Ruby Goldberg’s Bright Idea Read online

  Mr. Petrecelli was in shock, I think. Even though we might be insolent (whatever that meant) pretty much every kid in the neighborhood was too afraid of him to ever talk back. I could tell it hadn’t been a wise move either. His bottom lip started to quiver a little, like the biggest yell ever was about to burst out of his mouth. I turned and ran up the path, let myself in, and slammed Grandpa’s door behind me before Mr. Petrecelli had the chance to start.

  “Ruby? Is that you?” I followed Grandpa’s voice into the living room, where I found him sitting in his favorite chair—the one with the footrest that pops out when you pull a lever. His eyes looked puffy and red, and he had a box of Kleenex beside him. I’d never seen my grandfather cry before, and it made me cry too.

  “Come here,” he said, holding out his arms. Even though I was technically too big for that kind of thing, I climbed into the chair and snuggled against him. “He was a good dog, wasn’t he?” Grandpa said.

  “I’m so sorry, Grandpa,” I managed after a while.

  “Me too,” he answered. “But it’s okay.” He rested his chin against the top of my head. “Tomato had thirteen good years with our family. And if he hadn’t made us so happy, we wouldn’t be feeling so sad right now, would we?”

  I hadn’t thought about it that way before, but it was true. Sadness and happiness were mixed up like that. You couldn’t have one without the other.

  Just then I heard a familiar jangling noise and looked up, my heart full of hope. Grandpa smiled sadly. “It’s just Tomato’s collar,” he said, showing me the blue leather loop. He’d been clutching it in one hand, but I hadn’t noticed before.

  “You biked over here in a real hurry. You must be thirsty. How about some lemonade?” Grandpa said. I climbed out of the chair. Then Grandpa pushed the lever that snapped the footrest back into place, stood up, and slid Tomato’s collar into his pocket. “Then maybe you can tell me about your latest ideas for the science fair,” he went on.

  So we drank some lemonade, and we made another list of ideas (none of which were much better than a toast-butterer or automatic dishwasher), and I told Grandpa about the Roald Dahl book I was reading (where this boy climbs inside a giant peach with talking caterpillars and things), and we carried on like things were mostly normal—even though they weren’t, and both of us kept glancing over at Tomato’s empty bed.

  Chapter 4

  I had a hard time sleeping that night. I kept thinking about Grandpa, alone without Tomato to keep his feet warm in bed—which maybe explains why I was exhausted and just a little bit on edge by the time I got to school the next day.

  “Hey, Ruby.”

  Even if I hadn’t been in a particularly cranky mood, being greeted in the school yard first thing by Dominic Robinson would have been the last thing I needed. “Just one day left to choose science fair topics,” he chirped—like I would have forgotten! Besides Grandpa and Tomato, it was practically all I could think about. “Do you have an idea yet?”

  “Maybe,” I said. I still knew I was going to build a Rube Goldberg machine, but I wasn’t any closer to figuring out what it would do yet—plus, I had no intention of telling Dominic anything and having him copy my idea again.

  “I’m thinking of hatching baby chicks,” he said, “and studying how they break out of their eggs. That is, if my dad’s friend can lend me an incubator.”

  Baby chicks? The cuteness factor alone would put him into the top three. That was so unfair!

  It took every ounce of willpower I had not to tell him that I was going to do something even better than that. If I could only figure out exactly what my machine was going to do. But then I had an idea. . . .

  “Sounds neat, I guess,” I said, giving him a smug smile. “Personally, I’m probably going to stick with a classic. The baking-soda-and-vinegar volcano.” Dominic looked confused for a second, then he half smiled, like he wasn’t sure if I was joking. Penny walked up with her fingers hooked underneath her backpack straps. “I’ve already started, actually,” I added. “Penny’s been helping me.”

  Obviously she was confused, so I filled her in. “With my volcano, right, Penny? For the science fair? I’m making it out of papier-mâché. It’s going to be a to-scale model of Mount Saint Helens. When I’m done, it’ll be so big that it will almost touch the ceiling in the gym.”

  Penny nodded a little too enthusiastically, catching on to my plan to mislead Dominic. “Oh, yeah,” she said. “The volcano! It’s going to be awesome.”

  “Really?” Dominic said, like he still didn’t quite believe it.

  “What’s wrong with that?” I said in my most offended tone.

  “Nothing. It’s just . . . a volcano? I guess I thought you’d do something really interesting.”

  “For your information, when Mount Saint Helens erupted, it was the largest known debris avalanche in recorded history.” I knew, because my dad and I had watched a show about in on the Discovery Channel the night before. “And that’s very interesting,” I added.

  I huffed at Dominic, then Penny huffed at him, and then, in perfect sync, we turned our backs and huffed away together. “Do you think he bought it?” Penny whispered when we were far enough away.

  “I hope so,” I whispered back. But even if he hadn’t, at least now I had the advantage. Dominic didn’t have a clue what I’d really be doing—but I knew exactly what I was up against. And clearly I had my work cut out for me. I had just one day left to come up with an idea that would beat a pile of fluffy, peeping baby chicks. “Think, Ruby, think!” I urged my brain. I was starting to feel desperate and panicky, and I knew I needed to boost my confidence.

  “Penny?” I asked. “How do you say ‘kick butt’ in American Sign Language?”

  She held up one hand, then karate chopped it with the other from underneath. “That’s kick,” she said. “They never taught ‘butt’ at my sign language class. How about ‘bottom’? That’s what my grandma calls it.”

  “Okay. Close enough,” I said, and I copied the second sign she showed me, touching the base of one palm with the side of the other.

  “I don’t know how yet,” I said, practicing the signs again, “but, baby chicks or no baby chicks, this is exactly what I’m planning to do in the science fair.”

  Penny smiled, made a fist, and nodded it at me, signing “Yes.”

  • • •

  Then later that day—just like my dad had promised it would—my big idea came to me when I was least expecting it. It happened after school.

  I waved at Penny as her mom drove her away for sign language class, then I hopped onto my bike and rode straight to Grandpa’s. Thankfully, Mr. Petrecelli was nowhere in sight, but just to be on the safe side, I was careful to wheel my bike to the side of the house, where I propped it up using the kickstand. Then I went around the front to let myself in. That morning’s newspaper was still sitting on the doorstep, rolled up in one of the thick pink elastic bands the paperboy uses. There was also a small plant, with bright blue paper wrapped around it, the exact color of Tomato’s collar. A note card was attached to it. Sorry for your loss, it read. There wasn’t any signature.

  “Grandpa?” I said, pushing open the door and carrying the plant and newspaper inside.

  “In here!” he called. I found him in the living room, where he was busy lifting off the sofa cushions, looking for something.

  “You forgot to get your paper,” I said, putting the Somerville Times down on the coffee table.

  “Oh. So I did!” He shook his head. “Tomato always used to bring it in.”

  “And somebody left you this.” I held up the plant. He took it from me and read the card.

  “Well, isn’t that nice. I wonder who it could be from. Hang on a second and I’ll get it some water. I just need to find my slippers. I can’t think where I put them.”

  Fetching Grandpa’s slippers had been another of Tomato’s jobs, I realized. He also used to eat the crumbs off the kitchen floor and bark every time somebody rang the doorbe
ll, to make sure that Grandpa had heard it.

  “I guess I’ll have to get used to getting my own paper and slippers,” Grandpa said sadly. “For now, anyway. Maybe someday I’ll get another dog. But I just don’t know. As nice as another dog might be, he just won’t be Tomato.”

  While Grandpa continued to pull off the sofa cushions, I checked on the floor behind a pile of magazines, then next to the big potted fern. The slippers were nowhere in sight.

  More than anything I wished Tomato were still alive. Not only had he been Grandpa’s faithful friend, but I hadn’t realized how much of a help he’d been around the house. If only there were a way I could do something to make life easier for Grandpa—

  And that was the moment it clicked into place. If I could build some sort of contraption that brought in Grandpa’s paper and fetched his slippers, he wouldn’t need to worry about those things anymore. And . . . since I’d been planning to build a Rube Goldberg machine for the science fair anyway . . . why not make one that did exactly those things? Forget buttering toast and tying shoelaces. I could do something important by helping Grandpa feel better about losing Tomato, and I could win the gold medal and show Dominic and his fluffy baby chicks a thing or two!

  When I closed my eyes, I could practically see the name of my machine spelled out in lights: The Tomato-Matic 2000. It would start with a scale that I’d place underneath the doormat, which would get triggered when the paperboy tossed the Somerville Times on top of it. From there a pulley system would be activated, scooping up the paper in a wicker basket, but would that hold? I forced myself to stop there. I’d work out the details later. The most important thing was to get started.

  “Grandpa!” I said breathlessly. “I think I just came up with an amazing idea for my science project. But it’s going to be big. I’ll need space to put it together. Can I use your shed?”

  “What’s that?” Grandpa said. He’d abandoned his search under the sofa cushions and was looking for his slippers on the floor near the shelves where he kept his model planes. “You want to use the shed? Sure thing, Ruby. It’s yours. Just move the paint cans over if you need to.”

  It was weird that Grandpa hadn’t even asked what my project was going to be about, but then again, I could see how distracted he was without Tomato at his side. It was all the more reason I needed to take action, and fast!

  “It’s going to be a surprise, though, okay?” I said. “So don’t come back there until I say so.”

  “Okay, Ruby,” he said. “If you need anything, just say the word.” I promised that I would. Then I ran out the back door and toward the shed in such a frenzy that I almost crashed right into Mr. Petrecelli, who was—I would just like to point out—trespassing on my grandfather’s lawn.

  He was standing near a white wooden cross I’d never seen before. My first thought was that it must have been some kind of marker that Grandpa had put in for our croquet game, but then I realized, with a sick feeling, what it actually was: a little grave near the fence that separated Grandpa’s yard from Mr. Petrecelli’s. Grandpa hadn’t told me that he’d buried Tomato back there.

  Mr. Petrecelli shuffled his feet. “Mind you don’t go knocking that over,” he barked at me, using his cane to point at the cross. “And keep off the flowers if you’re going to go traipsing around back here.” Then, before I could even get a word in, he turned and walked back into his house, slamming the screen door behind him.

  I shook my head, but I didn’t let it faze me. After all, I had more important things to think about than some grumpy old man.

  “Don’t worry, Tomato” I said softly, stopping in front of the little cross. “Grandpa misses you, but I’ll make sure he’s okay. I’ve just thought of the greatest way to cheer him up.” And then I ran the rest of the way, let myself into the shed, and got started on my machine.

  Chapter 5

  Mooooooommm! My shoelaces are missing!”

  A little more than a week had gone by, and the Tomato-Matic 2000 was already coming together nicely, if I did say so myself. The only problem was that I was running a little short on supplies.

  “What do you mean your shoelaces are missing?” Mom called back to Sarah from the bottom of the stairs. “Aren’t they in your shoes?”

  “They were,” Sarah said. She came down holding out her red Converse. I ducked my head and pretended to be completely absorbed in putting my books into my backpack. “I’m also missing half the hangers in my closet. And I can’t find my dangly earrings. The ones with the rhinestones.”

  I crumpled the top of my red file folder in my hurry to get my bag zipped, but it didn’t matter. Getting out the door undetected with my supplies was the most important thing. It was just my luck that Sarah would have noticed the shoelaces. She hadn’t worn those Converse in months. And as for the clothes hangers, there hadn’t been any clothes hanging on them. So it wasn’t like she’d been using them, technically.

  “I saw those earrings in the bathroom yesterday,” my mom said. “But I have no idea where your shoelaces would be. Are you sure you didn’t take them out for some reason and then forget?”

  “Why would I take out my shoelaces?”

  I put on my own shoes—which were also missing their laces—and was almost at the door, when one of my shoes slipped off and I wobbled and tripped, dropping my bag. It landed with a huge thud. Mom turned, glanced at my runaway shoe and then at my schoolbag. “Ruby?” she asked. “Where are your shoelaces?”

  “They, um, broke,” I said. It was true. I’d needed them to suspend the wicker basket from the clothesline, where it would catch the newspaper that got catapulted up by the weight of a bowling ball falling onto a teeter-totter . . . but I hadn’t been counting on how old my laces were. One of them had snapped almost immediately, and after two trial runs the second one was already wearing thin—which was why I needed to borrow Sarah’s.

  “And did you happen to take the laces from your sister’s shoes to replace them?” Mom asked.

  “Well . . . ,” I said, trying to buy myself time to think of a way to bend the truth. But it was too late. I’d hesitated, and my mom was onto me.

  “I’d like you to give them back, please,” she said. I sighed, opened my backpack, and pulled the laces out . . . but I guess I hadn’t stuffed everything in quite firmly enough, because with the laces came a bunch of colorful binder clips that I’d taken from my mom’s desk drawer. They skittered across the tile floor.

  “Ruby!” Mom said, bending over to pick them up. “Are these my clips?” I didn’t answer. “I need these for my case files.”

  “I think she has my hangers, too,” Sarah said, catching sight of one of the metal hooks that was sticking out of the top of my bag now.

  “Okay, Ruby,” Mom said, putting her hands on her hips. “Everything out, please.”

  I pouted, but I started to unpack.

  I took out the rest of the binder clips and hangers, then added a few other things to the pile: the rubber mat we usually keep near the back door for boots, a ruler from my dad’s workshop, and the coiled-up clothesline cable from our yard. (I needed a pulley system, and my parents hardly ever had time to hang out the laundry, anyway.)

  “There,” I said.

  Mom and Sarah looked at each other, and then at me. “All of it,” they said together.

  I sighed and unzipped my backpack all the way.

  I took out some old Hot Wheels tracks and half the marbles from our Chinese checkers game, two rolls of masking tape, a paintbrush, a package of party balloons, plus a jumbo jar of peanut butter and a box of crackers. (A girl’s got to eat, right?)

  Mom handed the shoelaces and hangers back to Sarah. “You know we want to support you with your science project,” she said. “But you can’t keep taking things from the house without asking. We might need this.” She held up the clothesline and eyed it, like she was trying to remember exactly what it was for. “Here.” She reached for her purse and pulled a crisp twenty-dollar bill out of her wallet. �
��That’s all I’ve got for now. Why don’t you stop by the hardware store after school and get whatever you need?” I nodded, taking the bill from her.

  “Thanks. Can I at least keep the peanut butter?” I asked.

  Mom cracked a small smile. “That, I think we can spare, if you can apologize to your sister.”

  “Sorry, Sarah,” I mumbled.

  “Just don’t do it again,” she answered, then sat down on the steps and started to rethread her laces.

  “Fine,” I said, even though I wasn’t 100 percent sure I could keep that promise. Twenty dollars was a lot of money—and it wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate my parents’ help—but if I wanted to make the best machine possible, I was going to need a lot of stuff. And, anyway, what was the big deal about borrowing some old shoelaces and a few wire hangers when it was all in the name of science?

  • • •

  Thankfully, the minor supplies shortage aside, it seemed that luck was finally on my side. We were in line for long jump in gym class that day, when I overheard Dominic talking to his friend Peter. The week before, Ms. Slate had called a bunch of kids to the front of the room to talk about their science projects—and now I knew why!

  “That’s dumb,” Peter was saying. “Like it’s your fault that Tammy’s trained rats escaped last year and one of them crawled up Mrs. Daniel’s leg! Even if your baby chicks did escape in the gym, what’s the worst they’re going to do? Peep at someone?”

  “I know,” Dominic answered, sounding a little defeated. “But I guess the teachers can’t let kids use one kind of live animal for science fair projects and not another. It wouldn’t be fair. Anyway,” he added as the line moved up, “it’s okay. I have another idea, even though it’s not as good.”