In the fourth row, Logan was tapping under his chin, directing Griffin to speak up, to project. Griffin ignored him. He didn’t care if he was heard or not. First of all, hardly anyone was paying attention; and second, once the SH-10 did its thing, nobody was going to care.
“I invented the SH-10 to prove that motors don’t have to make so much noise. This vacuum used to create an unbearable racket, and listen to it now.”
He plugged the power cord into the outlet on the gym floor, shut his eyes, and hit the switch.
The machine purred to life with its pleasant hum. The audience didn’t respond at all. They couldn’t hear it. But the judges looked genuinely impressed with the SH-10’s performance — for about a second and a half.
That was when the lights went out.
It wasn’t total darkness, because the gym had ceiling-level windows, and the day was sunny. The judges looked on in amazement. They were scientists and university professors. They concluded immediately that the SH-10 was the cause of the power failure. But this could be no ordinary blackout — not when the vacuum cleaner itself was still running!
A short distance away, Darren’s EGGS-traordinary coughed into auxiliary-battery mode, issued a hollow thunk, and shot a raw egg into the crowd. It caught a lady in the sixth row full in the face. She screamed in distress. But by the time attention turned to her, thunk, a second egg was airborne. It soon decorated the lapel of the suit worn by the superintendent of the Green Hollow school district. Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! Three more eggs shot into the audience.
Now, people were scrambling in all directions. This made very little sense, as there was no way to predict where the next egg was going to land.
Darren’s father came racing in from the bleachers, intent on reaching his son’s invention. His foot came down in a slimy egg yolk, and he wiped out before ever making it to the floor.
“Somebody stop this crazy thing!” shouted Darren.
But the EGGS-traordinary was just getting started. It began hurling eggs with greater speed, striking faces and retreating backs. Sticky goo flew everywhere, lodging in clothing and hair.
Even Ben got hit, much to the delight of Ferret Face, who thought raw egg was a delicacy.
Melissa’s curtain of hair was pushed aside, her eyes wide as she took in the chaos. “Darren’s invention seems to be malfunctioning.”
“You think?” chortled Pitch, brushing eggshell off her jeans.
Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!
The first few spectators reached the exit door and threw it open. They found their way blocked by the largest, meanest-looking Doberman any of them had ever seen. They turned back into the gym, where it was raining eggs.
Thunk! The last egg painted the basketball scoreboard.
Griffin pulled the plug on the SH-10. The lights came back on.
The EGGS-traordinary tried to continue making egg dishes, but it was out of raw material. It short-circuited with a zap, belching out a cloud of smoke.
“That wasn’t my fault!” Darren said quickly. He turned to the judges, suddenly nervous. “Was it?”
But the judges had eyes only for Griffin.
“Magnificent!” the first man exclaimed.
Griffin stared. “It is?”
“Well, of course it is!” said a woman, a physics professor. “Many great advances are made at least partly by accident, but who could have expected a middle schooler to create an energy damper of such power and efficiency?”
“Remarkable!”
“Astonishing!”
The head judge spoke up again. “We don’t even have to look at our scores. There’s no doubt in any of our minds that the SH-10 Energy Damper is our winner here. Congratulations, Griffin.”
The fourth row erupted in cheers, and so did Mr. Bing at the very back. His baseball cap was off, and he had stashed his sunglasses.
“That’s my boy!” he called out.
“What?” Darren raged. “No fair! He didn’t win! I won!”
Mr. Kropotkin rushed down from the bleachers. Griffin hardly recognized him. He was covered in egg. An unbroken yolk peered out of his hair like a third eyeball. “You did it, Griffin! Congratulations! You’re a credit to our school!”
“He’s not a credit!” Darren howled. “I’m a credit! He wrecked my invention and made it slime the audience! He should be disqualified! I win!”
“Don’t worry, Darren,” Griffin said sweetly. “You’ll have your moment in the spotlight. I’ve already started thinking about your speech.”
As the Long Island champion, Griffin earned the right to exhibit his invention at the New York state finals.
Mr. Bing was only too happy to accompany his son to Saratoga Springs for the competition. He may have been reluctant to associate himself with the vacuum cleaner that turned out all the lights, but the revolutionary new energy damper was a brilliant discovery — at least that was what he posted on the American Inventors Association’s list serve.
They checked into their motel and settled down in their room to relax and prepare for tomorrow’s early start, sharing a bag of microwave popcorn in front of the TV.
Mr. Bing brushed a few spilled kernels into his palm and dropped them into the wastebasket.
Griffin grinned at his father. “You know, Dad, we do have a vacuum cleaner with us.”
“Yeah,” his father replied, “but I don’t think the hotel would appreciate being plunged into darkness.” He grew serious. “I want you to know how proud I am of you. It’s a huge thing for a man to see his kid follow in his footsteps.”
Griffin laughed. “We both spent weeks trying to get all those SHs to not turn off the power. It’s just sheer luck that an energy damper turns out to be a real thing. If the quiet motor had worked the way we wanted it to, it would be Vader in this hotel room, not me.”
“No way,” his father deadpanned. “The Vaders would be at the Four Seasons, having caviar instead of popcorn.”
“But you know, Dad,” Griffin went on, “even though I’m not a real inventor, I’ve learned so much about what you do, and how hard it is. When I look at a SmartPick, I kind of take it for granted, because it’s been around for so long. But that thing never existed until you thought of it. It’s really amazing.”
Mr. Bing was all choked up. “Thanks, Griffin. That means a lot. Now we should probably hit the hay.”
“Not yet. I promised Logan I’d watch the ten o’clock news. His new commercial is scheduled to premiere during the first break.”
Father and son shared a pretty good laugh over Logan’s agonized “Yeow!” as his regular bandage was ripped from his skin, and his happy “Mmmm!” when the process was repeated with the Ouch-Free brand. Both Bings applauded in the small room as the ad ended and the news anchor reappeared on the screen.
“Our next story comes to us from Limestone, Maine, where the air force has always had a problem with the local moose population wandering onto the runways of the Loring Strategic Air Command Base. Until now, that is. Air force officials report that the new Runway Ranger keeps unwanted visitors clear of the tarmacs with a ninety-five percent success rate. Have a look.”
The video showed a huge moose wandering on an expanse of runway, surrounded by the north woods. Suddenly, the enormous animal leaped up on its hind legs and began a strange lumbering rhythmic motion, its front hooves raised and pumping.
Griffin gawked. He goggled. He blinked, and blinked again. But it was still there — a giant moose in the throes of the very same hip-hop dance that Luthor had always done when the Hover Handler emitted its high-pitched tone!
And then the camera zoomed in on the cause of this peculiar behavior.
The military’s new Runway Ranger hovered over the gyrating antlers. It looked like a silver cable box topped by an X-shaped superstructure, and four miniature rotor blades.
“It’s a Hover Handler!” Griffin shrieked.
“A what?” Mr. Bing queried.
“Melissa’s Invent-a-Palooza project! They w
ere using it to keep Luthor from chasing the exterminator’s truck! And then it got stolen! Now we know why! So the air force could turn it into the Runway Ranger!”
His father was skeptical. “I’m sure it’s similar, but I really don’t think —”
“It’s not similar! It’s exactly the same! I can’t believe they did this! Our own government is out of control! How can we sit back and watch while they …” His voice trailed off when he realized how much he sounded like Mr. Hartman.
The next thing you know, I’ll be digging a secret shelter under our basement!
Griffin sighed. There was no way he could ever explain all this to Dad — not without revealing how the team had used the SH-9 to break into Facility 107-B. And that was something none of their parents must ever find out.
“I know Melissa’s really bright,” Mr. Bing went on. “But inventing is a funny game. Who’s to say that, while I was developing the SmartPick, there wasn’t some guy on the opposite side of the world working on exactly the same idea? If he’d finished and patented first, all my hard work would have been for nothing. Some of the greatest inventors in history never get any credit at all for their creations.”
Griffin was still upset. “Even in a total rip-off like this?”
His father nodded. “You have to be satisfied that you’ve done your part to make the world a better place. For a true inventor, everything else is just gravy.”
* * *
The envelope had no return address and was postmarked Washington, DC. Melissa turned it over in her hand. Who did she know in Washington? The stationery inside had no letterhead, and the message itself was handwritten.
Dear Miss Dukakis,
I am Major General Steven B. McAllister, in command of the New Electronics Development for the United States Air Force. You may be aware that we have borrowed the technology built into our new Runway Ranger from the design by you. Your government is grateful.
I am not authorized to offer you financial compensation, nor official recognition. In fact, if you show this letter to anyone, the air force will denounce it as a forgery.
However, tech guy to tech guy, what you have accomplished at such a young age is simply genius. The government needs people like you, Melissa Dukakis. I’m offering you a job the instant you graduate from college. Rest assured that you will hear from my department on that very day.
Yours truly,
General Steven B. McAllister
The Pentagon
A tiny smile blossomed behind her curtain of hair. She fed the page into a scanner. An instant later, it appeared on the screen of every device in her room. Then she refolded the letter and placed it lovingly in the shoe box where she kept her most prized possessions.
“What was that envelope that came for you?” her mother asked later in the day.
“Oh, nothing,” she replied. “Just junk mail.”
It would be her secret, at least until college graduation.
Attention everybody. I have a little — uh — speech to make.”
Darren Vader, his round face tomato-red, stood at the front of the cafeteria atop the small platform teachers used for important announcements. Although he was speaking into a microphone, he was mumbling so quietly that most of the students never even looked up from their lunches.
That suited Darren just fine. This was a speech he very much didn’t want to give.
At their first-row table, Ben nudged Griffin. “Doesn’t it figure? Most of the time you can hear his big mouth from the International Space Station. And today of all days, he develops an ‘inside voice.’ ”
Pitch cupped her hands to her mouth. “Louder, Darren!”
“Project!” added Logan, tapping his throat in a theater gesture.
Savannah and Melissa looked on, basking in enjoyment. For the first time ever, Melissa had tied back her curtain of hair so she wouldn’t miss anything. Even Ferret Face peered out from Ben’s sleeve, taking in the spectacle of Darren’s humiliation.
“… Well — uh — maybe you heard that Bing did a teeny bit better than me at the Invent-a-Palooza. So” — Darren’s face twisted — “congratulations …”
“You let him off too easy,” Ben told Griffin. “If it was me, I would have taken the speech Vader gave you and switched the names around.”
Griffin shook his head. “Then I’d be no better than him.”
“… Cedarville is proud of you, Griffin. Your invention was great. Mine was — uh — less great….”
“That’s supposed to be ‘a menace to society,’” Griffin called out sternly. “Follow the script, Vader!”
Pitch stood up. “Can I have that last part again? About how Griffin won and you went down in flames?”
By this time, Darren was babbling. “… and — uh — way to go, Griffin … you’re the — uh — better man …” Suddenly, his face darkened to an unhealthy shade of purple, and he bellowed, “because you totally lousy-stinking cheated!”
Everybody jumped. Darren’s amplified voice reverberated off the cafeteria walls. He had 100 percent attention now.
“It’s not fair that Bing won with a broken vacuum cleaner! And when he turned it on, it broke my project, which was a thousand times better! The whole Invent-a-Palooza is a big scam! I got ripped off … !”
As Darren went on raving, Griffin addressed his team. “Would someone care to do the honors?”
“It should be you,” Ben decided for the group. “You’ve earned it.”
Griffin reached over and plugged the cord of his SH-10 into the wall socket.
“The judges were all morons!” Darren was booming. “The fix was in — !”
The lights went out, the fans stopped, the ice cream freezer fell silent, and the microphone went dead. Darren was still ranting away, but no one could hear what he was saying.
The cafeteria crowd leaped to its feet in a mock standing ovation.
Griffin smiled in deep satisfaction. He’d never cared much about the SH-10 before, but if it shut up Darren Vader, then it really was an invention that could make the world a better place.
Maybe Griffin was following in Dad’s footsteps after all.
* * *
After school, Savannah walked Luthor down Honeybee Street, enjoying the sunshine of a brisk day. It was the kind of weather the Doberman liked best, and he was all over the place at the end of the long leash, chasing leaves, investigating birds, and rubbing his long body against the trunks of trees.
The big dog wasn’t just a free spirit. He appreciated the simple things that made life worthwhile. If only humans could have Luthor’s positive attitude.
Honeybee Street looked so much more welcoming now that Mr. Hartman had taken down his awful fence. He wasn’t heartless at all, once you got to know him a little. Sure, he was a little strange, always whispering ominous warnings like “The walls have ears” and “They don’t know that we know.” He definitely still had a serious hang-up about the government. But he was friendly now.
There he was, outside his house, laying down a gravel path on the shortcut he had given back to them.
She waved. “Looking good, Mr. Hartman.”
And he stage-whispered back, “Trust no one!”
At the sound of the backfire, Luthor stiffened, and so did Savannah. She grasped the leash with both hands. If this was what she thought it was, she was going to have to hold on. It had been so nice when the truck from Ralph’s Exterminators had been in for repair. She wasn’t expecting him back on the road until next week. Why hadn’t Ralph warned her?
The exterminator rounded the corner into view, and Luthor let out a bark that rattled the treetops. Birds flapped for parts unknown. Savannah tightened her grip on the lead.
“Calm down, Sweetie,” she said in her best dog-whisperer voice.
The truck backfired again, and Luthor was gone, the leash blasting out of her hands. Savannah knew with a sinking heart that five of her could not have held him back.
Luthor bounded up the center line
, on a collision course with the red truck. This time he didn’t have to catch it; it was coming right for him.
“Luthor — no!” Savannah wailed.
As she scrambled after her beloved dog, she could clearly see Ralph behind the wheel, his face a mask of sheer terror. Suddenly, the exterminator slammed on the brakes, threw open the door, and hit the road running.
The former guard dog left his feet in a titanic leap. He sailed through the air and landed on all fours on top of the hood of the truck.
In spite of her agitation, Savannah was fascinated. One of the age-old questions of animal behavior was what would a dog do with the car he was chasing if he ever caught it?
The world was about to find out.
Luthor opened a gaping mouth and clamped it down on the mouse hood ornament. Savannah could see the muscles bulging in his neck as he pulled. He worried it like a shark clamped on to a fighting tarpon until the mechanism broke and the piece came out in his mouth. Then he hopped down to the road, trotted back to Savannah, and deposited the silver mouse, drool-covered and slightly mangled, at her feet.
Proudly, he looked up at her and waited for the gratitude and love that he knew he was entitled to.
Well, what do you know? she thought to herself. All he wanted was to give me a present.
Luthor never chased the exterminator’s truck again.
DON’T MISS ANY ANTICS OF THE MAN WITH THE PLAN, GORDON KORMAN:
SWINDLE
ZOOBREAK
FRAMED
SHOWOFF
HIDEOUT
JACKPOT
GORDON KORMAN
GORDON KORMAN’s first six books featuring Griffin Bing and his friends are Swindle, Zoobreak, Framed, Showoff, Hideout, and Jackpot. His other books include This Can’t Be Happening at Macdonald Hall! (published when he was fourteen); The Toilet Paper Tigers; Radio Fifth Grade; the trilogies Island, Everest, Dive, Kidnapped, and Titanic; and the series On the Run. Most recently, he is the author of The Hypnotists and Memory Maze. He lives in New York with his family and can be found on the Web at www.gordonkorman.com.
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