Alien in My Pocket (7 page)

19

Meltdown

I
shuffled out onto the stage, surprised by the volume of the crowd's welcome. My town really does love science geeks.

The two other better-dressed finalists looked at me with cold stares. I could see my parents in the front of the crowd. Mom was fanning her flushed face. Dad was holding up his smartphone, shooting video.

I spied Olivia on the far right of the crowd. Taylor stood next to her, blinking in confusion. Olivia nodded at me. I forgot to nod back.

A short, round man with a scrawny mustache and thick glasses introduced me and my experiment with his microphone. The crowd clapped again politely. I figured I had missed the first two demonstrations, which explained the rude stares from the other two finalists.

Mustache guy guided me over to my experiment, which was set up at stage right. I wondered if Max Myers had head-butted anybody.

Just past the table with my electromagnet were the judges, who all stood in a cluster and smiled at me politely.

Mr. Mustache began to ask me simple questions, but I was having trouble concentrating. My mouth was dry and my tongue felt like a day-old bologna sandwich. I wasn't a big fan of speaking in front of my class, and this was my first time in front of several hundred people. I accidentally said “maggot” instead of “magnet,” and the crowd tittered and stirred uncomfortably.

“Hold it together, Zack,” Amp said inside my head.

Mustache Man fixed his stare on me. “What is the most important thing you learned in building your experiment?”

Nobody had asked me that question. I wasn't ready for it. A hanging curveball when I was waiting for a slider.

“Well,” I said, a little too close to the microphone, and the speakers on the stage erupted in screeching feedback. I stepped back and smiled. Deep breath. Just like I'd do if I were facing a tough pitcher.
Focus, Zack, before getting back in the batter's box.
“Well,” I said again in a softer voice. This time there was no screeching. “I learned not to lean in too close to a microphone.”

The crowd laughed, and for a moment, I thought I really did have a chance to win this thing. “Actually, the thing I learned is the importance of good friends. Two of my good friends encouraged me to finish this project. I couldn't have done it without them.”

“AAAAAAW,” the crowd said with a collective sigh, clearly finding my response adorable.

I saw a look of confusion come over my mom's face. “Two?” she mouthed silently to my dad, holding up two fingers. Dad didn't notice. His eyes were glued to the video image recording on his phone.

From there, I proceeded to demonstrate my experiment.

As always, when I hit the second button the tacks flew out of my trifold cardboard and strange metal objects skittered across the room. Mr. Mustache's microphone was yanked from his hand and the crowd laughed. He pulled on it, but it wasn't going to come free. I stepped in front of the experiment and hit the second button again, releasing all the metal objects.

Mustache Man stumbled away to the far side of the stage with his microphone and said something clever, and the crowd laughed and clapped in approval. “Now, I see there's a third button on here. I know the judges have been curious about what it does.”

I could feel my stomach drop like I was on roller coaster that had just done a three-sixty, upside down, at top speed. “Oh, that . . . ,” I said, inadvertently stepping back.

“Do you mind?” he said, smiling and leaning over to push it. “Gentleman, I'd suggest you hold on to your money clips.” I think he thought he was being funny.

I could feel Amp telepathically telling me not to let him do it, but I guess with all the bright lights and people staring, I just got stuck. The best I could do was let out a half-swallowed, “No . . .” as he pushed the button.

For a moment, nothing happened. Mr. Mustache straightened up, confused. But then the lights dimmed. The stage speakers shot sparks. The microphone once again flew past me and collided with the magnet with a
CLANG!

In an instant, the desks with the other experiments started sliding toward the stage from all corners of the community center. The lights in the ceiling exploded, one after another, from the one right above us to the ones all the way in the back. The crowd was pitched into complete darkness. The curtains behind me were pulled down, their tiny rings sticking to the growing ball of metal objects that had been pulled onto the magnet. If anything, it seemed to be gaining in power. Random objects were whizzing dangerously past me toward the magnet. One lady with a really big ring on was being pulled toward it. Another guy wearing a big American flag pin was also being dragged up on stage. On direct order from Amp, I hit the floor and covered my head.

Then, to everyone's terror, the ceiling started to groan and make loud cracking noises. Without looking up, I somehow knew that the giant heating and air conditioning unit on the roof of the building was being pulled down to my magnet.

I scrambled over the debris and reached for the third button. My only hope was to turn it off. But it was now covered by a collection of metal objects. There was a small opening. Too small for my hand to fit through—but not, I quickly realized, for Amp. “I need your help, buddy.”

And like any good soldier, Amp scrambled out of my pocket to help, not even pausing to consider his own safety. He ran up my arm and jumped head-first into the opening a moment before a stapler flew out of nowhere and closed the hole. I heard a scream and turned to see a loose metal pipe flying straight toward me. This was it. My life flashed before my eyes. I was a goner.

But then, there was a high-pitched “Got it,” followed by a click, and all the metal objects stuck to the magnet collapsed to the floor. The pipe stopped in midflight, inches from my face, and dropped to the floor with a thud.

I exhaled.

A moment later I was helped to my feet by Mr. Prentiss.

“I don't know what happened,” I said as innocently as I could.

“Science is like that sometimes,” he said. “But the rule should always be ‘Safety first.' That's the lesson you should learn here tonight.” He gently patted me on the shoulder.

“Sorry,” I said.

“Well, that really was something,” he said, looking over his shoulder at my innocent-looking bolt-magnet. “We should talk more, Mr. McGee.” And with that, he left the stage as my parents scurried up to make sure that I was okay.

“Hey, does that mean we won?” Amp asked in my head. He had somehow snuck back into the safety of the front pocket of my sweatshirt.

“I doubt that,” I said. “I think not going to jail will be viewed as the big victory here tonight.”

20

Keeping It Secret

B
efore arriving at the breakfast table the next morning, I snuck down the stairs and returned the bare bolt to the award plaque in my dad's office.

I stepped back and looked at the bolt. It was now charred with black stuff and the middle was sort of droopy and twisted from overheating. It looked terrible, but at least it was back.

I sighed.

After Mr. Prentiss had walked away from me on the stage last night, Amp and I had quickly pulled off the secret parts he had taken out of his spaceship and hid them in my socks.

When the lights came back on and the judges closely examined my project, they couldn't figure out what had happened. They were all puzzled. But Mr. Prentiss kept giving me a knowing smile. He knew I was keeping secrets.

In the kitchen, I saw Olivia was once again eating breakfast at my house. We'd have to start charging her rent.

She saw me looking at her. “My grandpa went fishing early this morning,” she said as she poured herself a glass of juice. “So sue me.”

“Oh, you're always welcome here, dear,” Mom said.

My brother was stabbing at his pancakes with his electric fork. “It's weird, I can't remember anything from yesterday,” he was saying. “It's like I woke up and Zack was walking onto the stage at the finals.”

I took the last empty seat across from Olivia. I was careful not to make eye contact with her, as we might give ourselves away.

My parents exchanged a look and Mom patted Taylor's shoulder. “I've already called Dr. Bell, sweetie. You have an appointment this afternoon. I'm sure he'll just want to run some tests. His nurse said you probably shouldn't go to school today.”

“What?” Taylor said. “I'm going to school! Everybody will be talking about how Zack destroyed the finals. My friend Jimmy said the cops might come and arrest Zack.”

“That's just silly,” Mom said, fanning herself with her napkin. “It's not Zack's fault that his experiment worked better than he could have expected.”

I looked over at the yellow ribbon that was now held to the refrigerator with a big pineapple-shaped magnet. Third place. Not bad, I guess. I was actually just relieved nobody had gotten hurt. I had received a check for fifty dollars, plus a free subscription to
Kid Science
magazine—and an A, which meant I could play ball this season. And even though that was all I really cared about to begin with, I did have to admit that building a superpowered electromagnet was a lot cooler than I thought.

I hadn't spoken to Amp since we left the community center last night. I was giving him the silent treatment—and he was doing the same to me. I think he felt bad about what had happened.

“Oh, Zack, that nice Mr. Prentiss called and left you a message,” Mom said.

“He did?” I said.

“He did?” Olivia said.

“He did?” Taylor said, and burped loudly.

Mom and Olivia laughed. See? They were just encouraging this behavior.

“What did he say?” Dad asked, looking at Taylor with his unhappy face.

“Something about you coming to one of his businesses for a grand tour,” Mom said. “Maybe having a summer job set aside for you,” she added, smiling at me with pride. “Despite last night, he sees promise in you.”

“Yeah, the promise of more destruction,” Taylor said glumly, stabbing at his pancake. “Did he say anything about me?”

“Oh, I'm sorry, honey,” Mom said, patting his shoulder again. “He just mentioned Zack.”

“There are some things I may need Mr. Prentiss's help with,” I said, shooting a look at Olivia.

“Oh, and Coach Lopez left a message, too,” Dad said, looking at me with pride. “Looks like the Badgers have Zack McGee on the roster as their new catcher.”

“Backup catcher, Dad,” Taylor corrected. “Backup catcher.”

“Yep, I heard about that,” I said. “I'm in the big leagues now.”

Mom got up, came around the table, and gave me a squeeze. Then she messed up my hair. “Things are getting more interesting for you, Zackary Frederick McGee.”

“Oh, that is an understatement,” Olivia said.

As we hustled out the door to catch the bus to school, Amp finally broke his silence.

“Okay, I'm sorry, Zack,” Amp said, inside my head. “I've learned my lesson. From now on, I'll be a perfect little alien.”

“Oh? We'll see about that, Amp,” I responded inside my head. I looked up at my bedroom window as Olivia and I jogged across the front lawn. I couldn't see him from this distance, but I was pretty sure he was watching me from my windowsill.

Little did I know he was hiding in the front pocket of my backpack.

 

 

The End