The Unusual Mind of Vincent Shadow (2 page)

Vincent hadn’t set foot inside the Met in over two years. Not since his mother died. It wasn’t the same without her. And his
father wasn’t the same without her either.

After his mother’s death, Vincent’s dad threw himself into his work. So did Vincent. With his dad out of the house, Vincent
was able to spend hours in the secret attic lab his mom had helped him build. But all that changed one day when his dad wandered
into an online chat room for widowed parents. That is where he met Vibs. They were married shortly thereafter and Vibs and
her daughters moved to New York.

Vibs was from Minnesota. Vincent had visited the Mayo Clinic when his mom was sick and remembered Minnesota as painfully cold.
He had no interest in ever returning to the Mayo or to Minnesota again. But if his father was offered the job at the Minneapolis
Institute of Arts, Vincent knew he would be leaving New York forever.

Vincent waited until Vibs had left for
work to go downstairs.

“So, what’s up with the blue skin?” Stella asked as Vincent walked into the kitchen.

“Don’t ask. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“All right. Well, come on, little boy blue. We’re going to be late for school,” Stella said as she lifted her overstuffed
backpack.

Even though they were in many of the same classes, Vincent’s backpack was much lighter than Stella’s. He didn’t take school
as seriously as she did. It wasn’t that he didn’t like it; it was just that he’d sometimes think about other things. An entire
class could pass without him hearing a single word the teacher said. That never happened to Stella.

As far as stepsisters went, Vincent thought Stella was okay. They weren’t exactly best friends, but Stella made him laugh
and it was nice to finally have someone to eat lunch with in the cafeteria.

“Oh, wait. Mom left your migraine medicine out for you,” Stella said, motioning to the large pill sitting on the kitchen counter.

Mom?
Vincent thought to himself. She wasn’t his mom. Vincent grabbed a glass out of the cupboard, filled it with water, and carefully
pretended to swallow the pill. He cupped the pill in his hand and made a loud gulping sound. He had to do this magic routine
every morning, and every morning everyone fell for it.

Vincent and Stella were already late for school. This didn’t bother Vincent, but Stella hated to be late for anything.

“Come on, walk faster,” she said as they cut through Central Park.

Even though Vincent was in no hurry to see Jeff Benz and find out what horrible nickname awaited him, he was now running to
keep up with Stella. And the sight of a small blue boy chasing after a young girl didn’t go unnoticed… even in New York City.

But just before he could catch up to Stella, Vincent saw streaks of light and everything went blurry. Vincent knew this would
be followed quickly by total darkness. He looked around for a park bench—too late. He couldn’t see a thing.

“Wait,” Vincent yelled to Stella. But she was already out of earshot.

Something was now coming at him out of the darkness. It was small and moving fast. Maybe a football, he thought. As it got
closer, Vincent could see it had teeth. No, fangs. Razor-sharp fangs with globs of drool hanging off them. This was no ordinary
ball. This ball had fierce red eyes and a piglike snout bent backward. Its mouth was open wide and it was definitely on the
attack. Instinctively, Vincent fell to the ground just as the ball was inches from his face.

This was Vincent Shadow’s 49th toy idea. He called it the “Biting Beast Ball.” A football with a mouth. Pull the Beast Ball’s
tongue and its mouth would open to reveal “razor-sharp” foam fangs. Throw the ball just like you would a regular football,
but instead of catching the ball, watch it bite onto your opponent’s arm.

“Are you okay, Vin?” he heard Stella ask. “Is it a migraine?”

The Beast Ball was floating in front of Vincent. It was the only thing he could see.

“I’m okay. Can you just help me up?”

Stella took Vincent by the hand and led him to a bench near Turtle Pond.

“Are you sure you’re not just trying to get out of going to school with blue skin?”

“Wouldn’t you?” Vincent said with a smile.

“Your dad said your migraines could be blinding, but I had no—”

“I’m fine,” Vincent cut her off. “I just need a few minutes. You go on to school and I’ll be right behind you.”

“Do you really think I would leave you like this? In Central Park?”

“Hey, I’m a blue kid on a park bench,” Vincent said. “That’s weird even by New York standards. I’ll be fine.”

“It’s none of my business,” Stella’s voice softened, “but maybe if you took your migraine medicine you wouldn’t have this
problem.”

“Amazing,” Vincent accidentally said out loud as he turned the Beast Ball around in his head.

“I’m just looking out for you.”

“No. Yeah, wait—what do you mean, Stella? I do take my pills. Every morning.” He tried to sound convincing.

“Do I look as stupid as the others?”

“I don’t know,” Vincent said with a smirk on his face. “Remember, I can’t see.”

“I watch you throw the pills in the sink or slip them in your pocket.”

Vincent smiled. “Busted.”

“So why don’t you take them? Maybe it would help.”

Vincent hesitated. “I would take migraine medicine if I had migraines.”

Stella stared at him expectantly.

“I would rather not talk about it,” Vincent continued. “Please don’t tell my dad. He can’t know that I had one of my attacks.”

“I’m sure he just wants what’s best for you, Vincent.” Stella now sounded concerned.

Vincent desperately wanted to tell her the truth, but he didn’t think she would understand. The visions. The inventions. The
lab. All of it. It was a secret he and his mother had kept and he knew it was best if it stayed that way.

“I’ll be okay. Can you just take me back home? A little sleep and I’ll be good as new.”

“Hey, that inventor you like is on the front
page of the newspaper,” Stella said as she and Vincent crossed the street a few blocks from their house.

“Which inventor?” Vincent liked several inventors. “Nikola Tesla? Thomas Edison? Howard Whiz?”

“The guy you named your bird after.”

“Nikola Tesla,” Vincent answered. “Wait! Stop walking!” Vincent now desperately wished the Beast Ball would go away so he
could see clearly. “What does the article say?”

“A big headline says ‘TESLA ARTIFACTS DISCOVERED’ and there’s a picture of him,” Stella said as she started to pull Vincent
forward. “Come on, Vin. I’m already late for first period.”

Vincent shook his hand loose from her grip and pulled two dollars out of his pocket. At least he thought it was two dollars,
but he couldn’t say for sure.

“Here, please buy me a copy. Please, Stella.” Vincent held out the money in the general direction he believed Stella was standing.
She took the money, bought the paper, and smacked him in the chest with it.

“Thank you,” Vincent said. “Now will you read it to me?”

“No.” Stella pulled him faster. She got Vincent into the house and up to his room.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay if I leave?”

“I’ll be fine. I have a little experience with this, Stella.”

“Should I call my mom?”

“No. Remember, no one can know about this. Please. When you get to school, just tell the office that I’m out sick today.”

Stella reluctantly agreed to keep the entire episode a secret.

Finally alone, Vincent anxiously waited for his sight to return. Vincent’s mother had introduced him to Nikola Tesla shortly
after his eighth birthday—and shortly after his first toy idea had hit him. He was dying to know what kind of artifacts put
Tesla on the front page of the
New York Times
.

Biting Beast Balls had come to Vincent
the same way his previous ideas had—in a blinding flash. The ideas always started with flashes of light and then—bam!—a complete
toy would be floating in front of him. Sky Writerz, Fib Finder Penz, Transplantz, Bubble Chase—all forty-nine ideas had come
to Vincent that way. The ideas looked so real he often tried to touch them, only to grab a handful of air.

Vincent could see every hair, every gear, every detail of each invention. But when it hit, the invention was the
only
thing Vincent could see. The rest of the world went black. Sometimes the blindness only lasted a few seconds. Sometimes it
would last for hours.

Vincent’s first idea hit him three years ago on his eighth birthday. It was the Everlasting H2O Gun, a squirt gun with a built-in
dehumidifier so it would never run out of water.

Vincent had been playing catch with his father in the park. His dad had just released the ball when Vincent saw flashes of
light, and then his world went black for the first time. The ball hit him in the forehead, knocking him to the ground. Vincent
could hear his father’s voice, but the only thing he could see was a giant green and gold squirt gun floating in front of
him. This terrified him. And when he told his parents, it terrified them, too.

Three more ideas struck Vincent that week. Each one was accompanied by flashes of light, darkness, and then an incredible
toy invention. Vincent quickly realized that he could spin, twist, and even play with the inventions in his head. He was sure
he was going crazy. His parents were sure he was sick.

They took him from doctor to doctor. Each one poked, prodded, and took blood. Lots of blood. And asked questions. Lots of
questions. But none of the doctors had answers.

The night before Vincent was to visit yet another doctor, his mom stopped in his room to kiss him good night, as she did every
night. Vincent was busy sketching in his notebook, as he did every night. But he wasn’t sketching Picassos, van Goghs, or
Salvador Dalís. He was drawing baseball bats that would quadruple in size when swung, bubble wands that would capture sound
in the bubbles, and rockets that would soar high up in the sky and pop into kites. His mom asked him about the sketches, and
Vincent said they were his ideas. His inventions.

It was then that Vincent’s mom realized her son had a gift. She remembered reading that the great inventor Nikola Tesla had
similar blinding experiences as a young man.

But to Vincent the visions were no gift. “Why can’t I be like everyone else?” he asked. He knew the kids at school would call
him “crazy” if they found out that he saw things. He made his mom promise never to tell anyone about his inventions. Not even
his father. She agreed to keep the secret and promised to help him draw and build his toy inventions. From that day on, they
would attribute Vincent’s blinding spells to migraines.

More than twenty toy ideas hit Vincent in the following six months. His mother helped him with his sketches, and on the nights
and weekends that Vincent’s dad was working, they built a secret lab—complete with a hidden door—in the unfinished attic space
behind his closet. They filled the lab with everything they would need to bring his inventions to life: hammers, saws, drills,
test tubes, beakers, glue, duct tape. His mother even created an elaborate alarm system to warn Vincent whenever someone was
coming up the stairs. They spent almost ten months working on the secret lab before she got sick.