The School for the Insanely Gifted (12 page)

Chapter 21
Showdown Outside the School

T
hree blocks down the street from school, Daphna could see that life at her beloved school had been drastically changed. The police had set up a barricade to control the enormous crowd that had swarmed to the old Brackerton grounds. Reporters strolled the sidewalk peppering passersby with questions, hoping all the while for the grand prize: a shot at an interview with Ignatious himself.

“All this for a lousy crook,” Harkin muttered.

He slammed on the brakes by a narrow parking spot between two SUVs. Once Daphna and Cynthia were out, Harkin flipped a switch on his wristwatch computer. The car collapsed and with its telltale
scrinch!
rolled into the space. As the three friends headed the final blocks toward the main school gate, Daphna saw that the mob was even bigger than she had first thought. Along with the police and the press, vendors had set up carts, selling anything they could.

“Get your Gum-Top dental floss!” one man called. “Cleaner teeth mean clearer websites!”

“Special sunglasses here!” another yelled. “See your Gum-Top websites in three D!”

“I'll paint your eyetooth silver, then dye your sideburns red!” an enterprising artist cried, waving a paintbrush. “Look like the Great Blatt in fifteen seconds!”

A few steps closer to the school, a man was selling life-size posters of Ignatious along with a limited supply of Ignatious masks. A woman was offering to tutor nursery school students for the yearly Blatt admissions tests.

“You think your child is only extremely gifted?” a sign outside her booth read. “In three sessions Joanna C. Jasper will turn
extremely
into
insanely
!”

“What a scene,” Harkin said.

“People'll think of anything,” Cynthia said.

“Look on the bright side,” Daphna said. “All these people might make it easier for us to sneak in unnoticed.”

A sensible enough thought, but Daphna had forgotten a critical fact. Yes, Ignatious was famous, but in her own smaller way so was Cynthia. Her disappearance from
The Dancing Doberman
had been well reported on theater websites and papers. All it took was one reporter to recognize her for the floodgates to open.

“There she is! Cynthia Trustwell!”

A wave of information-starved reporters sprinted toward the children.

“Remind anyone of Billy's monkeys?” Cynthia asked.

“Tell me, Cynthia,” a reporter cried, “are you back to do
The Dancing Doberman
?”

Cynthia adjusted her glasses. “Absolutely. I'll go on tomorrow night.”

“Was your disappearance linked to Gum-Top?” another asked.

“Not at all. We were at a conference in Madrid.”

One reporter nodded toward Harkin.

“What about your tiny friend? Isn't that Barkin Ruckenheiser, inventor of the exploding sneakers?”

“The name is Harkin Thunkenreiser!” the boy thundered. “And while I may seem short to you, I am in the low-to-normal height range for my age group.”

“All right! All right!” the reporter said, scribbling notes. “Not born too short.”

“Furthermore, my sneakers don't explode. They fly!”

“Got it,” another reporter said. “It's your car that explodes, am I right?”

That was all Harkin could stand. He puffed out his chest and stood to his full height. “The Thunkmobile does not explode. In fact, we just flew it all the way back from Africa!”

“You heard it here, folks!” a reporter shouted into his mic. “The kids flew in from Africa to try out Ignatious Blatt's Gum-Top!”

At the mention of his beloved Gum-Top, Harkin's face turned bright red. His upper lip twitched.

“
Ignatious's
Gum-Top?” the boy shouted.

“Careful,” Daphna whispered. “Remember—we need proof before we say anything.”

“Not now,” Cynthia said.

But it was a lost cause.

“Ignatious Peabody Blatt is a fraud!” Harkin exploded. “A
fraud
! He didn't develop
any
of his ideas! Not Blatt-Global! Not Peabody-Pitch! Not the Hat-Top computer!”

The ridicule was everything Daphna had feared. Just like that, she found herself staring into a sea of befuddled faces. Then came the rapid-fire reactions.

“Ignatious didn't create his products?” a man cried. “The boy is crazy.”

“It's like saying George Washington was a British spy!”

“Or Abraham Lincoln didn't free the slaves!”

“Every knows that Ignatious is a genius. The greatest of all time!”

“And a humanitarian too. He just gave twenty million dollars to build refreshment stands in the Sahara Desert!”

“And another fifteen to fight gorilla dandruff!”

Everyone was shouting at once, individual voices blending together to create a huge, frightening din. Then the fervent cries turned on a dime to laughter—wild guffaws, hearty chuckles, and delighted giggles echoed up and down the street.

To Daphna's dismay, it got worse. Once the crowd had laughed itself dry, it turned on Harkin.

“Hey, kid. Take your sneakers and fly to the moon!”

“Cut your ponytail, little man. It's corroding your brain!”

It was all too much for Daphna to take.

“Harkin's telling the truth!” she shouted. “He is. I promise.”

“All right then, girlie,” a reporter said. “Give it to us. If Ignatious Peabody Blatt didn't create the Hat-Top computer, who did?”

“Who created the Hat-Top computer?” Harkin said. “Billy B. Brilliant, that's who!”

All was still. Even the pigeons perched on the Indian restaurant took a momentary break from their pecking and cooing and cocked their ears toward the street. Vendors stopped hawking their wares and leaned close as twenty or more microphones were shoved toward Harkin.

“What?” a reporter asked.

“You heard him,” Daphna said. “Billy B. Brilliant!”

“Billy B. Brilliant?” someone shouted.

“Who's that?” a vendor called to Daphna. “The name of your pet rock?”

“No, it's a new cartoon character!” someone else yelled. “I saw him on the Disney Channel.”

The street exploded once more in a cacophony of shouts and laughter. Daphna had suspected that Ignatious's reputation would hold him safely above any accusations, but she hadn't thought the reaction would be so utterly dismissive. Most people in the area were laughing so hard, they were having trouble standing up.

Daphna felt Harkin tense beside her. She wouldn't have been surprised if she had seen steam come out of his ears.

“You don't believe me?” he called. “Billy B. Brilliant is the real genius behind Ignatious's inventions. We saw all his inventions in Africa. He's made Cook-Top! Frog-Top! Joke-Top!”

“Joke-Top?” a reporter cried.

“The kid is cracking,” a vendor called out. “Get him a nurse!”

“No, take him into custody!”

No sooner were the words spoken than two policemen grabbed Harkin under the armpits and began to drag him toward the school.

It was then that a voice echoed across the school grounds. A familiar voice.

“A moment, if you please!”

The crowd's attention turned to the door. Could it be? Was it . . . ?

It was!

Standing at the main entryway to the school was none other than the famous founder himself, Ignatious Peabody Blatt. His suit was yellow, his tie emerald green, and his shoes a bright plum. The officers let Harkin shake himself free as reporters pushed and shoved up to the school fence, holding out their microphones.

“We can all question the grace of Mr. Thunkenreiser's delivery,” Ignatious said, moving to the top step of the school entranceway. “But our esteemed student brings up a fair point.” He paused. “You see, once upon a time there was a Billy B. Brilliant!”

What? Daphna looked at Harkin. Could it be? Was Ignatious coming to their defense? About to admit his crimes? In
public
? Though he appeared outwardly calm, Daphna noticed that Ignatious's right eyebrow was arched at a slightly steeper angle than usual. Everyone pushed closer.

“It's time to set the record straight, dear friends,” Ignatious said above the whir of television cameras. “This is not a story for the faint of heart. How sad it is! Years ago, Mr. Brilliant and I were classmates together at the College for the Extraordinarily Talented. Such good friends we were. But one night I discovered him riffling through my prized notebooks. Imagine my horror when I discovered that Mr. Brilliant was no more than a common criminal, attempting to steal my greatest ideas.”

A collective gasp filled the school grounds. Daphna noticed Myron standing beside his father. As always, his hair was perfectly parted down the middle. On his feet, he wore his trademark yellow loafers.

“Steal from you?” he called. “I'll kill him!”

Ignatious smiled at his son, who was now clenching his fists. “Such a good boy, but murder is hardly necessary. Here's the truly sad part, my friends. Even though I forgave him—that's right, I told Billy that I wouldn't report him to the school authorities—he felt so terrible about what he had done that the poor fellow disappeared. Last I heard, he was living in a hut in western Peru, making ends meet by hosing down giraffes for a local circus. So tragic!”

Ignatious pulled a sky blue handkerchief from his coat pocket and dabbed his eyes. When he continued, his voice trembled with feeling.

“Let us all take a moment to remember the Blatt School creed. ‘Be insanely gifted! Work insanely hard!' But most important of all: ‘Be insanely good!' Poor Billy B. Brilliant had the first two qualities in spades, but he didn't have the last. That's why this tale has such relevance today. I implore my students—all students at all schools the world over—not to let the same thing happen to you. Be gifted, yes, but above all, be honest.”

The crowd broke into a wave of spontaneous applause. Ignatious bowed deeply, blew a kiss, then disappeared inside his school. As for Harkin, he continued to press his case.

“He's lying,” he called. “Billy B. Brilliant isn't in western Peru. He's in Africa. Furthermore, I developed Gum-Top. Me! Right here in my lab. Myron stole it!”

Daphna watched in shock; her heart sank like a stone. It was one thing to be laughed at but almost worse to be ignored. Harkin was shouting at the top of his lungs, but now no one was listening.

“Cool it,” Cynthia said.

“She's right,” Daphna said. “We have to plan our next move.”

“Gum-Top is mine!” Harkin said. “It's mine! It's—”

Daphna did something she'd never even considered in six years of friendship. She yanked Harkin's ponytail.

Doubled over, the boy grabbed the back of his hair.

“You touched my hair!” he cried.

“Quiet,” Daphna hissed. “Here's what we have to do. First we find Myron and grill him about how he stole Gum-Top. Then we check your office, Thunk. Ignatious probably cleaned it out, but you never know. Maybe Blatt left a clue when he stole your idea.”

“I can help too,” Cynthia said. “When I visited Ignatious before we left on our trip, he asked me to drop by his office today to confirm the night he's going to see
The Dancing Doberman
. I'll go now and see what I can find out.”

“We'll meet back at the theater just before the assembly,” Daphna said. “Sound good?”

Harkin nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Good.”

Plan in place, Daphna led Harkin and Cynthia through the maze of reporters, onlookers, and vendors and slipped through the front gate into their school.

Chapter 22
The Charcoal Grill Toaster

O
n most mornings, students jammed the Blatt School playground, grabbing a final few minutes of playtime before the day's studies. With the Insanity Cup only an hour away, few children occupied the playground, and they were working. Wanda Twiddles was perched on the bottom of the slide, practicing a short speech about the inner workings of her latest suspension bridge. Wilmer Griffith was on a swing, nose buried in a thick black binder full of charts of the Andromeda galaxy. Atop the jungle gym like a rare bird was Jean-Claude Broquet. He was holding a scroll, emoting dramatically in what Daphna could only assume was Medieval French. Only Thelma Trimm was using the playground as it was intended and was playing a vigorous game of hopscotch, grunting loudly with each leap, “Insanity Cup is mine! Insanity Cup is mine!”

Daphna and her friends slipped into the back entrance of the school without meeting a single eye. Though the lobby was a little bit busier, what students were present were also lost in their own thoughts. Ignatious's statue lorded over its domain with a grin that Daphna now found wicked.

“‘Be insanely gifted,'” Harkin read from his plaque. “‘Work insanely hard. Be insanely good.'” He shuddered. “Make me sick.”

“You said it,” Daphna said.

“I'll drop by the crook's office to see what I can find out,” Cynthia said. “Wish me luck.”

The actress hurried toward the stairwell. A step past the statue, she glanced to her right and left to make sure no one was looking, then took a piece of gum out of her mouth and stuck it on Ignatious's foot. With a grin to her friends, she hit the stairway at a run.

“Our turn now,” Daphna said. “Where do we look for Myron? He could be anywhere.”

Harkin reached into his pocket and pulled out two thin sticks of gum.

“Gum-Top,” Daphna said.

Harkin nodded. “I figured out a way to get online and hack into the school's security camera system. Chew with me. Hopefully, we'll be able to see where he is.”

Daphna popped the gum into her mouth. She purposely didn't think about composers.org but focused all her thoughts on the Blatt School website.

“Did you see that?” Harkin cried.

The image became clear. Smack in the middle of the school's home page was a picture of Ignatious holding out a piece of Gum-Top. The banner atop the page read: “The Great Blatt Does It Again!”

“Stay calm,” Daphna said.

“Yeah, yeah,” Harkin muttered. “I'm calm, all right. Go to the school's security page. See the small camera icon on the lower left-hand corner? Now let's start scanning the rooms from the bottom up.”

“I'm already at Wilmer's office,” Daphna said.

The large boy had put a blackboard on each wall, as well as another one on the ceiling, and covered every inch with diagrams and figures.

“I can't understand a thing,” Harkin said.

“Me neither,” Daphna said. “Check out Wanda's room. The model of her latest bridge has four levels!”

“Do you remember that sign across from my office that reads ‘BEWARE: VERY LARGE GRASSHOPPER!'?” Harkin asked.

Daphna was already peering inside the room.

“The bug is a foot long.”

“Two feet!”

“Its eyes are two giant Frisbees.”

“Its antennae are two giant windshield wipers.”

“Let's get out of here.”

“I'm already gone,” Harkin said. He drew in a deep breath and followed the security camera down the hall. “The moment of truth. My office next.”

Daphna didn't expect to find any remaining traces of Gum-Top. But what met her eyes next was almost more than she could bear. Where Harkin's fantastic machine had once stood was now a blank wall with a lone wire sticking out of a plug. Also gone were Harkin's binders with his notes. All that remained was a single overstocked bookshelf, Harkin's small desk, and a smattering of engine parts on the floor.

“They stole it,” Harkin said. It was as if he hadn't actually believed it before. “Ignatious really stole Gum-Top!”

“Wait,” Daphna said. “If the school's surveillance cameras were on this weekend, we can find the footage.”

Harkin shook his head. “Ignatious may be evil, but he's not stupid. If there was footage, he's erased it by now. But who cares? We know who the thief is anyway: Myron.”

“Probably,” Daphna said. “We just have to find him.”

“We'd better hurry,” Harkin said. “My Gum-Top is losing flavor, and I only have one more piece.”

Luckily, the two friends didn't have to search much longer. Scanning up to the next level, Daphna saw a boy in a purple shirt and yellow loafers sprinting down the hallway.

“Got him!” Daphna said.

As Myron disappeared into his office, Daphna and Harkin spit out their Gum-Tops and bolted to the back stairwell. With the hour of the assembly approaching, some students were getting a start on hauling their presentations up to the school theater. Half a flight down, Daphna found herself face-to-face with the mouth of an absolutely immense tuba.

“Make way for the world's first Blugle-horn!” a small boy with red hair announced.

As Daphna and Harkin flattened their bodies against the wall to let him pass, the boy pushed the instrument up the stairs on a small set of wheels. He stopped to talk, blocking the stairwell.

“You're a musician,” the boy said to Daphna. “I'll bet you think my horn plays really low, right? Bet you think it sounds sort of like a tuba, right? Well, that's not true.”

“Hey,” Harkin said. “If you could move it along, we've got to get go—”

The boy lifted his lips to the mouthpiece and filled the hallway with a giant
BLAAAATTT!
Daphna had never heard a musical note quite so loud or ugly.

“See?” the boy said.

“Nice,” Daphna stammered. Her ears were ringing.

“Want to hear the opening phrase of my concerto?”

“Uh, why don't we wait to hear it at the assembly?” Harkin said.

“Good enough,” the boy said, and pushed the horn past them up the stairwell.

“How was he ever accepted here?” Harkin whispered.

Daphna shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe his insane gift is playing loudly.”

Two girls appeared carrying a giant cage covered by a blue sheet.

“Meet Hugo!” the first girl said. “The world's most talented rat.”

“That's all right,” Daphna began. “But we really . . .”

The first girl pulled off the sheet, revealing a two-foot rat wearing a custom-made tuxedo and top hat.

Daphna cringed. An occasional cockroach or mouse was part of city life. But a two-foot-long rat? Even one so elegantly dressed was more than her stomach could handle.

“What does he do?” Harkin asked.

The second girl grinned. “Sing and dance, of course!”

Thankfully, the girls didn't insist on a demonstration. With a cheerful good-bye, they continued up the stairs.

Harkin looked at Daphna. “Let's see if we can finally get down to Myron's office.”

No sooner did they reach the third basement level—Myron's floor—than an enormous
BANG
reverberated down the hall. A steady stream of black smoke billowed out of a distant doorway, followed by an ear-piercing cry:
“Noooooooo!”

“Myron!” Harkin said.

“Do you think he's hurt?” Daphna asked. She sprinted ahead and barged through the door. Atop Myron's small metal desk stood a machine that resembled a giant silver toaster but with two clear funnels that pointed upward on either side. Clearly, the contraption was Myron's year-end project. Just as clearly, it wasn't in working condition. Small flames shot out of the funnels. Worse, Myron was manning a fire extinguisher, spraying the foam onto the floor instead of onto his burning contraption. He slipped and fell hard on his rear end. Daphna grabbed the extinguisher and put out the fire with two well-aimed spurts as Harkin turned on the air vent high to clear out the smoke.

“Myron?” Daphna asked. “What happened?”

A moment earlier, she had wanted his blood. But now, lying in a puddle of foam in his absurd yellow loafers, he looked downright ridiculous. It was hard not to feel sorry for him.

“It caught on fire!” Myron moaned.

“We can see that,” Harkin said. “But what in the world is ‘it' supposed to be? A toaster?”

Myron struggled to his feet and kicked his desk. A flurry of sparks shot out of his strange machine.

“Not a toaster,” he said, waving away another gust of smoke. “An instant charcoal grill. In my prototype, this puppy cooks a hamburger in thirty seconds.”

Daphna noticed what appeared to be four hamburgers lying on the foamy floor, charred beyond recognition. She wouldn't have been surprised if someone had told her they were hockey pucks.

“I'm sunk,” Myron said. He took one of the burgers from the ground, then stated the obvious. “See? It's burned!”

Myron still tried to take a bite, foam and all. With great effort, he was able to get his teeth to break into the destroyed burger. Unfortunately, he couldn't pull them back out.

“Mmmmmmfffpppff!”
he moaned, pointing helplessly at his mouth.

Harkin rolled his eyes.

“MMMmmmmmffppff!”
Myron said again. This time he pointed at a closet.

“All right,” Harkin said. “Hold on.”

In the closet was a small toolbox. Harkin found a wrench and screwed its jaws onto the burger.

“Hold on,” Harkin said. “I'm going to have to really pull.”

It took three tries, but the burger finally came loose. Then Myron ran to the trash can to pick the remaining bits out of his teeth.

“Serves you right,” Harkin said.

“What?”

“Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about!” Harkin said.

“I don't.”

“You stole Gum-Top!”

Myron finally turned from the trash. “Gum-Top? You're crazy! That's my father's invention.”

“Is not,” Daphna said. “It's Harkin's.”

Myron laughed. “In your dreams.”

“Why were you snooping around our offices on Friday?” Daphna asked.

“It doesn't take a genius to see you were trying to steal someone's idea,” Harkin said. “Especially when all you could come up with on your own is this grill.”

Myron's face scrunched up like he had eaten a sour lime. His look reminded Daphna of how upset he had been in the playground when he had defended his father.

“I've got half an hour to get it operational!”

“Okay, forget the stupid grill,” Harkin said. “You still stole Gum-Top!”

Myron shook his head. “Think whatever you want. But I didn't say anything to anyone. And Gum-Top is my dad's idea! You really think you're going to get away with trying to steal an idea from him?”

“But you were looking in Harkin's window!” Daphna said.

“I was walking by and got curious. Don't tell me you've never looked in other people's offices?”

Daphna stopped short. She did it all the time. Everyone did.

“Well, sure,” she stammered.

“See?” Myron said.

“That still doesn't answer what you were doing down in the fourth-floor basement last Friday,” Harkin said.

“I thought I was on mine. I lost track of where I was.”

Daphna looked at Myron skeptically. “You got lost a lot that day. First looking for Yuri's office.”

Myron laughed. “If I stole Gum-Top, I wouldn't give it to my father. I'd enter it myself! But you are totally missing the point. The kids in this school aren't only insanely gifted, they're insanely competitive. Take Wilmer—he's so desperate to win, he hasn't slept all weekend. Wanda wants it so badly, she built a model suspension bridge across the East River. And your friend Cynthia—she's the nuttiest of all. She'd do anything to see that one-woman
Macbeth
of hers on Broadway. She's been talking about it all year!”

Myron's accusation shocked Daphna. “You're out of your mind! Are you saying Cynthia would cheat?”

“She's no crook,” Harkin said.

“Whatever you say,” Myron said. “Listen, I'd love to keep chatting, but I'm running out of time to fix my grill.”

Harkin nodded at the smoking contraption. “You're still going to enter that?”

“It's better than whatever you've come up with,” Myron said. “Maybe that's why you're going around saying Gum-Top is yours. You have nothing of your own.”

“Nothing of my own?” Harkin cried. “Have you forgotten about the Thunkmobile?”

“That piece of yellow junk?”

“That piece of junk flies!”

“That piece of junk looks like junk. No way Cody Meyers will want something that ugly on his show.”

“And he's really gonna want a grill that looks like a toaster that makes hamburgers that could be doorstops?”

“All it needs are a few minor adjustments. Now a little privacy. The master must create.”

But the master had even less time than he thought. The hollow sound of the Blatt gong filled the room.

“Is it time for the assembly?” Daphna said.
“Already?”

Harkin smiled broadly at Myron. “Good luck with your toaster. You've got
Cody Meyers
in the bag.”

Myron frowned. “Get out, shrimp.”

“Don't worry. We're going.”

Daphna and Harkin hurried to the hall.

“I still don't trust him,” Harkin said.

“Me neither,” Daphna said. “But without any proof, what are we going to do?”

The Blatt gong sounded a second time.

“What do we do?” Harkin said. “Go to the assembly and hope that Cynthia found out something from Ignatious. Come on!”