The Mapmaker and the Ghost(21)
“Brains, no one understands what you’re doing. Albert Einstein would probably have a hard time,” Snotshot said.
Brains smirked smugly.
“Although,” Snotshot continued, “perhaps Thomas Edison might have a clue.”
Brains glared at her. She knew how he felt about that backstabber Edison.
“Without me—” he started.
“Yes, yes, we know,” No-Bone said, as he grabbed hold of one end of the rope. “There would never be a plan, and we’d all be doomed to go back to our homes.”
“And don’t you forget it,” Brains said.
“How could we? You won’t let us,” No-Bone said.
“Brains, are you going to play or not?” Toe Jam asked.
“Not,” Brains said.
“Okay, fine. Then I’ll be on Snotshot’s team,” Toe Jam said, a little too eagerly.
“Dude, no way,” No-Bone said. “This is how we always team up. How else are we going to keep ultimate score?”
“But this isn’t fair!” Toe Jam said. “Lint’s not here to be on my team. Unless he can come out—” Toe Jam looked hopefully at Brains.
“Absolutely not,” Brains said. “Lint’s on guard, and he’s staying there.”
“Fine,” Toe Jam said. “New teams, then.”
“You can’t always be on the winning side, Toe Jam,” No-Bone said. “It’ll be good for you to learn how to be a gracious loser.” He smirked.
“Who are you calling a loser?” Toe Jam said and then, after a pause, “Seriously though, you’re both older and bigger than me. How is this fair?”
“Oh, fine,” Snotshot butted in. “Stop your whining. I’ll be on a side by myself.”
Brains took one last glance at Toe Jam’s defeated face. He could almost see the wheels turning in his head, trying to think of a clever reason to be on Snotshot’s team instead.
Brains rolled his eyes as he turned around.
“Wait,” No-Bone called, and ran up to give him the crumpled piece of grid paper. “Here, I finished the camera diagram.”
“Great. We’re all set,” Brains said.
While No-Bone returned to his rowdy game of tug-of-war, Brains walked deeper into the woods. He needed to go to a place with no distractions.
Soon, the other kids’ voices were replaced with the sound of a running stream. As soon as he heard the water, he let himself do what he never allowed himself to in front of the others—worry. So much of what everyone had done hinged on his plans and thoughts. What if something were to go wrong? What if they couldn’t get the right equipment tomorrow or, worse, what if he’d miscalculated something and the generator wouldn’t work at all?
And now, on top of everything else, he had to find a way to scare the Morams. As Brains passed by all the lush forest greenery, he was instantly reminded of the most vivid thing he knew about them: that they lived in a nice house with sweet parents and a pretty extraordinary garden.
He had played in that garden a lot way back in kindergarten, when the foster home he was staying at was only a block away from the Morams’ house. He remembered how he and Goldenrod had dug holes for tulip bulbs while her mother had brought them out peach iced tea and fruit snacks. Every now and again, when he had happened to pass by the Morams’ house in the springtime, he had seen those tulips, now grown purple, red, and yellow, and he’d been reminded of that happy and simple summer.
But that was a long time and many foster homes ago. This is my home now, he thought, as he stepped into a small stone cave situated right by the stream.
Unlike the lair, this cave consisted of only one longish room. Most of it was taken up by a large wooden table on top of which lay all sorts of beakers, Bunsen burners, wires, plugs, circuit boards, a microscope, a telescope, and other various scientific instruments. Most of the equipment came as a result of meshing together a few different chemistry sets. Some of the supplies No-Bone had graciously nicked from the middle school laboratory before school let out. And some, like the telescope and a lot of the electric wires, Spitbubble had actually allotted some money to because he believed in their importance.
In a lot of ways, the lab was the greatest part of being a member of the Gross-Out Gang. Obviously, Brains was aware that he was smart, but it was one of the first times he felt that someone else really appreciated it. None of his foster parents had ever stuck around long enough to really know that about him: troublemaker, yes, but brilliant troublemaker, not so much. Even though, really, how was a scientist supposed to come up with new theories and inventions if he didn’t accidentally blow up a basement or two?
“Right?” Brains said directly to the poster that was taped above his workstation. A man with gelled black hair, a mustache, and a slight smile looked back at him. His hero, Nikola Tesla.
Tesla was a pioneer in electricity and radio. He invented the Tesla coil, capable of shooting one million volts of electricity into the air, which he loved to use during demonstrations simply to keep his audience on their toes. He would amaze and confound them by lighting bulbs that were plugged into nowhere. He helped invent robots and remote controls. And he was a bit of a mad scientist. In a word, he was the very definition of awesome.
Oh, and he’d had a pretty serious rivalry going on with Thomas Edison. Brains was totally on Tesla’s side, of course.