The Mad Scientists of New Jersey (Volume 1)

by Chris Sorensen

  “But you are in my class, in my school,” said the teacher. “You will sit down, Ms. Michael...”

  “Michaels.”

  “...you will sit and you will learn to learn in silence. If that doesn’t suit you, you can go down the hall and have a nice chat with Mr. Wood!”

  A collective shudder went through the class. Mr. Wood, they said, was an ex-Marine who had once scared a kid so bad his hair turned white. No one risked a trip to Mr. Wood’s office.

  Roxie and Mr. Hubbard stared each other down, but the silence was broken by the rapid tap-tap-scratch of the chalk in Eddie’s hand.

  Mr. Hubbard fumed. “Mr. Edison, will you cut out that racket?” Eddie froze. Racket? What racket?

  It was Pudge’s gasp that warned him he should turn around. Eddie spun and stared at the chalkboard.

  “What have you done?” Mr. Hubbard asked.

  What indeed. Sprawled across Mr. Hubbard’s neatly executed quadratic equation was a wave of numbers, symbols, letters and indecipherable squiggles.

  In the midst of this chalky chaos, one sub-equation had been circled. It read:

  H+U-BRD(-IZ)=A-J3RK

  Eddie slowly worked it out. “Hubbard. Is. A... Oh, no!”

  One by one, his classmates burst into laughter. Even Jimmy Ticks was laughing, although he had no idea why.

  Eddie braced for impact.

  Instead of exploding, Mr. Hubbard simply stared at the board for a long time. A very long time.

  Then he started laughing. It was a frightening sound, like a weed whacker hitting gravel. He continued laughing as he made his way to his desk, opened the front drawer and pulled out his grade book.

  “You seem to find yourself very amusing, Mr. Edison,” he said as he flipped through the book. “Why don’t we take a peek at your grades and see how funny you really are.”

  He sat on the edge of his desk and raised the grade book as if he was about to tell the class a story. “Let me tell you a story.” He was!

  “It begins back in September of last year with your fifth grade entrance exams. What kind of marks did you get, I wonder?” Mr. Hubbard was grinning. Did he have the right to do that? To read his grades out loud?

  “Don’t,” Eddie said, but the old teacher silenced him with a wave of his hand.

  “Reading: C-. Comprehension: C. Math...” Mr. Hubbard clucked his tongue, obvious pleased with his findings. “Mathematics: Incomplete. Science: D+.”

  “Stop it,” Eddie said under his breath.

  “I don’t think so,” Mr. Hubbard said. “You want the freedom to humiliate me in front of the class? Fine! Go ahead. But you must allow me to do the same.”

  He read on. History, social studies, composition. D, D-, F in that order. Eddie’s face flushed. “That’s enough,” he said under his breath.

  “Yeah, cut it out!” said Pudge.

  “Would you like me to read your grades next, Mr. Rizzotti?” Mr. Hubbard smiled.

  “I don’t care,” said Pudge. He was angry. “Go ahead and read ‘em. But leave Eddie alone.”

  Roxie slapped her desk. “What he said, Cupboard.”

  Mr. Hubbard threw Roxie a nasty glare, collected himself and turned back to Eddie.

  “Just the kind of friends I’d expect you to have, Edison. The pizza man’s son and...” He looked Roxie up and down. “This one.”

  Eddie had had enough. He dropped the chalk on the floor.

  “Leave them out of it.”

  Mr. Hubbard showed teeth. “Or what? You’ll run home to your daddy?”

  All the air left the room as the students took a deep breath in. Mr. Hubbard moved toward Eddie in mock apology.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot your father is no longer in the picture. Disappeared, didn’t he? Don’t worry – I’m sure the authorities will round him up soon enough.”

  Eddie marched up to Mr. Hubbard, his hands balled into fists. He stared up at the smirking teacher.

  “Eddie, no!” Pudge cried.

  Eddie paused. And in that pause he saw his father. His father camping with him, his father fishing with him, his father sitting at the side of his bed reading to him before turning off the light.

  Had Eddie not paused, he would have let loose with a string of swear words that would have impressed even Pudge, but instead he said, “Why, Mr. Hubbard. Your nose hair is in dire need of a trim. Your finger must get lost up in there.”

  Mr. Hubbard scowled.

  The bell rang. The result was instantaneous. The class, already wound up with the tension of the moment, exploded toward the door.

  Mr. Hubbard quickly pulled himself together enough to shout after them, “Proposals for your final science project are due tomorrow morning. Projects are worth one third of your science grade. Fail your project, fail the section.”

  Eddie backed away from the trembling teacher and went to his desk to gather his books. Pudge was instantly at his side.

  “Come on, Eddie. Let’s get while the gettin’s good.”

  Eddie nodded, and he and Pudge scurried out of the room, leaving Mr. Hubbard glaring after them, his fingers fiddling with the hairs protruding from his nose.

  The two friends threw open the front doors and trundled down the steps. Smell you later, Lakeview.

  “Where you guys going?” asked a small voice behind them. They turned to find Jimmy Ticks standing on the steps, an unsure smile on his face. “Mind if I tag along?”

  Pudge sighed. Trapped! “Ugh, this guy,” he whispered. “You know my mom made me have him over to the house one time when we were kids. Just ‘cause we went to Sunday school together. He just sat around reading books — didn’t say a peep.”

  Jimmy was coming closer. “I asked if you minded if I tag along with you guys.”

  Pudge turned to the boy. “In one word, yes. We do mind.”

  Jimmy gave a nervous laugh. “That’s four words, actually. Four. Yes… we… do…”

  “Later, Ticks.”

  The boy got the point. He scurried off in the opposite direction even though his house was only a few blocks from both Pudge’s and Eddie’s.

  Pudge got the conversation back on track. “I thought Hubbard was going to eat you alive back there.”

  “Nah,” said Eddie, although he had actually thought the very same thing.

  “Why’d he get so worked up, anyway?” Pudge asked as he pulled some beef jerky from his backpack and took a big bite. “Other guys in class have acted up way worse than you. Remember when Tully brought that rotten duck egg to class? Or when that Fenster kid pretended to have diarrhea in the lunchroom and then actually did have diarrhea in the lunchroom?”

  Eddie shook his head. “I guess some people just like being jerks,” he said, and it was one of the few things he had stumbled upon in his short life that he knew to be absolutely true.

  “Your solution didn’t work, you know,” said a voice behind them.

  The two boys turned. Standing behind them (and looking down at them) was the new girl, Roxie.

  “Excuse me?” asked Eddie.

  Roxie leaned her head to the side. “Your solution? H+U-BRD(-IZ)=A-J3RK? Funny. Didn’t solve the problem in the least, but funny.”

  “How do you know he didn’t solve it?” asked Pudge. He was staring at her hair.

  Roxie shifted her gaze to Pudge. “Because I was at a private school before coming here, and we were studying this stuff back in fourth grade. That’s how.”

  She smacked her lips and considered Eddie a moment before asking, “Have you two figured out your science projects yet?”

  Pudge’s grin was wide. “I figured we’d come up with something out on the boat.”

  Roxie leaned in and grabbed Pudge by the scruff of his shirt. For a moment, Eddie though she was going to either slap Pudge or kiss him.

  �
�You have a boat?” she asked, a note of awe in her voice.

  “Yeah,” said Pudge, extracting himself from her grip. “It’s just my dad’s old pontoon boat. Why?”

  The girl with the crazy hair took a step back.

  “How about this,” she said. “You take me out on your boat, and I’ll help both of you come up with a killer science project idea. Remember, I’m two years ahead of you knuckleheads. What do you say?”

  Pudge looked to Eddie. Why not? “All aboard!” he said.

  The Cheesy Breezy slowly putted its way toward the waters skirting the small island, Pudge sitting proudly behind the wheel of the pontoon boat. The vessel had seen better days. The vinyl seats were cracked, the carpet on the floor was worn and the motor hiccupped and spewed black smoke.

  The man hiding in the bushes watched as the pontoon boat neared the island. He’d have to act quickly if this was going to work.

  He opened his sack. The thing inside rustled in response. He stepped to the water’s edge and emptied the sack. Something dropped into the murky water and disappeared.

  “You call this a boat?” Roxie asked as she pulled the neck of her sweater up over her mouth to avoid the fumes.

  “Give her a break. She runs, doesn’t she?” Pudge asked. It was hard to take him seriously with the captain’s hat he had perched on his head.

  Eddie stared out across the water. It really was a beautiful day on Lake Mohawk. The water wasn’t too choppy, and it looked as if the storm clouds that had threatened to ruin their boat ride were starting to disperse. Yes, a perfect day — if you weren’t in danger of failing Mr. Hubbard’s class.

  He could just see his house across the lake. It was the one with the sagging roof, the faded siding, the yard desperately needing to be mown. He guessed he’d better get to it soon, but loud noise was the bane of his mother’s existence.

  A small fishing boat motored by, catching his attention. A burly father sat in the back steering, his son in a bright orange life vest up front. A lonely feeling swept over Eddie like a wave, and he had to swallow hard to keep it from spilling out.

  “Earth to Eddie!” Pudge called.

  Eddie shook the feeling off. “I was trying to figure out what to do for my project,” he lied.

  “We’ve got plenty of time for that,” Pudge said as he cut the motor. He clambered over the back railing and tossed the anchor into the water. The rope played out quickly as the anchor made its swift decent to the bottom.

  “What’s that?” Roxie asked as she pointed at a small island a stone’s throw away from where they sat anchored. A crumbling turret poked up over the tops of the scraggly trees that hid rest of the two-story house. The island was scarcely larger than the house itself.

  “That’s Echo Island,” said Pudge. “No one’s lived there for hundreds and hundreds of years.”

  Roxie squinted at the island. “From the looks of that turret I’d say the house was built in the early nineteen hundreds. Nineteen-ten, nineteen-eleven.”

  “Well, okay, maybe not hundreds and hundreds,” Pudge snorted. “But it’s been empty since my dad was a kid. He and some friends went over there to take a look. Said there wasn’t much to see. Just a broken-down old house filled with trash.”

  Roxie shaded her eyes. “I think I saw something move.”

  All three trained their eyes on the brush that surrounded the house. Eddie felt in his gut that yes, he had seen something too. Was there someone hiding in the brush? But the longer he looked, the more he doubted his eyes.

  “It’s nothing. Come on, let’s get some lines in the water before we start with my science project,” Pudge said.

  “Oh, we’re starting with your project, are we?” Roxie asked.

  “Gotta start somewhere,” Pudge said with a grin. He attached a gaudy lure to his fishing line, drew back his pole and let the lure fly.

  Eddie sorted through the tackle box, choosing a spinner for bass. He raised his pole and flipped his lure into the water. Roxie spent an annoyingly long time rummaging through the box, finally coming up with a rubber worm.

  She slowly lowered her line into the water, leaned back and put her feet up. Her shoes were mismatched, different colors. Eddie wondered if she was making some sort of fashion statement.

  “My left foot is smaller than my right,” Roxie said, as if reading Eddie’s thoughts. “Two sizes smaller.” Her mouth curled in a proud, defiant grin.

  Embarrassed, Eddie looked away. He wanted to ask what that had to do with the different styles, but instead he said, “Why are you here?”

  “You said I could come.”

  “No, I mean, why are you here? In Lake Mohawk?” Eddie asked.

  Roxie considered the question, seeming to roll it around in her head before taking a deep breath and saying, “I burned down my last school.”

  Pudge, who had just opened a strawberry soda and was taking his first sip, did a massive spit take. “You... what...?” he spluttered.

  Roxie went red in the face. “I didn’t mean to. It was just...”

  “An accident?” Eddie offered.

  “No. More like a misunderstanding. My old principal, Ms. Stanley, and I didn’t see eye to eye. You may not have noticed, but I’m not like most girls my age.”

  As she said this, she was pulling a string of yarn from her sleeve, expanding an already existing hole in the shoulder. Eddie and Pudge didn’t say a word.

  “She thought anything that came out of my mouth was weird and therefore not to be believed,” said Roxie. “And so when I told her that I had accidentally set our school mascot’s costume on fire – it was a tortoise, and I was trying to reattach the shell with a soldering iron I’d borrowed from the custodian – she didn’t even listen to me.”

  “And so the school burned down?” Eddie gasped.

  “Well, not the whole school,” she said. “It was mainly just the costume. But the art room was filled with smoke. I guess that’s something you should know about me. I exaggerate. A lot.”

  She tossed her hair back and looked at Eddie for his reaction. She was an odd bird, definitely, but he gave her a nod letting her know he approved.

  “Hey, Edison! You got something!” Pudge squealed.

  Eddie certainly did have something. His line went taut and his pole bent nearly in two. He dug in his heels, leaned back and tried to reel in the line, causing it to twang angrily.

  “You hooked a whopper!” Pudge shouted.

  “You’re going to lose it,” Roxie said.

  “No he won’t!” said Pudge. “Why would you say that? You wanna jinx him? Come on, Eddie. Bring it in!”

  Gritting his teeth, Eddie gave one final fierce tug and something shiny burst out of the water and into the air. Eddie watched as his catch flew over his head, hit Roxie in the knees and landed on the deck with a thump. “Owww!” Roxie howled. “Seriously?”

  The three stared down at the thing. Silver in color, it was roughly the size of a basketball. To Eddie’s eye, it looked like a large metal walnut.

  “Congratulations. You caught a piece of junk,” snorted Pudge.

  Eddie’s first impression of the thing proved to be very astute. The surface of the object had grooves in it, just like a walnut. It also seemed to have two distinct halves. Again, just like a walnut. What might he find inside if he cracked it open?

  Pudge grabbed the thing, wrenched the lure free and readied to toss it overboard. Roxie swiped it out of his hands.

  “And just what do you think you’re doing?” she asked. She clung to the nut, like a quarterback guarding a football.

  “It’s junk. Lake junk. Just throw it back,” said Pudge.

  “Lake junk? I don’t understand,” Roxie said, shaking her head.

  “People are always pulling old trash up from the bottom of the lake,” Pudge said. “All sorts of crazy stuff. Machine
parts, old bottles, stuff like that. My dad said never to mess with it. He said it could be dangerous.”

  Eddie’s eyes were transfixed on the silver object. Slowly, he reached his hands out and, without a word, took the nut from Roxie’s grasp. He stared at it like a magician staring into a crystal ball. There was something so familiar about the thing. The feel of the metal, the way that the sunlight...

  “Oh no,” said Pudge.

  Startled, Eddie looked up. Pudge had risen and was staring off into the distance.

  “What’s wrong?” Eddie asked. But before Pudge could answer, Eddie saw the powerboat speeding toward them leaving a wild wake behind.

  “Who is that?” asked Roxie as she stood to try to get a better view.

  “It’s the Mustache Mafia,” Pudge moaned.

  The powerboat roared toward them, siren bleeping, the sound of rock music blaring from the radio. It circled them once and cut its engines, the resulting wake setting The Cheesy Breezy rocking.

  “Now, that’s a boat,” said Roxie.

  “Quiet!” hissed Pudge.

  Lance Eagan, a muscular teenager with a bad sunburn and an even worse mustache, stood up behind the wheel of the powerboat. His two buddies, who also sported wispy mustaches, stood behind him.

  “Hey, Lance,” said Pudge. “What’s the haps?”

  “You old enough to have a boating license, munch?” Lance asked. Whenever the guy talked, one side of his mustache lifted in a half snarl.

  “You know I am. You wanna see it?” asked Pudge.

  “Not necessary,” said Lance with an unwarranted air of authority.

  Eddie sat very still. Lance was trouble. His parents were rich and connected. Every summer they pulled strings to get Lance and his buddies Babcock and Hedges the cushy job of monitoring the lake. What it really meant was that Lance and company had free reign. To bully, to harass, to make life for other kids on the lake miserable.

  “You know, one of your running lights is out,” Lance huffed.

  “Running lights?” Roxie asked, sneering. “How can you tell? It’s daylight and he hasn’t got them on.”

  Lance nodded to Babcock. The runt gingerly stepped from the powerboat over to Pudge’s pontoon boat. He kicked at the aft running light, shattering it, sending bits of broken plastic into the water.