Billy Sure Kid Entrepreneur and the Everything Locator Read online

  Sleep! That reminds me. I have to sleep-invent the solutions to the problems we’ve been having with the Everything Locator tonight. Just what I need—more pressure!

  Locate Everything

  I WAKE UP THE NEXT morning feeling energized, and not just because it’s a Saturday. Did my sleep-inventing work like I’d hoped?

  I rush to my desk and there they are—fully rendered blueprints for the Everything Locator! I look through the plans, and as usual with my sleep-inventing, they make perfect sense.

  It’s funny. When I invented the All Ball, I didn’t know about sleep-inventing. See, I usually can recognize my own handwriting, but as it turns out, when I sleep-invent, I use my left hand even though I’m right-handed, and the handwriting from my left hand looks a lot different! So for a while there I wondered if maybe someone else snuck in and invented the All Ball for me. Thankfully, I found out it was all me. My left handwriting is a bit messier, but that’s okay. The point is, it helps me sleep-invent and I now have blueprints, so I’m a pretty happy kid.

  I grab my phone and text Manny and Clayton. We agree to meet at the office this afternoon—which gives me plenty of time to build a rough prototype for when we’re there.

  Before that happens, though, I head downstairs for some breakfast. As I make my way down, I notice boxes on every step.

  Our house is starting to look more like a warehouse than a home! Boxes line every wall. Plastic bubble wrap sits in huge heaps right in the middle of the living room. Honestly? I don’t want to look at this anymore. It makes me feel kind of QUEASY.

  I join the rest of my family at the kitchen table, which is the only place left without boxes everywhere.

  “Eggplant pancakes with banana-chili syrup,” Dad announces as I take my seat. He plops a stack of purple pancakes onto my plate.

  We all munch on our pancakes for a little while in silence. It’s weird. Usually we’re a talkative bunch. I think we’re all focused on the impending move.

  “I have to go to the office later,” I say, breaking the silence.

  “You still have all your packing to do, honey,” says Mom.

  “I know.” I shove another bite of purple pancake into my mouth. “I’ll get it done. But I need to nail down this final invention Manny and I have been working on.”

  “No rest for the assonnato,” Emily mutters.

  “No rest for the sleepy?” Dad asks.

  “No, ‘weary,’ ” Emily whines in reply. “No rest for the weary!”

  I have to admit that Emily’s latest thing is starting to get, I don’t know, just a little bit annoying. I mean, I don’t mind if she wants to speak Italian, but she has no idea what any of the words mean!

  After breakfast I rush back up to my room and shove aside papers, wires, and empty tin cans (don’t ask), knocking them off my home workbench. Here at home is where my inventing first started. Long before the All Ball and Sure Things, Inc., I taught myself how to invent right here in this room.

  I prop up the blueprints on my desk and read them, compiling a list of all the parts I’ll need to build a working prototype of the Everything Locator.

  Let’s see . . . hmm . . . it looks like one of the main things I’ll need is a ton of paper clips—pretty much every paper clip in the house to make sure it’s right.

  I start pulling open every drawer in my room. I empty a dish of paper clips into a plastic bag, making sure I fish out a couple of thumb tacks, the tops of five old pens, and a small piece of burrito that’s probably . . . well, older than I’d like to admit.

  When I’m pretty sure that I’ve gotten every paper clip in my room, I move on to Emily’s room.

  “What do you want?” she asks, when I appear at her door holding my bag of paper clips.

  “What, no Italian?” I ask.

  “I can say it in any language you like, but it all means the same thing.” Emily furrows her brow at me. “WHAT. DO. YOU. WANT!”

  “Paper clips,” I reply.

  “Looks like you have a couple . . . hundred!” she says, pointing at the plastic bag, which is starting to stretch from the weight of all those clips.

  “I need a ton,” I say. “Well, a lot, is what I mean.”

  Emily sighs her “Oh, the things I have to put up with” sigh, slides her chair away from her desk, and gestures for me to come on in.

  “I’m not getting up,” she says, “but feel free to look yourself.”

  I pull open each drawer in Emily’s desk, scooping any stray paper clips into my bag. The bag gets heavier and heavier until I worry that it might break. And then I’m done.

  “Thanks,” I say, heading out of Emily’s room.

  Just before I leave the room, Emily says, “Billy, can I borrow a paper clip?”

  I sigh my “Oh, the things I have to put up with” sigh and continue on my way.

  Mom’s home office is next. My mom is so super organized that this should be a piece of cake. I fully expect to find boxes with printed labels saying SMALL PAPER CLIPS, MEDIUM PAPER CLIPS, RED PAPER CLIPS, and so on.

  But when I walk into her office, I’m stunned. The whole office is packed up and ready to be shipped to Italy!! Big boxes line the room from floor to ceiling. Just as I turn to leave, I spot a renegade paper clip on the floor. I pick it up, toss it into my bag, and head back to my workbench. I guess finding one is better than nothing?

  About an hour later, I’m ready. I’ve made all the adjustments indicated in my sleep-invented blueprints, and now it’s time for a test.

  I head outside and plug the prototype into my phone.

  Okay, HERE GOES. I might as well start by searching for the thing that started this whole idea—my math homework!!!

  I switch on the device.

  “Math homework,” I say as clearly as I possibly can. “The math homework that I lost!”

  Beep! Beep! Beep! The Everything Locator lights up! I start to get excited. Good old sleep-inventing. Works every time.

  But then a few seconds pass and nothing happens. No math homework comes flying into my hands.

  What’s going on here? Could these blueprints be faulty? What do I do now?

  Just as I’m thinking all of this and preparing for the WORST CASE scenario, the prototype starts beeping. I look up and see Philo walking toward me. Only he’s walking in a really strange way. It’s almost like he’s being pulled toward me by some kind of . . . of . . . DOG MAGNET. Like he’s not really moving under his own power.

  “You okay, bud?” I ask. “What’s going on?” A few seconds later Philo reaches where I’m standing and sticks to me like glue. I go to pick him up, but I can’t move him. It’s like he’s magnetically stuck to my leg!

  I look up and see what I can only describe as a BLIZZARD OF STUFF flying right at me through the open front window of our house. Stacks of blueprints speed through the air. The papers hit me and also stick—at the same time some toy dragons stick to my shoe!

  A deck of cards emerges from the tsunami of stuff flying from the house. The whole deck spreads out, each one of the fifty-two cards, and covers about half my body.

  But that’s not all. A rubber chicken lands on my head, and no matter how hard I pull, I can’t get it off. A piece of pizza with some disgusting green stuff on it slams into my leg and sticks, right next to where Philo is stuck.

  Philo licks his lips.

  “No, boy! Don’t eat that!”

  I pull Philo away just in time.

  And the stuff just keeps on coming. And sticking to me. This started out weird, then maybe a little funny, but now . . . now I’m plain old stuck in this junk!

  And then something I really did lose comes flying at me. No, not the elusive math homework, but a prototype of the CAT-DOG TRANSLATOR. Okay, I know I’ve said in the past that I hid it away for safekeeping, and that was true . . . I just wasn’t sure where I hid it. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see it again. And I’m not so sure I’m happy to see it now. It—you guessed it—sticks right to me.

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sp; But stuff keeps coming! Papers and empty boxes and small framed pictures and toys and hats and everything you can think of. I’m getting buried, standing here on the lawn in front of my house!

  And then I have a thought.

  I need to turn OFF the Everything Locator!

  That should be easy, all I need is to unplug it from my phone . . . but, oh no. Where is my phone? I had put it down and now it’s nowhere to be seen. It must be covered in the other lost stuff! I can’t find it and I can’t call anyone for help.

  “Philo, how are we ever going to dig our way out of this?” I ask, glancing down. He is still stuck to my leg. I really wish Philo could answer me, maybe even offer some wise advice.

  Wait a minute! Maybe he can!

  I move the Cat-Dog Translator down toward Philo and turn it on.

  “GIVE ME AN IDEA, BOY!”

  Thankfully, it works just like it’s supposed to.

  “We need to smell our way out!” Philo barks into the translator.

  Then Philo starts smelling things in the pile. “Nope—not a door,” he says while sniffing the rubber chicken.

  “Nope—not a window,” he says while sniffing a set of house keys.

  “Nope—not a door,” he repeats, sniffing at some of my dirty laundry. “I like the way your socks smell, Billy!”

  I quickly realize that Philo is not going to be much help in solving this problem. I turn off the Cat-Dog Translator.

  I’m going to have to dig my way out!

  Thankfully, there’s a small plastic shovel near me. I think I used to take it to the beach when I was a little kid. I take it and prod at a few things, but it doesn’t really help. I decide to dig my way out the good ol’ fashioned way—with my hands!

  I start pulling off stuff. But every time I remove something, something else—an egg beater, a lamp, a set of plastic cups, cardboard packing boxes, a tortilla—comes flying at me and sticks to the pile like glue.

  There’s just too much stuff.

  It’s EVERYWHERE!

  I’m starting to lose sight of the house—and more stuff just keeps on coming!

  What am I going to do?!?!

  The “Something” Locator?

  JUST WHEN I THINK I’M going to be stuck in this pile of junk forever, I hear a voice.

  “Billy!”

  Oh no. I’ve read about people who are in impossible situations, like lost in deserts, and start seeing mirages of water. Is this voice a MIRAGE?! Am I doomed?!

  “Billy!” the voice calls again.

  It sounds far away. At this point I can’t see anything. Too much stuff blocks my view. I turn my head to the left and get a face full of bubble wrap. I turn to the right and my view is blocked by a lamp, a framed picture, and a carton of milk.

  “Billy!”

  Okay, either that voice is real, or I’m really starting to let this trapped thing get the best of me!

  “Billy, it’s Manny!”

  Manny? Now I perk up.

  “Manny! I’m stuck in the middle of this pile of stuff!” I shout, hoping it really is him.

  “I’m working on it!” Manny yells back.

  I hear rustling. Yup, this is real—my best friend is definitely here.

  I start shoving stuff aside from the center of the pile as Manny does the same from the outside. Clunk, clunk, clunk. The stuff keeps plopping to the floor. In a few minutes a hand breaks through the wall of stuff.

  “Hold on, boy,” I tell Philo, and tuck him under my arm. I grab Manny’s hand with my free arm and we get pulled forward.

  And then we’re out! I have never felt freer in my life. This feels even better than the last day of school before summer vacation.

  I place Philo on the ground safely, and then fall down to the grass, exhausted. I see that in his other hand Manny is holding my phone.

  “You might want this,” he says, pulling the locator device out of my phone. Instantly, all the stuff in the huge pile I’ve just escaped falls onto the front lawn.

  All except for the Cat-Dog Translator, which Philo has firmly in his mouth.

  “Thanks for rescuing me, Manny,” I say. “How did you know I was stuck?”

  “When it takes you over an hour to bike to the office from your house, and you stop answering calls and texts, I know something is wrong,” Manny explains. “I figured I’d ride over and make sure everything was okay. I definitely did not expect to see, well . . . that.”

  “Yeah, me neither,” I say.

  “What happened?” Manny asks.

  “I successfully sleep-invented the blueprints for the Everything Locator,” I say. “It showed me exactly where Clayton and I went wrong with the prototype we developed in the office. It also showed me exactly how to fix it. I figured that I would whip up a quick prototype at home so I could bring it when I joined you guys at the office later, and we could maybe celebrate with some pizza.”

  “So far, so good,” says Manny.

  “Yeah, until I tested it,” I say. “I brought it out here, plugged it into my phone, and asked it find my math homework. And, well, that’s when everything started flying toward me and stuck to me as if I were a giant magnet.”

  “Hmm,” says Manny.

  “Yeah—on the bright side, it found a lot of stuff I’d lost,” I say.

  At this, Philo drops the translator onto the ground and the device switches on. Ding!

  The Cat-Dog Translator does its thing as Philo barks.

  “The door!” Philo says, wagging his tail and licking Manny’s face. “Manny human found the door. My Billy human and I are saved!”

  Manny and I crack up. Dogs are pretty funny that way! Then I pick up the translator and switch it off. As we learned when we first invented the thing, dogs don’t really have a filter. It’s not always the best idea to know everything your dog is saying. For example, I really don’t need Philo to start telling Manny that I drooled the shape of Tennessee on my pillow last night.

  “We better clean up this mess,” Manny says, staring at the pretty sizable pile of junk.

  “I’ll deal with it later,” I say. “Let’s just stick everything in the garage for now.”

  Manny helps me haul all the junk from the house into the garage. We use a red wagon that came along in the pile to get everything there safely in only a few trips.

  “I still can’t figure out why this all went so wrong,” I say, carrying a rice cooker in one hand and a hair dryer in the other. “The blueprints looked pretty good to me.”

  “Where are they?” Manny asks.

  “I don’t see them here, so they must still be up in my room,” I say.

  “Come on,” says Manny. “Let’s go take a look.”

  A few moments later I unroll the blueprints. I do a double check just in case—yup, I followed these instructions exactly. I pass them to Manny to look over. Then he opens up the prototype I built. Paper clips spill out all over the floor.

  “How many paper clips did you use?” he asks.

  “Well, the blueprints weren’t exactly specific,” I explain. “They just said to use ‘a ton’ of paper clips. So I did.”

  Manny looks closely at the blueprints and squints.

  “Um, actually, Billy, I think what you wrote here is ‘ten’ paper clips, not a ‘ton’ of paper clips,” he says.

  “What?!” I lean in closely. Sure enough, now, with Manny pointing it out to me, I can see that I wrote “TEN paper clips.” Leave it to Manny to read my left-handed handwriting better than I can! Reason #1029 I’m glad he’s my business partner.

  I slap my forehead in disbelief and shake my head. “Well, that explains a lot, doesn’t it?”

  I kneel down and pick up all the paper clips off the floor, counting out ten and slipping those into my pocket.

  Manny glances at his phone. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s go meet Clayton at the office.”

  With Philo in tow, Manny and I hop on our bikes and ride over to World Headquarters. Clayton is waiting there when we arrive.
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  I fill Clayton in on what happened with the prototype. Manny sits at his computer and starts scanning through sales figures. It may be a Saturday, but for Manny, it’s business as usual.

  “Well, it did locate everything,” Clayton points out. “Isn’t that what something called the Everything Locator should do?”

  “No,” Manny replies immediately.

  I’m stunned at first by Manny’s answer. Then I look over at him. He has an expression on his face that I know all too well. As he often does, Manny has thought of something that nobody else has.

  “No?” Clayton repeats, sounding baffled. “An Everything Locator shouldn’t be able to locate everything?”

  “No,” Manny says again.

  Now Clayton and I are both confused. Manny turns toward us and continues.

  “The device we invent should locate everything, or, more accurately, anything a person is looking for. But maybe it shouldn’t return that item to the person. I feel like we’ll run into a lot of clogged airways with that.”

  I’m not sure I understand where Manny is going with this. I always thought the thing that would make this invention popular was that all you had to do was say the name of a lost item, and bingo!—it’s right there in your hands.

  “There are lots of situations, as Billy just found out, where having a lost item come flying at you may not be the best idea,” Manny goes on. “What if the item is large and accidentally hits someone during its flight to you from who knows where? It could hurt someone, or crash through a window, or arrive smashed to pieces it if runs into something on the way . . . maybe we’ve been going about this wrong.”

  This is starting to make sense.

  “Maybe, instead of the Everything Locator—and yes, Clayton, I still like that name—the device could find what you are looking for, and give you detailed directions on how to get to wherever the missing item is. There are phone apps that already exist for finding your lost phone, but this would find, well, everything. Then you could go and get it.”