Tj and the Rockets (3 page)

Seymour really did know lots of neat things about inventions.

“So what are you going to invent?” I asked.

“It's like I told you,” said Seymour. “I'm just at the first stage. Immersion.”

In other words he didn't have the faintest idea.

“You could help me,” he said. “We could both be great inventors!”

Sometimes I like doing projects with Seymour. Other times he drives me crazy. At that moment I came to my decision—kind of.

“I'm going to build something from the box Gran gave me,” I said.

“You're going to build a mess for a science project?” he asked.

“A model rocket,” I said. “But you can't blab about it until I'm sure I can build one that really works and doesn't fall apart the minute Mr. Wilson shows up.”

“Good plan,” said Seymour. “Do you remember the time you barfed all over his shoes? And the time you crashed into his car with your bike?”

I'd forgotten about the crash.

“There's a rocket already built that needs repairing. I'm going to try that first,” I said.

“Is there any science to it?” asked Seymour. “Are you sure it isn't just some kind of pop-up toy?”

“There's all kinds of science—force and thrust and Newton's laws of motion,” I said. “The engines use a chemical reaction like fireworks.”

“Fireworks and gunpowder were invented by the Chinese,” said Seymour. “Dynamite was later. The guy who started the Nobel Peace Prize invented dynamite. That was his name—Nobel. He didn't want dynamite used for war, just for things like building roads and tunnels.”

Seymour looked at me thoughtfully.

“When you get around to launching, let me know so I can watch,” he said.
“Maybe it'll give me an idea about something to invent.”

That night, the kittens changed from rummaging to doing a little inventing of their own. T-Rex invented a game called “Run Around with a Plastic Parachute on Your Head.” I don't think it will be as popular as Monopoly.

Alaska invented cement overshoes. That's what happens when a cat walks through glue and then decides to use the kitty litter. At least this time I only had to wash her feet.

In between the cats' inventions, I worked on the rocket. It was about as long as the two kittens. I cut two fins from balsa wood and glued them in place where the original ones had broken away. I found a nose cone that fit, strung a parachute for it and connected the sections together with shock cord. One more night to repaint and it would be ready.

Gran phoned just as I was putting things away.

“Is Saturday morning a good time to launch?” she asked.

Gran is like Seymour. She doesn't waste time with “Hello, how are you?”

“How do you know I built one?” I asked.

Gran laughed. “I don't,” she said. “Did you?”

“Saturday would be great,” I said.

I made sure I put everything away before Mom and Dad got home. They work hard thinking about the store, and I didn't want them to have to think about my science project. I needn't have worried. When they got home they were totally distracted. Dad was frowning so hard his forehead looked like it had tire tracks across it, both the inflatable and the solid kind.

“TJ, did you see anyone eying that drill I had out on display last Saturday?”

“Did someone break it?” I asked.

“Nope,” said Dad. “It took a walk.”

“Took a walk” is what Dad calls it when something gets stolen from the store. I remembered the alarm clock Mom asked me about last week. I looked at her. She nodded.

“It's been getting bad lately,” she said.

“I think we should look into a security system,” said Dad. “What about that salesman who was in a few days ago and wanted to show us one?”

“He said he'd be back this week,” said Mom. “But it's bound to cost a lot. And a lot of our customers like us because we're a friendly neighborhood store.”

“I know,” said Dad and frowned even harder.

After that they didn't talk about it anymore. In fact, they tried really hard not to talk about it. That's how they get when something's really bothering them.

It really bothered me too. It makes me mad when people steal things. I know it happens in every business, but when it's your store and you know a bit about how businesses have to pay rent, light, heat, cleaning and bank loans and then try to take out wages too so that you can actually eat that month, it begins to feel a whole lot more personal.

I was still thinking about it as I got ready for bed. That's when the phone rang.

“The number zero!”

It was Seymour. Who else would it be?

“Think of it, TJ, the number zero is an invention!”

“No it's not,” I said. “You can't invent a nothing. It's always
not
there.”

“But there hasn't always been a number for it,” said Seymour. “And it does other things too. It lines up numbers so you can add them. It turns 1 into 10. An Arab mathematician brought it to Europe in the eighth century. Without zero there wouldn't be modern mathematics.”

“Seymour,” I said, “you hate mathematics.”

“Maybe I could invent something like zero only different that would make kids like math!” said Seymour.

I figured he was already asleep and dreaming.

Chapter 4

Saturday morning was clear and calm. It was perfect weather for launching a model rocket.

“Ten… nine…”

Gran had driven us to an open area at the edge of the city. She'd gone over the safety rules with Seymour and me, and then she'd settled in a lawn chair by the car. We'd walked to the middle of the field to set up.

“Eight… seven…”

Our only audience was a herd of cows beyond a barbed wire fence. I wouldn't have noticed the cows, but Seymour had pointed them out. That's also when
he'd stepped on one of the rocket's fins. Luckily it had only been a tiny bit loose and I'd fixed it with duct tape.

“Six… five…”

We were standing back the required distance. Seymour was doing the countdown. I had the ignition button in my hand.

“Four… three…”

I couldn't help but feel excited. The paint job had turned out better than I'd expected. Standing upright on the launchpad, the rocket looked almost real in a miniature sort of way. It looked as if it actually wanted to fly.

“Two…”

A wonderful tingle sped down my spine.

“One…”

I took a deep breath.

“Blast off!” cried Seymour.

I pressed the ignition button.

Woooosh!
The rocket shot into the air. Boy did it go! I was amazed.

Vsssssssss
. The sound changed as it started to wobble.

Swoo-swoo-swoo-swooo
. The rocket was arching over. It was way above the ground, so it wasn't dangerous, but it wasn't going up the way it was supposed to go. It was going sideways, and it was spinning like crazy.

“Oh no!” shouted Seymour. “The cows!”

The next moment everything changed. We heard a pop—a second mini “explosion” that was part of the engine's timing. The nose cone popped off. The parachute appeared. It was supposed to spread wide and drift the rocket safely back to earth.

That wasn't what was happening. It all just kept going sideways and spinning. The strings were wrapping around the parachute, and the parachute was wrapping around the rocket. What a mess.

All of a sudden I noticed a stand of trees along one end of the fence. I hadn't even seen them there before. The rocket was heading straight for them.

“No!” I cried.

Seymour and I ran as hard and fast as we could, but it was hopeless. Somewhere in the matted tops of the trees, the rocket
came to rest. All we could do was stand there with our necks craned back.

“And you were worried about the cows getting hurt,” I said.

“I wasn't worried about them,” said Seymour. “I was worried because they might have gone crazy and trampled the rocket. That's what a bunch of peasants did to one of the early balloon flights. They thought they were being invaded by creatures from another planet and hacked the balloon to pieces.”

I sighed. “It might just as well have got trampled by cows,” I said. “I'm not going to get it back.”

We walked back across the field to collect the launchpad and other gear. Why was I so disappointed? It's not like it was really my science project. It's not like I'd expected it to work.

But it had worked! It had lifted off perfectly. What had gone wrong?

“Tough luck, TJ,” said Gran.

I nodded, but I knew luck didn't have anything to do with it.
Something
had gone wrong. What was it? Could Mr.
Wilson jinx my science project even when he wasn't here? And why did I care?

The whole thing was really, really bugging me. It was bugging me more than I'd thought it would. It wasn't just the work I'd put into the rocket. It was the excitement of the launch itself.

Just before we climbed into the car, Seymour stopped and looked back at the trees. One eyebrow went up and one eyebrow went down.

“Maybe I could invent something for people to get their rockets back from the treetops,” he said.

Gran dropped Seymour and me off at the store. Seymour wandered around for a while then headed home. I tried to forget about the rocket launch. The store was busy and I knew it was one of those times when someone might try to shoplift.

I did my best to keep an eye on everyone who came through the door, but it was pretty much impossible. After a while I couldn't remember them all, let alone watch them. I jotted down notes on
the lid of a cardboard box about who had been in.

Amanda's mother returned the cat food. Her cat wouldn't eat it and the supplier guaranteed satisfaction or money back. I guess the Baker family was going to have a happy fat cat instead of a crabby skinny one.

After that the list contained things like “guy with beard, two teenagers with portable CD players, soap lady with frizzy hair, waiter from restaurant across street, six little kids and mother with wild expression.”

Mr. G. liked the store even better when there were lots of people around. He just kept joking with everyone, including his carpenter friend.

“I hear you've been cutting boards twice and they're still too short,” he said.

“I hear you've been hammering nails and blaming the wind for bending them over,” the carpenter joked right back.

I was so busy listening to them banter back and forth that I turned around and walked—
smack
—into a post.

“Careful, TJ.”

I knew who it was before I even opened my eyes. Mr. Wilson.

“Ahh, can I help you?” I asked.

“Actually, you can,” said Mr. Wilson. “Since I've run into you, or rather since you've run into that post, I wanted to ask you something. How is your class making out with its science fair projects? I know Ms. K. hasn't done the science fair before, and I'm a little concerned.”

I felt my face go even redder. It was one thing for him to be my own personal jinx; it was another thing for him to be checking up on Ms. K.! I leapt instantly to her defense without caring whether or not what I said was true.

“We're doing great,” I said. “She's a great teacher. She can teach anything, especially science. We've got all kinds of neat projects. Even Gabe has a great project, and you know how much Gabe hates school.”

Mr. Wilson broke into a broad grin.

“Excellent! I have to go out of town,
and this might work out even better than I thought,” he said and walked happily away.

Which left me wondering what I'd done.

Chapter 5