Tj and the Rockets (5 page)

“They aim a gun at it,” said Gabe.

“A gun?”

“A kind of a gun that measures speed. You see it in the stands when the scouts are out.”

“But how does it work? Is it like the radar guns the police use?”

“I don't know. I've never thought about it.”

“Hmmm,” said Ms. K. “That makes me wonder something else. Is there a reason these athletes are so good? Is there a reason they can throw so hard? Or shoot a puck accurately? Is it because they try harder? Or have better equipment? Or because of the type of body they have— their muscle mass and their vision and things like that?”

“I don't know,” said Gabe. “They're just good.”

But you could tell from the look on his face that he had begun to wonder himself.

Mia had a collection of matchbooks. Ms. K. was interested in the places they'd come from. She also wondered if anyone knew how safety matches worked.

“I know, I know, I know!” called Seymour.

“Don't tell us, Seymour, but do tell us one thing. Is there anything scientific about matches?”

I could tell there must be quite a story behind matches because Seymour was just about to burst. He controlled himself, however.

“Lots of science,” he said. “Chemistry. Physics. Invention.”

It didn't take long until we figured it out, of course. Ms. K. knew she couldn't beat Mr. Wilson in terms of laboratory experiments, so she'd done it from a different angle. She was helping us to find the science in the everyday, the ordinary things that appealed to each of us.

“Proving, once and for all, she's a witch,” said Seymour. “Witches don't need special equipment. They just use what's lying around, frogs and toads and stuff like that.”

Of course it didn't work for everyone. Some kids didn't really have collections or weren't interested in them the way Gabe was, but it did get everyone thinking that maybe, just maybe, it was possible to do a science project after all.

“I wish she'd let me tell people about safety matches,” said Seymour. “It's a
neat story. Some guy was trying to invent a new type of explosive. He stirred the chemicals with a stick, and a glob dried on the stick. He tried to get the glob off by rubbing the stick against the stone floor of his shop. Poof. It burst into flame.”

“You mean he discovered it by accident?” I asked.

“Yup,” said Seymour.

“And was rubber really discovered by accident?” I asked.

Seymour nodded.

“It wasn't completely an accident,” he said. “Mr. Goodyear—as in the tire guy— was doing experiments to find ways to keep rubber soft so people could use it. He was already mixing it with chemicals, but he didn't know that heat was going to be the answer until a blob fell accidentally on the stove.”

Seymour's eyebrows began to separate. One went up, one went down.

“But safety glass was an accident,” he said thoughtfully. “A glass container fell to the floor and shattered, but someone noticed that the pieces still hung together.
It had held liquid plastic once upon a time.”

A dreamy tone came into his voice.

“And Ivory Soap was an accident—not the soap itself, but the fact that it floats, which is why people all of a sudden wanted to buy it.”

He kept going.

“And Scotchgard was an accident—a scientist dropped some chemical on her tennis shoe and noticed later that the spot never got dirty.

“And cornflakes were an accident— that was the Kellog brothers and their three-day-old mixture that they didn't throw out.

“And chocolate chip cookies were an accident because someone didn't realize that bakers chocolate melts in cookie dough, but a broken-up chocolate bar just stays in nice yummy chunks.

“And Coca-Cola was an accident…”

“Seymour, come back, Seymour,” I said. I was waving a hand in front of his face.

“Nope, can't stop yet,” said Seymour.
“I'm saving the best for last. Some guy named Fleming accidentally left an experiment with bacteria sitting on a window-sill. It went moldy, but this Fleming guy was smart enough to look at it anyway. He saw that the mold had actually started to dissolve the bacteria. Ta-da! Penicillin.”

Which was pretty amazing because even I knew that penicillin was a really important drug. I also had a strong suspicion where Seymour was going with all this.

“Please tell me you're not going to leave a bunch of food lying around,” I said.

“Not lying around,” said Seymour, “but it is true that a bunch of accidental experiments have to do with food. Are your parents staying late at the store tonight?”

Chapter 7

“What are you and Seymour working on?”

That's what Amanda, smartest kid in class, asked me the next morning.

“How do you know we're working on anything?” I asked.

“I can tell,” said Amanda. “First Seymour acts as if he's got the greatest idea in the world. The next day he's going around scowling. That's how he gets when you two are working on a project together. Besides, his hands are purple.”

It was true. Last night had not been a great success. Seymour had invented burnt peanut butter, but he couldn't
find a use for it. He'd invented stretched marshmallow raisin balls, but they took about three hours to chew. He'd invented health food made with squished tinned beets and oatmeal, but it tasted disgusting and he still couldn't get the color from his hands.

The cats had invented things too.

T-Rex had invented throwing up in the middle of the kitchen table. That was after he ate a bunch of peanut butter when Seymour wasn't looking. Maybe Mom was right about the kittens not sitting on the table.

Alaska had invented a game called “High-Risk Obstacle Course.” She jumped on top of the china cabinet and walked between Mom's special glass figurines. I didn't think she could push them off, but then I hadn't thought she could topple the hair gel either. I bribed her down with cat treats and gave her a long talking-to. I'm not entirely sure she was listening.

I was the only one who made any real progress. I'd worked on a new rocket, just a little one this time. It was one kitten
length instead of two, and I was going to make sure Seymour didn't step on it.

Amanda was still waiting for my answer.

“I'm not allowed to say. You know how Seymour is. You might out-dinosaur him or out-haunted-house him.”

I was talking about a couple of other projects our class had worked on.

“I can't
not
do a good job on something just to make him feel better,” said Amanda.

“Why not?” I asked. “It would make my life a whole lot easier.”

The look on Amanda's face scared me for a moment.

“I'm joking, Amanda. I really am. Seymour would be totally disgusted if you did something like that. So would I. It's bad enough that we have to go against Mr. Wilson's class. If the smartest kid in our class starts acting weird, then we'll know we're really in trouble.”

“I'm only smart in some ways,” said Amanda. “There's lots of ways to be smart.”

There
are
lots of ways to be smart. I sure wish Seymour would figure out just one of them. Burnt peanut butter smells awful.

It was Thursday, and after school Seymour followed me to the store.

“I've got a new great idea,” said Seymour. “Another way people invent things is to take ordinary things and find new uses. Your store is full of ordinary things.”

“Take the ice-cream cone,” he said, picking up an ice-cream scoop on our way through housewares. “A teenager at the 1904 St. Louis World Fair was selling ice cream in dishes. Right next door was a man selling waffles, a Persian kind of waffle that's really thin. When the dishes ran out, they used rolled-up waffles. Presto—ice-cream cones.”

“I didn't know that,” said a voice behind us.

“Hey, Mr. G.!” said Seymour.

“Hi, guys,” said Mr. G. “Your dad's in the back talking to that slick security salesman, TJ. I'm just going to let your mom know I'm on my way home.”

He was carrying his jacket, but he didn't seem to be in a hurry. He leaned back and listened to Seymour talk about inventions.

“Frisbees started out as pie plates,” said Seymour. “A company that baked and delivered pies noticed that its customers were throwing the plates around for fun. Hair dryers came from women switching the hoses on their vacuums from the vacuuming-in side to the air-blowing-out side. Liquid Paper started out as plain old white paint. Slinky was a torsion spring from World War II. Tea bags were meant just as packaging, but people dropped the whole thing in their teapots and thought it was great.”

Sometimes I don't know whether to believe Seymour or not.

“It's true!” he said. “Look it up yourself.”

“I always thought Slinky must have been some sort of happy accident,” said Mr. G. “Well, I'd better be off.”

We said goodbye to Mr. G. Seymour picked up the closest object on the shelf.

“Take this thing with the holes in it… you could use it… you could use it to put something wet inside and let the water drip out.”

“That's what it's for,” I said. “It's a strainer.”

“Oh,” said Seymour. “Well, it could also be…” He turned it over. He turned it sideways. “It could also be…”

“Yes?” I asked.

“Not a good example,” said Seymour.

He looked around again.

“Clothespins,” he said. “They could be used to hold bags closed or papers together.”

I took him around the corner. There on a shelf were all sorts of clamp-type things, not exactly like clothespins but very, very close. They were being used for exactly what Seymour had suggested.

“This plastic tablecloth,” said Seymour. Once he gets started, Seymour is not easily discouraged. “This would make a good cover in the rain. Use this broom to hold it up.”

“Seymour,” I said, “I might be wrong, but I think you just invented the umbrella.”

Seymour frowned and put everything back where it had been.

“Everything's already been invented,” he sighed. “Everything except stuff like proton separators and anti-gravity machines and stuff you have to go to university for. I haven't got time for university right now.”

Seymour went home. I suddenly realized that I hadn't been watching for shoplifters. How could I have forgotten? It was important!

But it wasn't until two days later that I realized how important it was really going to be.

Chapter 8

“TJ, you didn't happen to…” said my mom. I didn't need to wait for the end of the sentence.

It was Saturday morning. Dad had gone to the store early. Mom had some things to do around the house before she left. I was waiting to go rocket flying with Gran and Seymour.

“What was stolen this time?” I asked.

“One of those nice wooden chess sets we brought in.”

“Who could be doing it?” I asked.

“At first your dad and I thought it was a couple of kids messing around, you know those two guys who come in with earphones and music so loud they can't hear anyone else?”