Two hours later, the reason for Mrs. Johnson’s warning to her son was abundantly clear.
Books had been opened—by Hugo.
Sketches had been drawn—by Hugo.
And Hugo sat on the ground, struggling to encase the plastic-piping funnel he had made in yellow material that he had measured and cut himself.
“Are you going to let us do anything?” Shirin complained. “What are we even here for? Ugh. This is boring.”
Hugo eyed her warily from behind his visor-glasses. Shirin had already knocked a toolbox to the ground, smashed into the vise on the edge of the workbench, and dropped a bucket of paint while searching for pliers.
So there was a reason for his wariness. Still, Alma had to agree. Watching Hugo was extremely boring. He didn’t seem to need them at all.
“I could hold the material in place,” she offered.
“I’d prefer to do it,” Hugo said. “Neither of you have the engineering experience I have.”
“Oh, is that right?” Shirin said. “I didn’t realize you’d had professional training. I thought you were in sixth grade like me.”
Hugo ignored her.
“What are you using?” Alma asked, hoping to defuse the tension.
“It’s an old hammock,” Hugo replied. “It’s made of ripstop nylon, the same fabric used in parachutes and tents. No water—and more importantly for our purposes, no air—can get through. It has zero porosity.”
“You have zero porosity,” Shirin muttered.
The tension in the garage didn’t lessen as the evening wore on. With nothing to do, Alma’s mind turned back to yesterday’s fears—that this was all useless, that she was going to fail the Starling anyway—and the thoughts sounded over and over like an echo that would not die. Even though Hugo protested, she was relieved when Lexi and Isaac came bursting in to tell them it was time for dinner.
“Your mom told me you’re making some kind of windmill?” Marcus said to Hugo while scooping out bowls of chili for everyone.
“Wind funnel,” Hugo muttered, not making eye contact with his stepfather.
“What’s a wind funnel?” Isaac cried.
“I could take a look at it,” Marcus said. “If you want an extra pair of eyes.”
“Do you have extra eyes, Daddy?” Lexi asked. “Where are they?”
“On your bottom?” Isaac shouted, causing Lexi—and Shirin—to burst into giggles. All three received a stern look from Mrs. Johnson.
“I do not require assistance,” Hugo said.
“Hugo won’t even let us help,” Shirin said, accepting her bowl of chili very, very carefully.
Mrs. Johnson turned her stern look on her son. “Hugo!” she said. “What did I tell you?”
“No one wants to be friends with a know-it-all!” Lexi shouted.
It was, Alma was sure, something that had been said in the Johnson house before.
Mrs. Johnson looked embarrassed—for herself or Hugo or both. “No, I said let your friends help,” she said. “Because no one knows everything. We need one another.”
“We need one another,” Alma echoed. It was like the book said, and in that moment, it seemed like the words were for her as much as they were for Hugo. Wasn’t that why she was here, even though she felt certain that she was going to fail the Starling? She was here because she needed Hugo and Shirin, wasn’t she? She was here because, failure or not, the Starling needed her.
Mrs. Johnson nodded. She didn’t seem to think it was odd that Alma was repeating her.
“We do, Alma,” she said. “We certainly do.”