Billy Sure, Kid Entrepreneur

by Luke Sharpe

  An Antithief in the Night

  I STAY UP LATE, WORKING on the Sibling Silencer. I want everything to seem normal, so the antithief won’t suspect anything.

  Finally, I go to bed. I’m thinking so much about the antithief and the alarm system that I can’t concentrate on the Sibling Silencer anyway. Philo’s already been asleep in his doggy bed for a couple of hours. He seems to be dreaming, because he twitches and makes little snuffling and yipping sounds in his sleep.

  I lie in the dark. The house is quiet. I think about the Sibling Silencer and the last couple of snags I’ve hit. Then my eyes start to droop. They close. I’m breathing more slowly . . .

  Brrree-doop! Brrree-doop! Brrree-doop!

  The alarm! It’s going off! My lights have snapped on!

  I see my clock. It’s the middle of the night. I must have fallen asleep.

  Still groggy, I look around for the antithief. But the only other living being in the room is Philo. He’s sitting in the middle of the room, staring at me. He lifts a paw, hoping for a treat.

  I use a remote control to shut off the alarm. When I set the alarm’s volume, I made sure it was loud enough to wake me up, but not so loud that it’d wake up anyone else in the house. I listen for footsteps, but hear nothing except the ticking of a clock downstairs.

  I decide to check my desk.

  There’s something on it!

  I can’t believe it. Another set of blueprints! When I examine them, it’s clear that they’re the plans to build a Sibling Silencer.

  And they look perfect. Brilliant, in fact. The stumbling blocks that I just couldn’t get over have been pushed aside. Everything’s solved. With these plans, there’s nothing standing between me and a working Sibling Silencer. I’m basically holding Sure Things’ Next Big Thing in my hands. I can’t believe it.

  So it’s happened again. But we didn’t catch anyone!

  I spend a few more minutes studying the blueprints, then I put them in a drawer and lock it. I turn off the lights.

  Back in bed my mind races. How could someone have come into my room, put blueprints on the desk, tripped the alarm, and then disappeared before I saw them? I’m sure I woke up as soon as the alarm went off.

  Philo stands up and scratches his bed, as though he’s trying to make it softer, like someone plumping a pillow. He does this every night, even though his bed never gets any softer. He’s only managed to rip out the bottom of the bed.

  He was the only one in my bedroom when the alarm went off. But a dog couldn’t possibly have been the one to figure out the blueprints.

  Could he?

  • • •

  I wake up the next morning after a night full of dreams about Philo doing amazingly smart things: going to college, becoming a professor, winning a Nobel Prize made out of bacon.

  It’s early, and Philo is still sleeping, curled up in his dog bed. He just looks like a normal dog. And that’s all he is, right?

  I think about when we first got him. I had been begging for a dog for months, and finally Dad said yes one morning when he was painting. We went to the shelter, and Philo stuck his paw out of the cage when I walked by. Like he was choosing me.

  It’s a Saturday, so I don’t have to go to school today. I have all day to solve the mystery of how the blueprints appeared on my desk.

  Philo wakes up. He stands, stretches, and looks at me, ready to go outside for his morning bathroom break.

  I look at him. In the light of day, I realize that it was pretty ridiculous to wonder if he could have written the blueprints. He almost definitely didn’t do it. But maybe he can tell me who did. When I look into Philo’s eyes, it sometimes seems like he’s thinking. Like he’s got something he wants to tell me.

  Usually it’s I would like a treat, please.

  But maybe he has more to say today. Secrets that want to spill out of that little doggie brain. And if I’m clever enough, maybe I can figure out a way to communicate with him.

  “Woof!” Philo says, impatient to go outside. At least, I think that’s what he’s saying. If only I had a DOG TRANSLATOR.

  Now that’s a great idea! Maybe that should be our next Next Big Thing, after the Sibling Silencer, of course.

  “Come on, Philo,” I say. “Let’s go outside.” The second I say “go,” Philo gets excited. We head downstairs. I grab Philo’s leash, clip it to his collar, and head out the back door.

  He accomplishes his goal.

  But we stay out in the yard. The gate’s closed, so I unclip his leash and let him wander around, sniffing the ground.

  I pull out my phone and start searching for information about dog intelligence. I read that dogs can understand up to TWO HUNDRED WORDS!

  If Philo can understand two hundred human words, then that means he can understand two hundred ideas. And if he can understand two hundred ideas, it seems like one of those ideas could be, I know who left those blueprints on your desk last night. If only he could say two hundred words.

  As we go back inside the house, we run into Dad, headed out to the little art studio he built in our backyard. “Good morning!” he says. As he scratches behind Philo’s ears, I want to ask Philo, Was it him? Did he do it? You can tell me!

  Maybe I can get Dad to admit to it. “How was your night?   ” I ask innocently.

  “What do you mean?   ” he asks, puzzled. We’re both pretty sure this is the first time in my life I’ve ever asked him how his night was.

  “How’d you sleep?   ”

  “Great! Like a rock, all night long! How ’bout you?   ”

  I think about telling him what happened. But not just yet. I’m still trying to figure it all out. If he did leave the blueprints, he’s doing an awfully good job of pretending he didn’t. And Dad’s not much of an actor. When it comes to keeping secrets, my dad is the worst. You can tell he’s hiding one because every time he looks at you, his eyes get wide and he purses his lips like he’s trying not to say something. It makes him look like a fish.

  “I slept okay,” I say, checking his face for anything fishy.

  “That’s good!” he says. “I know you’re worried about your next invention, so I’m glad you could sleep. Sleep’s important. It’s tough to be creative when you’re short on sleep.”

  “How do you know I’m worried about my next invention?   ” I ask suspiciously.

  “Because you said so—repeatedly—at dinner last night!”Dad laughs.

  Oh, right.

  Philo and I go inside. I feed him and get myself a bowl of cereal and add some blueberries on top. While I’m in the kitchen, Emily stumbles in, rubbing her eyes.

  “Why is everyone so loud?   ” she complains. “It’s Saturday. I wanted to sleep in! But you and Philo and Dad are so loud. Ugh.”

  She opens the refrigerator and stares.

  “Sorry,” I say. “Did you, um, have trouble sleeping last night?   ”

  “What?   ” she asks, still staring at the contents of the fridge as though she hopes something delicious will materialize right in front of her eyes.

  “Were you awake in the night? Did you get up? Or see anything?   ”

  She finally turns her head and looks at me as if I’ve lost my mind. “What are you talking about? Did you see something?   ” She closes the fridge without taking anything out. “You didn’t see a ghost, did you? I always thought this house was haunted. Remember that time I woke up and there were strange orbs on my walls?   ”

  I remember that night. I don’t tell her that I was playing a prank on her with a mirror and a flashlight.

  “No, and I don’t believe in ghosts,” I say.

  “You would if you saw one,” she insists.

  This talk of ghosts is getting us nowhere. I change the subject. “Hey, Em, do you think dogs are smart?   ”

  She opens a cabinet and stares at the boxes of cereal. “As opposed to what?   ” she asks. “You? Yes, I think dogs are brilliant.”r />
  “You think Philo is smart?   ”

  She looks at Philo, walks over to him, leans down, and rubs the sides of his face. “Nope! He’s just a big dumb pup!” Philo licks her face. “Kisses!” she squeals. “Kisses!”

  “You know, they say dogs can understand up to two hundred words. I wish Philo could tell us what he knows. And what he sees, like, in the night.”

  I watch her carefully to see if she looks suspicious or guilty because I’m getting too close to her secret. She doesn’t. She just looks as though she thinks I’m crazy. I’ve seen that look many, many times.

  I finish my cereal, put the bowl in the dishwasher, and whistle to Philo. “Come on, boy! Come on!” He follows me up to my room. I’ve got an idea. I want to try something.

  I close the bedroom door behind us. I’m used to Emily calling me insane, but there’s no need to give her more reason to think so.

  After finding the key and unlocking the drawer, I take out the Sibling Silencer blueprints. “Sit!” I say to Philo. He sits. “Sit” is definitely one of the words he knows.

  Kneeling down, I show Philo the Sibling Silencer blueprints. “Remember these, boy? From last night?   ”

  Philo licks the blueprints. But just once. Apparently they don’t taste all that great.

  “Did you see who brought these into my room last night and put them on my desk? Bark once for yes, twice for no.”

  Philo just sits there, looking like he’s grinning, with his tongue flapping out of his mouth.

  I look on my bookshelves and find a framed picture of me and my dad. I point to him. “Was it him? Did he bring the blueprints? Bark once for yes and twice for no.”

  Nothing.

  I search through my junkiest drawer in the closet. I must have a picture of Emily somewhere. Oh, wait! My phone! Duh! I slide through the pictures on my phone and find a good one of Emily looking mad, telling me to get out of her room. I show it to Philo.

  “Did Emily bring the blueprints? Bark once for yes, twice for no.”

  Philo licks the phone’s screen.

  I find a framed picture of my mother. “Was it Mom? Bark once for yes and twice for—”

  “Woof!”

  He barked! Once! Could it be? Could my mom have somehow found out I was worried, come home, slipped into my room, left the blueprints, and slipped back out before I woke up?

  Twick twick twock-a twang twang biddly bong!

  My phone’s ringing! Is it Mom?

  But it’s only Manny.

  “Billy!” he shouts when I answer. “Meet me at the office right away. I’ve got to show you something! Bye!”

  “Wait!” I say. “Last night the alarm went off! I’ve got the blueprints for the Sibling Silencer!”

  “I know! And I know who the antithief is!”

  The Antithief, Revealed

  AS I RACE OVER TO the office on my bike, my mind’s spinning even faster than my wheels. Who gave me the blueprints? Mom? Dad? Emily? Philo? A ghost?

  Or does Manny know who did it because he did it himself?

  I’ve got the Sibling Silencer blueprints in my backpack, which bounces against my back as I pedal as hard as I can. I arrive at the office and wheel my bike right in through the side door we use as our only entrance and exit. I immediately ask, “Who did it?   ”

  Manny doesn’t even look up from his laptop. “Who did what?   ”

  I guess he thinks this is funny. I feel like whacking him over the head with the blueprints until he spills the beans. I hold myself back.

  “You know what! Who put the blueprints for the Sibling Silencer on my desk last night, and set off the alarm, and then mysteriously disappeared?   ”

  Manny spins around in his desk chair and pretends he just now remembers what I’m talking about. “Oh, that! Right! Would you like to meet the person who did all that?   ”

  I look around the office wildly. Is my mom here? Or someone else? I don’t see anybody, and there aren’t really any good hiding places in the office. I guess you could crouch under the pinball machine, but you’d still be easy to spot. And I’m not spotting anyone.

  “Yeah,” I say, walking quickly over to him. “I would very much like to meet him. Or her. Or it, if it’s some kind of robot alien mutant creature. Just tell me who left the blueprints in my room!”

  Manny smiles. “You did.”

  I just stand there for a few seconds, stunned. “W-what?   ” I manage to stammer.

  “You did it,” Manny repeats. “You drew up the Sibling Silencer blueprints and left them on your desk. You drew up the All Ball blueprints too.”

  “Manny, last night I went to sleep and there were no blueprints. I woke up and there were blueprints. How could it possibly have been me?   ”

  “Here,” he says, turning back to his computer. “I’ll show you.”

  He clicks on a video.

  “Hey, that’s my room!” I say.

  It’s dark. There’s kind of an eerie green glow, but I can make out my desk. Then a figure slowly moves into the shot.

  It’s me.

  As I watch in complete amazement, I see myself sit at my desk, busily writing on blueprint paper.

  “I’m using my left hand,” I say.

  “I know,” Manny says. “It seems that when you’re awake, you’re right-handed. But when you’re asleep, you’re left-handed. As far as superpowers go, it’s not the most exciting.”

  The video goes on for quite a while with me sitting at my desk, writing blueprints.

  “I’m going to fast-forward to the important part,” Manny says. He does, and in the video I make little jerky movements as I write in fast motion. Then he puts it back on regular speed. “Watch. Here it comes.”

  In the video I finish writing. I stand up and walk back to my bed.

  “I never tripped the alarm.”

  “Because you knew where the strings were. After all, you’re the one who set up the trap.”

  I watch myself get in bed. Philo wakes up. He stands and walks around the room. He passes by my desk. The alarm goes off! The lights snap on!

  By the time I sit up in bed, Philo’s just sitting in the middle of the room.

  Manny shuts off the video.

  “I don’t get it,” I say. “I sleepwalk? And I . . . sleep-invent? Is that even a thing?   ”

  “Apparently it is,” Manny says, nodding. “And you do a really good job of it too.”

  “But where did this video come from?   ”

  “I set up a webcam with night vision in your room and streamed the video to my computer.”

  “When?   ”

  “When you were setting up the alarm yesterday. You were concentrating so hard, you didn’t even notice.”

  I guess sometimes I really can focus. “But why did you do it?   ”

  Manny took a deep breath and let it out. “Well, I’ve known for a long time that you walk and talk in your sleep. After six years of sleepovers, you tend to pick up on details like that.”

  “Okay, so I sleepwalk sometimes. But sleep-invent?   ”

  “I was sure you invented the All Ball by yourself. And I knew you were going to crack the Sibling Silencer. But I knew you wouldn’t believe it unless I had proof.”

  The truth starts to sink in. And it feels good. I really did invent the All Ball! By myself! And now I’ve invented the Sibling Silencer! With Abby!

  “Hey, we’ve got to tell Abby that I cracked the Sibling Silencer! Let’s call her right now. We, uh, don’t have to mention the part about the sleep-inventing.”

  Manny grins. “All right. But first let me see those blueprints. I want to admire your latest sleep-work.”

  • • •

  Abby’s thrilled when she hears that I’ve figured out how to make the Sibling Silencer work. (We don’t tell her I finished it in my sleep. Some things are trade secrets.) On the phone, she screams, “MY INVENTION! IT’S GOING TO BE A REAL THING!” In th
e background we hear her brother Alan say, “And I’m going to use it on you!” I can’t help but think that parents are also going to love the Sibling Silencer, because bickering kids will end up silencing each other. And Manny loves it because no family will be able to buy just one!

  Now that I have the completed blueprints, I get right to work making a prototype. Once I’ve ordered a few special parts and they’ve arrived, I’m able to put the Sibling Silencer together quickly, working in the office and the minilab in my bedroom.

  As soon as I finish the prototype, I burst into Emily’s room, hiding the Sibling Silencer behind my back. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN HERE?   ” she yells. “DIDN’T YOU EVER HEAR OF KNOCKING? YOU CAN’T JUST BARGE INTO MY ROOM WHENEVER YOU FEEL LIKE IT! I’M TELLING DAD!”

  I whip the Sibling Silencer out and take aim . . .

  “DON’T YOU POINT THAT THING AT ME! I TOLD YOU NOT TO—”

  Shhhhhhoop!

  Emily’s mouth keeps moving, but no sound comes out. EUREKA! IT WORKS!

  The device silences her beautifully, but of course it doesn’t stop her from jumping up off her bed and running straight at me, giving me a murderous look while still moving her mouth.

  I turn and run out of the house.

  In a few seconds Emily’s able to talk again. Even though I’ve run all the way down the street, I can still hear her screaming. “I AM NOT YOUR GUINEA PIG FOR YOUR STUPID EXPERIMENTS! I AM YOUR VICE PRESIDENT! YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO EXPERIMENT ON YOUR VICE PRESIDENT!”

  Once Emily cools down, I make my way back to our house and cut around through the side yard to Dad’s art studio in the back. “Dad?   ” I ask as I open the door and peek in. “Sorry to interrupt . . .”

  “That’s okay, Billy! Come on in! I’m done for the day. Just washing my brushes.”

  He’s dunking paintbrushes in various jars of liquid and shaking them.

  “I wonder if you’d mind helping me test our latest invention.”

  “Not at all! What do you need me to do?   ”

  “Just talk.”

  “What about?   ”