How can I convince Mom to let me go to the camp instead of to Michigan? She doesn’t see Marci the way I do, so I can’t bring her into this. I grab a piece of notebook paper from my backpack and find my favorite pen, made from recycled plastic water bottles. I need at least five solid, strong, surefire reasons that have nothing to do with my aunt.
BRIAN
My brother, John, picks up the invitation when he comes in. I left it on the kitchen table with my pile of homework. Hard to miss that giant gold Z jumping off the paper.
He does a laugh-smirk after he reads it. “You got invited to one of these? Man, they must really be lowering their standards.”
“Hey!” I grab the paper from him. “This teacher nominated me and Ethan, okay! Because of what we did at Invention Day. She thinks we have, uh . . .” I can’t remember what TADA stands for. “Talent!”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, seriously.”
John shakes his head. “Brian, the people who go to these camps get jobs at, like, Google and Apple. They’re supposed to be pretty insane. I know this guy who knows someone in New Jersey who went to one, and he was so freaked out, he didn’t go back after the first day. He had to take meds to calm down, apparently. They massacred him.”
“Massacred? Come on, that story can’t be true.”
He shrugs as he pulls his phone from his pocket. “Just tellin’ you what I heard.”
My brother’s in high school. Maybe it’s true. He knows things I know nothing about.
So the first thing I think is that someone in Zak Canzeri’s office is going to be fired. It’s one thing for Gilardi to be blind and nominate us because she thinks we have inner passion and TADA and all that, but it’s another thing for them to actually believe her and invite us.
Second thing I think: It’s got to be a mess-up. Some kind of computer error. The wrong name or something. I’m willing to put money on the fact that there’s another Brian Kowalski somewhere in Illinois who was supposed to get this invitation.
Then, bam, it hits me. Third thing. What if this is a setup? They purposely invite idiots like me and Ethan just so we can freak out like that guy in New Jersey and not come back. It’s their secret plan, to scare people, show them how serious this is so they don’t fool around. We could be the slacker examples! That’s it. That has to be it. Number three wins.
I grab my phone, text Ethan, tell him my theory.
I don’t know, he says. I guess it’s possible.
What r u gonna do? I reply. Are u going?
Are u?
I asked u first.
He sends me a bunch of question marks.
I type a bunch of exclamation points.
Then he sends me a photo of a spatula.
From the DE? Good times, I reply. Glad that’s over.
The truth is, I never wanted to do Invention Day. I only agreed because I thought it would impress Jamie, and we know how that turned out. I told her my feelings at ID and she friend-zoned me in front of several hundred people. Not my best moment.
What if we went to the camp and took another crack at the desk-evator? Ethan says. Did a business plan, a whole strategy, all that stuff Gilardi was talking about.
I stare at my screen. What’s he saying? I don’t even know how to respond. Because it’s the most ludicrous idea I’ve ever heard. And besides, how do you tell your best friend he’s lost his freakin’ mind over this desk-evator thing?
You tell him, okay? Someone has to.
ETHAN
Brian isn’t answering. I’m gonna go out on a limb and take a guess he doesn’t want to go to the camp. The only way I got him to do Invention Day was by telling him that Jamie liked smart guys. I kinda had heard someone say that; wasn’t sure if it was really true.
Anyway, doesn’t matter: We blew it. No doubt about that. I admit it, I didn’t have a clue. But now this. Something really good came out of my mess-up.
I remember my measly little desk-evator, standing unsteadily by itself on our table, without balloons or streamers or swag, and how I felt like an idiot compared to everyone else in the gym that night. But now I see it differently, like it was on a dark stage under a single glowing spotlight. Like maybe my creation didn’t look as bad as I felt like it did.
Gilardi said I have what she was looking for. Can you believe it? She thought I was embracing the true spirit of invention! And I have tenacity . . . and that other stuff.
I’m not even sure what tenacity is, exactly, but I should know if I have it, right? When I look up the word, I find out it means persistence. Determination. Resolve.
Okay. I’m good with that. That’s some cool stuff to have.
There’s only one question, then.
What if Brian’s right? What if it’s all a setup?
M.R.
My parents insist that I go to a regular school, take regular classes. They want me to grow up “normal.” Not be treated “special.” Make friends. Join a club or play a sport. Go to a basketball game. They assure me these endeavors will be fun and will “help.”
What my parents do not understand is that when you are like me, normal is (1) not easy or (2) not something I can simply decide to be.
It is more like attempting to navigate a labyrinth where the other participants have been given a map but I am on my own in a strange, confusing land.
They also do not understand how difficult it is to be in that land.
These are some of the reasons why being home is preferable to being at school. There are no mazes or maps. No club meetings where I stand with my hand on the doorknob for 87.5 seconds and listen to the kids but never go inside the room.
It is not difficult to be home, even though none of the houses or apartments have felt particularly warm or comfortable. We haven’t been in any of them very long. Mom always says, “Dad’s company is our home.” We leave when they promote him and tell him to go to another city for a more important position. He moves “up the ladder” and we move with him.
The first house, I remember, had ivy on the fence and jade-green shutters on the windows. I taught myself to read when we lived there. I was three years and two months old. There was a swing set in the back from the family that had lived there before, but I wasn’t interested. Mom found that unusual. I suppose that was the beginning.
She worried why I never wanted to play on it. It had a yellow flag and THE HIDEOUT carved into the wood. When the weather was amenable, Mom would say, “Let’s go swing, Marlon,” but I shook my head. I was immersed in a challenge of some sort. A puzzle, dominoes, the Rubik’s Cube.
I never swung. Not once.
The day before we left that house, I found a screwdriver in one of the boxes and tightened the bolts for the next family. I was five years and six months old. Perhaps one of their children would want to use the swing set, I thought. Dad asked me how I learned to use a screwdriver. He was baffled. I didn’t have an answer; I just knew how.
My parents do not realize it, but many times they add to the difficulty.
I must attend the Zak Canzeri Innovation Camp. I have been waiting all my life for this.
CHAPTER SIX
Treasure Hunt
ETHAN
For the last hour, Erin’s been pacing around the family room, shuffling index cards and talking to herself. “What’re you doing?” I finally ask.
“Don’t say anything to Mom and Dad about the invitation, okay? I have a little surprise planned for when they get home. A very cool way to tell them the incredible news.”
“What is it?”
“A treasure hunt! With clues that I’m going to hide around the house!”
“Can’t you just tell them?”
“No! This is big, Ethan. It’s really big. I’ve been looking on the ZCIC website. Z is a big thinker. He comes up with big things.”
“So, lemme get this straight—you’re saying this is big?”
“Stop! Don’t do that. Not now. Not with this.”
“Am I inc
luded in your treasure hunt? I got invited too, in case you forgot.”
“Um, no. You can announce it to Mom and Dad yourself, in your own way.” She gives me a sort of pity smile. “It was nice of Ms. Gilardi to nominate you.”
“What do you mean, nice? She put you and me in the same category. Tenacity, grit, and all that.”
“Grit wasn’t one of the words she used.”
“Whatever. You know what I’m saying.”
Erin scoops her hair up into a giant frizzy ponytail. “C’mon, Ethan, be honest. You have to admit you’re surprised. I mean, the desk-evator was imaginative, I’ll give you that, but the kids who go to these camps are super-serious inventors. They don’t use duct tape.”
“Hey!” I throw up my arms. “Unsportsmanlike conduct.”
“Well, if you want to make sports analogies, this is the big leagues, not the minors.”
“Okay, it’s big! I got that part. You said it twenty-five times! But you got invited, and your experiment didn’t exactly work, did it?”
She narrows her eyes, points at me. “Don’t go there. I don’t need to be reminded of what happened.”
Right before Invention Day, Brian and I were playing football on the driveway and he missed a catch. The ball slammed into the table in the garage where Erin’s and Zoe’s experiment was set up. All their work got ruined, and Erin stopped talking to me for a while, but then one of their solutions kinda worked. Only they couldn’t figure out which one, and their display board at Invention Day was about their accidental, unfinished discovery and people who failed at first but then succeeded later. Which they plan to do next year.
Erin taps a finger on her chin. “I wonder why Ms. Gilardi didn’t nominate Parneeta. Maybe because she already won Invention Day? Or Naomi. Her antibiotic bandage was very well designed. Or Veronica—”
I wave a hand in front of Erin’s face. “She nominated me.”
Erin takes a rubber band from her wrist and puts it around the index cards. “Yes.”
“You want to name some other people who should’ve been nominated instead?”
She shrugs. “It just seems—”
“You know what? Lots of people think duct tape is an amazing invention all on its own! Look that up, why don’t you? Astronauts once used it to fix their moon buggy. On the moon, okay!”
I run up the stairs two at a time, then slam my door. I’d bet my entire penny jar that some desperate kid at one of those camps used duct tape for something.
ERIN
My treasure hunt will lead Mom and Dad directly to THE INVITATION, which is on the floor in my closet, right by the trifold display board that Zoe and I made for Invention Day. A perfect spot, don’t you think?
At last they’re home. The wait was excruciating. I march into the kitchen and clap loudly. “Attention, please. I have something extremely important that I need you to do.” I hand the first index card to Mom.
She reads it aloud. “ ‘Start in the place that’s a spider lair. Look high, look low, for a game that once had air.’ ” She knits her brows. “What is this, Erin?”
“A treasure hunt! This card will lead you to the next one.”
Dad looks over Mom’s shoulder. “Can’t this wait until after dinner? It’s been a long day.”
“No. It cannot wait. You’ll understand why in a few minutes.”
Dad takes the card. “ ‘Start in the place that’s a spider lair’? What’s that supposed to mean?”
Mom shakes her head. “I have no idea.”
Ethan’s bouncing a ball against a wall in the family room. “It’s the basement. Spiders. Dad’s old air hockey table.”
“You can’t help! Keep quiet!” I make a lock-and-throw-away-the-key motion near my mouth. Ethan rolls his eyes.
Mom and Dad go down to the basement. A minute later they return with clue number two, which was taped to the air hockey table: Check the space where clothes get dry. You’re one step closer to finding out why.
They head toward the laundry room, then come back with the third clue, which was, of course, in the dryer. Crystal and glass, please take care. Look for a clue hidden somewhere.
Dad sighs. “How many more clues are there, Erin?”
I cross my arms. “Just one.”
“Where is it?” Ethan asks, after they go into the dining room.
“The treasure? I’m not telling you.”
He tries to balance the ball on his head. “I bet I could find it without the clues.”
I shoot him a threatening look. “Don’t even.”
I hear Dad exclaim, “There it is!” He reads the last clue. “ ‘In a room up high behind a door, you’ll find a surprise that will make you soar.’ ”
“Nice rhyme,” Ethan comments.
Mom and Dad go upstairs. I hear them opening and closing doors, until at last I think they’re in my room. I hear the closet door open. Then silence. Nothing. You could hear a pin drop in this house.
They come down. Mom’s holding the invitation, staring at it like she doesn’t get it. Sometimes this family is just beyond my understanding.
“Hello!” I cry. “I HAVE BEEN INVITED TO A ZAK CANZERI INNOVATION CAMP!”
“Is this legit?” Mom asks. “Not some scam?”
I stamp my foot. “Oh my God! No! What planet are you living on?”
“I think I’ve heard of these,” Dad says. “A maker-space kind of thing?”
“That’s the gist,” I say. “But so much more. If you’re invited to a ZCIC, it’s like being chosen, okay? They only take the best of the best.”
Dad whistles, but Mom’s still squinting at the invitation. “Who is this Z? How did they get your name? I don’t understand.”
“He’s a brilliant and famous techpreneur! He coined that term, in fact, and Ms. Gilardi nominated me. Mom, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I’ve already looked into it online. You invent something and create it in five days. Can you imagine? Either an actual, physical model, a blueprint, or a virtual simulation. You analyze the market and come up with a business plan. Then you present to actual potential investors.”
“Wow,” Mom says, hugging me. “Erin, we’re extremely proud. As always.”
“Ditto,” Dad says. “You are one impressive girl.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Woman.”
He grins. “Woman.”
“Thank you. So I can go, right?”
“We’ll check it out, but of course,” Mom says. “If it’s everything you say it is, then absolutely.”
Ethan’s been quiet this whole time. He puts the ball down, then pulls a folded, crumpled piece of paper from the back pocket of his jeans. Did you hear that? FOLDED! CRUMPLED!
“Hey, so, yeah, I was invited too.”
Mom and Dad turn toward him in slow motion. “You were?” Mom says.
“Unless someone forged this.” He hands Dad the paper. “Surprise. A second treasure.”
Mom tilts her head. “The same teacher nominated you as well?”
“She nominated five people from McNutt,” I explain. “Me, Zoe, Ethan, Brian, and Marlon Romanov, hiss, boo.”
Dad strokes his beard. “You know, Eth. Don’t feel like you have to prove anything to us. You did Invention Day, and that was great. You tried something different, went out of your comfort zone, and we commend you for that.”
Ethan grabs the invitation, stuffs it back into his pocket. “Ms. Gilardi said I have tenacity.”
“That’s quite a compliment,” Mom says.
“She said we all have tenacity,” I interrupt.
My brother picks up the ball. “I might go.”
I stare at him. “You can’t be serious.”
He gives me a steely look. “Why not? Why can’t I be serious?”
“Because,” I say. “You’re . . . you.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Little Things, Big Things
ZOE
After dinner, Mom puts on her pajamas, gets into bed, and turns on the TV.
She’s been doing that a lot, almost every night. She says it’s the cold, the snow, her new boss at work—everything’s making her tired.
I hesitate, then go into her room. “Mom? Can I talk to you about something?”
She lifts a hand but doesn’t look away from the TV. “Whatever it is, Zoe, it has to wait until tomorrow. I don’t have two brain cells to rub together right now.”
I step back. “Oh.”
She sinks into her pillow. “Sorry, honey.”
“It’s all right. I can tell you tomorrow. But definitely tomorrow, okay? It’s important. Really important.”
She nods, pulls up the covers, closes her eyes.
I look at her for a minute, then go out. I guess this gives me a chance to finish my reasons. I wasn’t exactly done, anyway. I actually have two lists, one for Mom and one for me. See what you think.
Five reasons I should go to the camp (the list for Mom):
1. Erin and I could continue our crucial invasive plant research, unless there’s a rule you can’t work on something you’ve entered in a previous competition. If there is, I can brainstorm something else to save the environment, which I don’t have to tell you is in grave and imminent danger. We’re running out of time! We must come up with solutions, and fast.
2. This is an opportunity I might not have again. Ms. Gilardi chose me after considering many others.
3. Hannah needs some mother-daughter bonding time without me around.
4. (Working on it.)
5. (Also working on it.)
Five reasons I should go to the camp (my private list):
1. Aunt Marci won’t miss me, and neither will my uncle and cousins, who’ll be watching football and screaming at the TV the whole time, not to mention creating a lot of garbage.
2. Hannah can talk. And talk. And talk.
3. Ethan will be there.
Ethan Marcus Makes His Mark Page 4
