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Authors: Jack Gantos

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BOOK: Jack Adrift
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“See you tomorrow,” I said with my head spinning.
She smiled slyly. “Good luck writing that ten-page paper,” she hollered, and hit the gas.
Suddenly I was hot. I went inside, drank a glass of cold water, then stepped outside to see how the geniuses were progressing. In a minute I heard Pete wailing, then I saw him running for the house with the bandanna swinging loose in his hand. “Jaaaack!” he cried. “Jaaaaack! Help me.”
I ran toward him. “What's wrong?” I asked. “What?”
“Look at my front tooth,” he cried out, with a whistle.
I looked. Half of the left one was chipped off. “What happened?” I asked. “Did you two fight again?”
“No. I was doing everything just fine—just like a genius—when I walked into a parked car and hit the door handle with my teeth.”
“Then you must have been off course,” I said, already trying to deflect the blame.
“No!” he yelled angrily. “No! I was right on course, step by step, like a real genius. It's just that yesterday when I remembered my way home the car wasn't there and today it parked across my path.”
“Oh,” I said. “I hadn't considered that.”
“Which is why you
aren't
a genius,” he was quick to point out. “Or you would have figured something like this could have happened.”
“Are you going to tell Mom and Dad about this?” I asked.
“Just depends,” he said, “on how you score the test.”
Before I could remind him that it was up to me to
play fair, I heard Julian crying as he hobbled toward us without his bandanna.
“What happened to you?” I asked when he limped up to us and miserably plopped down onto the sand.
“I stepped on a conch shell and twisted my ankle,” he explained. “It's no fair-fair-fair.”
“Well, this test is a tie,” I declared with great authority. “You both removed your bandannas and are disqualified.”
“It was a stupid test,” Pete said with a whistle.
“Tomorrow will be better,” I promised. “We'll meet right back here after school.”
The next day we gathered out front for the inventions test.
“I want to go first,” Julian insisted. “I have a good one.”
“Okay,” Pete said. “Give it your best shot.”
“Go put on your jeans and jean jacket,” Julian instructed. “And I'll meet-meet-meet you out behind my house.”
Pete and I did.
“I've invented the perfect baby-sitting device to keep a baby in one spot,” Julian announced. “I call it the Staple-Sitter, and I'm going to make millions on it.”
He had Pete stand on an upside-down bucket with his arms spread out against the wall like an angel. Then,
with a heavy-duty stapler, he stapled Pete's jeans to the wall with hundreds of staples. When Julian finished he kicked the can out from under Pete's feet. Pete didn't drop an inch. He didn't even sag a little.
“Lean forward and try-try-try to get out of it,” Julian ordered.
Pete tried. He grunted and wiggled but was entirely fixed to the wall.
Julian tapped himself on the head with the stapler. “Genius,” he declared. “I'm
so
off the charts.”
Pete must have known it was a good one. He was pouting. Then in a sudden fit of poor sportsmanship, he yelled out, “He stole my idea!”
“No way,” Julian protested. “I couldn't have stolen it from you because I stole it from my dad. He used to do this to me backstage when it was his night to watch me-me-me while he had a rock ‘n' roll gig.”
Pete frowned.
“Okay,” I said. “Let's get Pete off of here.” We stood on either side of him and began to pull on his jeans until the staples let go. Pete began to sag, and when he finally got off the wall we helped pull the staples out of his clothes.
“Now it's your turn,” I said to Pete.
He didn't look very confident. “Okay,” he sighed. “My invention is called the Tooth-Flute.” He began to
whistle out of his mouth and, by using his finger as a valve over the new gap in his front tooth, he began to play “Frère Jacques.”
“That is so
bogus
!” Julian declared. “It's as if-if-if you are having a
psychotic
moment.”
I could tell Pete knew he was beaten, so I didn't allow time for Julian to gloat. That was the best I could do.
“Julian is now in the lead, one to nothing,” I declared. “But let's move on to the sneakiness category.” I figured Pete would score well on this one.
“I'm not telling my idea,” Pete said. “My genius sneaky idea is a secret.”
“Then I'm not telling either,” Julian said. “But it is a genius-level idea.”
“Well, you both have to tell me,” I insisted, throwing my hands up in the air. “Otherwise I won't be able to judge it.”
“I won't tell unless he tells,” Julian said, and began to laugh. “But believe me, it is beyond anything Wile E. Coyote could think of.”
“I think you are lying,” Pete said. “You just don't have a good idea.”
“Then let's hear-hear-hear yours,” Julian said.
“I can't tell you,” Pete replied. “It's so top secret that it is
classified
by the government.”
“Okay, boys,” I said. “Okay. Let's just skip the third category.”
“So who is the genius?” Julian asked.
“Yeah,” said Pete. “Who?” He gave me a look like he expected me to rig the results in his favor.
“Let's move on to the literature category,” I said a bit impatiently.
Pete frowned.
“I'll go first,” Julian said. “Naturally, I made up a genius song. It will be the theme song for my TV show. Every week my show will open and show me doing genius things while my song plays in the background. Here goes:
I'm so smart, I'm off the charts … My brain's so huge there are no replacement parts … I solve problems all day long … I'm the world's answer man singing a song. La, la, la …
”
Pete fell down laughing. “What's the name for your show?” he asked.
“Looney Tunes?”
“I am not-not-not amused,” Julian said dryly, and stuck his nose into the air. “So, what is your genius bit of literature?”
Pete pulled himself together. “I have written a poem,” he said, squaring his shoulders and loudly clearing his throat.
“Roses are red, Violets are blue, My IQ's so big, No hat will do.”
“That's dumb,” Julian said. “IQs don't wear hats.”
“You're an idiot,” Pete shot back. “And you will
always
be an idiot because there are no
replacement parts
for your pea-sized brain.”
“Let's just fight-fight-fight,” Julian said. “Winner is the genius. Loser is the moron!”
I jumped between them. “No more fighting,” I said. “Fighting is for brain-dead boneheads.”
“Then who is the winner?” Julian asked.
“Yeah?” said Pete.
“It's a tie,” I said. “Pete's poem won the literature category.”
“That's totally bogus!” Julian protested.
“Hey,” I snapped back. “I don't want any lip from either of you. Not a word.”
“So what do we-we-we do next?” Julian asked.
“I'll think of a tiebreaker tonight,” I said, “and I'll announce it in the morning.”
That night I worked on Miss Noelle's homework assignment and didn't make up the final test until we were all walking to school the next morning.
“Here is the final test,” I announced. “As we all know, staying out of trouble at school is the sign of true genius. So, I want each of you to spend the whole day at school without ever going to class and without ever being sent to the principal's office. You will have to use all your genius skills to both avoid being absent while never being present.”
“I don't get it,” Julian said. “You want us to be-be-be invisible?”
“Invisible, but present at the same time,” I replied.
“I think I get it,” Pete said. “You just hang out in the hall around the front office and if anyone asks what you are doing, you just say you are waiting for the secretary to call your mom because you have head lice.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Something like that.”
“It would be better,” Julian said, “to just tell-tell-tell everyone you are a substitute custodian and push a broom around.”
“Why don't you just hang out in the bathroom all day and if a teacher comes in tell them you have a contagious kidney infection,” I suggested.
“I'm psyched for this test,” Julian said, rubbing his hands together.
“Piece of cake,” Pete said.
“One final thought,” I added. “Remember, Einstein said, ‘Imagination is more important than knowledge.'”
After we walked through the front door of the school they scattered.
During the day I received permission to go to the bathroom twelve times, but never spotted them. I sneaked out to the courtyard and climbed up into the replica of the Cape Hatteras Lighthouse. They were not there. And they were not hunkered down inside the model of the Wright brothers' first airplane. I volunteered to take a note from Miss Noelle to the front office and didn't see them there. They did not come out for morning recess, or lunch, or they were hiding behind
the shelves in the library when I went there for more bird migration research. There was only a half-hour left in the day when suddenly the fire alarm went off.
“Okay,” Miss Noelle directed. “You know what to do. Drop everything and follow me.”
We did. All eighteen of us marched down the hall and joined the lines of other kids streaming out of classrooms. I stood on my tiptoes and searched for Pete and Julian. But I didn't see them. We all gathered on the back playground. There was a funeral and kids rushed the fence to get a good look. I kept moving through the crowd, looking for Julian and Pete. What if the school is on fire? I said to myself. What if there is a gas leak and it's going to blow up? What if a giant tidal wave is coming our way? I should tell someone, I thought. I turned and walked toward the open door.
“Jack Henry,” Miss Noelle shouted. “Get over here with our class.”
I trotted over to her. “What if someone is trapped in there?” I asked.
“It's a false alarm,” she said. “Some pinhead pulled the switch in the cafeteria. The janitor told me. If it were a real fire, the heat would have set off the sprinkler sensor.”
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she said.
Then it occurred to me that one of them might have
gotten hungry and this would be a way to sneak into the kitchen and get some food. But that seemed impossible. Pulling a fire alarm when there was no fire was the stupidest thing in the world. Neither of them was a genius, but they weren't that dumb either.
Soon the fire trucks came, and five minutes later they left. We were all herded back into the school and, still, I never saw Pete or Julian. It wasn't until I was leaving at the end of the day that I saw them drifting off, blending in with the other kids, bent over from the weight of their backpacks. I ran after them.
“Hey, wait!” I shouted. “I've been looking for you two everywhere. Where've you been?”
“You told us to hide,” Pete said.
“Yeah,” Julian said.
“But didn't you hear the fire alarm?” I asked.
They nodded.
“Did either of you pull it?”
“No,” they said in unison. “That would be criminal.”
“Then you're both morons. The school could have been in flames. A hurricane could have been heading toward us. A real genius would have realized it was smarter to be safe than to win some dumb contest. You both lose. The only thing you have won is the
idiot
contest.”
“I'm no-no-no idiot,” Julian said, grinning. “I hid in the crawl space under the auditorium stage all-all-all
day and made up some new songs. Want to hear one?”
“Spare me,” I said.
“And I squished myself into my locker all day,” Pete said. “I felt like a candy bar inside a wrapper. I learned how to sleep standing up. I'm no idiot either.”
But they were. They were idiots—mini minds—and that night it was confirmed.
I was watching a
Twilight Zone
rerun when, by itself, the channel changed. I knew who it had to be. “Hey, Pete,” I called out. “Come in here and watch TV with me.” He came in from the kitchen. Suddenly the channel changed again. Then again. “Oh my,” I shouted toward the window at the top of my lungs. “What's going on?”
BOOK: Jack Adrift
12.63Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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