Leon and the Champion Chip

by Allen Kurzweil

“The surface you’re so positive doesn’t exist, Mr. Lumpkin, is part of a hyperbolic paraboloid and can be represented by the formula z = x2 − y2 or, better still, z = a(x2 − y2), where a is a relatively small constant, say a = 0.1. The sum of the angles of a triangle on this surface would be less than one hundred eighty degrees, contrary to what Euclid might have taught us. This means that it has negative curvature. A whole branch of mathematics, called Lobachevskian geometry, is devoted to such shapes, about which you are completely and totally and hopelessly clueless! So keep your ill-informed opinions to yourself, Mr. Lumpkin, and grant Leon and his classmates the courtesy and respect they deserve!”

  Mr. Sparks’s tongue-lashing left Lumpkin, Sr., speechless.

  “Boy oh boy,” said Emma Zeisel, “talk about watching sparks fly!”

  Leon waited for the snickers to subside before resuming his presentation. “Just in case you didn’t catch everything Mr. Sparks was saying, I have an example of a negatively curved surface that might be easier to understand.” He reached for the fourth and final dome, but stopped before revealing the object underneath. “Hold on,” he said. “It’s Mr. Sparks who should do the honors.”

  Everyone knew what was coming, but when it came it was still a shocker.

  Mr. Sparks lifted the fourth and final dome and exposed a perfectly formed, negatively curved potato chip (of the saddle-shaped variety).

  P.W. started a quiet chant: “CHIPS! CHIPS! CHIPS!”

  His classmates joined in, and the chant slowly grew louder: “CHIPS! CHIPS! CHIPS! CHIPS!”

  And louder still: “CHIPS! CHIPS! CHIPS! CHIPS!”

  “Mr. Sparks,” said Principal Birdwhistle. “Please control your students.”

  “I’m not sure I can. Besides, Hortensia, it’s not just students who need controlling.”

  Emma Zeisel was the first adult to join the chorus. Then Maria chimed in. Then Napoleon, Frau Haffenreffer, and Regina Jasprow. Then the Dhabanandanas and Warchowskis, and the short, round man with the official-looking briefcase.

  Eventually even Mrs. Brede and Dr. Parmigiano joined the one-syllable cheer.

  Leon sensed the tide was turning.

  This is it, he told himself. Time for the last exhibit.

  And so, as the chant began to die down, he gave the short, round man a sign.

  FORTY-ONE

  The Champion Chip

  As soon as the short, round man saw the signal, he advanced toward Principal Birdwhistle and Mr. Sparks, both of whom were still attempting to quell the chip chant.

  Leon gave a second sign, which alerted Thomas Warchowski, Antoinette Brede, Flossy Parmigiano, Lily-Matisse, and P.W. to shush the room and restore order.

  When the gym at last fell silent, Leon introduced the surprise guest. “Excuse me, Mister Sparks? Principal Birdwhistle? I’d like you to meet a special visitor.”

  Leon may not have pulled an actual rabbit out of his hat, but he came pretty close. “This is Fergus O’Hare,” he said.

  The short, round man walked up to Mr. Sparks and Principal Birdwhistle.

  “How do you do,” he said.

  “Fergus O’Hare is the executive director of the ASPCA,” Leon explained.

  “I see,” said Principal Birdwhistle.

  “And why is an animal guy here?” Lumpkin, Sr., demanded rudely.

  “People often make that mistake,” said Fergus O’Hare. “ASPCA stands for All-State Potato Chip Association.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” said Principal Birdwhistle.

  “Mr. O’Hare is also a topflight research scientist,” said Leon. “He used to run the whole entire Potato Division of the Department of Agriculture.”

  “My word,” said Principal Birdwhistle. “That is impressive.”

  “Not nearly so impressive as this glorious chipatorium,” said Fergus O’Hare. “Principal Birdwhistle, your students have put together what is arguably the finest display of potato chip science I have encountered since I took over the helm of the ASPCA ten years ago.”

  “We’re honored you think so,” said Mr. Sparks.

  Fergus O’Hare chuckled. “Honored indeed. In fact, that’s precisely why I’ve come here today.” He bent down and clicked open the lock on his briefcase.

  The fifth graders, along with their parents and friends, plus Principal Birdwhistle and Mr. Sparks, gathered around Fergus O’Hare and watched him extract a very large, unlabeled bag of potato chips.

  “As all of you can see,” he said after he stood back up, “this is not your ordinary bag of potato chips—if there is such a thing. It’s special. A limited edition. It bears no markings except for the official seal of the ASPCA.” Fergus O’Hare pointed to the embossed insignia of his organization. “Mr. Sparks,” he said. “Would you kindly do the honors?”

  Mr. Sparks accepted the bag. “Hmm. This is far too heavy to contain chips,” he said at once. He gave the bag an investigative squeeze.

  “What are you waiting for?” P.W. called out impatiently. “Open it!”

  “May I?” Mr. Sparks asked politely.

  “Absolutely,” said Fergus O’Hare.

  Mr. Sparks pulled apart the top seam of the foil bag and peered inside. “There appears to be a scroll,” he announced.

  “What’s it say?” shouted Thomas Warchowski.

  Mr. Sparks removed the rolled-up parchment. “Principal Birdwhistle, will you hold the bag, please?” He handed the open package to the principal and unfurled the scroll, which he read aloud with pride, pleasure, and embarrassment: ‘“The All-State Potato Chip Association, in recognition of the fearless protection and promotion of the world’s most miraculous munchie, bestows its highest civilian award—The Golden Champion Chip Medal of Honor—upon the fifth graders of the Classical School, who, in a single year, under the guidance of Franklin W. Sparks, used potato chips, without regard to flavor, shape, or size, to explain the principles of classification, taxonomy, chemical and electrical energy, aerodynamics, optics, acidity, wireless communication, recycling, ballistics, and cosmology.’”

  Cheers erupted.

  “Hold on,” said Principal Birdwhistle, shaking the bag. “There’s something else inside here.”

  “Why don’t you do the honors, Principal Birdwhistle?” Leon suggested slyly.

  Flattered, the principal removed the second item. It was a yellow leather case. She unhooked the clasp gingerly and lifted the lid. Again, a dense knot of fifth graders, parents, and friends closed in.

  “Holy cannoli,” cried P.W.

  “It’s wonderful!” exclaimed Emma Zeisel.

  “Ja! Wunderschön!” Frau Haffenreffer dittoed.

  “Sheesh!” exclaimed Lily-Matisse. “Check out the size of that thing!”

  “It’s as big as a hockey puck!” said Thomas Warchowski.

  “Bigger!” said Flossy Parmigiano.

  The principal lifted the medallion from its bed of crushed yellow velvet and draped it around Mr. Sparks’s neck.

  More cheers erupted. And as the science teacher looked at the large gold coin, Leon was pretty sure he heard a little sniffle.

  “Who is that?” Mr. Sparks asked, tapping the figure of the woman on the medal.

  “Axomama,” said Leon. “The South American goddess of potatoes.”

  “In one hand, she holds up a bag of chips bursting with light beams,” said Fergus O’Hare. “And in the other hand, she clutches a potato plant in full bloom.”

  “And the Latin that curves around the lower part of the medal?” asked Mr. Sparks.

  “Commissamini sine metu means ‘Feast Without Fear,’” Fergus O’Hare explained. “It’s the motto of the ASPCA.”

  “And speaking of feasting without fear,” said Emma Zeisel, “Mr. O’Hare isn’t the only one who brought a surprise.”

  “Ja!” said Frau Haffenreffer, holding up the pastry box.

  Fergus O’Hare sniffed the air. “Are those what I think they are?”

  Frau Haffenreffer nodded. “Kartoffelchipkeks.”
>
  “Potato chip cookies!” Emma Zeisel clarified.

  “Everybody help yourselves!” said Frau Haffenreffer.

  The two Lumpkins were the first to attack the snack, but other parents and students eventually displaced them.

  “Man oh man, these are awesome!” said P.W., moments after taking a bite.

  “They sure beat instant garlic-flavored potato-chip ice cream,” said Flossy Parmigiano, eating three of the cookies in quick succession.

  The kartoffelchipkeks vaporized faster than liquid nitrogen. When the box was empty, Fergus O’Hare turned to Franklin Sparks and said, “It is customary for award winners to make a few remarks.”

  P.W. started up a new chant: “Speech! Speech! Speech!”

  Mr. Sparks raised his hand to quiet everyone down. For a long moment, he gazed at the medallion draped around his neck. “You know,” he said at last, “Feast Without Fear’ is the perfect motto for the scientist. I’m sure Einstein would have approved.”

  “Hear, hear!” said Fergus O’Hare.

  “And what’s more,” Mr. Sparks continued, “I suspect—no, I am certain—Einstein also would have endorsed the work exhibited around this gym.”

  “I am quite convinced you are right,” said Principal Birdwhistle.

  “I propose a toast!” said Fergus O’Hare. “To potato chips. Our most beloved and misunderstood munchie.”

  “And to Mr. Sparks!” added Principal Birdwhistle. “Every bit as beloved—and, at least until now, every bit as misunderstood.”

  “Thank you, Hortensia,” Mr. Sparks said, clearly touched. “But I’m not the one who should be honored. Nor should I be the one wearing this beautiful medal. It belongs to all my co-researchers, and to one in particular.”

  Mr. Sparks removed the ribbon and placed it around the neck of his most devoted student.

  But Leon barely had time to enjoy his celebrity.

  “Psst!” P.W. whispered in Leon’s ear. “We’ve got a problem.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Take a look,” said P.W. “Lumpkin didn’t stop with the potato chip cookies. He’s starting to devour your universe.”

  Leon broke free from the well-wishers and approached his exhibit. “Shoot!” he cried. “That doo-fus just ate my pancake!”

  He grabbed his backpack and ducked behind a stack of floor mats. Once he was sure he was out of view, he withdrew Lumpy and prepared for some covert finger work.

  “You’re too far away,” P.W. warned. “Try near the pommel horse. You’ll be hidden and in range.”

  Leon took the advice and rushed over to the horse. But halfway there, he tripped on his shoelace and took a tumble that sent Lumpy flying. Quick as a whip, he picked himself up and reached for the figure. He grabbed Lumpy and shoved him under his shirt. But he wasn’t fast enough.

  Lumpkin heard the fall and spotted his spitting image.

  “Wlkajdf alkd jfkda!” he shouted, his mouth full of glazed doughnut.

  Leon took off like a jackrabbit, weaving in and out of the exhibits in a desperate attempt to flee Lumpkin. He zipped past the Extermitater, past Mr. Molar the Wisdom Tooth, past the cantenna, the volcano, and the Baggied beans.

  Leon didn’t have to turn around to know that Lumpkin was gaining on him. He could feel it. Yet just when capture seemed certain, Leon caught a break.

  “Henry Lumpkin!” he heard the janitor shouting. “Get your hiney back here and pick up the kidney beans you just knocked over.”

  Leon used those last few moments of freedom to stash Lumpy. Once he had, he rejoined his classmates, fully expecting Lumpkin to pounce.

  But Lumpkin did not pounce.

  “Do you see him?” Leon asked Lily-Matisse and P.W.

  “Maybe Cranky Hankey sent him packing,” said Lily-Matisse.

  “I doubt it,” said Leon. “I’m sure he’s lurking somewhere close.”

  “A lurking Lumpkin?” said P.W. “That can’t be good.”

  Lily-Matisse bounded up the bleachers to get a bird’s-eye view. “Spotted him,” she called down. “He’s poking around P.W.’s exhibit.”

  “Oh, no!” Leon cried.

  “Relax,” said P.W. “It’s not like my Extermitater is loaded.”

  “You’re wrong!” Leon blurted out.

  “What are you talking about?” said P.W.

  “Well, I needed someplace to hide Lumpy and—”

  Lily-Matisse’s eyes widened. “Leon!” she cried. “You didn’t!”

  “Yup,” said Leon. “I did.”

  FORTY-TWO

  An Explosive Situation

  “You shoved Lumpy inside my Extermitater?” sputtered P.W.

  “Hey, I had to think fast,” Leon said defensively. “Lumpkin was chasing me and I needed somewhere safe.”

  “P.W.’s whatchamacallit isn’t exactly safe, Leon,” said Lily-Matisse.

  “Thanks for the tip,” Leon said miserably.

  The three watched from behind the floor mats as Lumpkin pulled the Extermitater off the wooden display board.

  “We better tell someone,” said Lily-Matisse.

  Leon shook his head. “Hold on,” he said. “Let’s see what he does first. He might lose interest.”

  “Dream on,” said P.W.

  Lumpkin shouldered the Extermitater and fired off pretend rounds at the pommel horse, the water fountain, and the backboard.

  “There’s no way he’s putting that thing down on his own,” said Lily-Matisse. “I’m getting Birdwhistle.”

  Moments after Lily-Matisse left, Lumpkin pocketed the hair spray.

  “He’s on the move,” P.W. warned.

  “I’m going in,” said Leon.

  P.W. tried to stop his friend but couldn’t. Leon marched straight over. “Hey, Henry. Wanna trade?”

  “Trade what?” snarled Lumpkin.

  “The Extermitater.”

  Lumpkin raised the business end of the launcher. “For what?” he said threateningly.

  Leon tried not to stare at the orange hair poking out of the muzzle. “For this,” he said, removing the gold medallion from around his neck.

  Lumpkin was tempted—that much was clear from the glimmer in his beady black eyes. But before the exchange could take place, Principal Birdwhistle stepped between the boys.

  “What is the meaning of this?” she said. “Henry Lumpkin, put down that science exhibit right now!”

  Lumpkin backed away and shook his head defiantly. “Sorry. No can do.”

  P.W. leaned over to Leon. “A Lumpkin with a loaded Lumpy launcher?” he whispered. “That really can’t be good.”

  “Quiet!” said Principal Birdwhistle.

  Lumpkin broke away from the crowd. When half a basketball court separated him from everyone else, he brought the launcher between his knees and removed the end cap.

  “Don’t do it!” cried Lily-Matisse.

  Lumpkin withdrew the can of hair spray, gave it a vigorous shake, and shot a long, steady stream of aerosol into the ignition chamber.

  “I’ll say this one more time,” said Principal Birdwhistle. “Return P.W.’s apparatus to the exhibit table.”

  Lumpkin screwed the end cap back in place and dropped the hair spray on the ground. “Sorry, Teach,” he said, sounding just like his father. He headed for the exit.

  “Stop!” yelled Emma Zeisel.

  “Arrêtes!” cried Napoleon.

  “Halt!” screamed Frau Haffenreffer.

  “¡Pare!” shrieked Maria.

  hollered Ms. Dhabanandana.

  Lumpkin turned and shook his head. “Sorry,” he said, as if events were beyond his control. “Can’t stop now. Besides,” he added with a laugh, “it’s not like it’s loaded.”

  A shrill whistle blast caught everyone off guard. “Lumpkin!” shouted Coach Kasperitis. “Don’t make me come over there!”

  Mr. Sparks weighed in more quietly. “Henry,” he said. “If you don’t want to listen to us, at least consider Newton’s Third Law. ‘For
every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.’”

  “And while you’re thinking about that,” Principal Birdwhistle added, “you may wish to consider Birdwhistle’s First Law—my reaction to any further misbehavior will be swift and permanent.”

  “Listen to the principal!” Leon begged. “If you push that button—believe me—you will get expelled!”

  “Big deal!” said Lumpkin. And with that, he bolted out of the gym.

  Leon, Lily-Matisse, and P.W. raced after him, but before they reached the double doors, they were stopped by a gargantuan…

  FORTY-THREE

  A Very Short Chapter

  FORTY-FOUR

  The Observation of

  Sparks in Motion

  The day after the science fair, Henry Lumpkin failed to attend classes. He was absent the following day as well. And the day after that, too. In fact, Henry Lumpkin was a no-show for the remaining weeks of school.

  Most of the fifth graders figured he had been given the boot—end of story. But there was another possibility—another end to the story.

  What if, by launching his own spitting image, Lumpkin had launched himself?

  Leon’s final warning proved correct. Lumpkin did get expelled. But the nature of the expulsion remained unexplained.

  Lily-Matisse tried to wheedle some information out of her mom, but Regina Jasprow refused to discuss the matter.

  “What exactly did she say?” Leon asked Lily-Matisse.

  “She told me it was confidential. And when I pushed her, she went ballistic.”

  “Actually,” said P.W., “it was Lumpkin who went ballistic.”

  Leon rolled his eyes. “You’re worse than my mom. She’s been going around the hotel saying she always knew Lumpkin was a loose cannon.”

  “He was,” said Lily-Matisse. “And if he actually did send himself into orbit like a potato, I hope he never lands!”

  “Me, too,” said Leon. “Still, I’m kind of sad we’ll never see Lumpy again. I liked the little fella.”