“We’re a genius!” Griffin cheered, sashaying around as he vacuumed the basement rug.
Logan joined in, acting out an imaginary commercial. “Is your vacuum so loud that you can’t hear the air-raid siren? Behold, the Invent-a-Palooza-winning new vacuum from Griffin Bing. Voice-over provided by Logan Kellerman, resume available on request.”
A long, twitching needle nose protruded from Ben’s sleeve.
“Guys, I think Ferret Face smells something.”
Griffin sniffed. “Smoke!” he exclaimed. He put his hand on the motor housing and found it hot to the touch. He wrenched the plug out of the wall. Another fire would be catastrophic to his supply of test motors. The instant he opened up the vacuum, a gray cloud rose up and dispersed. The problem was instantly visible. The heavy fleece muffling material was singed black and smoldering. He picked it up gingerly between thumb and forefinger and tossed it in the laundry sink. “Ow!”
“That’s a pretty impressive ow,” Logan appraised. “Definitely not professional-actor quality, but with practice —”
“I burned my fingers!” Griffin howled.
“Don’t tell me we’ve killed another vacuum cleaner,” Ben groaned.
When the motor was cool enough to handle again, they wiped off the scorch with a damp cloth and reinserted it into the vacuum. The machine roared to life, undamaged — but, of course, loud as ever.
“What now?” asked Logan, discouraged. “We can’t just keep stuffing it with old sweatshirt material. We’ll burn your house down.”
“My dad said this should work,” Griffin explained. “We just have to find material that’s thin enough that the motor can still breathe. But if the material’s too thin, it won’t muffle the sound. It might even burn more easily.”
“Maybe you should talk to my mother,” Ben suggested. “She reads all these parenting-magazine articles about dressing your kids in clothes made out of fire-retardant material.”
Griffin perked up. “Fire-retardant material?”
Ben flushed. “I happen to be one of the only middle schoolers who has to wear fire-retardant pajamas.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so? Go get them!”
Ben made a face. “I don’t want to.”
“Why not?” Griffin demanded.
His friend was tight-lipped. “They’re — inappropriate.”
Logan spoke up. “Inappropriate how?”
“They’ve got bunny rabbits, okay?” Ben exploded. “It’s not my fault! I’m short, so I still fit into a lot of little kid stuff.”
Griffin was baffled. “How come I’ve never seen those?”
“Well, I don’t wear them for sleepovers, you know,” Ben shot back. “Sometimes it’s better to risk going up in flames.”
“Listen to me,” Griffin said through clenched teeth. “Those girls are going to wipe the floor with us, and we’ll never hear the end of it. Or worse, Vader might win. If I have to make that speech, your name is going to come up more than once. Now get those pajamas.”
Fifteen minutes later, Griffin worked with a pair of scissors to cut a large circle out of the seat of a pair of bunny-rabbit pajamas. He wrapped the fabric carefully around the motor and reinserted it into the vacuum cleaner. “Here goes nothing.”
He flicked the switch. The vacuum started again, quiet like before. So far, so good. They could feel suction coming from the base. The housing warmed up but didn’t seem to be overheating.
Ben removed Ferret Face from his shirt and held the little creature right up to the vacuum. The needle nose didn’t twitch, and he didn’t seem agitated or perturbed.
“No smoke,” Ben concluded.
“Keep it going,” Griffin said intently. “We have no idea how long the Invent-a-Palooza judges will make us run it. If it burns out in the middle of the contest, I’m dead meat.”
But after several minutes, the motor was still on an even keel, humming quietly, warm but not burning.
For the first time, Griffin dared to hope. “I think maybe we’ve got it.”
“That’s a wrap!” cheered Logan.
“You did it, man,” Ben added in admiration. “Congratulations.”
* * *
Mr. Bing was in his garage workshop when it happened. The lights went out, and the electric drill in his hand fell silent, spiraling to a halt halfway through a sheet of metal.
A power failure? He poked his head out of the garage and checked on the neighbors’ houses. Everybody had lights except the Bings.
A circuit breaker, then. He must have blown a fuse.
He entered the house, grabbed a flashlight, and ran down to the basement to check the electrical box. Everything seemed okay. Funny. That was when he noticed the hum coming from the playroom. It was a soft sound, yet definitely electrical.
But the power was out. What was going on around here?
He opened the playroom door, shone the beam inside, and stared in amazement. There stood his son, flanked by Ben and Logan. Griffin had a hold of the old vacuum cleaner. It was plugged in. And it was working! How could that be? You didn’t have to be a professional inventor to understand that a house with no electricity can’t run a vacuum cleaner!
“Griffin,” Mr. Bing called. And then louder: “Griffin!”
Spying him, Griffin flicked the off switch on the vacuum. The hum of the motor died, and something else happened, something not even Mr. Bing could explain.
The clock on the cable box lit up. The refrigerator whirred to life. The computer rebooted. A radio began to play. And every light in the house came back on.
Gadgets had never been Savannah’s thing. Animals were her passion, not technology. But she had to admit that she loved the Hover Handler beyond reason. No more did she lie awake at night tortured by images of her beloved Luthor lying injured, or worse, by the side of the road. It was changing her life.
Melissa had made a few minor adjustments. For example, she had waterproofed the unit, since Luthor could chase the exterminator’s truck in rain or shine. The device was now deployed in the middle of the front lawn, connected to the house by an extension cord. The base doubled as a charging station, keeping the Hover Handler fully juiced and ready to go.
The one thing it didn’t solve was the mystery of why Luthor was chasing Ralph’s vehicle — and only Ralph’s vehicle. But Savannah was enough of a dog expert to understand and accept that she might never know the answer. Animals had personalities with quirks and hang-ups, just like people. Luthor was a swirl of contradictions: his guard-dog training versus his sweet and gentle nature, memories of his awful former owner versus the loving home that was his now.
And anyway, whatever the cause of his problem, Melissa’s fantastic invention had it under control. If the Hover Handler didn’t win first prize at the Invent-a-Palooza, the judges were all idiots. She felt an uncomfortable stab of anger against Griffin, even though he had always been a loyal friend to her and Luthor. Where did Griffin get off treating Melissa like a junior partner just because she was a girl? And didn’t it figure that Ben and Logan would throw their chips in with Griffin, since they were boys, too. Like there was any question that Melissa was the superior inventor, no matter who Griffin’s dad happened to be!
Savannah wasn’t the only one who appreciated how the Hover Handler had made life better. Yesterday, Ralph, the exterminator, had arrived at the Drysdales’ door carrying a huge fruit basket.
“I don’t know how you did it,” the man had said emotionally, “but thanks! I’ve been having nightmares about what that dog would do to my truck if he ever caught up to it.”
Savannah had smiled tolerantly. “He’s really a big softie.” She hefted the basket. “You didn’t have to do this. It must have cost a lot of money.”
A shrug. “That’s okay, kid. It’s a lot cheaper than moving my office to another town.”
Not everyone was a fan of the new invention. The nearsighted Mrs. Calhoun, who lived two doors down, reported to the police that there was a large predatory bird chasing po
nies in the neighborhood. And, of course, there was Mr. Hartman. Savannah had spotted the unwelcome, unfriendly neighbor standing by his fence, searching the sky with a camera equipped with a long telephoto lens. So far, no one on Honeybee Street had ever seen him smile.
Serves him right, Savannah reflected as she loaded up her backpack for the long roundabout walk to school early Monday morning. If it weren’t for Mr. Heartless and his fence and his bad attitude, she would have had time for breakfast before this morning’s meeting. Mr. Kropotkin wanted an update on the Invent-a-Palooza projects. Pitch insisted that all the girls be there to support Melissa, and to make sure their friend didn’t get steamrolled by Griffin or stabbed in the back by Darren. It made a lot of sense. Melissa was a tech titan, but when it came to standing up for herself, she was a lamb.
Savannah was tying her sneakers when a telltale backfire sounded from out in the street. Next came Luthor’s barking, and the percussive clomp of heavy footfalls as the big Doberman took off across the lawn in pursuit of the exterminator’s truck. It was a tribute to Melissa’s incredible invention that Savannah didn’t even look up from her laces. She listened for the high-pitched tone of the Hover Handler. It never came. Instead, Luthor’s barking continued, sounding ever more distant.
Forgetting everything else, including her second shoe, Savannah ran outside. A terrible sight met her eyes. Luthor was in full flight along the broken line at the center of Honeybee Street, in pursuit of the red truck with the mouse hood ornament. Just for an instant, she caught sight of Ralph’s accusing face in the side mirror before he stomped on the gas and his vehicle leaped forward and out of sight. It may have been a trick of the light, but Savannah could have sworn that he mouthed the words I want my fruit back! before disappearing around the corner.
“Luthor! Come here this minute!” As she sprinted, one shoe off and one shoe on, after her dog, her mind was awhirl. What had happened? Why had the Hover Handler stopped working?
That was when she glanced behind her and saw it: a section of flattened grass in exactly the shape of the rechargeable base. The extension cord lay there, attached to nothing.
The Hover Handler was gone.
* * *
“My project,” Griffin was telling Mr. Kropotkin, “is a quieter electric motor. You know how small appliances like blenders and vacuum cleaners are so noisy? Well, the SH-1 is designed to change all that.”
“Excellent,” the teacher approved, making a few notes on a ring-bound pad. “SH — does that stand for something?”
Griffin nodded. “It’s short for shhhh.”
“And is it completed?” probed Mr. Kropotkin.
“Yes,” replied Griffin at the same time as Ben said, “No.”
The teacher frowned, “Well, which is it?”
“Oh, it’s totally ready,” Griffin answered with a kick at Ben under the table. “There’s just one minor detail that needs to be ironed out before we can bring it in. It doesn’t affect the operation of the machine at all.”
“A cosmetic issue,” Mr. Kropotkin concluded.
“You might call it that,” Griffin agreed.
Ben massaged his sore knee. Only Griffin could take what had happened with the SH-1 and call it cosmetic. The thing had shut off all the electricity in the Bing house. But it wasn’t a loss of power — that at least would have made sense. There was plenty of power to run the SH-1. It was everything else that was stone-dead.
“The nearest I can explain it,” a bewildered Mr. Bing had offered, “is that your motor sucked all the electricity out of the system and used it for itself.”
And when a professional inventor says your project “defies the laws of science,” most people would consider that a pretty big problem. Not The Man With The Plan, though.
When they’d opened up the motor, they’d discovered that the fabric of the bunny-rabbit pajamas had fused with the electromagnetic coils. Mr. Bing had suggested that some of the fire-retardant chemicals in the fabric might have reacted with the copper wiring. But he had no idea how or why. Even now, Griffin’s father was poring over his old college science books in search of an explanation for this strange phenomenon.
Ben had his own theory: The motor was haunted.
Mr. Kropotkin swiveled his chair to face the second would-be inventor. “Well, Darren, let’s hear about this project of yours that has you so confident.”
“That’s top secret,” said Darren with a sly smile. “But don’t worry, Mr. Kropotkin, it’s finished, and it’s awesome.”
The teacher put down his notepad. “I’m going to need a little more than that.”
“Well, I can tell you it has something to do with food.”
“The sandwich has already been invented, Vader,” Griffin put in sourly.
“You’re hilarious, Bing,” Darren drawled. “You should do more public speaking. Oh, wait — you’ve got that big speech coming up.”
“That’s enough,” the teacher said tiredly. He began to make notes. “All right. ‘Darren Vader — food-related.’ Let’s hope the finished product is more impressive than your description.”
Good luck with that, Ben thought to himself. A surprise invention from Vader. What could go wrong?
On the other hand, Darren was looking a little pudgier than usual lately. Was that because he really did have a food-related invention — and maybe he was sampling too much of his own product? Did that mean his invention could actually be good? Could it beat Griffin and his haunted motor?
Mr. Kropotkin turned to the third and final inventor. “And how about you, Melissa? I hope you’ve got a little more information for me.”
Pitch spoke up. “Good news. Melissa’s invention is finished and tested, and we’re ready to tell you anything you want to know about it — not like these guys.”
The teacher held up his hand like a traffic cop. “Are you Melissa’s lawyer? Why can’t she speak for this herself?”
So Melissa did. Or, at least, she tried. But her face stayed hidden behind her hair, and her voice was so breathless and terrified that the teacher couldn’t make out a single word.
“All right, Antonia,” Mr. Kropotkin finally relented. “You can speak for Melissa.”
“It’s called the Hover Handler,” Pitch began enthusiastically. “It’s a system to keep dogs from chasing cars.” She took a folder stuffed with papers and diagrams and handed it to the teacher.
Mr. Kropotkin began to leaf through the papers, his eyes widening in surprise. “Melissa, this is your work?”
The shy girl nodded.
“Very impressive! I can’t wait to see a demonstration.”
Pitch leaned toward Griffin, Ben, and Darren, and mouthed the words: In your face!
At that moment, the door to the classroom was thrown open, and in staggered Savannah, sweaty and breathless, her expression wild. She looked like she’d run all the way from home, which was an awfully long way with the shortcut blocked.
“Savannah!” the teacher exclaimed in alarm. “What’s wrong?”
“The Hover Handler!” she gasped, her voice raw. “It’s gone!”
“What do you mean, ‘gone’?” Pitch demanded.
“The exterminator’s truck went by this morning!” she panted. “Luthor went after it like always … and nothing stopped him! He’s okay. I got him back! But when I looked to see what was wrong with the Hover Handler, it wasn’t there anymore!”
“Are you saying,” the teacher asked, “that Melissa’s Invent-a-Palooza entry has been stolen?”
“It has to be out in the open for it to work,” Savannah explained. “Somebody must have just taken it!”
“Who would do that?” Ben put in. “I mean, you know it’s a dog-saver, but most people wouldn’t recognize it as something important. Unless it looks — you know — expensive —”
“Or maybe there are people who will want it out of the way so it can’t kick their butts at the Invent-a-Palooza!” Pitch interrupted with a meaningful gaze at the boys.
Griffin stood up. “You’re not accusing me?”
“Whoa, trouble in paradise,” commented Darren. “I like it.”
“Or this sleazoid,” Pitch raged on, indicating Darren. “He’d steal fifty Hover Handlers if it could gain him any advantage!”
“Now, let’s not jump to any conclusions,” Mr. Kropotkin was saying.
Everyone in the room seemed to have an opinion, except for one person — Melissa herself. The Hover Handler’s inventor had again disappeared behind her curtain of hair. But she had her cell phone to her ear and was speaking quietly.
“I know this is upsetting, Melissa,” the teacher said gently, “but you know the rules. You can’t use your phone in school.”
“My parents are on their way,” she told him in a voice that was emotionless and deathly quiet. “I want to go home.”
The instant the vacuum began to whir, the bulb in the test lamp winked out.
“Awww!”
In consternation, Griffin hit the off switch. Instantly, the bulb lit up again.
Ben sighed. “So much for the SH-2. It knocks out the power just like the SH-1 did.”
“But why?” Griffin demanded. “It’s not rocket science! I did it exactly right!”
“Well, at least the lightbulb showed us it was happening so we could shut down before anyone else was affected,” Ben offered consolingly.
There were heavy footsteps on the basement stairs, and Mrs. Bing appeared on the landing. “How about a little warning before you turn on that Franken-vacuum?”
“Sorry,” Griffin said sheepishly. “We haven’t worked out the bugs yet.”
“I’ll give you bugs!” she raged. “I was just finishing a six-page e-mail to Grandma! Complete with pictures! And YouTube links! And it’s all gone!”
Ferret Face chittered nervously under Ben’s shirt. “He doesn’t like confrontation,” Ben explained apologetically.
“Then you’d better keep him out of this house,” she snapped, “because there’s going to be a lot of yelling until that project goes to school.”
“It’s not my fault,” Griffin whined. “Even Dad can’t figure it why it’s doing that. He helped me rewire the whole thing, and it’s worse than ever. And just when the girls dropped out, so the only person I have to beat is Darren — and how hard can that be?”