Dad’s Impala won a second-place ribbon, but the rest of us didn’t win anything this year. I got beat by the Lego robot (which, I have to say, really was pretty cool), and Mom’s kohlrabi got beat by someone’s tomato. Oma’s sauerkraut didn’t even get an honorable mention.
I wasn’t as upset as I thought I’d be, though. I guess it was hard to be all that disappointed when everyone I cared about kept telling me how impressed they were. One of the judges wrote, “Great work! I’ll be looking for your entry next year.”
But I was worried about Oma. “I’m sorry,” I told her. “I thought we did a good job.”
“It was perfect,” Oma told me. She didn’t turn red and yell, or even seem that upset. She examined June Lee’s blue ribbon. “What is kimchi?”
I shrugged. “It’s a kind of Korean pickle. I think it might be spicy,” I told her.
“We will find out what it is, and then we will make it,” Oma said. She floated over so she could read the judges’ notes.
“Maybe she’s not ready to level up yet after all,” Eli said. “Maybe she wants to make some more sauerkraut first. We can try again next year, though.”
I watched as Asad ran over and gave the ghost a big hug. “Maybe,” I said. “Or maybe winning the prize isn’t her Grand Purpose after all. Maybe she just wants to spend some time with her family.” Either way, she didn’t seem to be going anywhere right away.
That was fine with me.
We stayed all the way till closing time, past when Liya got off the Tilt-A-Whirl and threw up a whole funnel cake and her mom took her home, past when Eli’s mom fell asleep in the middle of the high school kids’ marching-band contest because of jet lag, and Mom told her to go home and get some rest, we’d drop Eli off later.
We helped Mei wrap her latest junk creation up in old blankets and shove it into her trailer, and told her we couldn’t wait to see what she made for next year’s art competition. Rose said she didn’t really see how you can top a ten-foot-tall welded junk dragon with hubcaps for eyes and old fire pokers for claws, even if Mei hadn’t had time to make it breathe fire like we’d suggested. But if anyone can, it’s Mei.
But finally, the fair people wanted to go home, and that meant we had to leave too. So Eli and my parents and Mr. Z. helped me carry everything over to where our cars were parked while Asad ran around playing tag with Oma and teasing the goats and not being very helpful at all. Dad opened the Impala’s enormous trunk, and after a few tries, we fit everything inside.
I picked up the box I’d taken out, and walked around to the hood, where the ghost was tickling Asad.
“Oma, I’m sorry you didn’t win today,” I told her. “But I want you to know that we think you’re the best, no matter what the judges decided.”
I set the box down on the hood and took off the lid. “We made this for you.” I pulled out the brand-new Schenk Family Pickle Prize. It was only plastic, but it was shaped like a fancy trophy cup with handles, and it said MRS. MARIETTA SCHENK, 1ST PLACE on the bottom. Harry taught me how to design and 3-D-print it in the makerspace, and Mr. Z. and Dad helped me figure out which gold paint to use on the plastic.
I handed it to Oma. “I hereby award you first place in the Schenk Family Pickle Contest!”
“Oh, Hans Dieter!” she said, swooping down to hug me.
“Just don’t get so happy you go anywhere yet,” I said. “There’s more.”
“These beautiful flowers are for you, Oma!” Asad yelled, smacking her in the stomach with the corsage he picked out. It was the brightest one in the store, orange and purple and red and yellow, all at once, and it was a little wilty, even with that tube of water that comes with it. But Oma said she loved it anyway. (It did dress up her pajamas.)
I helped her pin it onto her badge holder so she could wear it without it falling through her body and getting dirty.
“We really need to set up a new experiment to figure out how she’s holding that up,” Eli told me.
I nodded. “Yeah, we’ll put it on the list.”
Then it was Mom’s turn. “I don’t know if this is exactly what you were thinking of when you told me about the parade,” she said, kind of hesitantly. “But this was my grandmother’s best church hat. It’s very special to me. I would be honored if you would wear it in our Schenk Family Parade.” She took out a hat covered in flowers and ribbons and stuff.
By now, Oma was crying her blue-white streaks again, but she was smiling too. She didn’t say anything, just swooped down, took the hat out of Mom’s hands, and gave Mom a big hug.
“She gave you a hug, Mom,” I said. “I think she likes it.”
Mom touched her shoulder where Oma had hugged her. “I think I felt that,” she said wonderingly.
We watched as the ghost put Mom’s grandmom’s hat on. She had to kind of hold it up with one hand, but at least she didn’t let it fall through her head.
“It looks good on you,” I told her, and the ghost smiled.
“Now, I’m not the mayor,” Dad said, holding out his arm. “But, Oma, would you do me the honor of riding in my award-winning car in the Schenk Family Parade?”
“It would be my honor,” the ghost said, smiling, and put her ghostly hand on his arm.
I smiled. “She says let’s do this.”
“Hang on a minute here,” Mom said. “We have another person we need to honor first.” She brought her hands out from behind her back, and I saw that she was holding a messenger bag. It was tan and had a cool old-school style to it. On the flap, it said MAKER TOOLKIT in dark-brown letters.
I swallowed. I didn’t know what to say.
“Wow!” Eli said. “HD, that is awesome!”
Dad came around to stand next to Mom. “HD, we want you to know how proud we are of everything you’ve done. Maybe those judges have no idea what it takes to build a computer. But we saw how hard you worked to earn that money, and how you planned your project out and made it happen. We want you to know that, in our eyes, you won first place before we even got here.” He shook his head and smiled. “Now that you’re taking on projects we’ve never tried, we want to give you the tools you might need. So Mr. Ziedrich and Grace and Harry gave us a few ideas, and…Well, we hope you like them.”
Mom walked forward. She slung the bag around my head and my arm, like she was Princess Leia giving me a medal. Then she kissed my forehead. “You had a tough call to make today,” she said. “How did I get such a smart, handsome, helpful young man for a son, anyway?”
I shrugged. I couldn’t stop grinning. “Just lucky, I guess.”
Mom rolled her eyes. “Mmmm-hmmmm, as if!”
“I want one too!” Asad yelled, tugging at my bag.
Mom shook her head. “That is a special gift that HD earned with his hard work.”
I looked inside. There was an electric screwdriver and bits, some cool safety goggles, a whole bunch of different kinds of glue, some pliers, a measuring tape, some gloves, a book on making electronics projects, and a new maker’s notebook with a cool mechanical pencil. And there was Mr. Z.’s computer tool kit too. “Maybe when you’re my age, if you work hard, you’ll get something this cool,” I told him.
Oma floated over to give me a hug. “Thank you for everything, Hans Dieter,” she told me. Then she looked at Asad’s face. “Now then, since I am the Pickle Queen, I will need a knight to wave in my parade,” she told him.
“OKAY!” Asad yelled, suddenly happy again.
After Mr. Z. took a picture of us all, he and Rodgers and Hammerstein got into Eleanora’s van, and Dad buckled Oma’s crock up in the front seat while Eli and I sat in the back. Mom and Asad and Eleanora and Mr. Z. drove behind us, to make it a real parade.
“HEY, PEOPLE, IT’S TIME TO WAVE!” Asad shouted out the window as Dad started the Impala.
Everyone in the parking lot waved as we went past, because even though they couldn’t see Oma waving, they could see us (and they could definitely hear Asad).
And as we drove away, off to the park where we could put our blankets on the grass and watch the fireworks light up the sky, I heard a middle school guy tell his friend, “That kid? That’s HD Schenk. He makes computers for ghosts. I saw one typing on it earlier and everything.”
“Whoa,” said his friend, eyes wide.
Eli elbowed me. “Uh, HD? I really think it might be an age thing. We’d better design that experiment and find out who else can see her.”
“Yeah, we’ll put it on the list,” I said. I met those kids’ eyes and gave them the nod.
So that’s how people thought of me now…a maker who builds computers for ghosts.
Uh-huh.
I could live with that.
At least, until next year’s fair.
Because my next project? Well, let me just tell you this: it’s going to be even better.