CHAPTER 4

“C mon, c mon, c mon . . .”

Rube was on the verge of a nervous breakthrough. He’d been sketching machines and tinkering with ideas for hours. On an empty stomach, no less. That made the voices in his head a tad more confusing than usual. He had to figure out what to build for Con-Con, but he just couldn’t make up his mind. It has to be spectacular! But also practical. It’s got to offer a solution to a preexisting problem! And look good while doing it. This machine has to be EVERYTHING. But “everything” was a tough expectation to meet and a recipe for implosion. Instead of unraveling his brain jumble, he scrapped all of his previous work and started fresh. It was better that way. New stuff always got him excited anyway. He began digging through boxes, looking for parts, despite not knowing what exactly he was making. Then came the pile making. Levers over here. Wedges over there. Wheels on the bed. Planes on the desk. And mounds of miscellaneous stuff to bring it all together. He opted not to sketch this one. Instead, he searched for cool parts and began assembling an unknown machine. As he built, its function revealed itself in the making. A juicer. He named his newest creation the Juicy Lucy.

“Stay back, Bertha,” Rube demanded. “Don’t screw this up for me again.”

Offended by Rube’s suggestion, Bertha sat patiently in the corner, even though she was desperate to bound around the room like a lunatic.

“Here we go!”

Rube set the Juicy Lucy in motion, hovering over it closely. He needed to see how every single part worked in unison. It helped him understand how to fix problem areas. Suddenly, halfway through the trial run, the machine faltered. Rube had unknowingly miscalculated one of the steps. His newest work instantly fell into ruin.

“No. NO. NO!”

Frustrated by the failure, Rube wrecked the machine in an angry outburst, kicking its parts and sending them flying across his room in all directions. Emotional eruptions never helped him be a better builder, but sometimes he just couldn’t help them. Bertha watched the whole thing unfold from her perch in the corner. After Rube collected himself, he sat down on the ground and called her over for a little snuggle. But Bertha wouldn’t budge.

“Maybe teamwork isn’t such a bad idea after all.”

In the corner of the bedroom, Rube’s laptop began playing a song. A video call was coming through. He wasn’t sure he wanted to answer it but did anyway. “Hey, Dad. What’s up?”

“Hey, buddy! How was your first day of middle school?”

Max Goldberg did the best he could with what he had. Putting food on his family’s table was always his top priority. More often than not, that meant going on long business trips. As a traveling salesman, his job was to convince people they needed stuff. He was good at it too. People adored his bubbly spirit. Max never took advantage of his customers, and for that, they rewarded him. But he missed Rube desperately, and there was little he could do to remedy the situation.

“It was okay. Lots of changes. Blah, blah, blah.”

With his father gone so much, Rube was by himself a lot—though he wasn’t technically unsupervised. Max had installed security cameras throughout the house to monitor Rube’s comings and goings. He didn’t like invading his son’s privacy like that, but it had to be done for his protection. What Max didn’t know was that Rube rewired the whole system while he was gone. When Max checked the cameras, something he did once a day, what he really saw was old footage on a loop that played over and over again. He never knew the difference.

“Grandma said she left you a cheesy potato casserole in the fridge,” Max said. “Have you eaten yet? You need to eat, Rueben. I don’t want you up all night building stuff on an empty stomach.”

Rube’s Grandma Etta lived in a small cottage in the backyard. She was a sweet lady who kept to herself. Her health was stellar. When she wasn’t playing mah-jongg at the weekly meeting of the Tuesday Ladies Club, she was napping. Grandma Etta mostly popped into the house when Rube wasn’t around. She loved him very much, but they kept very different schedules.

“I will, I will, I will,” Rube groaned. For a twelve-year-old boy, he was surprisingly self-sufficient. But that didn’t mean he took care of himself.

“Talk to me,” Max said. “What’s all that mess happening in your room?

“I’m just fooling around. Nothing big.”

Rube almost mentioned Con-Con. Almost. But he knew his dad would be upset that he wasn’t there to help Rube. So he’d wait and tell his dad about it once that first-place trophy was sitting on their kitchen table. Hopefully.

“You seem down, buddy.”

“I’m not down, just frustrated about something.”

“Ah. Teachers already piling on the homework, eh?”

“Something like that.”

“Why don’t you take Bertha for a walk? Clear your head a little bit.”

“Good idea. Maybe we’ll go over to the Haunted Hideaway and see what’s shakin’.”

Max wasn’t amused. “Stay away from that place, Rube. I’m being serious. I know you’re fascinated, but that yard is a legitimate hazard. You’ll hurt yourself. Do you understand?”

“When are you coming home?”

The question always broke Max’s heart. “I’m going to be away for a little longer than I thought. Lots of new opportunities coming my way. We’ll be set for life if everything goes according to plan.” Rube stared deadpan at his father. “Rube? Did the computer freeze?”

“The computer is fine,” said Rube. But I’m not.

“I’ll make it up to you when I’m back home, okay? I promise. We’ll go over to Mr. Riesman’s junkyard and grab a whole bunch of cool stuff to tinker with. Just like you, me, and Mommy did back when you were little. Remember that?” A buzzing phone stole Max’s attention. “Look, I’ve got to go. Work is calling. If you need anything and Grandma is sleeping, just got to Bonnie and Phil’s next door. They said you and Bertha can stay in their guest room if you want. That might be fun! Love you, buddy. Talk soon.”

And with that, Max was gone. Rube looked over at Bertha perched under the windowsill. She was sound asleep for the most part, except for her legs, which twitched as she dreamed As he bent down to pet her, he noticed the Haunted Hideaway in the distance. What if I jimmied open the gate and swiped that handsome accordion rack? Stealing wasn’t usually something Rube did, but this was different. I’m liberating a piece of art! Rube dug through his desk drawer and found an old piece of mail. A little insurance. Just in case. He stuffed it in his back pocket, kissed Bertha on the snout, and hightailed it out the door. This is so exciting. It wasn’t disobeying orders that gave him a rush, it was that he might actually get answers to questions that had nagged him since he was five years old. It was well worth the twinge of guilt he felt for breaking his dad’s rule.

As Rube approached the property, he analyzed the fence that surrounded it. Not as flimsy as it looks from far away. I could probably climb this if I had to. The front gate was already, weirdly, ajar. What luck! Or a trap. He trekked up the hill, trudging through the wasteland of junk and scrap. To him it was a dream. A salvage yard full of machine parts. There was an old mechanical fan, a lasso, a mallet, a box of stuffed animals, an umbrella, toy trains, birdcages, a beekeeper suit, two watering cans, a dollhouse, a baseball mitt, a rusty coatrack, false teeth, lunchboxes, an ironing board, a tangled kite, four cannonballs, a broken flagpole, and a toilet plunger. But that stuff wasn’t why he was there. He was there for that delicious collapsible accordion rack. It was totally old-school (his favorite kind of school) and perfect for one of the machines he’d been thinking about. He tiptoed over to his prize and gave it a once-over. Look at you, my beauty. A diamond in the rough. I’m going to take you home, clean you up, and give you purpose like never before. Come to Papa. As he grabbed the accordion rack, a tiny green laser suddenly appeared on his hand. What the—?!

SCHAZAAAP!

“Aieee!!!” A shock traveled through Rube’s body that left him trembling. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. He followed the laser’s origin point to a window in the third-floor attic of the Haunted Hideaway, where a figured loomed in the darkness. Rube, still smarting from the laser’s sting, found himself feeling slightly braver than he was when he arrived.

“Hey!” he screamed. “Watch it!” Inside voice, Rueben. Do you want to get yourself killed? But then he thought about it for a moment. You know what? No. Shooting lasers at kids doesn’t work for me. Rube stomped up the steps and gave the thin, paneled door a hearty whack. After a minute passed with no answer, he pressed the doorbell, which didn’t work. Rube shuffled around the cluttered porch, peeking into the windows, but the dark curtains had been drawn. The place was seemingly impenetrable. Wait a minute. Rube noticed a brass knocker, shaped like a demon’s head, on the front door. The thing was placed extraordinarily high, causing him to miss it the first time around. I hate being a shorty. He leaped up to grab it but couldn’t make contact. If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again. After a handful of passionate attempts, Rube finally got his hands on the knocker and swung it against the door with force.

TIK, TIK, TIK. CA-THUNK!

He’d inadvertently initiated a chain reaction that caused the door panels to move and switch places with one another, flipping and turning, over and over again. It’s . .. a .. . machine. When the mechanism finished its transformation, a rusty steel door stood revealed. Nestled in the middle was a tiny little window, the size of a slice of cheese. Rube leaned in close and peered inside. “Hello?” he whispered.

“Who the @#$& are you?!” a voice roared from inside the house.

“Gah!” Rube tripped and fell backward onto his butt. A pair of crazy eyes stared at him through the tiny window. He was scared, sure, but also captivated. Keep it together, Goldberg. The guy has lasers. “Um, uh, my name is Rube. I live down the street.”

“What are you selling? Flowers?! Greeting cards!? Cheese and sausage?! Whatever it is, I don’t want any! Children begging people for money to help pay for their band or drama club or whatever stupid thing their school won’t give them money for— it’s a disgrace!”

“Couldn’t agree more. But I’m not selling cheese and sausage. And I can’t play an instrument to save my life. Though I do own a harmonica. It was a gift from—”

“You tried to steal from me!”

“Technically, yes. But I can explain! Got a minute to talk?”

“Ah. I see. You’re here with literature about a higher being. You want me to bow down before your lord and master, eh? Peddle your mythology elsewhere, child. I reject it!”

“Hoo boy,” Rube murmured to himself. “That’s not what this is about.”

“If you need to talk to someone, find a therapist!”

Rube removed the envelope from his pocket and held it high. He was done playing games. “I know who you are, Professor Butts. Quit stalling and open the dang door.”

The door slowly creaked open (on its own) as a balding man riding a motorized scooter zoomed toward Rube at super speed, stopping right at the edge of the doorway. He was an imposing gentleman with a bushy mustache and patchy, grey hair. The man eyed Rube suspiciously. “What’s in your pockets?”

Rube turned his pockets inside out, and a single dried pepperoni fell out of one. “That’s not mine. I don’t know where that came from.” A chipmunk leaped from behind a nearby bush, snatched the meat niblet, and scurried away happily.

“Children are disgusting little animals,” the Professor grumbled. “Give me that envelope.”

Rube waved it through in the air like he was conducting an orchestra. “Absolutely! But only if you let me inside. Those are the rules. Feel free to call the cops if you want. I’d be happy to tell them how you fired laser beams at me,” he said, grinning from ear to ear.

“That’s blackmail!” the Professor shouted.

Rube examined the envelope thoroughly. “Looks like white mail to me. But what do I know? I’m just a disgusting little animal.”

The Professor’s angry glare was speckled with curiosity. He didn’t know what to make of Rube. Like any good scientist, he chose to study his subject so that he could conduct a full and through analysis. “You’ve got five minutes.”

Rube entered the Haunted Hideaway carefully. No matter how confident he felt in his ability to run away at a moment’s notice, this was still a stranger’s house. The Professor led him down a long, dark hallway, floorboards creaking as they stepped. The deeper they went, the more the musty air smelled spicy. Birds squawked behind closed doors. The lights were covered in cobwebs. Just like a real haunted house. Rube wondered if he’d make a horrendous mistake.

“You’re not going to trap me here like Dracula did to Jonathan Harker, right? I’m warning you in advance, my dog has an acute sense of smell. She’d find me in a second”—Rube rethought his words a bit—“when she’s done growling at a bug or eating garbage.”

“A fan of Bram Stoker’s Dracula, eh? That’s a bit advanced for a boy your age,” the Professor mused. “But trust me when I tell you, I don’t want your blood. I barely even want you in my home! This is simply my good deed for the day. No more, no less.”

They turned a corner, entering a completely different wing of the home. It was an expansive living room workshop brimming with exotic items, wild inventions, and other bizarre paraphernalia. There were stacks of old newspapers piled high, leaning on one another so they wouldn’t tip over. A spiral staircase twisted all the way up to a trapdoor in the ceiling. Strange machines were everywhere, with labels like the “Simplified Pencil Sharpener” and a “Machine for Washing Dishes While You Are at the Movies.” What is this place?

While Rube was distracted, the Professor swiped the envelope from his grasp. “The date on this postmark is from five years ago.”

“Is it? Oops. Guess I forgot to bring it over. My bad.”

“It’s a federal crime to steal another person’s mail!”

“Relax. It’s only junk mail. And it wasn’t stolen. The mail carrier put it in my box by mistake.” Rube floated through the room, noticing all its messy strangeness. Antique lamps sat on broken tables mended with packing tape. Clothes were piled in the corner like a fabric volcano. Why are there empty cereal bowls everywhere? Faint pops of grease crackled as chicken fried in the nearby kitchen. Rube was entranced by the disarray. The Professor’s eyes followed him as he meandered around the room.

“So, you’re Rueben Lucius Goldberg. Thought you’d be taller.”

“Hold up,” Rube said in a panicked tone. “How do you know who I am?”

“I know everything.” The Professor flipped a piece of mail at Rube, hitting him in the face. “You’re not the only federal criminal on the block.”

“Touché! That’s French for I see what you did there.”

“Let me guess,” the Professor groaned. “You want to know where I got my funny name, is that it?”

“Nah. My best friend’s named Boob. That stuff doesn’t faze me. Hey, if you married his mom and adopted him, he’d be Boob Butts. That should definitely be illegal.” Rube stared at the immense mess that surrounded him, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re a hoarder. Like on that TV show. That’s why you’ve got all that stuff in your yard. Which is very cool, actually. The stuff, I mean, not the hoarding.”

“I’m not a hoarder. All the items on my property are usable. I keep them around in case someone might have a use for them.” He pointed at a box of tools in the corner. “Fetch me a dummy wrench, wouldja?”

“Sure thing.” Rube bolted over to the box and began digging. “What does it look like?”

“You’ll know when you see it.”

Oh, you want to play games, huh? Rube poured the box out on the ground. Tools, machinery, and miscellaneous items scattered across the floor, much to the Professor’s dismay.

“What the devil are you doing?!”

“There’s no such thing as a dummy wrench. You just wanted to keep me busy while you figured out what I’m up to. Nice try, but I’m not some dumb, gullible kid.” He rummaged through the pile of junk. “There’s good stuff in here. You use this to make all your machines?”

The Professor didn’t answer. Instead, he fired up his motorized scooter and zipped into the kitchen to continue preparing his dinner. As Rube put the odds and ends back into the box, he became distracted by the Professor’s sweeping wall of accomplishments. Man, this guy has lived a lot of life. There were trophies, Certificates of Merit, and degrees from prestigious universities. Among shelves of paraphernalia sat framed photographs of family and friends in simpler times. One such group photo was marked with a seal and emblazoned with the words “International Science Council.” Every item in the room had a story.

The Professor pointed to a teapot, sitting pretty on a pedestal in the corner. “While studying the rare and elusive four-toed sloth in the Yucatán rain forest, I stepped into quicksand and, while sinking, devised a simple idea for a three-legged teapot.”

He added, “On a deep-sea dive in the South Pacific, doing research on the now-extinct striped jellyfish—close cousin to the spotted jellyfish—I devised a simple, automated mustache-trimming device. Never use the thing myself, but it works like a charm.”

“This place is amazing,” Rube said breathlessly. “Messy. But amazing.”

“If you came here looking for a time-traveling car, I got rid of that in the 1980s.”

“A fan of Back to the Future, eh? That’s a bit simple for a man your age.”

The Professor pantomimed a yawn. “Sick burn.”

Amid his collection of nostalgia were newspaper clippings from the past that had become yellow like parchment. One headline read, in big bold letters, BUTTS TO ZEERO: “YOU’RE NO HERO!” Under it was a photograph of the Professor in his younger days, facing off against a chubby gentleman with a bald head and a splotch-like birthmark on his cranium.

“Who’s the cue ball?” Rube asked.

The question made the Professor testy. “You’re currently surrounded by overwhelming evidence of my scientific brilliance. A lifetime’s worth of accomplishment and adventure is before you, and yet you’ve chosen to ask that?” Rube shrugged. “He’s Professor Tobias Zeero. A former colleague turned international criminal mastermind. We worked together on a top secret project that . . .” He paused for effect. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you. The man is a fraud and a deceiver who threw me under a bus! Literally and figuratively. He’s nothing but a stain on humanity. An agent of chaos.”

“Harsh. Professor Zeero really did a number on you, huh?”

“It’s not what he did to me, it’s what he did to the people I love. That I’ll never forgive. I had what he wanted, and he made my life hell because of it. Jealousy will eat a person alive, then spit their bones right back in their face.”

“Yeesh.” Rube winced. “What happened to him?”

“He’s dead,” the Professor said, offering up a plate of food. “Chicken wing? They’re quite tangy.” Rube wasn’t interested. “Suit yourself.” The Professor zipped over to his cluttered dinner table and began eating like an animal. “So, what are you doing with your life, Rueben? Playing video games? Eating french fries? Farting?”

“Video games are fine, but I’m into building machines. That’s kind of why I came over here in the first place.” Just tell him the whole truth, dingus. This guy is on the level. “I really wanted that accordion rack too. Oh, and I know who you really are, Professor, and all about your not-so-secret career. Have for a long time.”

A chicken wing fell out of the Professor’s mouth. “Is that so?”

“Don’t worry, I haven’t told anybody. We all call this place the Haunted Hideaway, since it looks abandoned. But I knew someone was living in here. After I accidentally got your mail, I did some digging online, but everywhere I looked just led me to dead ends. So I went all the way to the library downtown to look through old records. You’re Lucifer Gorgonzola Butts. You used to be a famous inventor.”

“I still am a famous inventor!” He pounded his fist onto the table.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean anything bad. It’s just that . . .” How do I say this? “You’re not supposed to be alive. I think? Unless the records at the library are wrong. They didn’t have nearly as many clippings and articles as you do.”

“That’s by design,” the Professor snarled. “You look at me and see an old crackpot. Everyone in this town does. But I came here to change things for the better. They’re the ones who wouldn’t let me.”

“They who?”

The Professor flung the plate of chicken wing bones into the nearby sink. “I’m just a phantom from the past, Rueben. You said it yourself. Don’t pay me any mind.”

Rube wasn’t sure exactly how to proceed. An explosion of questions bounced around inside his head. Is this guy in the middle of a breakdown? Am I going to end up in a dungeon? But for real, though, what are the chances he’ll let me have that sweet accordion rack? He decided to go with one of the more practical, albeit vague, options. “How do I build something that actually matters?”

“Come again?” The Professor frowned.

“You’re a builder. You know what I’m talking about,” said Rube. “It’s really hard for me to concentrate sometimes. I can’t stop thinking about machines and the way things work. I have so many ideas. There are so many problems to solve. But when I try to actually make something, it fails. Something always goes wrong. Nothing I make is good enough. All I want to do is build something that actually matters, so how . . . do . . . I . . . do that?”

The Professor guffawed so loudly he almost fell out of his chair. “You’re a child. You’re clever and capable, from what I can see, but give yourself a break, kid. Building something that matters takes time and consideration. First, you have to build something that works. Through trial and error. One step at a time. This is the builder’s life. Get used to it.”

Ask him. Do it. What have you got to lose? Do it now. Before he murders you.

“So, there’s a machine-building competition at my school called Con-Con,” Rube said, his voice shaking ever so slightly. “It would really be cool if you came.”

“STOP!” the Professor shouted. “No. Not doing this. I’m not some aged automaton doling out advice to whatever mop-topped rug rat happens upon my doorstep.”

“I don’t know what that means.” You had to go and make him mad.

The Professor cupped his hand to his mouth. “It means go ask your daddy for help,” he whispered. “I’m not interested in being your mentor. People get paid for that sort of thing, and you want me to do it for free? Get lost, kiddo. You’re out of your gourd.”

“I didn’t ask you to be my mentor, crankypants. I just needed someone to talk to, okay? As you’re one of the world’s most famous inventors, I thought maybe you could help me, but I guess when you stop doing the thing you love, it turns you into a jerk. Loosen up a little. It won’t kill you.”

The Professor remained silent, staring at Rube not with contempt but inquisitiveness. “I welcomed you into my home despite your attempted thievery. You are owed nothing by me or this world. Now it’s time for you to go. My TV shows are almost on. Tonight is the finale of American’s Next Big Soft Drink, and I’ve got money on cRaZy jUiCe taking the crown.” He rose from his motorized scooter and stretched his arms as wide as they could go.

“You can walk?!”

He looked down at his legs and pretended to cry. “It’s a miracle!” he exclaimed, dancing down the hallway like the pied piper. This guy is so weird. The Professor swung open the front door dramatically and stared at Rube. “Let’s go! Chip-chop! I don’t have all evening.”

Rube took his sweet time strolling down the hallway, scrutinizing every inch of the Haunted Hideaway’s eerie decor. “You know anything about ghosts in Beechwood?”

The Professor rubbed his chin. “Where do our spirits go when they leave our human shells? This is one of the great questions of existence. Energy cannot be created or destroyed. Only changed. You’re into science, you figure out the rest. Or you could head over to the cemetery, put your ear to the ground, and see if you can hear any of the corpses trying to escape. Could be interesting, listening for the voices of the dead.”

“I just might do that,” Rube said. “The figuring out the science thing, I mean, not the listening for corpses.” Strangely, he felt better than he did when he arrived at the Professor’s home. Which was weird, considering the circumstances. Despite his cantankerous attitude, the Professor wasn’t a bad guy. Misunderstood, maybe. Definitely mysterious. But not bad. Which is why Rube decided to make a last-ditch effort to retrieve the thing he came over there for in the first place. “So, can I have that accordion rack or what?”

“Not on your life,” replied the Professor. He calmly removed a remote control from his pocket and pressed its only button. Suddenly, the hallway paneling slid away to reveal a series of mechanical arms that extended out like tentacles. One by one they latched onto Rube’s limbs, lifting him into the air and gently tossing him out onto the porch. “Don’t ever come here again,” warned the Professor. “I’m being serious.” The front door slammed shut as metal barriers lowered around each window. In an instant, the Haunted Hideaway had become an impenetrable fortress.

Rube didn’t stick around to see what happened next. He ran back down the hill, through the garden of trash, all the way home. What the heck just happened?!

He didn’t expect to find Boob sitting on the curb, waiting for him.

“What are you doing here?” Rube asked, his body still shaking.

“I was in the area,” replied Boob. “Were you out walking Bertha?”

“Yep. Good ol’ Bertha.”

“Then where is she?” Boob asked.

Just tell him the truth. “Oh, she came home early.”

Boob only half bought his excuse. “Hmm. Is my bike around here somewhere?”

“In the garage,” Rube said. His breathing patterns were slowly returning to normal. The sight of his friend had calmed his nerves.

“Wanna hang for a bit?”

“Sure.”

They nabbed a bunch of snacks from the kitchen, filling Rube’s pant pockets with crispy, crunchy goodness. There was a spot on the roof that was perfect for stargazing. Nice breeze. No trees in the way of the sky. It faced the backyard too, so nosy neighbors wouldn’t complain. The boys climbed out a second-story window and settled in.

“Did you figure out what you’re making for Con-Con?”

“Not yet. But I’ve got a few ideas.”

“Whatever it is, you’ll win. I have a good feeling about it. You’ll beat ’em all and reign supreme! Meanwhile, I may have unlocked dark, arcane forces by removing that creepy doll from the woods. According to the Internet, it’s definitely possessed by the spirit of Gladys, the ghost girl. I’m bringing her to school tomorrow to see what else I can dig up.”

“Spirit or not, that doll stuuuuuunk.”

“Speaking of ghosts, you should really talk to Pearl. You ghosted her so hard, now she thinks her house is haunted.” Boob waited for Rube’s laugh, but it never materialized. “That’s a good joke! It deserves at least a tiny giggle.”

“Pearl is fine. And the joke was only so-so.”

“You ghosted me too, to be honest.”

“What are you talking about?! We hung out over the summer!”

“Yeah, but not that much. Not like we used to. Last summer, I basically lived at your house. If I ever got mail, I would’ve had it forwarded. Probably the best summer of my life. We dug a pond in your backyard! That eventually became a mud pit, because we didn’t know what we were doing. Aw, man, was your dad mad about that. Sunbathing in the morning, afternoon naps on the couch watching cartoons. Endless cereal! Ahhhh, those were the days.” Boob sighed as if he were an eighty-four-year-old man. “I guess growing up changes people.”

Rube was getting visibly annoyed. “What do you want from me?” he asked, looking Boob directly in the face. It wasn’t meant to make Boob uncomfortable, but it did.

Boob turned his head away and avoided Rube’s gaze. Uh-oh. What’s this all about? There was something else on his mind, but did he feel like sharing it? “Gimme one of those!” Boob said, eyeing a handful of small pink snack packs sticking out of Rube’s pockets. Guess that answers my question. Each package was covered in joyful-seeming animals showered in corn and Japanese writing. Boob grabbed one, ripped it open, and poured its contents into his mouth.

“Enjoy it, my friend.” Rube loved watching Boob devour his favorite foods. Like being at the zoo. “Sweet corn flavor. Nice mix of salt and spices. Solid crunch. These are the last few we’ve got until my dad goes to Japan again. It’s our duty to savor every single bite.”

CRUNCH! “This is the best thing I’ve eaten all week.” CRUNCH!

“It’s only Monday.” Rube noticed a bruise on Boob’s arm. “Hey, is that from this morning when you tripped?”

“Huh? Oh yeah.”

The uncertain tone of Boob’s voice made Rube curious. There’s something he’s not telling me. He bookmarked the detail for later. The boys lay down on the roof, gazing up at the stars in silence. Though neither of them kept his mouth shut for long.

“What do you see when you look up there?” Boob asked.

“Machines,” Rube said without hesitation. “All their different parts.” He pointed to a unique constellation. “Like that one right there? We’ve got a toucan, a window fan, and a sailboat in a bathtub. Throw in a couple more parts, and it’s an easy way to toast a bagel!” He shifted his attention to a different star cluster. “That one is obviously a whisk, a folding tray table, and a wall clock with a swinging pendulum. A rig that brings us tasty little morsels!”

Boob squinted. He really wanted to see Rube’s vision. “Uh, yeah. I see all that stuff too. The thing. And the other thing. It’s, um, cool.” All of a sudden, Boob turned away. He looked off in the middle distance. There was something on his mind that ached to be free. “I wish I knew where we’re supposed to go when we’re done here.”

“You and I are moving to New York City after we graduate high school. We’ve already talked about this.”

“No, I mean what happens to us when we die?”

The question made Rube feel a little uncomfortable, but he joked about it anyway. “Well, for starters, I’ll replace ol’ Gladys as the town ghost and torment everyone who ever did me wrong. The Cowboy Specter who rides at night! You can be my faithful sidekick, Haunty.”

“Stop with the ghost stuff. I’m already freaked out as it is.”

“Before my mom died, she said our bodies are like hermit crab shells. One day, our spirit outgrows our shell and moves into something bigger and better.”

“Yeah, but what?!”

“That.” His arms wide open, Rube presented the sky, in its entirety, to Boob. “Our bodies are made up of everything in the universe. Elements, minerals, it’s all inside us. We are the universe. There’s a theory that says the universe is conscious. It can feel stuff like a human, because it’s aware of its existence.”

“This is very confusing. How is any of that possible?”

“I don’t know, Boob. How is anything possible?”

“Hey, remember when you won a hermit crab at the fair?”

“Sir Crabs-A-Lot was the best.”

“Whatever happened to that thing?”

“It died.”

“Great. Now every time I look up at the night sky, I’m going to think of Sir Crabs-A-Lot. But I guess it’s better than worrying about asteroids hitting the Earth. Which they might.”

“Sir Crabs-A-Lot is up there somewhere, along with everyone else.” Rube noticed Boob zoning out. He couldn’t tell if he was sad or sleepy. “Something on your mind, B?”

“Just thinking about homework ’n’ stuff.”

“Don’t outgrow your hermit crab shell on me, okay? We’ve got a lot of stuff we have to accomplish. First, we conquer the planet. Then we conquer the universe. That’s the rule.”

Boob smiled. “I like when we do this.”

“Me too.” Rube sighed. “I think I have anxiety.”

“Spider-Man has anxiety.”

“He has cool powers, though.”

“And he lives an exciting life in New York City,” Boob said. “But one day, we’ll be living an exciting life there too. Hopefully.” Boob leaned his head on Rube’s shoulder. “I think your powers are pretty cool. Even if you don’t show ’em to me.”

“Thanks, pal.”

You know what? Life is good.