by Luke Sharpe
This is it . . . time for the big payoff.
I pull off the hat, take off the glasses, and yank the mustache off my face, practically taking my nose with it.
“I am Billy Sure!” I shout. “And you, Alistair Swiped, are soooooo busted!”
Swiped, whose face has been filling the entire chat window, stumbles back in shock, startled that he’s been caught. With his face no longer taking up the whole window, I can now see Swiped’s entire office. Sitting on his desk is the original Cat-Dog Translator prototype!
At that moment, Philo catches sight of Swiped’s face. He starts barking wildly at the video chat window. I snatch the second translator prototype out of my bag, switch it on, and hold it up to Philo.
His barking comes out: “NICE MAN, GIVE ME ANOTHER TREAT. ANOTHER TREAT. I LOVE YOUR TREATS!”
Manny and I look at each other as the whole truth becomes clear. It was Alistair Swiped who stole the original prototype. He’s been using it on Philo during Philo’s long periods of time away from me each day. He’s been bribing him with treats—which explains Philo’s recent weight gain—and getting him to bark into the translator to reveal secrets about me. That explains why so many of the things that have appeared on the Sure Secrets website were things only Philo could have known.
Manny leans in close to his laptop’s monitor.
“All right, Swiped, I’m only going to say this once,” he begins. “If you don’t return our prototype within the hour, the police are going to hear about your little theft. Not to mention our attorney.”
The video chat window instantly closes. A few seconds later the entire Sure Secrets website vanishes, replaced by a message which reads, “This web address is no longer valid.”
“All right, so we took care of the website,” says Manny. “And by the way, great acting job. I definitely think that once you’re old enough, you should grow a real mustache. It looks good on you.”
I just smile and shake my head. “So how do we get the original prototype back?” I ask. “You told him to return it within the hour, but you didn’t say where or how.”
“I have a hunch,” says Manny. “Let’s just give him an hour, then follow me.”
The next hour ticks by excruciatingly slowly. When it’s up, Manny says, “Let’s go.”
He opens the back door, allowing Philo to dash out. We follow in time to see Philo easily hop over the backyard fence. Struggling to keep up, we follow Philo to the park. Not surprisingly, he leads us right to the same patch of bushes where I’ve been finding him every day for the last week.
Philo dives into the bushes, barking and moaning, obviously looking for the treats he’s been getting from Swiped there day after day. Pushing the bushes aside, I spot the original translator prototype sitting on the ground. It has a note pinned to it that reads:
All right, Sure. Here’s your stupid invention back. You win this time. But next time . . .
You Can’t Win Them All!
BACK AT THE OFFICE, AFTER solving the mystery of the Sure Secrets website and Philo’s disappearances, I feel very relieved.
“This has been weighing on me big time,” I say to Manny.
“I know . . . one problem down, two more to go,” says Manny. “And just in time, too. Here’s an e-mail from Principal Gilamon saying that he thinks an assembly featuring your latest invention would be a great idea.”
My relief suddenly turns to panic. I really don’t like the idea of standing up in front of a packed assembly. But I know that Manny is right. This assembly will get Principal Gilamon off my back and get some of those pet owners to stop coming to my house at night.
Speaking of which, when I arrive home that evening, the usual crowd of owners and pets has gathered in front of my house. I recognize them as mostly kids from my school. Standing on my front step I announce: “Listen, everyone. I have good news. Next Tuesday morning at eight I will be leading an assembly at Fillmore Middle School. Students will have a chance to bring their cats or dogs up to the stage and find out what their pet is saying, using Sure Things, Inc.’s latest product, the Cat-Dog Translator. So good night, and I will see you next Tuesday.”
I slip into the house. The crowd starts to break up. Manny would be so proud.
For the next few nights I sleep better than I have in a while now that the Sure Secrets website is gone. Then Monday night comes and I toss and turn, nervous about the assembly the next morning. I keep telling myself that once this assembly is done, kids will stop coming to my house with their pets, and we can start to move ahead with the mass production of the Cat-Dog Translator.
On Tuesday morning, bright and early, I find myself standing up onstage, holding the Cat-Dog Translator, standing next to Principal Gilamon. The auditorium is packed full of kids and their pets. Every student had to have his or her parents sign a permission slip to attend or bring a pet. Manny is watching from the back of the room, giving me thumbs-up signals. Principal Gilamon steps up to the microphone.
“Welcome, students, to this very special assembly,” he begins. “As many of you know, we have a bit of a CELEBRITY attending Fillmore Middle School.
“Our own Billy Sure is an inspiration to us all. At the age of twelve he started his own company, which has grown into a great success. We can all learn from Billy’s example of hard work, perseverance, and creative problem solving.
“Well, this morning we have a special treat for you—even better than a dog treat. Billy has agreed to share his latest invention with us, the Cat-Dog Translator. So, what I’d like you to do is, if you have come with your pet, please line up along the right-hand aisle. Billy will use his invention to translate the barks and meows that your dogs and cats make into words we can all understand. Okay, Billy, take it away!”
Kids race from their seats, jockeying for position, forming a loud, unruly line down the aisle.
“Thanks, everyone, for coming and bringing your pet,” I say. “Can we have the first pet up onstage, please?”
A boy steps up onto the stage with his dog.
“What’s your name and what’s your dog’s name?” I ask.
“I’m Wilson, and my dog is Brownie,” says the boy.
“Okay,” I say. “Now I’m going to put the Cat-Dog Translator near Brownie. Let’s see what he has to say.”
I power up the device and move the microphone close to Brownie’s mouth.
“RRRRRIIIIIFFF!” he barks. Out comes: “WILSON THROWS MY BALL FAR!”
“Wow!” says Wilson. “That’s amazing!”
The audience breaks into wild applause. I glance over at Principal Gilamon, who is clapping and smiling broadly. I catch Manny’s eye at the back of the auditorium and can see him already counting our profits in his head.
Next up onto the stage is Judy Geralds, with her cat, Flick. Holding the translator up to Flick, we hear him say: “JUDY SCRATCHES UNDER MY CHIN.”
Judy proceeds to scratch under Flick’s chin. “MORE. . . . KEEP SCRATCHING. . . .”
Again, the entire auditorium cheers loudly.
A steady line of kids and their pets come up, one by one. The Cat-Dog Translator works perfectly. I’m completely convinced now that Sure Things Inc.’s next product is going to be a HUGE HIT.
Principal Gilamon walks over to the microphone. “I have a special surprise for everyone,” he says. He turns to the side of stage and calls out: “Come here, Scout!”
A cute little dog comes trotting out onto the stage. A collective “AWWW!” fills the room.
“I brought my own dog, Scout!” Principal Gilamon announces. “I can’t wait to hear what he has to say.”
The auditorium bursts into applause again.
This should be kind of cool, I think. I don’t know anything about Principal Gilamon, except when it comes to school stuff.
Principal Gilamon leans down and scratches the top of Scout’s head. The little dog looks up lovingly, right into the principal’s eyes. I put the translator near Scout’s mouth. He barks, and out comes
. . .
“YOU FART IN YOUR SLEEP.”
The entire auditorium explodes into laughter. Principal Gilamon looks horrified. His face is as red as the beets my dad likes to put in his spaghetti sauce. He scoops up Scout into his arms and hurries offstage, returning without the dog a few seconds later, but still looking very flustered, embarrassed, and—oh no—a bit annoyed with me, if I’m reading that look correctly.
Everyone is still laughing, and no one is laughing harder than the kid who comes up onstage next with his own dog.
“I’m Stevie and this is my dog, Paws,” says the boy.
Holding the translator up to Paws we hear: “STEVIE LIKES TO HIDE HIS SISTER’S SHOES!”
“What!” shrieks a girl sitting in the audience. Everyone, including me, turns toward the voice and sees a girl standing and pointing up at the stage. “That’s you who’s been doing that?” she screams. “Wait until I tell Mom. You are in so much trouble!”
Stevie stops laughing and turns angrily to me. “Thanks a lot!” he snarls, then picks up Paws and hurries from the stage.
The room is still abuzz from the last two translations. Kids are laughing and chattering. Just my luck, next in line is none other than Allison Arnolds!
As she walks up onto the stage with her dog, Dusty, I get very nervous. I really hope she didn’t see the Sure Secrets website.
“Hi, Allison,” I say.
“Hi, Billy.” So far, so good.
“Let’s see what Dusty has to say.”
Dusty barks. Out comes: “ALLISON SPENDS HOURS LOOKING AT HERSELF IN THE MIRROR EVERY SINGLE NIGHT.”
“I do not!” she shouts, looking right at me, as if I was the one who said it. “Not every night.”
Allison storms offstage with Dusty.
Great. Now she’s mad at me too.
The mood in the auditorium is starting to turn ugly. Some kids are screaming at me, like I did something bad. Others are laughing and making fun of the kids who have had embarrassing stuff revealed about them. I know all too well what that feels like.
Amid the chaos, a girl named Stella comes up onstage with her cat, Loafer. I try to gain control of the unruly crowd, but it’s hopeless.
I put the translator in front of Loafer.
“STELLA EATS EXTRA CAKE, AND THEN SHE PUTS THE CRUMBS IN HER BROTHER’S ROOM SO HE GETS IN TROUBLE,” says the cat.
“Hey! No fair!” shouts Stella’s brother from the audience.
Stella glares at me. “Why don’t you turn that stupid thing off!” she yells before storming off the stage.
The chaos in the auditorium gets louder. Principal Gilamon has had enough. He walks to the microphone.
“Billy, I think it’s time for you to leave the stage with your . . . your . . . invention,” he says, unable to hide the disdain in his voice. “This assembly is over! Everyone get to class!”
• • •
After school that afternoon I meet Manny at the office.
“Well, that was a DISASTER this morning,” I say as Philo curls up on his doggy bed.
“Yeah, it could have gone better,” Manny agrees.
We both sit in silence for a few seconds, neither of us wanting to say what we are both thinking. I finally break the silence.
“Manny, I don’t think the world is ready for the Cat-Dog Translator,” I say. It sounds correct coming out of my mouth, but it also makes me sad, thinking about all the work we have both put into this.
“I don’t know, Billy,” says Manny, but I can tell he has been thinking the same thing.
“Our pets simply know too much about us,” I explain. “After what happened at the assembly today, not to mention the trouble with Swiped and Philo, it’s just too dangerous. Think of all the problems it can cause—the secrets that have no right to be revealed. Our pets simply know too much. Principal Gilamon has gone from my number-one fan to the president of the ‘Say No to Sure Things’ movement.”
“That was pretty funny, you have to admit,” Manny says, smirking.
“Not for Principal Gilamon, or the other people who got embarrassed,” I say. “Sure, we might sell a lot of these, but what do we do about the backlash? Sure Things’ reputation is at stake with every product we put out.”
“As much as I hate to admit it, I think you’re right,” Manny finally replies.
“Yeah, it’s too bad, but at least we can keep the prototype so we’ll know what Philo is saying.”
“Well, it’s actually more than just too bad,” Manny says. “Without the Cat-Dog Translator, we’re in a bit of trouble.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, really not liking the sound of this at all. Manny is the most upbeat, optimistic guy I know. If he thinks we’re in trouble . . .
“Sure Things, Inc. is now going to have to pay back all the money that Yummy in the Tummy pet food company has already invested in the promotion and production of the Cat-Dog Translator,” Manny explains. “And, since we’ve already spent half of that money gearing up to manufacture the translator, we’re going to have to dip into the profits from our other inventions.”
Manny brings up a spreadsheet on his laptop, stares at it for a few seconds, then frowns.
“You know what this means, don’t you, Billy?” he asks, looking up at me.
“I don’t have to worry about Allison Arnolds finding out that I like her anymore?” I ask, hoping to lighten the mood a bit.
No such luck.
“No, Billy. It means that we need a new invention—and pronto—or Sure Things, Inc. could go OUT OF BUSINESS!”
This afternoon Manny and I are sitting in the world headquarters of Sure Things, Inc., otherwise known as the garage at Manny’s house, trying to figure out our next move.
“What about getting some money from a bank?” Manny suggests as he scans four websites at once, checking out short-term loans, interest rates, and a whole bunch of other money-type stuff I really don’t understand. “Or, like I said earlier, we could invent something new.”
“What if we just went back to being regular kids again?” I ask. “You know, like we were before the All Ball?” I feel a small sense of relief having said this aloud, after testing it out in my head about a hundred times.
Manny stays silent, his focus glued to his computer screen.
“I mean, what about that?” I continue, knowing that if I wait for Manny to speak when he’s this locked in to something, I could be waiting all day. “No more double life trying to be both seventh grade students and successful inventors and businessmen. How bad would that be to just be students again? It doesn’t mean I can’t invent stuff for fun, like I used to do.”
I pause, giving Manny another chance to respond. No such luck.
“For me, it would just mean that I wouldn’t have to live with the pressure of always coming up with the Next Big Thing, of always having to worry about how much money my inventions are going to make.”
Still nothing from Manny.
“You know my routine,” I go on. “Get up, go to school, go home to pick up Philo, come here, invent, go home, do homework, go to bed. Then get up the next day and do the whole thing again. I mean, what if I didn’t have to do that anymore? Would that be terrible?”
I finish. I must admit these thoughts have bounced around my brain more than once during struggles with completing inventions, disasters like the CAT-DOG TRANSLATOR school assembly, and on stressful nights trying to invent while also trying to complete homework assignments on time.
Just as I wonder if Manny is ever going to speak again, he turns from his screen.
“I’m sorry, did you say something?” he says, straight-faced.
“I—I—” I stammer in disbelief. Did I really just go through all that for nothing? Did I share my deepest doubts and worries with my best friend, when I just as easily could have told them to Philo for all the help I’d get?
Manny cracks up and punches me gently in the arm. “I heard you,” he says, smiling. “It’s just that things were getting
a little too serious around here.”
“Well, what do you think?” I ask. I really do depend on Manny’s advice. He’s super smart and almost always knows what to do in a tense situation while remaining perfectly cool and composed. That is reason #744 why Manny is my best friend and business partner.
“You could stop being a professional inventor if you want,” Manny begins in his usual calm voice. “But we both know that inventing is what you are best at. It seems to me that for you to be anything other than the world-class inventor you are would be cheating yourself, and the world, of your talent.”
Hmm . . . I hadn’t really thought about it that way.
But Manny is just getting warmed up. “You’re lucky,” he continues. “You know what you love to do. You know what makes you happy. You know what you’re best at. And you’re only twelve. Some people go through their whole lives and never figure out what they are best at.”
As usual, what Manny says makes great sense to me. I guess I am pretty lucky that I already know what I’m best at. I start to think about people going through their whole lives and not knowing. It’s kinda sad. I feel bad for them. Ideas start to whiz around and buzz through my brain.
“It would be great if we could help those people,” I say.
And then—DING! DING! DING!—the lightbulb goes off for both of us. Manny and I look at each other and smile. The worry and indecision about my future dissolves in an instant.
“What if we invented something that would help people, whether they’re kids or adults, know what they’re best at!” I say, feeling energized by the idea. “I can see it now . . . a helmet or something that you put on your head that tells you what your best talent is. No more wondering what you’re going to be when you grow up. With Sure Things, Inc.’s Best Test Helmet, you’ll know what you should do for the rest of your life, the moment you put the invention on your head!”
Manny frowns. Uh-oh, he doesn’t like it.
“Well, the slogan could use some tweaking,” he says in a mock-serious tone that instantly tells me he’s kidding. “We can just call it the BEST TEST. But . . . I LOVE IT!”
