Ethan Marcus Makes His Mark

by Michele Weber Hurwitz

  “Really?”

  She rolls her eyes. “If you’re doing this, get with the program. DFA.”

  “Huh?”

  “Don’t Fool Around.”

  “Do they talk with initials at the camp or something?”

  She just says, “Ethan,” then goes back upstairs.

  Dad’s shoes? I put everything back into the envelope, then go into Dad’s closet and slip on the black shoes Erin’s talking about. First, they’re too big on me. Second, they’re the most uncomfortable shoes I’ve ever put on. And third, I can already tell they’re gonna make my feet sweat. I pull them off and put them back. No way. I’m not wearing those, no matter what Erin says.

  I hear my sister’s voice coming from her room, loud and clear, like she has a megaphone. Sounds like she’s practicing her speech. Her door’s been closed constantly. Once, when she was at Zoe’s, I went in there. She had about a hundred index cards in piles on the floor with highlighted headings: Product, Design, Market, Strategy, Financials. Like usual, like her whole life, my sister is organized/prepared/scary/light-years ahead of me.

  Not so much going on in my room. The new and improved DE remains solidly in the idea phase. And it hangs out there for a while.

  Finally it’s the last day of school before winter break. We’re watching movies in class, but still the day is going by painfully slow. Like the end of an NBA game with all the time-outs.

  At last I’m on my way to LA (we won’t watch a movie in Delman’s class, I can tell you that for sure) when I see Wesley Pinto standing by the bulletin board outside the music room. His hair’s a lot longer than when we hung out together (yeah, right) in Reflection, and he’s wearing black Converse, not his usual hiking boots. He’s tacking a piece of paper to the board. Everyone’s always been scared of him—he’s so tough-guy all the time—but today he looks different.

  I always thought it was Wesley who put an anonymous note in my locker that made me rethink how to build the desk-evator. When I was at my lowest point during the Invention Day crisis and almost quit, a mysterious note appeared in my locker. The desk-evator wasn’t a stellar creation, as you know, but the note gave me a clue about making it a different way, with legs that folded in instead of sides that raised up. I never asked Wesley about it. I mean, we’re not friends. And I didn’t want to risk getting pummeled.

  He picks up a stack of papers and a box of thumbtacks from the floor, then walks away. I quickly read the paper—it’s a flyer about a band that’s playing somewhere after winter break. There’s a picture of some guys, including Wesley, who’s sitting in front of a drum set. He’s in a band now? And he plays the drums? Wow. I wouldn’t exactly say this out loud, but I feel kinda happy for him.

  Mrs. Slovenko waves to me from the music room, where she’s adjusting the height of a black metal music stand. “Have a melodious holiday!” she calls, then opens a book and places it on the stand.

  I glance at Wesley’s flyer once more, then head to LA. Wouldn’t it be funny if he somehow secretly helped me again? Like if there was a clue on the flyer about how to make the desk-evator new and improved? Like that would happen.

  Delman’s on a continuous roll with his puns, shooting them off like fireworks. Spelling bees and Santa’s elves being subordinate clauses and some joke about commas and cats. When the final bell rings, there’s a stampede to the door and a mad rush to the buses, but Brian and I decide to walk because there’s a heat wave. Twenty-five degrees!

  “I can’t hang out,” he tells me. “My mom’s baking Christmas cookies for the entire Polish universe and I’m the delivery boy.” He knocks a fist into my arm as we cut through the park. “Keep in touch, man. Don’t ever change.”

  I do a fake sniffle. “I won’t forget you.”

  “Oh, but you will. I see the writing on the wall. In another week, you’re gonna get sucked into that Zak Canzeri world. I’ll blink, and you’ll be in with all those inventor-business-science people. Can’t they decide what to call themselves?”

  “Yeah, right. And, not gonna happen.”

  He grins. “Okay, because you’re leaving me in the dust, here’s advice number two. You ready?”

  “Uh-huh. Lay it on me.”

  “Spit into the wind.”

  “What?”

  “Gram, she told me that. She’s been, like, spitting a lot. It’s driving my mom insane, but who knows? Maybe there’s some bizarre, unknown reason old people spit.”

  “Too much saliva?”

  “Or they just wanna share a little part of themselves with the world.” We get to my house and he turns, walks backward, then shoots out a wad of spit that lands somewhere in the snow. “So, you got the new-and-improved thing all worked out?”

  “Nah. I’m just gonna wing it. Figure it out when I get there.”

  Brian laughs. “That’s my boy.”

  Did you catch that swiftly executed pun? Wing it.

  Stay with me, O and W. I have a feeling I’m gonna need you guys.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Questions

  ERIN

  Do you know anything about coding? Or “smart objects” that have built-in software, sensors, and network connectivity?

  I’ve come to the conclusion that my skill set is more in the area of planning and strategizing, not programming. One of the most important rules of inventing is knowing what you can and can’t do.

  I’m at that point. So if you hear of anyone who has knowledge in these subjects, it would be extremely helpful as I move forward. Let me know ASAP. Thx.

  ETHAN

  Yeah, yeah. I know I can’t wear sweatpants to the camp. How clueless do you think I am? I wasn’t seriously going to do that. But let me ask you—what about a T-shirt? Not one with stains or holes, I mean. That’d be okay, right?

  BRIAN

  I have three. (1) Will a girl, any girl, ever like me? (2) Will I grow taller than four-eleven? Because that would be nice. Say what you want, but in my experience, girls just aren’t that into short guys. It’s true, okay? I know what I know. And (3) What’s gonna happen with Gram?

  M.R.

  Why aren’t people clear, and easy to understand, like things?

  ZOE

  Can I ask more than one? Is that all right? Because I have a lot.

  Will Mom kick the woodpecker out? I think he’s made our mailbox his permanent home. Mom let me put out a plastic bin for the mail, but I can tell she’s not happy with that solution. If she calls an animal service, where will they take him?

  Is our world going to be okay?

  How come I always feel like I’m going to cry any second?

  Do you think Ethan’s going to break up with me? I offered him a drink of my organic mixed-berry juice and he had, like, a spasm. He flailed his arms and shook his head and shouted, “No!” I asked him what was wrong, and this is what he said: “It’s just . . . I can’t . . . You’re too . . .”

  That was one of the moments I felt like I was going to cry. Follow-up question: What did he mean?

  Will I survive three days of Aunt Marci?

  Last one. Does Dad still love me?

  Please say yes.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  And Then We’re There

  ETHAN

  The night before the first day of camp, I have a dream/nightmare that I’m drowning in Zoe’s berry juice and my sister is choking Romanov while Wes and his band are playing. Brian’s throwing cookies at the audience, but they turn into Frisbees. Mrs. Slovenko, on lead vocals, keeps raising and lowering the music stand.

  Thankfully, when my alarm rings at six thirty, no one’s been choked that I know of and I’m on dry land.

  I quickly get dressed and go downstairs. The vacuum’s out, waiting by the tinsel shreds on the carpet, and Mom’s already packing the ornaments in a box. Mom and Dad don’t believe in making Christmas a big commercial deal, so we always do a useful family gift. This year it was a plushy new chair for the family room. Are they purposely trying to torment me?
A chair. Really, a chair?

  I walk into the kitchen and get a bowl for cereal; then Erin rushes past and flings open the pantry door. She’s got her hair in a little bun, and she’s wearing a skirt, a sweater, and Mom’s shoes. Plus she’s carrying a leather briefcase. She sets it down and whirls around. “Are we out of protein bars?”

  “Maybe,” I say, knowing I ate the last one.

  She eyes me from head to toe. “Is that what you’re wearing?”

  “Yeah.” I decided on jeans and a T-shirt. One of my nice T-shirts. Plain blue. And my good jeans.

  She sighs. “Remember to take your Zacket. And BYOD, too.”

  “What?”

  “Bring Your Own Device. That was mentioned in the Zacket. Ethan, it’s exhausting to keep reminding you of everything.”

  Dad hurries into the kitchen and says we need to go, that traffic’s bad. He’s going in late to work because he wants to drive us on the first day. Mom wishes us good luck and hugs us tightly, like we’re leaving for a month. “Keep in touch with me.”

  Erin shakes her head. “Mom, you know they limit texting. I promise I’ll give you the full rundown later.”

  I do a thumbs-up. “I will too. You can count on me to give you the full rundown.”

  During the ride to Forest Hill, Erin chatters nonstop. It’s hot in the car, the sun’s bright, and her voice becomes a buzzing background noise that makes me sleepy. I jolt when Dad says, “This is it, guys.” I yawn and peer out at a square glass-and-steel building with rows of small, darkened windows on each floor.

  Erin leaps out of the car. “It’s exactly how I imagined it would be!”

  “We’re not even inside yet,” I comment.

  She ignores that. “Could they have chosen a more perfect setting? It’s so sleek, so powerful.”

  “It looks like Gotham City.”

  She motions. “C’mon! What’re you waiting for?” She starts marching toward the building, briefcase in hand. “Let the camp begin!”

  I slide out and shut the door. Dad lowers the window. “I’ll be out front at six.”

  “Okay.”

  He leans closer. “Eth. Have fun.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  I hurry after Erin, who’s already opening the door. She disappears inside. When I find her, she’s standing in line at the check-in table behind a guy with a cap that says I AM THE FUTURE.

  “Look!” Erin squeals, pulling the sleeve of my jacket. She points to a giant black banner above the table with a huge, shiny gold Z surrounded by lightning bolts. “We’re really here. We’re really, really here!”

  “Calm down, Erin. Take a breath.”

  “I’m breathing just fine, thank you. And FYI, no one has ever calmed down when someone told them to calm down.”

  The guy who is the future leaves; then it’s our turn. The woman sitting behind the table has a buzz cut and lots of earrings. “Hi. I’m Maddox. And you are?”

  Erin extends her hand. “Erin Marcus. Nice to meet you, Maddox.”

  I reach out my hand too and Maddox shakes it. “Ethan Marcus,” I say.

  “Oh, awesome—you guys are twins?” Maddox asks, and we answer at the same time, “No!”

  “Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to offend. Okay, you’re both checked in. You can sit wherever for this morning’s Zorientation.” She tips her head. “We’re starting in the atrium. Go on back. Make yourself at home, peeps.”

  “Thank you,” Erin says, and marches on. I follow my sister through some double doors.

  Then it’s like we’ve entered another dimension. Or should I say Zimension? There are a ton of kids in a big room with a high glass ceiling, some wearing jeans and some dressed up like Erin. A few guys have shiny, puffy vests over their shirts. Everyone’s sitting at round tables, on their phones or talking. Each table has a smaller version of the gold Z-lightning-bolt banner on a stand. Black tablecloths, black chairs. Gold pencils with Zs on them.

  Erin weaves her way through the tables, and I can think of nothing better to do at this point than to keep following her. She stops at a table with two empty chairs. “Are these taken?” she asks a guy with light brown skin, short curly hair, and round Harry Potter–type glasses.

  “All yours,” he says. I pull out one of the chairs and sit next to the kid with the I AM THE FUTURE cap. There’s also a girl with braids and, like, a hundred bracelets on her arms. She’s moving her finger around a tablet screen and doesn’t glance up. Two other guys are at the table, looking at their phones.

  Erin’s shading her eyes and scanning the room. “I don’t see him. Do you see him?”

  “Who? Z?”

  “No, Marlon. Maybe he won’t show.” She plops down and sticks out her hand to the glasses guy. “Erin Marcus. That’s my brother, Ethan. Not twins. Don’t ask if we are.”

  He laughs as he shakes her hand. “Okay. Fair enough. Hi, Erin and Ethan, not twins. I’m Connor.”

  Bracelet girl and I AM THE FUTURE don’t say anything, and neither do the two other guys. It’s a little awkward.

  Four people (all wearing black clothes, I notice) are standing at the front of the room, including Maddox. One guy says into a microphone: “If you all could find a seat, that would be amazing.” After everyone settles down, he goes, “Welcome to the tenth Zak Canzeri Innovation Camp. My name is Jet, and I’m head of the Z Team. To my left is Asher and to my right is Imani. Most of you met Maddox when you checked in.”

  “There he is,” Erin whispers, and I spot Romanov heading toward the last seat at a table by the front.

  “We’ve personally chosen each of you,” Jet’s saying, “because we think you have what it takes. You will be—or already are—the future.”

  The guy with the cap is nodding, like, yeah, he already knew that.

  I poke Erin. “Where’s Z?”

  “I’m sure he doesn’t come for the prelim stuff. He’s the CEO. Come on. His people handle that.”

  “During these five days,” Jet goes on, “we’ll be doing lots of critical thinking, creating, innovating, collaborating, questioning.” Asher and Imani, standing with their hands clasped behind their backs, smile briefly. “But at ZCIC we go further than exploration. Because what’s exploration without an end result? We rise above. We conquer. We succeed. Simply said, being here”—Jet points to a window—“will get you there.”

  I lost him about halfway through, but Erin’s eyes are now glazed, and the kid in the cap hasn’t stopped nodding. Bracelet girl puts her tablet on the table. There’s a drawing on it that looks like a kaleidoscope, with pink, purple, and silver swirls and circles.

  “Here’s the plan for today,” Jet says. “We’re going to start with a short video, then your intro speeches. Next, there will be four Zations for you to visit. Coding/programming, energy/sustainability, engineering, and robotics. You’ll be able to peruse examples of past projects our innovators have made.

  “After lunch, Z will join us”—Erin gasps—“and then this afternoon, you’ll decide on your project and form a team. Or you may work on your own. Many of you have already begun that phase, which is awesome.”

  Erin is blowing out little breaths from her mouth. She clutches my arm. “Tell me I’m not imagining this.”

  Jet waves a hand. “Now, please turn your attention to the front of the room.”

  A screen drops down and the lights dim; then a giant gold Z appears on the screen. The video starts with scenes of kids at previous camps, talking about their inventions and how the “Z experience” changed their lives. Then there’s this part about TADA, and how it’s woven into everything they do. Tenacity, Appetite, Determination, Aim. There are photos with kids doing their presentations, and a few shots of an awards ceremony. The video ends with the gold Z again, and everyone applauds wildly.

  The lights go on; then it’s speech time. After the first few kids go, reciting how they analyzed defects in mice cells and made a robot in their spare time (not kidding), Erin’s name is called. She says she�
�s “truly honored” to be here, talks about her “previous work” at Invention Day, and says her goal is to become the CEO of her own company one day: EM Industries.

  Of course. Figures.

  They call me next. I introduce myself, then say, “I have an idea for standing desks in school. I made something but it didn’t turn out great so I’m here to make it better.” Short and sweet, ten seconds total. Except the glances around me don’t look all that impressed.

  Bracelet girl, whose name is Natalia, talks about how drawing mandalas—circular diagrams with a pattern—can help calm people on the autism spectrum. She says her brother is autistic and she designed a program to lessen his agitation. Maybe that’s what she was doing on her tablet.

  When Connor gets up, he talks mostly about his dog and how he likes to cook. Then he mentions “some coding stuff I did.”

  Next up is Romanov.

  He stands straight, arms stiffly at his sides. “Hello. My name is Marlon Romanov. I intend to win.”

  Whoa.

  The room is completely silent for a second; then I hear some snickers and whispers. Romanov says, “My invention . . . ,” then stops and abruptly sits down without finishing his sentence.

  Maddox laughs and pumps her fist. “Well, all right. I admire your honesty.”

  “He would say that,” Erin mutters.

  Connor looks at her. “You know that guy?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. He goes to my school. We have a history. We are not friends, in case you were wondering.”

  “Hmm, interesting. What’s the history?”

  “Never mind that,” Erin replies, perking up. “So, you code?”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Puzzle Piece

  M.R.

  I said something wrong again, didn’t I? I was stating my intention. I want to win and I aim to win. Was I not supposed to express my goal in my speech? There was nothing in the Zacket that prohibited mentioning a goal. Erin Marcus did.