own.”

  Erin drops back into her chair. “My brother was right. I didn’t believe him. I didn’t want to believe him.”

  Z raises an eyebrow above his sunglasses.

  Erin shakes her head. “TADA. The future generation. Do you even care about all that?” She gets up. “If this is good enough for your development fee, then we can find an investor who’ll actually partner with us. Not pay us off. It’s our idea.” She jerks open the door and marches out of the room.

  “The money woulda been nice,” Connor says, “but we’d all have to agree. I can live without it.” He goes out too. Natalia looks at Z, then at me. “Didn’t I say there’s always a catch with magicians?” She leaves, and then it’s just me and him.

  “Your sister will learn,” Z says.

  I move to the door. “I think she already has.”

  “Well then, good luck to you. No hard feelings, my friend.”

  I could say lots of things. Like that he’s not my friend, or that I’m gonna tell everyone what he tried to do. Is it unethical, or how the world works? I’m not sure.

  I stop, my hand on the doorknob, and turn back. “This whole time, I kept wondering what was up with the sunglasses. It’s a little thing, but it really bothered me. I think I get it now. And, Mr. Canzeri? They’re not working. People will see you. I did.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  A Donut

  M.R.