CHAPTER 9

Whoa . . .

It was the night before Con-Con and all through the school, kids had been building, using their tools. Their machines were now working, mostly, to be fair, with the hope they’d win prizes and desirous stares. Students were lurking, some filled with dread, while teachers looked over their shoulders and heads.

But not Rube Goldberg.

Nerves, schmerves. His adrenaline was pumping. He was excited to be in the home stretch. The big show was closer than ever. It finally felt good to share his work with the world. Deciding on his show machine was a grueling process. He poured a lot of blood, sweat, and tears into his babies. Some of them were less than perfect, but they were also pieces of him. Choosing a favorite was hard, especially with so many options at his disposal. When he woke up that morning, it came to him. The Wakey Wakey Baby. An alarm clock for a new age. It felt the most Rube-y of all of his recent creations. A classic in the making. He loved the way it looked when it was in motion, and he couldn’t wait to unveil it to the world.

After setting up, Rube strolled through the gym looking at everyone else’s contraptions. It was like a garden of invention. Each machine produced its own strange fruit. Groups were arranging their booths, straightening their signs, and putting the finishing touches on their masterpieces. There’s some fierce competition out here. But none of it truly scared him. Charlie Stoffregen and Karl Jones created a device called the Couch Potato that held a bag of potato chips and a drink while you played video games. A fun concept, but not a contraption. Jaida and Heidi Hall made a gadget called the Beautifier that puts makeup on your face while you’re sleeping. Scary. One group of seventh graders, the Lords of B-Town, created the Personal Pic-Taker, which was really just a reclining chair outfitted with a selfie stick. Unoriginal. When it came to other people’s work, Rube could spot flaws and missteps a mile away. He remembered them vividly and always filed them away in his head for future reference. That way he’d never make the mistakes other people made. Or so he thought.

“Will our machines be safe here overnight?” Charlie asked.

“Absolutely,” replied Principal Kim. “We’ve hired extra security.”

“You’ll beat ’em all and reign supreme!” Boob’s words poked Rube in the back of his head, then tap-danced their way through his brain till they were front and center. He couldn’t stop thinking about them. Is being number one really all that important? The making was the thing that kept him going. The doing inspired him to work harder. How would any of that change if he lost? It’s not like losing will stop me from doing what I love. The revelation washed over him, and suddenly, winning didn’t seem to hold the same weight. It was cool, of course, and who doesn’t want to win prizes? But winning didn’t mean something was the absolute best. Sometimes it did. But not always.

As Rube strolled past the rest of the contraptions, the burden that he’d been carrying seemed to lessen. A new perspective began to form. As long as I keep my head down and focus on doing the best I can, I don’t need to worry about competition.

And then he turned a corner.

What Rube saw next was so unexpected and so infuriating that his temper ignited immediately.

Zach was in his booth, assembling a machine that helped you put a shirt on. He called it The Jiggler.

“What the fuzz do you think you’re doing!?” Rube growled. “That’s my design.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Zach said. “Relax, tough guy.”

Rube whipped out his notebook and showed him the page. “You stole my machine.” There was no denying it. Zach’s Jiggler looked exactly like Rube’s. Except better. “All those times you flipped through my notebook . . . you planned this . . .”

“Man, all I did was borrow the name. I’ve been building my machine for a long while now. I wasn’t going to enter it into the contest because I knew you had one like it already. But then you went with something else, so I figured I’d give it a shot. You really think I need to steal from you?”

“Liar-y liar!” Boob exclaimed. He’d been waiting nearby to say hello to Rube. “Those swoopy black bangs don’t fool me, cheese stealer. You’ve been up to something from the start, and now we all know what it was—”

“Calm down, String Bean,” Zach said. “This is none of your business.”

Boob looked at Rube. “Are you going to let this guy talk to me like that?”

“Crawl back to your trailer park,” Zach taunted. “The smart people are talking.”

Rube’s nerves frayed. He was frozen in place. What is happening here?! There were too many things happening at once. He didn’t know how to process any of it. He couldn’t think straight. The situation made him deeply uncomfortable and embarrassed. But instead of taking action, he closed up and stayed silent.

“So . . . nothing?” Boob asked. He fished around in his pocket and pulled out a purple crystal attached to a silver chain. It was just like the one he’d bought on vacation. “Special-ordered this specter protector from a guy in New Mexico.” He tossed it at Rube, hitting him on the cheek. “My mom helped me track it down. Used up all my allowance. Rushed delivery so you’d have it for tomorrow. Good luck.” Boob stormed out of the gym in anger.

“He got you a . . . crystal . . . that protects you from . . . specters?” Zach asked. “That kid is obsessed with you.”

“That kid has been my best friend for as long as I’ve been alive. Don’t you ever talk about him again,” Rube growled. He knelt down and picked up the crystal pendant.

“Look, I didn’t mean to cause any trouble—”

“Shut up!” Rube barked.

Mr. Blank noticed a commotion brewing. He raced over to handle the matter before it got out of control. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but I suggest you lower your voices. Come with me, Rueben.” He walked over to Rube’s display, where the Wakey Wakey Baby was covered with a tarp. “You seem to be ahead of the game, from what I can see,” he said, peeking underneath. “There will be plenty of time tomorrow morning, before the competition begins, to perform trials and do any last-minute tinkering. Go home. Clear your mind. Get some rest.”

“But—”

“You’ve come this far.” Mr. Blank put his hand on Rube’s shoulder. “Don’t let anger and frustration get the best of you. Use it.”

Rube nodded in agreement. He was thrown by the incident and confused as to what to do next. But Mr. Blank made sense. Keep your head down and do what he says. The guy knows what he’s talking about. On his way out, Rube noticed Mike and Ike lingering in a corner, scrolling through their phones privately. Neither of them had a machine to show. It doesn’t make sense.

On the way home, Rube rode past all of his favorite places and tried not to think about Con-Con. It wasn’t the least bit easy. His machine felt solid, which was a relief. He had worked out all the kinks during the trial phase, and there wasn’t much else he could do but relax. Not that the situation with Zach and Boob hadn’t upset him. There was simply nothing he could do about it at the moment. Everything will work out fine. It has to. As Rube walked in the door, he was greeted by his favorite smell (and Bertha). Grandma Etta had left him a big plate of chicken dumplings, which he promptly scarfed down. After that, it was all about zoning out on the couch and watching cartoons. It was the first time he’d done that in a good long while. It felt nice. A few hours later, after a series of prolonged yawns, it was officially time to hit the hay. Rube trudged upstairs, brushed his teeth, and tried his best to go to sleep, but it was hard for him to seal the deal. His body was tired, but his mind raced. Right before bed. Typical.

He worried about Boob, wished he’d listened to Pearl, and felt betrayed by Zach. But most of all, Rube missed his mom. No offense, Dad. She often crept into his thoughts late at night. He’d remember her smile and the gentle way she’d brush the hair out of his eyes whenever he’d get upset. Sometimes it was comforting. Tonight, it was painful. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and ask for advice. She was good at that kind of thing, never pushing, always guiding. Her hugs were tight in the best possible way. Not having her around left a humongous hole in Rube’s heart. He’d been trying to fill it, but the darn thing just didn’t want to heal.

The later it got, the more he tossed and turned. He’d drift off to sleep and wake up unexpectedly. Then, suddenly, it was morning.

There’s no going back now.

He arrived at school and found hordes of students waiting to be let into the gym. It seemed like everyone had some last-minute Con-Con preparations to take care of. Rube spotted Boob from across the hallway, but they pretended not to see each other. At the moment, there wasn’t anything Rube could have said or done that would’ve fixed the situation. Better to just keep on walking, and talk when everything is over.

“Excuse me,” Principal Kim said, pushing through the mob. “I know it’s a big day and we’re all excited, but I need you all to move.” The crowd parted amicably, and he unlocked the doors. “Thank you.” As students rushed by him, feverishly flooding into the space, their excitement quickly turned to shock. Displays had been overturned and banners ripped down. The gym looked like a tank had rolled through it. Every single machine had been destroyed.

“What the . . .?”

Pandemonium broke loose. Some kids cried out in anger, others in shock. Ike took video of the whole thing, laughing as he noticed bits of neon orange slime bestrewed throughout the space. “The ghost strikes again!” he shouted, elbowing his brother in the rib.

Rube quietly uncovered the Wakey Wakey Baby and found it torn to shreds. Each piece had been individually broken so it couldn’t be put back together. In shock, he quietly sat down on the ground, surrounded by destruction. Then he looked over at Zach’s display. You’ve got to be kidding me. There wasn’t a hair out of place. It was the only machine that hadn’t been touched. Rube’s heart began beating out of his chest.

He’d never had a full-on anxiety attack before, but it sure felt like he was having one now. His mouth couldn’t form words. He hyperventilated, his body quaking with emotion. I’vegottogetoutofhere.

While everyone was preoccupied, Rube walked out the door, hopped on his bike, and rushed home. There was no way he was staying at school for the rest of the day.

He was done.

With everything.

No more making. No more building. No more machines.

He walked in the door, raced upstairs, and got into bed. Dark thoughts crept into his head as he pulled the covers over his face and sobbed.

It’s all your fault. Why even try if all you’re going to do is fail? Just give up.

No. What happened was out of my control. I did the best I could. Keep going.

I did the best I could.

Keep going.

I did the best I could.

Keep going.

Bertha snuggled next to him as he fell asleep fully clothed.

When he finally woke up, it was nighttime. Whoa. I must’ve really needed the rest. Low thunderclaps rolled in the distance as the warm autumn rain pitter-pattered on the roof. Dazed and groggy, Rube ventured through the pitch-black house to the kitchen, where he downed a glass of orange juice. There were missed calls and voice mails he didn’t care to check. He called his dad a couple times, but it went straight to voice mail. Must be doing business-y business.

Before going to her Bridge Club, Grandma dropped off a bowl of macaroni salad and a giant spoon. Rube dug into it like a ravenous beast as he watched the rain fall, out the window. Then, in the distance, he noticed a light turn on in the attic of the Haunted Hideaway. DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT. The Professor warned you not to come back. The guy has lasers, remember?! But Rube desperately needed to talk to someone who understood the way his brain worked. The Professor was the only person around at the moment who fit that bill. “Bertha, guard the house. I’ll be back in a little bit.” He ditched his macaroni salad and marched down the street in the drizzle. The gate was locked, so he jimmied it open and trudged up the hill once again. Rube noticed a plethora of new additions to the majestic sea of junk outside the Professor’s home. Looks like someone is cleaning house. I wonder what that’s all about. He forced himself not to browse, though he still longed for that accordion rack. But now is not the time. Instead of ringing the doorbell like a normal person, Rube went with a more outspoken approach.

“PROFESSOR!” he yelled at the top of his lungs.

Minutes passed with no response, though the light in the window remained. He’s ignoring me. The rainfall quickened, and the wind picked up. There’s no point. Rube quietly sat down on the ground cross-legged and put his head in his hands. The weight of the past month hit at him, all at once. I did this to myself. In that moment, he felt defeated and alone. What am I even doing here? I’m such a failure. Then the front door swung open. FWOOSH!

“Stop being dramatic and get in here!” the Professor shouted. “The last thing I need is a sullen, weepy child on my lawn. I’ve already got enough problems with this town as it is.” He waved Rube into the house and closed the door behind them. “I knew I should have installed a shark-filled moat around this property when I had the chance.”

“Sorry,” Rube sniffled. He was in a daze. The Professor motioned to follow him down the hallway, and as they walked, Rube spotted something he hadn’t noticed the first time around. A large steel door had mysteriously appeared. It was shiny silver and covered in padlocks. “What’s in there?” he asked.

“A giant hybrid cyborg monster I made using the DNA of all neighborhood children,” the Professor replied. “Mind your own business.”

The duo entered the living room, which had been tidied up and thoroughly dusted since Rube’s last visit. “You finally cleaned the place,” Rube said. “Looks good.”

The Professor groaned. “Oh, to be complimented by a child. What a wondrous feeling. Nice night to have an emotional breakdown on a stranger’s property, eh?”

“You’re not a stranger to me. Not anymore.”

“I let you into my house one time and all of a sudden you think we know each other. Tsk, tsk, tsk. See, this is why I don’t mentor. I have a bad habit of attracting strays.”

“I’m not a stray,” Rube fumed.

“My apologies. That came out incorrectly. I’ve been on edge ever since this town served me with papers. Told me I have one week to clean up my yard or they’ll sue me. One week! As if I’m made of time.” The Professor sighed. “So, what seems to be the problem this evening? Need a hand fixing a broken phone? Trouble with your algebra homework? Or are you simply obsessed with me like everyone else?”

“I just needed to talk to someone.”

“Ugh. This again? Call your friends!”

“I can’t! They’re all mad at me!”

The Professor smirked. “Ahhh. At last the truth comes out.” He went to the kitchen and poured two cups of tea. “Drink this,” he said, handing one to Rube. “It’ll calm you. I swear it’s not poison.” The Professor ambled over to an old reclining chair, plopped himself down, and relaxed. “What happened? Give me the bullet points.”

Rube took a sip of tea. “Middle school is a joke.”

“That machine-building competition was a bust, eh?”

“Pretty much. Someone destroyed my machine and everyone else’s.”

“Oof! Well, that sounds dreadful. Human beings can be so disappointing. Assuming humans were behind it. One never knows around here.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Look, Rube, things fall apart all the time.” The Professor shrugged. “Sometimes it’s our fault. Sometimes it’s the fault of others. But things also get rebuilt, so I wouldn’t worry about it. You’ll recover.”

“You’re terrible at giving advice.”

“Who said that was advice?!” the Professor snapped. “It’s reality.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Oh please. I understand more about you than you understand about yourself. I’m ancient! And wise. Trust me. My underwear is older than you.”

“Ewww.” Rube noticed a disassembled machine on the Professor’s kitchen table. He picked up its parts, inspecting each one. “What are you working on?”

“Hands off! Back to the matter at hand.” The Professor launched himself out of his chair and began pacing around the room. “When I was a younger person, I thought I could do everything on my own. I didn’t want help. I didn’t want advice. I was stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I pushed away the people who meant the most to me, all because I didn’t want to listen to anyone else but myself.” He pointed to the newspaper article on the wall. “Remember ol’ Professor Zeero? When I was busy pushing everyone away, he swooped in and took advantage of the situation. He stole my work! I’d say he helped turn my friends against me, but I did a fairly good job of that all by myself. I was blinded by my own ambition. Now I’m the crazy old kook who lives all alone in a haunted house . . .” He trailed off, gazing at his wall of accomplishments. “It’s not as fun as the life I once had, that’s for sure.”

“So, this house is haunted. I knew it!”

“You’re not paying attention.” The Professor scurried back into the kitchen for another cup of tea. “Open your eyes, Rueben. It’s obvious you let your machine making consume you, and it’s obvious you pushed all of your friends away in the process. Don’t you see what you’re becoming? Me.”

Wow. He really went there. Rube did the math in his head, and everything checked out exactly as the Professor described. It took hearing someone else say the words for him to see the unvarnished truth. “But you’re a world-renowned inventor,” Rube said. “There are worse things to be, I guess.”

“I’ve got a family of raccoons in the attic that I feed twice a week, my toenails are as long as licorice strands, and technically I haven’t bathed in a month,” the Professor said with a sly smile. “If you want to keep on doing things your way, go right ahead.”

“No, thanks.” Rube winced. “But what am I supposed to do?”

“I’m not giving you all the answers. Think about it.”

The first answer is obvious. “I should apologize to my friends.”

“And yourself,” the Professor said, sipping his tea. “I know you’ve probably been beating yourself up inside that gigantic head of yours. And I can tell you from experience, it’s not healthy. It’s cruel and unfair. So cut it out. Say you’re sorry.” He pointed to Rube’s reflection in the mirror.

“Um, no. That’s weird.” Rube looked at himself, turning his head in every direction and eyeing each and every little detail. “What’s going on with my hair these days? It’s really out of control.”

“This is not about looks,” the Professor growled. “Fine, then. How about this instead? Whenever you’re feeling down about the state of things, do something nice for someone.”

“Hahahahaha,” Rube chuckled. The Professor wasn’t laughing. “Oh. You’re serious.”

“You came here for wisdom, boy. Soak. It. Up.”

“Okay.” Rube thought about the Professor’s proposal for a moment. “That’s extra, but I guess I see the value. If I do something nice for someone, it’ll make me feel better.”

“No, you do something nice for someone because it makes them feel better. Do it because they need you to set a good example. Do it because people need care and support. Not because it gives you a jolly little feeling. Which it might. But that’s beside the point.”

“Weird advice coming from a guy who never leaves his house. What nice things have you done for someone else lately?”

“Look in the mirror and find out.” The Professor glanced at the clock. “It’s been a real treat trying to break your stubborn little shell, but I need you to leave.”

“Are your TV shows about to start?”

“No. I just don’t want you here any longer,” the Professor said. He beckoned Rube to follow, and as they walked down the hallway, the faint cries of an animal were heard deep inside the bowels of the Haunted Hideaway. It’s probably nothing. The Professor opened the drapes a smidge and peered out the window. “The rain stopped, so you won’t melt. Once you get home, play some of your favorite music. And all your problems will simply drift away.”

“Cool.”

“I was joking! But in all honesty, music helps.” The Professor sighed. “All of this stress, all of this toiling. And for what?! Mankind’s capacity for exerting maximum effort with minimal results never fails to astound.” As he opened the front door, the brisk smell of rain wafted into the house. It was a refreshing change of pace. “Rube, for as long as I can remember, you’re the only person who had the apples to knock on my door and stay there until I opened it. You’re a bold kid. I like that about you. Even though you smell.”

That’s it!

“Be bold,” Rube muttered to himself. “The answer was staring me in the face the whole dang time.” A flood of new ideas began stewing inside his brain. He raced down the steps into the trash garden. “Please please please tell me I can have that accordion rack.”

“Take whatever you want. Then leave and don’t come back,” the Professor said, slamming the door. He shouted from inside the house. “I mean it this time!”

It’s going to be a long night.