The Detention Club (16 page)

“Whatever,” he replied. “The point is, if he can do it, so can you!”

“You mean us,” I said.

“Right—so can us!”

“Well now, that's just bad English,” I pointed out.

“How would you know—you're failing English, aren't you?”

“Touché.”

O
N
S
UNDAY
D
REW AND
I hung out in Corbett Canyon trying to choose an invention from my inventor's notebook to take to the prototype stage. The problem was that the rest of my ideas for inventions were really advanced and complex, and in order to build a decent prototype we'd need a lot of seed money. “I can't believe I have a whole notebook full of ideas and none of them are doable,” I said, shaking my head. “Maybe I'm not a great inventor like we thought.”

“We're just going to have to come up with something new,” Drew said.

“We only have two days—it's hopeless, Drew.”

He patted me on the back.

“You have to be more positive!” he said. “Look, we need to come up with an invention that's either fun or helps the environment—or, if we're lucky, both—so let's think about it. What do people do for fun?”

“Listen to music? Play video games? Sports?”

Drew sat there for a minute, thinking really hard. His smile disappeared as the seconds ticked by.

“Are you thinking outside the box, Drew?”

“Actually, it feels like the opposite,” he said, wincing. “Just thinking about this stuff makes me feel like I'm in the middle of space, like when you shut your eyes and stare at the universe in your head.”

“You can see the universe, too?” I asked. “I thought I was the only one . . . anyway, we don't have the computer-programming skills to make a video game, and we don't play instruments or sports. We lasted only one season in youth soccer because we kept losing our cleats at the park, remember?”

“That's because cleats are stupid—you have to take them off and change into normal shoes in order to walk across the parking lot.” Drew's eyes widened as he said this. “Okay, so what if we were to figure out a way to make it so you can wear cleats like normal shoes off the playing field, so you don't have to forget them on the sidelines every weekend?”

I felt a tingling sensation in my brain, which was either a good thing or a sign that I had a brain tumor. “It's the same with ice skates,” I said, nodding. “Remember when you refused to take yours off that one time and tried to walk to the car in them, and you fell and cut your leg on the blade?”

“Don't remind me,” he said, rubbing his left thigh as if it still hurt.

“But it's like all sports shoes—you can only use them for playing sports—what a scam.”

“You're right! Like when my dad used to take me golfing, he had to take his golf shoes off before we drove home, because of the spikes.”

“I'm feelin' you, I hear you barking. And so this would be environmental because people wouldn't need extra pairs of shoes, they could just wear their sports shoes all over the place,” I said.

“Yeah, totally, and think about it, when soccer shoes wear out, the leather on top is still in good condition, it's just that the studs on the bottom wear out. What a waste of leather.”

“Yes, yes,” I said, feeding off his genius. “We could save millions of cows from getting killed for their leather!”

“Not to mention saving the lives of all those hockey players and figure skaters who die every year cutting themselves with their own shoes! How many figure skaters do you think die every year from cutting themselves with their own skates?”

“You'd have to guess at least ten thousand,” I said, scratching my chin. “Maybe more, worldwide.”

Drew frowned.

“The thing is, even though I've never actually met one, I've always felt like I wouldn't like a figure skater in person,” he said.

“I know what you mean, but we can't play God,” I warned him. “If we have the knowledge to save lives, we have no choice but to use it.”

“No, you're totally right,” he replied. “I just would hate it if we met one someday and they were really snobby to us, though.”

“Well, that just means we're better people than all figure skaters, then,” I said, and he agreed.

We'd never brainstormed together like this, and it kinda made me feel like I was out of breath or something. Drew must have been thinking the same thing, because he said, “Do you have any idea how smart we are when we put our heads together? Why didn't we start doing this sooner?”

“It's scary, actually,” I said. “We should build a time machine or something.”

“One invention at a time, buddy,” he said, but I could tell by the look in his eyes that he was excited about building a time machine, too.

“I can't believe we just invented this!” I shouted.

We jumped up and down for a minute, celebrating. Only since we were in Corbett Canyon and the ceiling was so low, we had to kind of duck as we jumped, which made me feel like a kangaroo, but it still felt pretty fun.

“Okay, that's probably enough,” I said, and we sat back down on the floor.

“So how do we do it?” Drew finally asked.

“What you do is step into figure skates that have the invention stuck onto the bottom of it so it's like wearing regular soles.”

“Boom,” he said. “But wait—wouldn't the blade just stick through the sole?”

“I guess we'd have to fill the bottom of the replacement sole with some kind of high-tech gooey material that the spikes could sink into and stay in place . . . Silly Putty?”

“Too mushy, wouldn't hold the cleats,” Drew said. A second later his eyes lit up. “I know what we can use!”

We rode our bikes over to Stop & Shop, and I had no idea what Drew was doing, but when he headed over to the florist inside the grocery store, it made perfect sense—that green foamy stuff they use to stick flowers into for bouquets! Luckily, a different lady was working the register, so she didn't recognize us from back when we'd destroyed all their inventory after picking up fake Emma's birthday cake, and she didn't even charge us; in fact, she gave us a dozen foamy green cubes for free in a plastic bag.

After detention on Monday I ran straight to Corbett Canyon, where Drew and I gathered up his old ice skates and a pair of his dad's old golf shoes that he'd left behind when he moved out. We glued a foamy cube onto the bottoms, and voilà, we had our prototype! “This was surprisingly easy,” I noted. “Usually that's a bad sign with us.”

“Not this time,” Drew said. “I think we hit pay dirt with this one, I really do.”

“Should we test it out a few times to make sure it works?” I asked.

Drew looked at me with big eyes, and I knew he was thinking what I was thinking. We really wanted to poke holes in the foamy cubes for fun.

“But if we do that, we won't have enough to test out the prototype,” Drew said.

I stared at the pile of foamy green cubes in the corner. They looked so inviting.

“I'm pretty sure the prototype will work fine, how about you?”

A second later we raced over to the foamy cubes and started poking holes in them and giggling like crazy.

“This is even funner than playing with bubble wrap,” Drew said.

“Now
that's
an invention,” I agreed.

T
HE INVENTORS' FAIR WAS SCHEDULED
for seventh period the next day. Everyone in T.A.G. got to skip sixth period to set up their inventions. I got to the gym after lunch and saw that decorations had already been put up all over the place. In the center of the basketball court, facing the bleachers, was a raised platform with a podium on it. Behind the podium was a line of chairs for the presenters, and already most of the members were setting up their inventions. It was my first time seeing their prototypes, and I felt nervous at first because they all looked kinda interesting. Angie had what looked like a black stick with a plastic claw attached to the end. Carson had a Styrofoam box that he was putting a small sheet over to hide it. What was in that Styrofoam box? Graham was sitting in his chair holding what looked like a normal toothbrush. Maybe he was planning on brushing his teeth right before the assembly?

I took the corner seat and draped a blanket over it so they wouldn't see my project. Ms. Schoonmaker was checking on all of us, sipping her tiny cup of espresso, and it amazed me that her little cup could make the entire gym reek like a Starbucks. “That looks interesting, Carson, though you might want to go over the title on your poster one more time with the marker so everyone can see it,” she said. “How's your setup going, Peter?”

She peeked at my prototype and her eyes grew wide.

“Now that looks very interesting. Care to offer any hint as to what it is?”

“You'll know soon enough,” I said.

“I'm proud of you—you showed real initiative working on your prototype even though you had to miss some classes. Just presenting at all today is an accomplishment.”

“Well, I'm shooting for better than that,” I said, and she patted me on the head. Usually I hate it when adults do that because it makes me feel like a pony, but this time I kinda enjoyed it.

“Sunny, are you ready? Sunny?” Ms. Schoonmaker asked. I looked over and saw that my sister was sitting in her seat, and her face was bright red. The yellow duffel bag in front of her was zipped shut. “Why haven't you taken out your prototype? We only have a few minutes before it starts.”

“I don't have one,” Sunny said softly.

Everyone's jaws dropped.

“What do you mean? You've been working on it all semester,” Ms. Schoonmaker said.

“I switched at the last minute because my main idea wasn't working, but I couldn't get it done in time.” She stared at the floor, and I noticed the bags under her eyes that made her look ancient, like she was twenty or something.

“Well, maybe you could still present what you have so far. Let's see it,” Ms. Schoonmaker said, reaching for the duffel bag.

“No!” Sunny pulled the bag away from her. “I'm not presenting this afternoon.”

Ms. Schoonmaker frowned at her.

“I'm very disappointed to hear this. You should have told me earlier. We could have helped you finish your project on time.”

“Can I just turn something in by the end of the week?”

“For a grade, yes, but I'm afraid the selection process ends today. You knew that already, though. This is so unlike you.”

Sunny's face turned redder.

“I don't care!” she suddenly burst out, picking up the duffel bag and running for the double doors. Ms. Schoonmaker called after her, but she was gone. She turned to us.

“Okay, the rest of you have your prototypes ready, and I expect you to do your best presenting them. Good luck, everybody!”

I couldn't believe it. I would have never guessed in a million years that my sister would crack under pressure like this. I didn't feel bad for her, though, because a second later it dawned on me that—with my main competition out of the way—I now really did have a chance to win this thing! The bell rang for seventh period, and we sat down in our seats. I could hear the pounding of footsteps and shouts and hollers outside, and a minute later the entire student body spilled in through the double doors and raced past us to the bleachers. It took a while for everyone to settle down before Ms. Schoonmaker went up to the podium and spoke into the microphone.

“Welcome, students! I'm pleased to announce the start of the first-ever Fenwick Middle School Inventors' Fair. This afternoon you will be shown several inventions from your peers in The Academically Gifted program, from which one winner will be chosen by our judges at the end to represent our school next spring at the National Young Inventors' Competition. First up is . . . Angie Westphals!”

I was relieved that she didn't start with me. Now I would be going last. The students were already murmuring about Sunny's absence, whispering her name so much that it sounded like a bleacher full of snakes. They were stunned that for the first time in two years she wouldn't be in the running to win an official school competition. I pictured her yellow duffel bag. It had been full when she hoisted it up and raced out of the gym a few minutes earlier—what was her unfinished invention?

“Peter, stop daydreaming and pay attention!” Ms. Schoonmaker whispered in my ear from behind, and I almost passed out from the espresso smell.

Angie's invention turned out to be a sugar-cube dispenser for her horse, so she could give it a treat midride. Aside from Sally and the rest of the equestrian girls, the audience didn't seem all that interested. “One down, five to go,” I whispered to myself as the students politely applauded at the end of her presentation.

Next up was Carson. It turned out his invention wasn't in the Styrofoam box—it
was
the Styrofoam box. All he did was stick a freeze pack in it, along with a sandwich, a juice box, some chips, and a Snickers bar. He explained that Styrofoam's really bad for the environment and doesn't decompose, and this way we could reuse it rather than crowd landfills with the stuff, and on top of this Styrofoam is really good at keeping things cool. Big woop.

“No more soggy sandwiches, no more warm drinks, no more melted chocolate bars. The Carsonator not only saves the environment by recycling Styrofoam, but it keeps your meals the way they ought to be,” he said, and started noisily munching on the food samples. “Mmm, the lettuce in my sandwich is so crisp. Oooh, I'm getting freezer burn sipping this juice box. Yow—I almost chipped a tooth biting into my frozen Snickers bar!”

“Give me a break,” I muttered, and Ms. Schoonmaker glared at me.

When Carson was finished, everyone in the stands clapped a little louder than they had for Angie, who blushed—apparently she'd thought her horse claw was going to be sweeping the nation someday. I looked over at Ms. Schoonmaker and the judges—surely they'd deduct points given the fact that all Carson had done was tape two pieces of Styrofoam together.

The other inventions weren't even as good as that one, believe it or not. Leigh had cut out two sides of a milk carton, stapled a garbage bag to one end, and fastened a broom handle to the top. “It's called the Leaf Picker Upper,” she said. “This way you can rake leaves and they automatically go in the trash bag, so you have one less step to do!”

I looked over at the judges and they were scribbling notes, probably pointing out that basically Leigh's invention was promoting obesity, because people would get fatter by not having to do that extra step when raking the yard. I don't even remember Courtney's or Sam's invention, and the worst was easily Graham's. Like Carson, he didn't even invent anything, really. According to him, his toothbrush was a toothbrush for . . . toothbrushes! He called it the T2, which you'd use to clean your toothbrush after you brush your teeth. “Now you don't have to go into the bathroom, wanting to clean your teeth, and find that your toothbrush has a speck of old chicken in the bristles from your last meal.”

“Gross,” someone in the audience shouted.

“And, um, so now your toothbrushes will last longer, because dentists say that it's important to not only take care of your teeth, but also, um, your toothbrushes. . . .” Graham's voice trailed off, and to be honest, I kinda felt bad for him.

I couldn't believe how lame these inventions were—all semester these kids had been working so hard on them, and this was the best they had to offer? I was excited to finally give my presentation. It had come down to this. This was my moment, my chance to win over my classmates, my chance to guarantee that I wouldn't get kicked out of T.A.G., and on top of that I'd defeated Sunny just by even participating, since she'd already quit! But I kind of wished she was there to see it—I wanted to watch the look on her face when I unveiled what me and Drew had decided to call Safe Soles. Finally, for once she'd have to admit (at least to herself) that I was actually better at something than her.

“And now, last but not least, we have Peter Lee,” Ms. Schoonmaker announced. She was sipping her espresso and didn't seem as excited about the competition as she had at the start, thanks to Graham's T2. Well, all that was about to change, I thought. I stood up and carried my bag up to the podium.

“Good afternoon, everybody. . . . Um, what I've done is fix the problem that all athletes have—how many of you hate having to take your ice skates or soccer cleats or golf shoes off before you walk to your parents' car?”

Almost everyone raised their hands! As I whipped off the blanket, everyone leaned forward to get a look. I glanced over at the judges, who they were craning their necks trying to see my prototype.

“I call them Safe Soles, and what you do is simply step into them after you play your sports. That way you can walk normally in your hockey skates or soccer cleats the rest of the day. You can ride your bike in your golf shoes, walk the dog in your ice skates, go ballroom dancing in your soccer cleats, with no risk of accidentally killing yourself and others!”

Students
ooh
ed and
aah
ed, and even Ms. Schoonmaker was smiling!

“Now for a demonstration—my assistant Drew will show you how it works,” I said, and Drew climbed out of the stands and joined me up on the platform. I placed the Safe Soles by his feet as he put on his ice skates. Drew then stepped into the foamy replacement soles and everyone cheered! The foam was too weak, though, so basically Drew had to balance on his skates and walk real gingerly so the soles didn't fall off. Luckily the blades had dug into the actual soles a little and they stayed on, just barely. People stopped cheering—it looked like he was walking on stilts. I sat him down.

“Okay, that's the demonstration,” I said quickly.

“You know, historically we've never been that good at demonstrations,” Drew whispered as we listened to the scattered applause.

“Tell me about it,” I whispered back. “Luckily everyone else's inventions were horrible.”

Ms. Schoonmaker picked up the mic. “Okay, now I'll tally the votes from the judges, and we'll find out which young inventor is going to represent the school at the national competition this spring,” she said.

I figured even though our demonstration hadn't gone perfectly, our Safe Soles were the obvious choice, but a minute later she returned to the podium and said, “And the winner is Carson Santiago, for his invention, the Carsonator!”

Everyone cheered, and then the bell rang, and students raced out of the gym as if it was on fire. Drew came over and put a hand on my shoulder.

“Are you upset?” he asked.

“Weirdly, no,” I admitted.

I guess it happened so fast that I couldn't quite believe it at first. But then, as it started to sink in that we'd lost, I was surprised to find out that I wasn't feeling crushed. I sat there trying to figure out why I felt so calm about it. I mean, my fate had just been sealed in an instant—I was going to get kicked out of the T.A.G. program and probably flunk out of school altogether, I hadn't won the competition, I hadn't beaten Sunny even though she'd handed me the victory on a platter by not even participating, and me and Drew were going to be stuck being nobodies for the rest of our lives. And yet, it didn't really bother me like it should have. Fact is, instead of feeling bummed I'd lost, I couldn't stop wondering what the deal was with Sunny.

“Peter, may I speak with you for a moment?” Ms. Schoonmaker said. Drew motioned that he'd meet me over by the double doors. “The reason we didn't choose your invention, which was my personal favorite, was because the invention already exists, unfortunately.”

“Really?”

“Mr. Tinsley said so, he has some for his golf shoes.”

“But Styrofoam coolers already exist, too.”

“It's more that he's recycling Styrofoam that the judges appreciated.”

I sighed.

“I guess I'm not an inventor, after all.”

“Quite the contrary!” she said. “You honestly invented something that already exists. This is proof that you're thinking creatively, that you have a real knack for it.”

“So you're saying I was just born in the wrong century?” I asked, thinking about the time machine me and Drew were probably going to invent when we got older.

“I suppose. Anyway, good work. I'm proud that you were able to do this even though you missed some classes. Now get to your bus.”

Drew and I didn't talk much on the walk home. He was probably debating land-skiing to New Hampshire again, while I couldn't stop picturing Sunny's duffel bag. I needed to see what her invention looked like. It was all I could think about. And so when he asked me if I wanted to hang out in Corbett Canyon until dinner, I shook my head.

“Maybe later,” I said.

Sunny was already practicing the flute when I got home. I figured I could sneak into her bedroom upstairs and take a peek. She stopped playing but kept looking at her sheet music. “Did you win?” she asked.

“Carson won with a stupid Styrofoam thing. I'm in a bad mood, I think I need to be alone right now,” I said, pretending to be really upset. It felt weird that I was having to pretend to be upset.