Ethan Marcus Makes His Mark

by Michele Weber Hurwitz

  I go back inside, and I’m about to switch off the light in the pantry when I spot an ant, carrying a crumb, making its way across the tile floor. The crumb must be ten times its weight, probably more. I watch it steadily move toward a corner, struggling with the crumb, but at the same time never stopping.

  Most people don’t know that ants are amazing insects. They’re incredibly strong, organized, and efficient, and they’re natural problem solvers. Humans could learn a lot from them.

  I didn’t realize that ants could survive in the cold months, though. Where is the colony? Under the floor? The ant disappears into a crack. Maybe so. Wherever they are, they’re going to have a good meal tonight. For some reason, that makes me feel the tiniest bit better.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Commotion

  ERIN

  The second day of camp begins with a guest speaker from a start-up (fascinating), then a Zactivity on marketing (a lot of which I know already), a fifteen-minute yoga/meditation break (Natalia looks thrilled), and finally time to work on our projects.

  Connor brought in a Giga Pet, and we’ve been analyzing it and working on the design for our device. Connor’s been investigating the coding side of things, and TBH, I have no idea what he’s doing. Thankfully, he seems to have it under control. I’ve been revising the business plan and trying to come up with a name and a way to make it more spectacular. Nothing yet, but I’ll keep you posted.

  I’ve been watching my brother, too. As far as I can tell, he and Natalia are only doing the project together. I’m not picking up any romantic signals or anything. Good news to report to Zoe later.

  They seem to be zooming right along with their desk-on-a-stick idea, tinkering with some metal pieces and hammering sections together. I can’t tell how it’s supposed to work, but it seems a lot better than what he created with Brian.

  Jet announces that lunch is in ten minutes and we should “reach a closing point.” I slide my notepad into my briefcase and place it under the table. A hushed murmur spreads through the atrium, and when I look up, Z is standing at the front of the room.

  My heart rate quickens. “Oh my God. Look. Z’s here.”

  “I see,” Connor says, still tapping on his keyboard.

  Z glides over to a table, starts talking to some kids.

  I stand, then sit, then stand again. “What if he comes over here? It looks like he’s asking those kids about their project. I’m not ready. We’re not ready, Connor. We’re not at the point where we can show this to him.”

  He runs a hand over his hair. “Take it easy. We can show him what we have so far if he asks. I’m sure that’s all right. No one’s done yet.”

  Jet holds the microphone close to his mouth. “As you can see, Z is in the house.”

  Everyone applauds. Jet puts up a hand and waits until everyone quiets down. “Please go ahead and grab some chow. While you’re eating, Z will be visiting your tables to check in. Do not come to him, people. He will come to you. Got it? Good. And absolutely no selfies. Z doesn’t do them. Ever.”

  People go over to the food table and get in line, and I follow along. My legs feel wooden, but at the same time it’s like I’m floating. When I’m closer to Z, I get a whiff of the spicy cologne he must be wearing, and I don’t know how, but a little squeaky “Hi” escapes from my mouth.

  Z turns and LOOKS AT ME. Then he nods—almost imperceptibly—and smiles. He has the whitest, shiniest teeth I’ve ever seen.

  My eyes get wide, and I freeze, right on the spot. Suddenly someone bumps into me, hard, and I lose my balance. As I flail my arms, trying to stay upright but failing miserably, I have a fleeting thought—why did I have to wear Mom’s heels?—then my arm knocks into a plate of food, and a second later I hit the floor, land flat on my back, and feel something wet and slimy on my leg.

  Why, why, why?

  I sit up, a little dizzy, and see a glop of hummus on my leg. Oh God, no! Did Z witness this whole unfortunate episode? I crane my neck but can’t even see him anymore, because Maddox, Asher, and Imani surround me like an emergency-response team. Imani offers me a black cloth napkin, Asher picks up the overturned plate, and Maddox starts wiping the floor.

  “No worries,” she says. “We’re used to people freaking out in Z’s presence. Happens all the time.”

  Marlon. It was Marlon who bumped into me. I glare at him. “Did you not see me standing there?”

  “You were not standing. You were walking,” he answers calmly, almost robotically, then just leaves. I leap to my feet and brush off my skirt, then wipe the hummus with the napkin.

  “All back to normal,” Asher says, dumping the plate into a trash can. There’s no trace of anything on the floor. Like it never happened. And where did Z go? I don’t see him anywhere.

  Ethan comes over; a second later Connor’s there too. “Uh, are you okay?” Ethan asks. He looks at my leg. “You’ve still got some hummus by your knee—”

  “Yes, thank you very much.” I point at Connor. “Do not, I repeat, do not tell me to take it easy.”

  He puts up his hands. “Wasn’t gonna.”

  I clean off the last of the hummus as Natalia approaches me and offers her tablet. “Do you want to try a mandala? They’re very calming.”

  “Thanks, but those kinds of things don’t work on me.”

  “I’m pretty good at reading moods. It’ll help, I promise—”

  “Okay, everyone, I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine. No bruises, no scrapes.” I square my shoulders, straighten my sweater. “Moving forward.”

  ETHAN

  Erin marches off to the bathroom a little unsteadily. Natalia watches her, then says, “She’s not fine. If there’s anyone in need of a mandala, it’s your sister.” She hurries after Erin.

  “That’s not going to go well,” I say.

  Connor laughs. “Yeah, I can definitely see that.”

  I look around. “Where’s Z? I thought he was checking people’s projects.”

  Connor shrugs. “Who knows?” He lowers his voice. “The camp’s named after him, but isn’t it odd that he’s never here?”

  “Well, he’s an important guy, right?”

  “I know, but I don’t dig that. If you’re going to make this whole big deal about giving your time to kids and the future, then do it.”

  “Good point.”

  He gestures, and I see Erin coming out of the bathroom with Natalia next to her, holding out an energy band. Erin’s not taking it.

  “Oh boy,” I say, then turn to Connor. “You’re okay working with my sister? She’s a little . . . intense.”

  “Really?” He grins. “I hadn’t noticed.”

  “Romanov makes her crazy. He won Invention Day at our school last year, and she wants to get back at him or something. Ruin his life, you know.”

  “Seems like you guys are complete opposites.”

  “Yeah, we are.”

  “I just have a stepbrother, and he lives in Seattle, so I don’t see him very often. It’s kind of amusing to watch you two go at it.”

  “ ‘Amusing’ wouldn’t be the word I’d pick, but okay. Anyway, I know she’s glad you’re doing the coding and everything.”

  He shoves his hands into his jean pockets. “Actually, if you want to know the truth, I’m not even supposed to be here.”

  “What do you mean? Weren’t you nominated?”

  “Nope, not at first.”

  “How’d you get in, then?”

  “Simple. The first three people couldn’t go.”

  “Wait, seriously?”

  “Yep. There are a couple of brainiacs at my school who should’ve been here instead of me. I just kinda fool around with this stuff for fun. I’m not serious about it. These guys are. They couldn’t get out of prior commitments.”

  I wonder why Gilardi didn’t nominate other kids when Zoe and Brian couldn’t go. Maybe it was too late, or the camp was full?

  “But you came anyway?” I ask.

  “My pa
rents made me. They didn’t want me to pass up the opportunity. They were like, ‘maybe things happen for a reason’ and all that junk. They want me to work at some big tech company someday. But who wants to spend their life as a programmer? Staring at a screen for eight hours every day? I can’t think of anything I’d want to do less.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “Either be a vet or a chef. Dogs and food. Now we’re talking.”

  “That’s cool. I love food.”

  “Yeah.” He smiles. “Me too.”

  M.R.

  I need my book. I need my armor. I should’ve brought it. Why didn’t I bring it?

  Erin Marcus was walking. How could I have known she would stop right in front of me? Was that a nuance? Social cue? Why are they so difficult to detect? I will never learn how.

  I return to my table and put on my headphones. The noise in the room grows faint. Continue, continue. Put it out of your mind. Stop shaking.

  I open my laptop cover, place my fingertips on the keyboard, then feel a tap on my shoulder. I look up. It is Maddox. She makes a motion for me to take off the headphones, and I remove them.

  “Hey, are you okay? Just wanted to check.”

  “I am not hurt.”

  She tilts her head, studies me for a brief moment. “That’s good. But, like, otherwise, I mean?”

  I don’t know how to answer that question. I stare at her. She has brown eyes. The color of 60-percent cacao.

  Maddox waves her hand. “I have a lot of dumb accidents, so don’t be embarrassed or anything. I like to walk and read at the same time, and that’s a dangerous endeavor. Once, I fell off a curb and sprained my ankle. No joke.”

  “I see.”

  “And there was another time I walked into a stop sign. Kinda funny, don’t you think? Stop, right? Duh.”

  I blink.

  “So, anyway, you’re fine?” she asks.

  I nod and reach for my headphones.

  “You have any questions?”

  “No.”

  She sweeps a fist in the air. “Okay, then, onward!”

  Maddox walks away, and I turn to my screen.

  Interesting observation: 60-percent cacao is Mom’s favorite type of chocolate.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Moving Toward the Future

  ERIN

  When we arrive on the third day, Jet tells us to keep our coats on. We’re going on a hike, he says, on a nature trail that winds around the campus. But it’s not a regular hike. We are required to (1) not talk and (2) wear snowshoes. So that’s why they told us to bring boots today.

  Jet explains that from past experience they know this is the point in the camp where kids start running into problems with their projects, and silently navigating a hiking trail with the snowshoes will help us work through any knots or trouble spots.

  “At the summer camps we wear flippers,” he says, zipping up a shiny black ski jacket. “This is a definite challenge, and you’ll be frustrated, but trust us.”

  We get our snowshoes, and Imani demonstrates how to strap them on. People start putting them on, but I decide to wait until I get out to the trail. Which I quickly learn is a big mistake. Everyone clomps silently ahead in the snow, but I’m still fastening mine, and my fingers get icy cold in a few minutes.

  I finally get them on and take a few unsteady steps. If you’ve never tried to walk in a pair of snowshoes, let me just say it’s like having tennis rackets strapped to your feet. And honestly, I don’t know who would ever want to do that. There must be a reason these were invented, but I can’t figure it out.

  Connor’s at the end of the group, looking back at me. By doing some sort of awkward clomp-step-hop, I catch up to him. His glasses are foggy, and he doesn’t look happy either. We start walking, but I keep getting my snowshoe caught on his and almost trip both of us a couple of times. The rest of the kids and the Z Team are way ahead.

  Connor picks up a long, thin branch and hands it to me, motioning that I should use it as a pole. I mouth, “Thanks.” It’s probably against the rules, but I use it anyway, poking it in the snow as I try to walk.

  A few minutes later we reach the group, standing and drinking from their water bottles. They’re all looking at us. Silently. Natalia, next to Ethan, places her palms together and nods at me. I have no idea what she’s trying to say.

  Jet points, and everyone falls into a line, then starts moving again. I take a quick drink from my water bottle. Marlon’s directly in front of me now.

  His steps are even and controlled, like he’s worn snowshoes all his life. With each step he lifts his knee and puts his foot down perfectly flat on the ground. I start thinking about how I fell in front of everyone and feel embarrassed all over again. I only fell because he crashed into me. I can’t help but wonder, did he do it on purpose? Would he really do something that mean? I don’t know, but I keep watching him walk steadily . . . not stumbling once. . . . Then I really trip and lose hold of the stick, and it happens.

  I ERUPT.

  I break the no-talking rule.

  “Stop acting like you’re better than everyone else!” I yell. “Your robotic hand didn’t even place at Invention Day! You were disqualified, remember?”

  Connor whispers, “Erin,” but I brush a hand at him.

  “You don’t know what happened, okay? You don’t know what he said to me.”

  Marlon’s face is blank. He crosses his arms, but weirdly, like he’s hugging himself. He doesn’t break the no-talking rule.

  Jet moves toward us with his finger across his lips; then Z appears out of nowhere, through a clump of trees. He’s not wearing snowshoes. He’s not even wearing a jacket. He strolls casually in between Marlon and me, separating us with his silent coolness. Everyone is quietly watching: two hundred blinking eyes.

  “People,” he says, looking around. “The vibe I’m getting . . . it isn’t very Z.” He’s wearing dark sunglasses like usual, even though the sky is gray, not even one peek of sun.

  I bite my lip. “I’m so sorry.” Is he going to ask me to leave the camp? “I—I . . . It won’t happen again.”

  Marlon says nothing.

  Z holds his arms out. “We are all innovators. We are all techpreneurs. We work together. We support each other. We champion each other.”

  “Right.” I sniffle. “TADA,” I choke out.

  Marlon still says nothing.

  Z clasps his hands. No gloves, either. Isn’t he cold? “Tensions are high, my friends. We must stay focused, not let our fears get the best of us. Comparison,” he says, “is the thief of joy. Words of wisdom from my comrade Theodore Roosevelt.”

  I bob my head. “Yes.”

  “All right. Let’s put this behind us.” Z gestures to the snowy path. “The only way to move is toward the future. Go. Do. Be.” Z waits for us to start, then joins the back of the group as we clomp ahead in the snowshoes, finally, thankfully, circling back to the building.

  Connor comes up to me when we’re inside. “Erin, listen. I think you have Marlon all wrong. It’s not about you.”

  “What are you talking about?” I whisper.

  “I know guys like that. I go to a prep school, okay? Think about it. The only one Marlon is battling against . . . is himself.”

  I shake my head. “That’s not how it is. Don’t try to analyze this. You don’t know him.”

  “I don’t have to. I can tell.” Connor takes off his snowshoes and places them on the pile by the front door.

  I see Marlon walking stiffly toward the table he always sits at. In a second he’s got his headphones on and his laptop open. The chairs on either side of him are empty. His fingers are poised above the keyboard, but he’s not typing; he’s just staring at the screen like he’s in a trance.

  Connor nudges me. “You plan to keep those on all day? Getting attached to them?” He points to my snowshoes.

  I unstrap both, add them to the pile. I keep watching Marlon as we head toward our table. He blows his nose
with a tissue; then a minute later he starts typing furiously. Connor’s wrong. Marlon just wants to win, like he announced to everyone. And that kind of person doesn’t care who gets in his way.

  ETHAN

  Well, that was crazy. I thought the snowshoe hike was one of the best things we’ve done here, but Erin obviously didn’t agree. I consider asking her if she’s okay, but knowing my sister, that’ll make it worse. Whatever “it” is. While I get it’s something to do with Marlon, the details are always much more involved than I even imagine.

  Z tells us to continue moving “toward the future,” then turns down a hallway. The same one he was in with Maddox that first day, when I overheard him. He stops and pulls out his phone. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but his voice sounds completely different from when he was talking to us on the trail. Not so smooth and calm. More like, I don’t know, nervous. Suddenly he shouts, “There’s no problem!” and slips into a room. The door shuts with a loud click.

  I glance over my shoulder. No one’s near me. No kids, none of the Z Team people. We’re on a short break, and everyone’s in the atrium. I catch Z’s voice, shouting again. “I’m on top of it!”

  Before I change my mind, I walk casually down the hallway, hands in my jean pockets. I’m right by the room Z went into when I hear, “Excuse me, what are you doing?”

  I jump about a foot in the air. It’s Imani, frowning, arms crossed, her eyes like two intense laser beams.

  “Oh, my bad, I, uh, got lost.”

  “You shouldn’t be in this hallway. No one is allowed here. It’s off-limits.”

  “Right. I—I . . . there was a line at the bathroom. I was looking for another one.”

  Her mouth is a tight, straight line. “Please return to the atrium immediately.”

  I hurry away, glancing back at her. She’s watching me. That was weird. Very weird. What’s going on? Why is that hallway off-limits?