Billy Sure, Kid Entrepreneur and the Cat-Dog Translator

by Luke Sharpe

  I make my way back to the office with Philo.

  A few minutes ago I was thrilled with how well the Cat-Dog Translator worked. Now I not only have to tell Manny that it’s gone, but that someone may have stolen it. We’ll have to figure out who . . . and why . . . and where it is . . . and how to get it back!

  All right, I have to calm down.

  I arrive at the garage and throw open the front door, bracing myself for the dreaded All Ball jingle doorbell. It doesn’t come. Could Manny have actually taken the fact that I was sick of hearing it to heart? Could he have put aside his pride in having written it? Did he turn it off as a gesture toward harmony in our office?

  Nah, must be a short in the audio system.

  “No, I don’t believe that it will work on hamsters,” I hear Manny say as I step into the room. He turns toward me and hits the mute button on his phone.

  “It doesn’t work on hamsters, right?” he asks me.

  I shrug. “Well, I really can’t tell without testing it.”

  Manny nods and hits the mute button again.

  “Good news. The hamster setting is in the testing phase,” he lies. “What? Fish? Fish don’t make any noise. Listen, I’ll be in touch when we get the hamster thing up and running.”

  Manny ends his call. “That was someone from Pet-A-Palooza, the pet store giant. They’ve got stores in malls all across the country. And they are very, very interested in the Cat-Dog Translator. Hmm . . . we may have to change the name if it works on hamsters, too. CAT-DOG-HAMSTER TRANSLATOR is a bit of a mouthful. Do you think a hamster setting can be integrated into the device?”

  “Maybe,” I reply. “Of course, that would require us to actually have the device in our possession.”

  “What do you mean?” Manny asks.

  “Someone stole it.”

  Manny remains calm. In fact, Manny always remain calm. It’s reason #207 why he’s the best CFO a kid entrepreneur could ask for. It’s one of the reasons we became friends, and it is certainly a big reason why Sure Things, Inc. has been such a success. Well, that and the inventions, of course.

  “How did that happen?” Manny asks.

  “It was only out of my sight for a minute . . . maybe less,” I explain. “I think someone was following me and planned to steal it. When Philo got stuck in a tree—”

  “Wait? Philo got stuck in a tree?” Manny asks.

  “Yeah. That doesn’t matter now. What matters is that I put the translator in my backpack, and then I put the backpack down so I could help Philo get out of the tree. When I picked my backpack up again, it was empty.”

  Manny thinks for a moment, then turns back to his desk. “Hey, I started working on the press release for the Cat-Dog Translator. It’s just a rough draft, but tell me what you think:

  Wonder what your dog is asking for when he barks at you?

  Curious about why your cat paces from one end of the house to the other, moaning?

  Well, wonder no more:

  Sure Things, Inc., the company that brought you the All Ball, the Sibling Silencer, the Stink Spectacular, and Disappearing Reappearing Makeup, announces their latest, greatest invention:

  THE CAT-DOG TRANSLATOR!

  Coming soon to a pet store near you!

  “We may have to tweak it if the hamster thing works out. Hamsters squeak, right?” asks Manny.

  “It’s a great press release, Manny, but the device is gone and we have no idea where it is. What are we supposed to do?”

  “Build another prototype,” Manny says casually, and then he turns his attention back to his press release.

  “That’s it? Just build another prototype? Just like that?”

  “Uh-huh,” Manny replies. “Because let’s be honest, Billy. You’re not the most organized person. I’m sure it’ll turn up eventually.”

  It takes a moment to sink in, but I slowly realize that Manny is right. We have to have a prototype if we’re going to demonstrate this thing and make it a hit. And as for what happened to the first prototype, it could have been some kind a prank. Like Manny says, maybe it’ll turn up.

  “Right!” I announce, as much to get myself psyched as to let Manny know that I agree with his plan. “I’ll get on it first thing tomorrow. I have to get home now. See ya.”

  “Which sounds better: ‘LATEST, GREATEST INVENTION’ or ‘GREATEST, LATEST INVENTION’?”

  “Good night, Manny,” I say, heading for the door. “Come on, Philo. Let’s go home.”

  • • •

  That night, as I try to fall asleep, my brain is going a trillion miles a minute. It will take me a couple of days to build a new prototype from scratch. The good news is that I’ll be starting with my completed blueprint, so this second model should work even better than the first one. But part of me can’t stop worrying that the theft of the first prototype might have been more than just a simple prank.

  On Saturday, with Philo at my side, I head to the office. As usual, Manny is hard at work at his desk.

  “I definitely like ‘latest, greatest invention’ better than ‘greatest, latest invention.’ We should go with that,” he says.

  Sometimes Manny forgets about stuff like “hello” and “how are you?” But that’s okay. He’s got bigger things on his mind.

  “Did you go to bed last night?” I ask, worried that he will burn himself out. “Have you been here all night fretting over ‘latest’ and ‘greatest’?”

  “Nah, I solved that one yesterday,” Manny explains, tapping away on his laptop’s keyboard. “I just wanted to let you know what I decided.”

  I slide over to my workbench, unroll the blueprints, and get to work on the Cat-Dog Translator prototype, take two. Philo curls up in his doggy bed.

  An hour later I’ve got the box built. As I go about connecting the wires and circuits, Philo gets up and comes over to me. I don’t need a translator to know what that means. He wants to go out for our daily stroll in the park.

  I enjoy our walks too, as a short break in my workday. But today I’m trying to get this second prototype built in time for Manny to show it to all the big shots he’s lining up.

  “Sorry, buddy, no walk today,” I say. “But you can go out into the backyard. Come on.”

  Philo follows me to the door. I open it and he runs out. He’ll stay out there for a while, then come scratching at the door so I can let him back in. We’ve done this before. And with the fence enclosing Manny’s backyard, I can send him outside and he’s nice and safe.

  I dive back into my work. An hour later, with the wiring done and the piping for the microphone and speaker in place, I decide to call it quits for the day. I should be able to wrap this up tomorrow and put Sure Things, Inc. back on track.

  That’s when I realize that Philo never came scratching at the door.

  I get up and step out into the backyard, but there is no sign of him.

  “Philo!” I call. Nothing. “Here, boy!” I shout. No Philo.

  Where could he have gone?

  I walk to the far end of the yard and see doggy paw prints in the dirt. It appears that Philo has jumped the fence! But why would he do that? More importantly . . . where is he?

  I stick my head back into the office. “Philo’s missing,” I tell Manny. “I’m off to search for him. He’s probably in the park.”

  Manny types away furiously. I’m not sure if he even knows I’m in the room.

  “Try the park,” he says, without breaking his tappity-tappity rhythm on the keyboard. It’s like he never even heard me.

  “Good idea,” I say, then I head back out.

  Leaving through the gate at the back of the yard, I walk into the park. As I enter, I look around on the ground, still hoping that I might find the first prototype. No such luck, of course.

  “Philo!” I shout. “Here, boy!”

  A few seconds later Philo comes bursting out of a clump of nearby bushes.

  “aRRUFFF!” he barks.

  “What’s gotten into you?” I say.
“How did you get out of Manny’s backyard? Did you jump over the fence?”

  “aRRRRRR!”

  Uh-huh, I think. Where’s my prototype when I need it?

  Soon Philo and I are back in the office.

  “Found him!” I announce.

  By this time Manny has finished what he was doing. “He must have jumped the fence,” Manny says. “Good thing the park is fully enclosed with a higher fence. Philo isn’t going anywhere farther.”

  “It’s still strange behavior for him, though,” I point out. “Anyway, we’re heading home. See you tomorrow, Manny.”

  “Hey, how’s this: ‘the latest and greatest invention’? What do you think? I like the ‘and.’ ”

  “Good night, Manny,” I say, heading out with Philo by my side.

  • • •

  The next afternoon at the office the same thing happens with Philo. I let him out into the backyard. Making the final connections for the microphone and speaker, I complete the second prototype. Time to test it. And that’s when I realize that Philo never came back and scratched at the door to be let in. Just like yesterday.

  Again, I head to the park, and again I call out for Philo.

  “Here, boy!” I shout.

  Philo comes tearing out of the same clump of bushes as the day before.

  “What could be so interesting in those bushes that you jumped the fence and came here two days in a row?” I ask Philo.

  He sniffs the ground and remains silent.

  I walk over to the bushes and shove the branches aside, not exactly sure what I’m expecting to find there, other than some kind of answer. Maybe the first prototype? But there’s nothing interesting about these bushes. There’s just dirt and grass and twigs and a startled bird that flies away.

  “Come on, Philo. Let’s go back,” I say.

  A few minutes later, back in the office, I decide to test out my new prototype on Philo, hoping to learn why he’s been sneaking off to the park.

  Powering up the device, I hold it near Philo’s mouth.

  “Why have you been jumping the fence and going to the park?” I ask.

  “GRRRRRR-UFFF!” Philo replies. A few seconds later from the translator’s speaker comes: “TREATS ARE DELICIOUS!”

  So much for getting the truth out of Philo!

  Sure Secrets!

  ON MONDAY MORNING, I JUMP from bed, energized by the completion of the second translator prototype. Now we’re ready for the testing and marketing phase, something I always enjoy. It helps me grasp the fact that all this is real—the inventions, Sure Things, Inc., this double life I’m leading. The thought of another hit invention is enough to get me through even the toughest day at school—usually. But nothing could prepare me for what happens as soon as I walk through the front door.

  As I walk down the hall on the way to homeroom, it seems as if everyone is pointing at me and smirking, or hiding a giggle, or whispering into the ear of the person standing next to her.

  Now, by this time I’m somewhat used to being the center of attention—I don’t like it, but I am getting used to it. But today’s reaction to me seems just plain weird.

  Peter MacHale comes up from behind, taps me on the shoulder, and says: “Hey, Sure, you still wear footie pajamas?”

  Uh . . . WHAT? I am so stunned by this out-of-left-field comment that by the time I can pick up what little is left of my wits off the floor, Peter has disappeared down the hallway—though I think I can still hear the nasal snort that passes for his laugh.

  And for the record, what’s wrong with wearing pajamas with feet? They’re way warmer than regular ones, and it’s not like I wear them to school or anything. I’ve never noticed a label on them that that says: “If you are twelve and still wearing these, then you are officially super totally lame.”

  But here’s the main thing. How in the world could Peter MacHale know what I wear at home?

  As I ponder this new mystery, Dudley Dillworthy waves at me from across the hall. “Hey, Billy, I heard that you talk in your sleep,” he shouts, loud enough for everyone in the entire school to hear him. “What do you talk about? Do you count all the money you make from your inventions instead of counting sheep? One million, two million. Ha-ha-ha!”

  And again, mocking laughter trails away down the hall. What Dudley said is just as true as what Peter said. I do talk in my sleep. But why would he know that? And why would he care?

  “Jelly beans on pizza, Billy?” says a girl behind me.

  I know that voice without even turning around. It’s ALLISON ARNOLDS.

  “Hi, Allison. What was that?” I ask, hoping that I didn’t just hear what I’m sure I just heard.

  “I asked if you really put jelly beans on your pizza?” she says. “You are just too weird.”

  Then she walks away.

  Again, what she said is true, but who cares what I like to eat? But that’s not the real problem. The only one who’s ever seen me eat jelly beans on pizza is Manny, and he’s certainly not going around blabbing with anybody about stuff that goes at the office. When it comes to the goings-on at Sure Things, Inc., everything, right down to the jelly beans, is top secret to Manny.

  So how can all these people know about stuff that happens when it’s only me or when it’s just Manny and me at the office?

  And I thought this was going to be an okay day!

  After school I pick up Philo and head to the office. Manny’s math class took a field trip to a museum today, so he missed hearing about all the fun I had to endure.

  “You are never going to believe what happened to me at school today,” I say to Manny, who is deeply absorbed in some website on his laptop. “Peter MacHale made fun of me for wearing footie pajamas, and then Allison Arnolds told me she thinks I’m weird because I like jelly beans on my pizza.”

  “Uh-huh,” Manny mumbles, still riveted to whatever website he’s stuck on.

  “How do they know these things about me?” I continue. “I didn’t tell them. You certainly didn’t tell them.”

  “No, I didn’t,” says Manny, finally acknowledging the fact that we are having a conversation. “But someone else did. Look.” He points to his laptop’s screen.

  I lean over Manny’s shoulder. Pulled up on the screen is a website called SURE SECRETS! EVERYTHiNG YOU EVER WANTED TO KNOW ABOUT KiD iNVENTOR BiLLY SURE.

  I’m stunned. I’m speechless. I don’t even know where to begin to start to think about what to say. Fortunately, Manny sees this and picks up the conversation for us both.

  “You know I have a bunch of web alerts that let me know anytime Sure Things, Inc. is mentioned?” Manny begins.

  I nod weakly, but I am not ready to actually utter a sentence.

  “Well, this website popped up in my alerts late last night,” he explained. “But I didn’t need an alert to find out about it. It’s all anyone could talk about during the field trip today.”

  Words finally return to my frozen lips. “Who would do such a thing?” I ask.

  “There’s more. Look,” says Manny.

  Looking past today’s three “headlines,” which just happened to be about footie pajamas, talking in my sleep, and eating jelly beans on my pizza, Manny finds a longer list of Sure Secrets.

  Billy Sure sings in the shower. (Who doesn’t?)

  Billy Sure turns his socks inside out and wears them two days in a row. (So, they’re a little stinky. It saves me from running out of socks.)

  Billy Sure won’t eat purple candies. (That’s true. Not even purple jelly beans.)

  Billy Sure hides his spinach under his napkin and then throws it in the garbage when no one is looking.

  “I really don’t like spinach,” I explain to Manny calmly, as if I were reading these things about someone else. Then the truth that someone is posting these things about me comes crashing down on my brain once again.

  “It’s a really junky website,” says Manny, as if that’s supposed to make me feel better. It doesn’t.

  “Who is
doing this? And where is the info coming from? And most importantly, why is someone trying to embarrass me like this?”

  “I dug around to see if I could penetrate the site’s code,” says Manny, “but all I found was a pop-up ad for DON’T-SMELL-LIKE-POO shampoo. I couldn’t see who created it.”

  “Thanks,” I say, back at my workbench.

  As I hook up electric meters, voltage measuring devices, and all the other testing tools I use to put every new invention through its paces, I find it hard to concentrate on the work at hand.

  Philo gets up and stands at the back door, wagging his tail. Without thinking about it, I get up and let him out.

  Time to concentrate, I think. There’s nothing you can do to fix this problem right now.

  The good news of the day is that the technical testing of the Cat-Dog Translator all goes smoothly. It’s time to try it out on other cats and dogs.

  When it’s time to go home, there is no sign of Philo in the backyard. This is starting to become a pattern. I slip through the gate, walk to the park, and call out.

  “Philo! Time to go home!”

  Like clockwork, he comes out of the bushes, barking happily and wagging his tail.

  When I get home I go right to Emily’s room. I knock on her door.

  “Yeah!” she calls out.

  “Emily, it’s me,” I say.

  “Really?” she says, her sarcastic tone turned up to eleven.

  “Can I come in for second?”

  “If you must,” she replies.

  Emily is at her desk, typing furiously on her laptop. She has three history books open and two encyclopedia websites up. She is still wearing her fake glasses.

  At that moment I realize that I almost never see my sister working so hard. She’s usually on her phone with three friends at once, fussing with her hair or nails, squealing about the latest bit of gossip. Somehow the sight of EMILY THE SERIOUS STUDENT catches me off guard.

  “What?” she snaps.