The Perpetual Motion Club (21 page)

The junior members reacted immediately. jWad snored because he’d already fallen asleep. May tsked and poked him in the ribs so he could feel aghast along with her, but he never fully woke up. Jimmy responded with a shrug which Elsa took as enthusiasm. Christine excused herself with a cough. “I have a Spanish Club meeting tomorrow,” she stated.

“I thought you couldn’t get in,” Elsa said.

“They let me be an associate member.”

“What’s that mean? You pay dues but can’t vote or something.”

“Something like that.”

“Okay, but be here on Wednesday.”

“Will you have something besides Jetstream? You never have anything but that.”

“What?”

“I’m allergic to carbonized liquids.”

“Why didn’t you say something before? I’ll have water.”

“Okay,” Christine said.

***

Tuesday night came, but didn’t exactly come off. Jimmy showed up, but no one else did. Elsa half-heartedly showed him the plans for the Arabian Wheel.

“It’s supposed to have mercury in the tubes, but Mercury’s a little hard to get these days. We have to find something else.

“Why don’t you use dyed glycerin?” Jimmy said. “I’ve got some in my kit. I use it on my garden pieces sometimes.”

Elsa stopped digging through her box of tools and looked up at him. “I don’t think I ever saw those.”

“There’s a lot you haven’t seen,” he said and then began turning over bits of masonite searching for ends of tygon tubing. “You can silverize with glitter glue.”

“Yeah . . . that might work,” she said, absently, still stuck on “a lot you haven’t seen.”

Jimmy nodded, and then: “I’ve got some on order. I’ll bring it in. I can start cutting the tubing tonight.”

She watched Jimmy for several moments before slowly removing sketches from her project folder. Earlier that day in Russian Lit class, she’d drawn them up while Tammy Bundt and Judson Comers argued over Dostoevsky vs. Tolstoy as if they could tell the difference. Now, puzzling over what Jimmy had said, she looked at the little pictures of PM models and barely saw them as she turned his glycerin idea over in her mind. The fact that there was “a lot” she hadn’t “seen” seemed to take up a good portion of her brain’s processing power.

Finally she took a breath and cleared her brain of the fuzz put there by Jimmy Bacomb, and tried picturing which device would be the show stopper. Which one would beat out the Vigilante Turtle game, the terraforming CAD program, the solving of world hunger software, the New York Stock Exchange hack that promised wealth and understanding to all without hurting a soul. It was stiff competition, no doubt, but she had an edge. She was different. And she’d be going for the non-geek crowd. The little people. The ones not really interested in C++ syntax, better chat links, or more realistic avatars. It was hard going because she couldn’t for some reason get the images of Jimmy’s garden trolls and patio furniture silvered with his particular flair out of her mind.

The next day, Elsa went out of her way to find May right after homeroom. The two no longer walked to school together as JWad always picked May up in his Taurus. If Elsa wanted to speak to May she had to text her. But texting is not as effective at chastising your club member as holding a face-to-face.

“I’m sorry,” May said in the hallway. “jWad and I just had to get some things done. I don’t think we’ll be able to help with your, your thing. We have a lot to do and we never get to see each other. You understand.”

“What are you talking about ‘never get to see each other’? You two are joined at the waist,” Elsa said, but May had already proceeded down the hallway to first period.

jWad skipped after he dropped May off, so he missed his scolding.

Jimmy, ever the trooper, promised to come tonight. She so wanted to say, “Don’t bother,” in her usual dump-on-Jimmy-Bacomb way, but that seemed childish. Especially since she actually hoped he would come. Which made no sense because after viewing his previous night’s progress, she doubted he’d get his wheel assembled on time. The tubes were precisely cut, perfectly matched in length, and lined up squarely on the bench. Nice presentation, but, still, seemed like he could have gotten a lot more done.

But Jimmy was bringing something else of importance to the table, some thing she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Maybe a touch of thoughtfulness. Or style. Yes, that was it. The Twerp was bringing style.

***

Thursday, April 29, three weeks before the FutureWorld competition a funny thing happened. Lainie spoke to Elsa at breakfast. And not just some joke about perpetual homelessness.

“A boy named Jason Bridges is coming to stay for a little while,” she said. “I’ve been working on his case and he needs to be removed from his current environment. I’ll need you to clean out the basement so he’ll have a place to sleep. I assume you’re done with your project.”

Somewhere back in the dark days of optimism and love, the American people yearned for less ostentatious possessions. During those dark days, Lainie and James had purchased a little house. One with few rooms and no extras. The thinking was that large houses owned by the wealthy deprived the less fortunate of their shot at the American dream. Houses for the rich were outfitted with Mahogany trim and marble bathrooms because no one could see those extravagant extras. Size however was noticeable, so small houses were in vogue at the time. Guests usually stayed in hotels anyway, what does one need a guest room for?

That left the basement as the only place for a troubled youth in which to sack at the end of a long day. It was natural that if Jason Bridges was coming to stay for a while, he’d be assigned the rec room.

Still Lainie’s statement was such an astonishing one, it left Elsa speechless. Elsa didn’t know whether to agree, argue, or ask for details. She sat at the breakfast table with her cereal spoon poised mid-air, mouth open, eyes staring at the EverydayDalton® tableware. Finally she uttered: “What?”

“Your stuff, in the basement, I need it out of there. This kid’s in trouble. Accused of murder. He’s a big boy, former basketball star. I’ve been assigned to his case and I’m removing him temporarily from the home. He’s coming here and needs the basement. Please get rid of that stuff.”

Elsa’s heart leaped and then landed with a thud. Jason was coming to sleep under her roof, but she had to sacrifice her plans for it. Not good.

“I, I can’t. Not for a few weeks,” she said. Not until FutureWorld.”

“Did the club get sanctioned yet?”

“Not exactly, but we’re still working on a project for the competition, we need—”

“What?” Lainie slammed her coffee cup on the table.

“We need to put together—”

“No, I mean the club didn’t get sanctioned?” Lainie had let go of her coffee cup now. The fists were balled on the top of the table as if they were gavels and this was a courtroom.

“Not yet,” Elsa said and then she started backpedaling. “It, it failed, but just for the first time. I mean, we have to a, a do a project to prove ourselves and then, and then try a, again. They want to make sure—”

“You’re embarrassing yourself with that stupid idea.” Lainie unballed her fists but left them on the table.

“It’s not what you think,” Elsa said.

“I think you’re wasting your time.”

“I know that’s what you think, but it’s not what you think. It’s a . . . It’s . . . ”

Elsa’s words faded. She didn’t know how to describe what it was. She didn’t know herself what it was. Art installation, historical retrospective, scientific statement, proof of a fact already known by millions? Reason for the existence of one inconsequential sophomore who would never in a million years get noticed by a star basketball player otherwise?

Was that the only thing she was trying to do? Find an excuse for her existence of the past seven months? Yes! And it was as important as anything else in the world. Why did everyone else come first? Why should her idea be stepped on, laughed at, misunderstood? Just because some star athlete was in a little trouble?

“I’m not cleaning it up!” she shouted, and grabbing up her pack, she ran out of the house all the way to school. At noon she came home and stayed, concerned that her mother would hire someone to cart her junk away. No one came, though. The phone rang, a message went on the recorder: Elsa had left school today at noon, was everything all right? She erased the message.

Elsa cleaned her bedroom upstairs. Made the bed, put the books on the shelves, vacuumed, dusted, removed a big chunk of clothing hanging in the closet to the front hallway.

She found an old blow-up cot in the garage and inflated it in her basement hideaway. Pushing aside a pile of resisters and pvc piping in her work area, she created enough space for the cot. She sat and stared at the junk, refusing to shed a tear. And why would she? Jason Bridges was coming.

At five she heard the garage door humming open. The car entered its hangar. Doors opened and slammed shut. Soon voices from the breezeway entrance traveled downstairs.

Elsa ascended the steps and opened the door to the kitchen. There stood Jason Bridges. No doubt the clouds parted and baby cherubs with trumpets hung from the ceiling, directing a choir.

Elsa couldn’t see her mother behind Jason, but knew Lainie was there by the dark pall hanging in the air, just below the cherubs.

Elsa and Jason looked at each other in surprise.

“I thought your name was Eva,” Jason said.

“Um, well, um some people call me that.” Elsa shrugged and nodded at the same time, goofily trying to explain her name situation. “I’ve cleaned my room for you. Come on, I’ll show you. Can I help you with those bags?”

“Sure,” Jason said. He remained standing there, though, confused by the fact that this, this Elsa, this silly somebody he’d spoken to once before, was the daughter of his articulate lawyer.

Lainie came from around Jason and half tripped over a duffle with the Nike logo sprawled across both sides. “I thought you were going to clean the basement,” she said.

“My room is nicer,” Elsa said. “I’ll stay down there.”

Her mother’s face relaxed a little. The sternly pinched eyebrows leveled out and she exhaled a little puff to let Elsa know that this was not exactly the right thing to do, but she was willing to work with it. “Please take his bags, then,” she said. “I’ll get dinner.”

“This way,” Elsa said as she hefted the first bag. The boy followed as easily as if she was his coach.

She showed him to his room, opening the closet to give instruction for clothing, retrieved his second and third bags, and then gave him a tour of the bathroom. Finally, particulars were over and it was time for conversation. They stood in the bedroom, trying to not be rude.

“Do you have practice tonight?” Elsa asked, picking lint off her shirt.

“No. The season’s over.”

“The season’s over. Oh. How’d you, I mean, how’d you do? I mean in the tournaments or something.”

“Yeah, well. They won regionals but lost at state. I wasn’t there because I, you know . . . ”

“Oh yeah. I forgot about that, I’m sorry, I . . . ”

“No big deal, I guess you probably didn’t realize I wasn’t on the team anymore.”

“No, I knew that, I just forgot. I’ve been kind of busy. I hadn’t been paying attention to basketball.” Jason’s predicament finally cleared the perpetual motion muddle and returned to her thoughts.

“Yeah, well, they did alright. I wish I could have played. We would have won state. I’d have been set for life. I might still be though if your mom can straighten things out.”

“My mom?” Elsa looked at the wall in the direction of the kitchen as if she could actually see Lainie there chopping celery and breaking lettuce leaves. “Yeah, well she’s . . . ”

“The best. I mean, since I can’t afford a real lawyer and coach don’t care no more.”

“She’s a real lawyer,” Elsa said. “Despite what your friends tell you.”

“Well, you know what I mean.”

“I guess,” Elsa smiled a little, knowing exactly what he meant. Hadn’t they had this conversation a couple of times already? And then it was time for dinner.

Lainie gave instructions to Jason on how to dress for the hearing. She wondered if he had the proper clothing. He stated that he didn’t actually and she suggested they make a trip to get some tomorrow.

“I’d send you with Elsa, but well, I’ll go myself. You should get to bed early tonight. Tomorrow’s going to be busy.”

Elsa tried shrinking under the table in embarrassment at her mother’s hint that she would not know how to shop, but Jason didn’t seem to notice. He answered, “Yes, ma’am,” politely, the way a person in trouble with the law should answer, even if they were used to undying devotion from strangers and had no need to follow the rules of polite society.

It was strange to see Jason here. He had none of the pomposity she associated with him at school. Even after his arrest when his friends left him for a time, he remained untouchable. Glowing. His friends had tentatively drifted back. After every nuance of the incident had been discussed by everyone in agonizing detail, it lost some of its shock. Jason may not have been allowed back on the team, but the power of his glow, even if slightly tarnished, would make sure his pals returned one day.

But Jason had changed. He’d been humbled. He’d learned that he was not going to escape his birth as easily as he’d thought. His friends were back, he was still a star, but now he was grown up.

After dinner he had no idea what to do with himself. Due to a lifelong love affair with basketball, he’d never acquired an addiction to ’net surfing or watching TV. After Lainie excused herself to the shower, he hung about Elsa as she cleaned up the kitchen not knowing what else to do.

Elsa, giddy but shy and short of basketball knowledge, brought up her own private plans for something to talk about. She tried her best not to, but she had nothing else on her mind. Even the mystery of who actually killed Jason’s brother was too distant or maybe too painful for him to talk about.

“Want to see my science project?” she asked as the last dish was loaded into the washer. She was quite sure he didn’t remember her talking about it at their last meeting. Everything here was fresh. They had no past history.