by Jack Gantos
The Genius Test
“I’m a genius,” Pete said. “watch this.” He stuck the TV remote out the window and pressed the button. I could hear Julian’s TV suddenly change channels from a Dick Clark Music Special to a Combat! rerun.
All the Seabee families had just received the TVs. Dad and the other recruits had been complaining that they didn’t make enough money to buy TVs, so the Navy surprised them with a bonus. A truck pulled up from Sears and each family received a Zenith TV with a remote control. It took Pete only a day to figure out how to drive Julian’s dad crazy.
“Dang it,” I heard his dad holler after Pete had changed his channel. “This remote’s defective.” Then I heard Dick Clark come on again. “There. That’s more like it.”
“Turn it up, Dad!” Julian hollered. I peeked out the window. Julian was hopping up and down on his couch playing air guitar. He spun around and spastically strummed on his belly as if he were on fire and was trying to put himself out.
Pete carefully aimed our remote at their window as if he were a sniper and in an instant turned their TV to a Tom and Jerry cartoon. We ducked.
“Dang it!” his dad yelled again. “What good’s a remote if it has a mind of its own?” He must have thrown it because I could hear it hit the wall and clatter across the floor.
“You broke it!” Julian shouted mournfully.
“No, I didn’t,” he replied. “The cover just got knocked loose.”
I started laughing. “That is so cool,” I whispered to Pete.
“I’m a genius,” he said matter-of-factly, and tapped himself on the head with the remote.
“No,” I disagreed, “you are just sneaky. You are not a genius. There’s a difference.”
“You are dead wrong,” he replied. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately and I now realize I’m a genius. I’ve been coming up with all kinds of genius ideas without even trying to think. Like, if you read a book backward the main characters never die. If you sleep all day and stay up all night you’ll never need sunglasses. Thoughts just pop into my head. They even make a popping sound, like popcorn.”
“More like the sound of a lightbulb blowing,” I said.
Just then there was a knock at the door. It was Julian.
“Here comes trouble,” I whispered. “I bet he’s come to tell us his dad is going to beat us to a pulp if we don’t stop changing the channels.”
“I’ll hide the remote,” Pete said, and headed for the kitchen. “He won’t know it was us if we can’t find the remote.”
“Sure, Einstein, that’s a genius plan,” I said sarcastically.
Julian pounded harder. “Hey, guys,” he hollered. “I’m more than smart-smart-smart enough to know you are in there.”
“We’re here,” I confirmed after Pete tossed the remote into the freezer. I walked toward the door. “What’s up?”
“I just came to let you know that I’m a genius. I took a Gifted and Talented test at school and they said I’m so smart they might take me out of third grade and put me into fifth—then I’d be more advanced than you.”
The genius virus was spreading faster than measles.
“They said I’m off the charts!” Julian bragged. “Charts! Charts! Charts!”
“They probably mean you are sailing in uncharted water,” I suggested.
“No! Off the charts!” he repeated clearly. “Like, so smart they don’t even have a category for me.”
“Did you cheat?” I asked, squinting hard at him.
“Didn’t have to cheat-cheat-cheat,” he said, grinning. “So smart I don’t need to.”
“Well, I’m a genius, too,” Pete announced, returning from the kitchen.
Julian’s face dropped. It was obvious that he wanted to be the only genius in our Seabee trailer park. “What’s your proof?” he asked, challenging Pete.
“Can’t tell you,” Pete replied. “It’s a secret.”
“Well, you need proof,” Julian insisted, “or I won’t believe you.”
“You’ll have to take my word for it,” Pete said, and shrugged.
“Forget it,” Julian replied, getting all huffy. “You’re lying. You’re just jealous of me because I’m smarter than you-you-you are.”
“Don’t be a jerk,” Pete said.
“Don’t be a jughead!” Julian shot back.
Suddenly Pete leaped on him and they fell over backward out the door and began to roll across the patchy front yard. “Say I’m a genius,” Pete grunted. He was smaller than Julian but had surprised him and now had Julian’s face down in the sand.
“You’re a moron-moron-moron,” Julian sputtered, and rolled back and forth, trying to shake Pete off.
“Say I’m smarter than you are,” Pete ordered.
“I’m smarter than you are,” Julian mimicked.
Pete became furious. He leaned forward and bit Julian on the top of his head.
“Stop it,” I hollered, and ran at them. I grabbed Pete and pulled him away, and as I did so I noticed there was a hank of Julian’s hair stuck between Pete’s teeth. While Julian wiped the sand from his eyes, I quickly shot my hand out and snatched the hair from Pete’s mouth. If Julian saw that, he’d go bonkers.
“Now, I want you two to apologize to each other,” I demanded.
“No-no-no way,” Julian replied. “A genius doesn’t have to apologize to a Neanderthal.”
Pete raised his fist.
I stepped between them. “Okay,” I said. “I’ve had it with this fighting. As far as I’m concerned you are both mini minds. But to settle your argument, tomorrow I’m going to announce the rules of a Genius Test, and whoever wins gets to be the Seabee genius. But I set the rules and I’m the judge. Do you both agree?”
“Let’s get it on,” Julian said, squinting evilly.
“You mean, get on your dunce cap,” Pete said, swaggering.
Julian stuck his nose in the air and turned away. As he walked home gently rubbing the sore spot on his scalp I whispered to Pete, “Why did you bite his head?”
“That’s where his brain is,” Pete replied. “It was like going for his throat.”
“You’re weird,” I said.
“All geniuses are misunderstood,” he replied proudly, and drifted off as if he were a cloud in the shape of himself.
By the next afternoon I had come up with a test. The three of us gathered in front of school, where I explained it. “There will be four categories—memory, inventions, sneakiness, and literature.”
“Does that mean I can write a song-song-song for the literature category?” Julian asked.
“Sure,” I said. “But no help from your dad.”
“Can I write a poem?” Pete asked.
“You can write a novel,” I said. “But first we have to work on the first category—memory. Now listen. The true sign of a genius is found in one universal factor,” I announced, “a photographic memory.”
“I have a great memory,” Julian declared, tapping himself on the side of his head. “I’m a living jukebox. I know every song lyric ever recorded.”
“I’ve never forgotten anything,” Pete bragged. “I even remember the moment I was born.”
“Well, let’s do a scientific test to determine if either of you has a genius memory,” I said. “Here’s how it’s going to work. Today, when we walk home from school I want you to memorize every step of the way—every shell you step on, every curb, every pile of sand, every smell, every direction we turn—everything. And then tomorrow I’ll blindfold you both and you’ll have to walk home alone and if you have a photographic memory you’ll have no problem. You’ll make it home safe and sound.”
“Okay,” Pete said, snapping his fingers. “Sounds easy.”
Julian smirked. “I can do that blindfolded and walking backward.”
“Whatever,” I said. “Now, let’s walk home and along the way remember everything.”
They walked home like dogs that had to stop and pee on every bush, every tree, every curb. T
hey sniffed. They counted steps. They licked their fingers and held them up in the wind to mark its direction. It took us forever.
The next day after school I tied a red bandanna around Pete’s eyes and one around Julian’s. I stood them both on the exact spot in front of the flagpole where we had started the day before. “Ready?” I asked.
“Yes-yes-yes,” Julian said.
“Ditto,” Pete replied.
“Go!”
They started walking tentatively, with their hands held forward, squeezing at the air like blind lobsters. I watched as they slowly meandered across the school’s front yard and turned right on the sidewalk. They zigzagged around and past each other like two sailboats tacking back and forth. “No cheating,” I yelled out, tagging behind.
“Shut up,” Julian yelled back. “I’m concentrating!”
“Yeah,” Pete yelled. “All geniuses need mental solitude.”
“You’ll get plenty of that in a nut ward,” I shouted back.
Just then Miss Noelle pulled up beside me. “Hi,” she said, “need a ride home?”
Instantly I forgot all about Julian and Pete. “I’d love a ride home,” I said, sounding like Alfalfa having a meltdown in front of Darla. I got in and we zoomed off.
“Who were those two boys?” she asked. “They had their eyes covered up.”
“A couple of morons,” I replied. “I hardly know them. By the way, do you know I’m a genius?”
She looked at me and smiled. “In that case, I think you need some challenging homework,” she said thoughtfully. In a minute she gave me an assignment that combined bird migration and geography and geometry and the rotation of the earth and wind patterns and rainfall charts and insect growth ratios. I was completely mixed up. When she dropped me off in front of my trailer, I was relieved.
“See you tomorrow,” I said with my head spinning.
She smiled slyly. “Good luck writing that ten-page paper,” she hollered, and hit the gas.
Suddenly I was hot. I went inside, drank a glass of cold water, then stepped outside to see how the geniuses were progressing. In a minute I heard Pete wailing, then I saw him running for the house with the bandanna swinging loose in his hand. “Jaaaack!” he cried. “Jaaaaack! Help me.”
I ran toward him. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “What?”
“Look at my front tooth,” he cried out, with a whistle.
I looked. Half of the left one was chipped off. “What happened?” I asked. “Did you two fight again?”
“No. I was doing everything just fine—just like a genius—when I walked into a parked car and hit the door handle with my teeth.”
“Then you must have been off course,” I said, already trying to deflect the blame.
“No!” he yelled angrily. “No! I was right on course, step by step, like a real genius. It’s just that yesterday when I remembered my way home the car wasn’t there and today it parked across my path.”
“Oh,” I said. “I hadn’t considered that.”
“Which is why you aren’t a genius,” he was quick to point out. “Or you would have figured something like this could have happened.”
“Are you going to tell Mom and Dad about this?” I asked.
“Just depends,” he said, “on how you score the test.”
Before I could remind him that it was up to me to play fair, I heard Julian crying as he hobbled toward us without his bandanna.
“What happened to you?” I asked when he limped up to us and miserably plopped down onto the sand.
“I stepped on a conch shell and twisted my ankle,” he explained. “It’s no fair-fair-fair.”
“Well, this test is a tie,” I declared with great authority. “You both removed your bandannas and are disqualified.”
“It was a stupid test,” Pete said with a whistle.
“Tomorrow will be better,” I promised. “We’ll meet right back here after school.”
The next day we gathered out front for the inventions test.
“I want to go first,” Julian insisted. “I have a good one.”
“Okay,” Pete said. “Give it your best shot.”
“Go put on your jeans and jean jacket,” Julian instructed. “And I’ll meet-meet-meet you out behind my house.”
Pete and I did.
“I’ve invented the perfect baby-sitting device to keep a baby in one spot,” Julian announced. “I call it the Staple-Sitter, and I’m going to make millions on it.”
He had Pete stand on an upside-down bucket with his arms spread out against the wall like an angel. Then, with a heavy-duty stapler, he stapled Pete’s jeans to the wall with hundreds of staples. When Julian finished he kicked the can out from under Pete’s feet. Pete didn’t drop an inch. He didn’t even sag a little.
“Lean forward and try-try-try to get out of it,” Julian ordered.
Pete tried. He grunted and wiggled but was entirely fixed to the wall.
Julian tapped himself on the head with the stapler. “Genius,” he declared. “I’m so off the charts.”
Pete must have known it was a good one. He was pouting. Then in a sudden fit of poor sportsmanship, he yelled out, “He stole my idea!”
“No way,” Julian protested. “I couldn’t have stolen it from you because I stole it from my dad. He used to do this to me backstage when it was his night to watch me-me-me while he had a rock ‘n’ roll gig.”
Pete frowned.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s get Pete off of here.” We stood on either side of him and began to pull on his jeans until the staples let go. Pete began to sag, and when he finally got off the wall we helped pull the staples out of his clothes.
“Now it’s your turn,” I said to Pete.
He didn’t look very confident. “Okay,” he sighed. “My invention is called the Tooth-Flute.” He began to whistle out of his mouth and, by using his finger as a valve over the new gap in his front tooth, he began to play “Frère Jacques.”
“That is so bogus!” Julian declared. “It’s as if-if-if you are having a psychotic moment.”
I could tell Pete knew he was beaten, so I didn’t allow time for Julian to gloat. That was the best I could do.
“Julian is now in the lead, one to nothing,” I declared. “But let’s move on to the sneakiness category.” I figured Pete would score well on this one.
“I’m not telling my idea,” Pete said. “My genius sneaky idea is a secret.”
“Then I’m not telling either,” Julian said. “But it is a genius-level idea.”
“Well, you both have to tell me,” I insisted, throwing my hands up in the air. “Otherwise I won’t be able to judge it.”
“I won’t tell unless he tells,” Julian said, and began to laugh. “But believe me, it is beyond anything Wile E. Coyote could think of.”
“I think you are lying,” Pete said. “You just don’t have a good idea.”
“Then let’s hear-hear-hear yours,” Julian said.
“I can’t tell you,” Pete replied. “It’s so top secret that it is classified by the government.”
“Okay, boys,” I said. “Okay. Let’s just skip the third category.”
“So who is the genius?” Julian asked.
“Yeah,” said Pete. “Who?” He gave me a look like he expected me to rig the results in his favor.
“Let’s move on to the literature category,” I said a bit impatiently.
Pete frowned.
“I’ll go first,” Julian said. “Naturally, I made up a genius song. It will be the theme song for my TV show. Every week my show will open and show me doing genius things while my song plays in the background. Here goes: I’m so smart, I’m off the charts … My brain’s so huge there are no replacement parts … I solve problems all day long … I’m the world’s answer man singing a song. La, la, la …”
Pete fell down laughing. “What’s the name for your show?” he asked. “Looney Tunes?”
“I am not-not-not amused,” Julian said dryly, a
nd stuck his nose into the air. “So, what is your genius bit of literature?”
Pete pulled himself together. “I have written a poem,” he said, squaring his shoulders and loudly clearing his throat. “Roses are red, Violets are blue, My IQ’s so big, No hat will do.”
“That’s dumb,” Julian said. “IQs don’t wear hats.”
“You’re an idiot,” Pete shot back. “And you will always be an idiot because there are no replacement parts for your pea-sized brain.”
“Let’s just fight-fight-fight,” Julian said. “Winner is the genius. Loser is the moron!”
I jumped between them. “No more fighting,” I said. “Fighting is for brain-dead boneheads.”
“Then who is the winner?” Julian asked.
“Yeah?” said Pete.
“It’s a tie,” I said. “Pete’s poem won the literature category.”
“That’s totally bogus!” Julian protested.
“Hey,” I snapped back. “I don’t want any lip from either of you. Not a word.”
“So what do we-we-we do next?” Julian asked.
“I’ll think of a tiebreaker tonight,” I said, “and I’ll announce it in the morning.”
That night I worked on Miss Noelle’s homework assignment and didn’t make up the final test until we were all walking to school the next morning.
“Here is the final test,” I announced. “As we all know, staying out of trouble at school is the sign of true genius. So, I want each of you to spend the whole day at school without ever going to class and without ever being sent to the principal’s office. You will have to use all your genius skills to both avoid being absent while never being present.”
“I don’t get it,” Julian said. “You want us to be-be-be invisible?”
“Invisible, but present at the same time,” I replied.
“I think I get it,” Pete said. “You just hang out in the hall around the front office and if anyone asks what you are doing, you just say you are waiting for the secretary to call your mom because you have head lice.”
