When I get out of Reflection, Brian’s leaning against the row of lockers across the hall. He grins. “Been waitin’ for you to get out of the slammer.”
I laugh. “It didn’t end up being that bad. The worst part was writing the essay.”
“What’d you say?”
“Just like, how I won’t disrupt class again and I’ll respect authority and all that junk.”
“What they want to hear.”
“Pretty much.”
We pass the office. Mean Secretary, surrounded by her cactuses/cacti, is still glued to her chair. She shoots us an angry glare for no reason. Then we go out the front doors and cross the street toward the park across from McNutt.
Brian kicks a pile of leaves by the curb. “I hate how someone tried to take a stand—ha-ha, right, a stand—and all they do is shut you down. You know what we should do? Start a petition like Zoe always does! Hold a rally! Demand that they let us stand—hey, that rhymes—during our classes if we want to. Say it’s a basic human right or something. You know, my mom got a standing desk at work, and she says now her back doesn’t hurt anymore. She said it’s basically saving her life.”
“This is McNutt we’re talking about here.”
“So?”
“Gilardi’s suggestion was that I do Invention Day.”
Brian stops. “What?”
“No joke.”
“Why would you do that?”
“To channel my energy in a, uh, more productive way.”
“Ethan, listen to me very carefully. Kids who invent things know about stuff like computer chips and solar energy and quantum physics. They shouldn’t even be in school, they should be running their own tech companies. You, my friend, are not that kind of kid.”
“I know, believe me. It’s like she thought I was Erin. Gilardi thinks science is the answer to everything.”
Brian’s mouth drops open in fake shock. “Wait, you mean it isn’t?”
We walk through the park, which is deserted except for someone sitting on a bench, feeding some big white birds. They’re going nutso, squawking and pecking their heads at the ground. I can only see the back of the person, but then I realize I recognize his shoes. Or rather, his hiking boots.
I elbow Brian. “Isn’t that Wesley Pinto?”
He squints. “Yeah, I think.”
“Is he feeding . . . what are those, seagulls?”
“Seems to be the case.”
“What’s that all about?”
Brian rolls his eyes. “Who knows? He’s probably poisoning them or something.”
“Yeah, right.”
Maybe that’s what he likes to do with his time. Without even saying anything to each other, we turn and go the long way around the park so he doesn’t see us. I don’t need any more encounters with Wesley today, that’s for sure.
“Little-known fact about seagulls,” Brian says. “People call them garbage cans with wings.”
“They eat garbage, duh. They’re one of the best animal scavengers out there.”
This is why Brian and I are friends. Who else remembers that kind of stuff and can recall it at just the right moment?
“Now you know,” he says.
“Glad I do.”
We knock shoulders and split at the corner.
When I get home, Erin’s in the garage, arranging things on the long folding table we usually only use for holidays when our cousins come over. She’s got a bunch of small glass bottles evenly lined up and a pile of branches and leaves. Plus random things like eyedroppers and a plastic spray bottle and a bunch of black Sharpies on top of a pad of paper.
“What’re you doing?” I ask.
“Setting up,” she says, as if this is obvious.
“For Invention Day?”
She rolls her eyes. “No, for fashion day.”
“What’s your project?”
“I’m not going to tell you that.”
“Why not? It’s not like I’m planning to steal your idea.”
“Zoe and I are keeping it top secret. The last thing we need is for Marlon to somehow find out what we’re doing.” She tilts her head. “Why are you so interested anyway?”
“Gilardi told me today she thinks I should enter.”
Erin’s eyes get wide. Then she bursts out laughing. She laughs nonstop for what seems like several minutes. Finally, she stops long enough to ask, “YOU?” then cracks up again.
“Hey, it’s not that funny.”
“Yes, it is!” She wipes away tears. “Best thing I’ve heard all day! What would you possibly invent?” She snaps her fingers. “Wait, I have it! A cure for ESD!”
“Ha-ha. You can stop now. I’m not entering.”
“Of course you’re not.” She looks back at the table, apparently consulting a list of items and checking things off.
“I can do stuff, you know.”
She closes the cap on a Sharpie with a solid click. “You can. Three hundred volleyball sets in a row on the driveway.”
“Yeah, see?”
“But not science stuff, Ethan.”
I walk toward the door to the house, then stop and take the Invention Day form out of my backpack. I look at it for a few seconds, then toss it into the recycling bin. There aren’t many things my sister and I agree on, but this is one.
There are only two other things I can think of: (1) We love roasted marshmallows and would gladly eat them anytime, anywhere, in place of any meal; and (2) We hate tomatoes. When we were little, we formed a tomato haters’ club. It lasted one day and we were the only two members. Mom was making tomato soup for lunch, and we marched around the kitchen with signs that said DOWN WITH TOMATOES! and TOMATOES ARE THE WORST FOOD EVER! Except we spelled it TOEMAYTOES. The one thing Erin sucks at is spelling. Because of course, she made the signs.
Anyway, it’s been a downhill ride since then. And right now, we’re solidly in the driving-each-other-crazy zone. Basically, my sister and I have gone from marshmallows and the tomato haters’ club to living in opposite galaxies.