Unleashed

by Gordon Korman

  An unfamiliar feeling came over Melissa. It was not her usual talent for breaking complex challenges down into simple algorithms.

  No, this was pure inspiration.

  Suddenly, she knew exactly what her Invent-a-Palooza project was going to be.

  For the last time, Griffin, I won’t do your project for you. It wouldn’t be fair. And besides, I’ve got my own inventions to worry about.”

  Griffin stood in the doorway of his father’s small study. Mr. Bing was at his desk, surrounded by cartons that served as file cabinets. He was crouched in front of a computer screen, filling in an online patent form using a single hunt-and-peck index finger.

  “Come on, Dad,” Griffin said in his most wheedling tone. “It’s your fault I’m in this mess to begin with.”

  “My fault?” His father swiveled around in his chair. “How do you figure that?”

  “I’m the inventor’s son. The minute the school decided to be a part of the Invent-a-Palooza, all eyes were on me. Even the teachers are expecting me to put Cedarville on the map. How am I supposed to do that if you won’t even help?”

  “I never said I wouldn’t help,” his father explained patiently. “But the idea has to come from you. Now please stop distracting me. You know how this paperwork goes. If you get a single comma out of place, your whole application is rejected.”

  “Sorry, Dad.” Before he could leave the office, an enormous wail went up in the house, and Mrs. Bing appeared at the end of the hall, vacuuming the rug.

  Mr. Bing held his head. “So much for working!”

  Griffin nodded in agreement. “Too bad there’s no such thing as a silent vacuum.”

  “Silent?” his father repeated. “I’d settle for being able to hear myself scream. B-52s are quieter than that thing.” He frowned, and looked up to face his son. “Why don’t you invent one?”

  “Invent what? A vacuum cleaner? Somebody already did.”

  “A quiet vacuum cleaner,” his father amended. “One that doesn’t sound as if the whole house is about to take off at the airport.”

  “I don’t know anything about vacuum cleaners,” Griffin protested.

  “You don’t have to,” his father insisted. “Most of the operating noise comes from the motor. If you could design a quiet, well-muffled motor for small and medium-sized appliances, that would be an excellent invention.”

  The vacuum cleaner noise swelled as Mrs. Bing roared past the study.

  Mr. Bing shouted over it. “And as the owner of two perforated eardrums, I promise to help.”

  “Thanks, Dad. That’s great!” For the first time since the Invent-a-Palooza had been sprung on him, Griffin began to toy with the idea that there might actually be a way out of this mess. He wasn’t totally convinced that a quiet motor was such a big deal. But it had to be better than anything Vader could come up with.

  Griffin was the only one who heard the doorbell over the roar of the vacuum. When he answered it, Logan stood on the front stoop, an annoyed expression on his face.

  “The girls won’t pinch me!”

  Griffin stared at him. “Uh — why do you want them to?”

  “It’s called method acting. You have to live your role. When I say ‘ouch’ in that commercial, it has to come from true experience. Melissa promised to help me prepare, but when I got to her house, Savannah and Pitch were both there. They told me she’s too busy and kicked me out.”

  Griffin sighed. “It’s a long story. Pitch is all gung ho about Melissa’s Invent-a-Palooza entry because the school wouldn’t put her on the wrestling team. She’s turning it into a whole girls-versus-boys thing.”

  Logan looked worried. “Oh. That explains why they got so mad. I kind of messed up a little.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I told them I was the ‘leading man’ of the commercial. And then” — he flushed — “I tried to explain the history of the leading man in Hollywood — how, over the years, top actors have brought in more box office than actresses. It got ugly. Pitch said she couldn’t pinch me, but how would I like it if she knocked my teeth down my throat? Then Savannah slammed the door in my face. I never saw Melissa at all.”

  “You’re lucky,” Griffin assured him. “She compared Ben and me to Vader. Talk about a low blow.”

  Logan stuck around that afternoon, and Ben came over later. They spent the day taking apart the Bings’ old vacuum cleaner. They removed the motor and broke it down into its component parts to see exactly how it operated. It was surprisingly simple — a central rotor with a stationary cylinder around it. Both parts featured a lot of tightly coiled wire, which — according to Wikipedia — created the electromagnetic force that caused the rotor to spin.

  “Right,” said Ben. “I’m ready to call Melissa now. How about you guys?”

  “Never!” Griffin snapped. “That’s just what they’re counting on us to do. I’ll bet Pitch is waiting for me to phone so she can use it as proof that boys aren’t as smart as girls. Well, she’ll wait a long time.”

  Next they reassembled the motor, which went smoothly, except that there were a couple of parts left over. Stage three was to put it back into the vacuum cleaner. It worked perfectly except for one detail: The machine now blew out instead of sucking in. An enormous cloud of black dirt filled Griffin’s room, leaving the three boys choking.

  Ferret Face abandoned Ben’s shirt and tried to crawl under the door. He got stuck halfway through and lay there squealing.

  Mrs. Bing yelled a lot, and would probably still be yelling if her husband hadn’t intervened.

  “Come on, now,” Mr. Bing said. “You can’t be married to me all these years and not know that the inventing process has much more failure than success.”

  “Yeah, but when a SmartPick fails, you get a squashed apple, not a mountain of soot three feet high!”

  So Mr. Bing made room for them in his workshop in the garage. He even helped them reassemble the motor properly.

  “Okay,” said Logan. “Showtime.” He reached for the switch.

  “Not yet!” bellowed Mr. Bing in a panic.

  Too late. The instant Logan’s finger touched the power button, a spark as bright as forked lightning lit up the garage.

  “Yeow!”

  He was thrown back against a shelving unit, scattering ratchet heads far and wide. He sank to the concrete floor, dazed, a tuft of dark smoke issuing from the crown of his head.

  Mr. Bing, Griffin, and Ben leaped to his rescue.

  Mr. Bing slapped his cheeks. “Logan! Can you hear me? Are you all right?”

  “That’s it!” Logan croaked, his face blissful.

  Griffin’s father was shaken. “Do you need to go to the hospital?”

  “Not the hospital! A soundstage!”

  Mr. Bing’s alarm was growing. “He’s not making any sense!”

  “Calm down, Dad,” Griffin soothed. “That’s just Logan. He’s finally found the perfect yell for his latest acting assignment.”

  “What’s the part — Tarzan?”

  At that moment, what was left of the vacuum cleaner burst into flames, and Mr. Bing covered it with fire extinguisher foam.

  From then on, the motor was a lot quieter. It never worked again.

  As the days leading up to the Invent-a-Palooza wore on, what had once been a team of six friends broke into two teams — one of three boys and one of three girls. Nowhere was this more obvious than at the school cafeteria. The boys ate lunch at a table just beyond the food line. The girls chose a spot in a distant corner of the room, as far away from the boys as possible. There was zero communication between the two factions, except for Melissa’s occasional unhappy look across the space. And since she was usually cloistered behind her hair, no one really noticed that. Mostly, the groups did their best to appear happy and unconcerned, as though the current situation was just fine with them, thank you very much. And if that attitude was a little less than the truth, neither side was willing to admit it.

  A piec
e of paper was interposed between Griffin and his sandwich. He looked up questioningly to find Darren Vader flopping onto the bench beside him.

  “It’s just a first draft,” the big boy apologized, “but I’d love to get your opinion.”

  Griffin glanced at the page, which was scribbled in a handwriting that would not have been out of place in a third-grade classroom.

  “How do you like it so far?” Darren asked sweetly.

  “The word is Cedarvillian, not Cedarvillain,” Griffin managed through a fiery haze.

  “Keep reading,” Darren urged. “You haven’t gotten to the good part yet.”

  Griffin skipped to the bottom.

  The hardest part for Griffin was that Ben laughed out loud. He’d been smirking a little, but the drool bucket put him over the top.

  “What is this?” Griffin demanded to Darren.

  “Your speech,” Darren replied. “Don’t tell me you’re trying to weasel out of our deal. No offense,” he added in an aside to Ferret Face. “The winner gets to write the loser’s speech.”

  “You haven’t won anything yet,” Griffin noted darkly.

  “Excuse me for being confident.” Darren beamed. “My invention is running way ahead of schedule, and your tech consultant …” He squinted across the cafeteria to where Melissa sat with the other girls. “Is that still the United States over there? I always forget where Canada starts.”

  “Well, my invention is coming along great, too,” Griffin boasted.

  “It was a turning point in my acting career,” added Logan proudly. “The electric shock I got when the vacuum cleaner blew up —” He fell silent as Ben kicked him under the table.

  “Sounds like you’re doing awesome, Bing,” Darren commented. “Tell you what — I’ll also throw in a speech for Kellerman for when he gets his Academy Award. No extra charge.” He stood up. “Oh, wow, they refilled the tater tots. I’ll get a big plate for the table. You can’t memorize your speech on an empty stomach.”

  “What are you going to do, Griffin?” Ben whispered once Darren was gone. “You’ve got no invention. Your only hope is that Melissa schools all of us.”

  “That’s even worse,” Griffin said stubbornly. “Speech or no, the girls would really rub our faces in it.”

  “You’re running out of vacuum cleaners,” Logan warned.

  “There’s an even older one in the basement. And Dad’s promised to help me with the wiring this time.” Griffin’s eyes shot sparks. “I’d like to see Melissa and the girls come up with something to compete with that!”

  Ha!” Pitch was triumphant. “I’d like to see Griffin and the boys come up with something to compete with this!”

  The girls were gathered at the Drysdale home for the official unveiling of Melissa’s invention. They gazed down at the device in the wagon. It looked like a silver TV cable box, topped with an X-shaped superstructure. At the four tips of the X were miniature rotor blades.

  “I call it the Hover Handler,” Melissa said modestly.

  “It’s amazing!” Savannah breathed, her eyes wide. “But how is it going to stop Luthor from chasing cars?”

  “I’ve added a GPS chip to Luthor’s collar,” Melissa explained, her curtain of hair parting with the enthusiasm of the telling. “When the system detects him running into the road, the Hover Handler will deploy and stop him before he can put himself in danger.”

  Savannah was worried. “It won’t hurt him, will it?”

  “It won’t touch him at all,” Melissa promised. “The unit emits a sound so high-pitched that humans can barely hear it. But it should be irritating enough to Luthor to keep him from running into traffic.”

  “How do we test it?” asked Pitch, all business.

  “All you have to do is lead him out into the street,” Melissa explained. “Once the GPS transmitter’s in the road, it will signal the Hover Handler to come and get him.”

  Savannah shook her head. “What kind of message would that send? If he obeys me and something unpleasant happens, I’d be stabbing him in the back. I’d lose all credibility.”

  Pitch was growing impatient. “You don’t need credibility with a dog. All you need is hamburger.”

  Savannah was wounded. “How can you say that, knowing what a sensitive, intelligent creature Luthor is?”

  Melissa looked worried. “But we can’t wait around all day for the exterminator’s truck to go by. That’s not a practical way to run your test.”

  Savannah was stubborn. “I refuse to betray his trust.”

  Pitch took a paper bag from the wagon and dumped out a few spare batteries. She squeezed the opening of the bag, brought it to her lips, and puffed it full of air. “The truck backfires, right?” And with a flourish, she slammed her palm into the bag.

  POP!!

  In the side yard, Luthor’s cropped ears stood straight up. His canine brain instantly connected the dots. In this neighborhood, only one thing made a noise like that. It was coming! And this time he was going to catch it!

  He bounded over the hedge and catapulted off the sidewalk, craning his neck in an attempt to spot the oncoming red truck. The instant his leaping body passed over the curb, the four miniature rotor blades on the Hover Handler began to spin at high speed. The metallic unit lifted off the wagon and shot straight up in the air, acquiring the signal of the transmitter on Luthor’s collar. A split second later, it was locked on. It dropped back down and came to float over the big Doberman. A faint, high-pitched ringing sounded out over the entire neighborhood. It was barely audible to the girls, but the effect on Luthor was nothing short of amazing. He broke out of his run, lifted up onto his hind legs, and began what looked like a strange, leaping hip-hop dance, front paws pumping rhythmically.

  The girls stared, open-mouthed. Even Melissa, who had designed the device, was overwhelmed by its ability to control a hundred and fifty pounds of raw canine power.

  Savannah thought she knew everything there was to know about her beloved pet, but this was something she never could have imagined.

  Pitch watched as Luthor sashayed over to the sidewalk and hopped up to safety. “Now there’s something you don’t see too often.”

  The instant Luthor was no longer in the road, the Hover Handler returned to its base in the wagon and shut itself off.

  Luthor licked Savannah’s hand absently. Whatever it was that had so galvanized his attention a moment before, he couldn’t remember it at all now.

  Savannah regarded the Hover Handler’s inventor with even more respect than before. “If this cures Luthor of chasing that truck, I will never be able to thank you enough!” she exclaimed emotionally. “You might have just saved his life.”

  “Plus, we’re going to wreck those guys at Invent-a-Palooza,” Pitch added with relish. “It’s going to be a blowout. If there’s a mercy rule for paloozas, they’re going to have to invoke it!”

  “I never could have done it without GPS technology,” Melissa said modestly. Praise made her feel uncomfortable. She turned away from her friends and, through the dangling strands of hair, caught sight of a familiar figure marching purposefully in their direction, his face a thundercloud. “Isn’t that Mr. Hartman?”

  “I’ve never seen him leave his property before,” Savannah remarked. “He sure is steamed about something.”

  All three looked around, trying to spot the source of the new neighbor’s anger. When he came to a halt, it was directly in front of them.

  “Don’t think I can’t see what you’re doing! You’re spying on me!”

  “Spying?” echoed Pitch. “How?”

  Mr. Hartman pointed to the Hover Handler sitting on its base in the wagon. “With that thing! I saw it up in the air, taking pictures of my house!”

  “No!” The sheer unfairness of the accusation caused Melissa to find her voice. “It’s not for spying — it’s a Hover Handler!” In a halting voice, the shy girl blurted out a disjointed explanation of exactly what the device did, and why.

  “In a
world where everybody lies,” he pronounced, “starting with the government clear on down to children on the street, that is the most ridiculous tall tale I’ve ever been told! What kind of person is gullible enough to believe in an invention as cockamamie as a Hover Handler?”

  There was the roar of an old engine, punctuated by a small backfire, and the red truck from Ralph’s Exterminators turned onto Honeybee and started up the incline. A split second later, Luthor’s huge front paws were on Mr. Hartman’s shoulders as he launched himself over the terrified man and hit the road running. Mr. Hartman had barely recovered from that shock when the Hover Handler lifted off its base and started after Luthor — on a direct collision course with the neighbor’s flushed, angry face.

  In a desperate move of self-preservation, Mr. Hartman dropped to the sidewalk in the duck-and-cover position. The Hover Handler hurtled skyward, passing through the space that had just been occupied by the unfriendly neighbor’s head. The helicopter-like device dropped down over Luthor and emitted its high-pitched sound. Once again, the big Doberman gave up the chase and broke into his dance, grooving his way to the safety of the sidewalk.

  “That,” said Pitch in a for-your-information tone, “is a Hover Handler. Neat, huh?”

  Mr. Hartman picked himself up and dusted off his clothes. “Keep that gadget away from me and my property. And that goes for your dog, too.” He stormed off toward home.

  The girls watched his retreating back.

  Pitch caught her breath. “Wow. An invention that saves Luthor, puts the guys in their place, and has Heartless diving for his life. I think I’m in love.”

  You know,” Logan said, pleasantly surprised, “I think that’s a little quieter than before.”

  “It’s definitely quieter,” Ben agreed. “Ferret Face is very sensitive to vibration, and he’s a lot calmer now.”