The Top Secret Toys Read online

  Vincent placed his face inches away from the plate and tried to flip some corn into his mouth. He missed and several kernels landed in Gwen’s hair. She didn’t notice. But Anna did.

  “Vincent flicked corn in Gwen’s hair!”

  Gwen rocked back and forth in her chair. She was clueless. She had headphones in her ears and corn in her bangs.

  “Sorry,” Vincent said. “Accident. Oh, Stella, tell everyone about your award.”

  “An award?” Vibs asked. “What for, honey?”

  “Nothing, really. Just a little thing I did at school,” Stella said, trying to dismiss the question.

  “Little? There’s nothing little about it,” Vincent said. “At assembly this morning, Mrs. Schmidt gave Stella an award for outstanding achievement in fiction.”

  “Seven other people got one too,” Stella added.

  “That’s great, honey,” Vibs said. “What did you write?”

  “It was a story called The Last Magic Show about this old magician who vanishes during his last performance.”

  “Fantastic. I would love to—” Norton was interrupted.

  “HEY!” Gwen yelled as several pieces of corn pelted her in the eye.

  “Sorry,” Vincent said. He pushed his spoon around the plate in an effort to get something, anything, into his mouth.

  “What are you doing?” Vibs demanded.

  Vincent’s sleeve was dripping wet as he held up what was left of his ice spoon.

  “I’m trying to eat?”

  “With what? What is that?”

  “I call it the Ice Spoon. It’s homework.”

  “Homework? Let me guess. Homework for Mr. Dennis?” Vibs asked.

  “Yup,” Vincent replied, sucking on what was left of his spoon. “We’re supposed to put two unrelated things together and make something new.” The last piece of spoon melted between his fingers.

  “And you put a spoon together… with ice?” Vibs asked.

  “Yup.”

  “That’s dumb. You’re gonna get an F,” Anna said, smiling.

  “Yup,” Vincent agreed.

  “Incredible, Lori. Just incredible. And it really works?” Mr. Dennis asked.

  “Oh yeah. We can go outside and I’ll show you. ’Course we’ll have to wait for the snow to come back, but—”

  “No, I believe you. Fantastic! Who wants to go next?”

  “Oh, me! Me! Me! Mr. D!”

  “Okay, Gary. What wonderful things did you put together?”

  Gary reached under his desk and pulled out a large hockey glove covered in duct tape.

  “It’s a fork!” Gary announced proudly.

  “Well, well, well.” Mr. Dennis moved closer and saw the tip of a fork hot-glued to the end of a metal tube that had been duct-taped to the hockey glove. “Well, yes, it is indeed a fork. Tell us about it, Mr. Gary. How did you get the idea for the… for this fork glove?”

  “Oh no, Mr. D. This isn’t a fork glove. This is the Fork-Master 4000. My dad likes to call it the Ultimate Fork.” Gary smiled. “You see, Mr. D, I was sitting at the dinner table eating one of my mom’s steaks and telling my parents about our homework. You know, the lobster phone and all that stuff. So, I was telling them the story and trying to cut my steak at the same time. But my mom’s steaks are real hard to cut. Even for my dad. So my dad, as a joke, got up and grabbed the power saw out of the garage and pretended to cut his steak with it. And that’s how I got the idea.”

  “So it has a saw built into the glove?” John asked.

  “No.” Gary pushed a button and a red laser beam shot out the end of the fork. He pretended to cut an invisible steak on his desk.

  “You see, it gives you a guideline to cut to, just like my dad’s saw.”

  “Ah, well done, you.” Mr. Dennis clapped.

  “So what’s with the glove then?” Lori asked.

  “Protection, silly. My dad wouldn’t let me use a saw without protection.”

  “Okay. Very good. Who’s next, class? Mr. Shadow? Would you like to share your project?”

  Vincent didn’t say a word. He desperately wished the blinding spells would return. He needed a good idea. And he needed it fast. How could he follow the Ultimate Fork with the Ice Spoon? Plus, he was pretty sure his new spoon had melted by now.

  “I’m still working on mine, Mr. D. Can I show it next week?”

  “Yes. Fine. What a great way to end the year. I’m sure it will be brilliant, Mr. Shadow. Just brilliant.”

  African gray parrots are considered to be among the most intelligent animals on the planet. They are capable of learning thousands of words. And Vincent’s African gray, Nikola, was no exception. Vincent’s parents had purchased Nikola for Vincent’s ninth birthday. And Vincent quickly went about the business of teaching Nikola to talk. He thought it would be fun to have a pet that told jokes. So he read entire books of knock-knock jokes to Nikola. Vincent had read hundreds of knock-knock jokes to him, something the entire Shadow family would soon regret. Nikola loved the reaction he received when he told a joke. So he started telling jokes all day. Every day. No one in the Shadow house had laughed at his knock-knock jokes in years. No one but Nikola. He always said, “Ha, ha” after he told a joke.

  “Knock knock.”

  Vincent ignored Nikola. But he knew it wouldn’t work. It never worked.

  “Knock knock.”

  “Not now, Nikola.”

  “Knock knock.”

  “Fine. Who’s there?”

  “Who.”

  “Who who?”

  “I’m a parrot, not an owl, silly. Ha, ha,” Nikola said.

  “What am I going to do, Nikola? I need to get my project done. It’s due tomorrow and I’ve got nothing.” Vincent had tried all week to put two seemingly unconnected things together. But he had been unsuccessful. He lay down on his bed, desperately hoping for a flash of inspiration. Or something. Anything.

  “Knock knock.”

  Vincent put a pillow over his head.

  Vincent’s first toy idea had hit him on his eighth birthday. And ideas continued to hit him on a fairly regular basis after that. Until his family moved to Minnesota. Then they stopped. And, for the most part, Vincent welcomed the break. When inventions came to Vincent, they hit him hard. They hit him so hard that the invention was the only thing Vincent could see. The toy inventions would float in front of his eyes. Whole and complete. Vincent could spin the toys in any direction and see every detail. But the toys were all he could see. They would blind him to the world around him. Sometimes for a few minutes. Sometimes for hours. Vincent hid his unusual talent from the world by claiming to have “blinding headaches.”

  The blind spells were always inconvenient. But sometimes they were downright dangerous—like the time Vincent had the idea for Sketch FX Markerz as he and his mother were riding their bikes through Central Park. But one time an idea came to Vincent at just the right moment. He smiled at the memory. It was the night of his ninth birthday. The night his parents gave him his parrot.

  Dylan Thomas had been Vincent’s best friend growing up. The two always had sleepovers for each other’s birthday. For Vincent’s ninth birthday his parents decided to take the boys to a haunted house being put on by the cast and crew of The Phantom of the Opera.

  “What could be better than real actors putting on a haunted house? This will be fun,” Vincent’s mom said as they stood in line.

  And she was right. The haunted house was good. Maybe too good. Vincent was shaking as he, Dylan, and his mom and dad grabbed onto a rope and were led through a black curtain. Vincent remembered seeing a woman with real snakes in her hair. Then the room went dark and bright lights quickly moved toward him. The lights grew brighter as they approached. He heard a deep growl. The pair of lights were now the only thing Vincent could see. They were floating just inches from his face. Vincent heard screams in the distance. And then his mom screamed. Then his dad.

  “Did you see that?” Dylan asked. “I think it was a real b
at.”

  “Bat?” Vincent said.

  Vincent’s mom and dad both screamed again. Vincent didn’t see a bat. In fact, Vincent realized he couldn’t see anything but these—“Headlights,” he said out loud.

  “Yeah, turn on the lights!” his dad screamed.

  Vincent was spinning the idea around in his head. It was idea number sixteen. He would call it “Pump-Up Pickup.” It was a toy truck with working headlights and a built-in pump that inflated the tires, transforming the small truck into a monster truck.

  “OH NO!” Dylan yelled. “IS THAT A CHAIN SAW?”

  For the next twenty minutes Vincent relaxed and enjoyed his newest toy invention while Dylan and his parents continued to scream, enduring what his dad would later refer to as “the scariest twenty minutes of my life.” Dylan went on to have nightmares for the next six months. And, unfortunately, due to what Dylan’s parents called “poor parental judgment,” Dylan was never allowed to sleep over at Vincent’s house again.

  “Knock knock.”

  Vincent pulled the pillow from his head.

  “That’s it!”

  “Eye patch,” Nikola said.

  “I can use the Pump-Up Pickup for my homework!”

  “Eye patch ya like this joke. Ha! Ha!”

  Vincent set a Tonka truck on his workbench, then yelled up the stairs, “Stelllllllaaaa!”

  Stella stuck her head down the steps. “What’s up?”

  “I need to build my project for Mr. Dennis. Can you help me move the Whizzer crate out of the way?”

  “Whatcha gonna build?” Stella asked as they each grabbed a side of the crate.

  “A monster truck,” Vincent replied. “On three. One, two, three.”

  They lifted the old wooden crate with ease.

  “That’s weird,” Stella said.

  “Yeah. How did the crate get lighter?”

  “What in the world did Mr. Whiz send you?” Stella asked.

  Vincent walked into the kitchen where his dad and Vibs were eating breakfast. It was 6:46 AM. He hadn’t slept. Between building the Pump-Up Pickup and being nervous about his summer internship, he couldn’t sleep.

  “You’re up early this morning,” Vibs said. “Excited about the last day of school?”

  “I guess so.”

  “So, what’s that? The latest invention by the great Vincent Shadow?” Norton asked, pointing to the truck in Vincent’s hand as he choked down a piece of peanut butter and buttered toast.

  “No, just my assignment for Mr. D’s class,” Vincent said. He set the Pump-Up Pickup on the kitchen table.

  “What happened to the Ice Spoon?”

  “Anna was right. It wasn’t very good,” Vincent said.

  “Hey, is that my bike pump?” Norton asked.

  “Yeah. I’m using it to inflate the truck’s tires. Is that okay? I’ll give it back when I’m done.”

  “Sure, I guess,” Norton said. “Oh, hey, I talked to Aunt Bonnie last night and everything is set for Sunday. She’ll pick you up at the airport.”

  “I still don’t know about this, Norton,” Vibs said. “Vincent is pretty young to be flying to New York all by himself.”

  Vincent didn’t say anything. He half agreed with Vibs. He almost hoped Vibs would forbid him to go.

  “Nonsense, honey. He’ll be fine. I’ll take him all the way to the gate and talk to the flight attendants myself.”

  “Aunt Bonnie isn’t so young any more, Norton. Do you really think that—”

  “Trust me. Aunt Bonnie is gonna outlive all of us.”

  “What is he doing on TV?” Stella asked as she walked into the kitchen.

  Vincent looked up at the television.

  “What the—”

  “Quick, turn it up!” Stella shouted.

  “Thanks, Cindy,” the TV reporter said, looking directly into the camera. “I’m Kent Bloomingtrip and I’m standing here outside the Spinowski Toy Company. Joining me is the head of Spinowski Toys, George Spinowski. And this amazing young toy inventor is Timmy Zimmerman.” The reporter put his arm around Timmy. “Better known to his friends and family as Danger Boy.”

  Stella looked at Vincent. “Toy inventor?”

  “Well, I call him a genius,” George Spinowski said as he leaned toward the microphone.

  “Young Timmy has invented not one, not two, but dozens of toys that, well”—the reporter laughed—“you truly have to see to believe. Timmy, can you show our viewers some of your inventions?”

  “Sure.” Timmy put on a diver’s mask and placed a snorkel in his mouth. “I call this one Sonic Snorkelz.”

  “What?” said the reporter.

  “Sonic Snorkelz!” Timmy yelled into the mouthpiece.

  “Snakey Quarkels?” the reporter asked.

  Timmy removed the snorkel.

  “No, Sonic Snorkelz. I call this Sonic Snorkelz. Maybe you have to be underwater for it to work,” Timmy said.

  “That little weasel!” Stella shouted.

  “… And I call this the Rockitez.” Timmy jumped on the Rockitez launch pad—a launch pad Vincent and his mother had built. The cameraman tried to follow the Rockitez as it soared high into the sky and popped into a kite.

  “Wow, that’s truly amazing,” Norton said out loud.

  The reporter bent down and picked up Vincent’s Sketch N’ Sculpt Markerz. “Here, show the folks this toy,” the reporter said, looking back into the camera. “You’re going to love this.”

  Timmy shook the marker, removed the cap, and began to draw.

  “Don’t shake it!” Vincent yelled at the TV.

  Timmy drew a picture of a motorcycle. The tires appeared to magically inflate as the ink grew off the page.

  “Amazing!” the reporter exclaimed. “And that’s not even the half of it. There are a dozen more. Each one more amazing then the next, right?”

  George Spinowski leaned toward the microphone again. “Yes. He just walked into our office last week with notebooks filled with toy ideas!”

  “Notebooks-ful? Wow. You’re truly an inspiration. Where do you get your ideas, Timmy?”

  “Yeah, Timmy. Tell everyone where you get your ideas.” Stella was now inches from the TV. Vincent sat motionless.

  “Move, Stella,” Vibs said. “I can’t see.”

  “Well, I don’t know. I guess I just—just kind of find them around.”

  “And this is your mother?” the reporter asked.

  “Yup.”

  “Well, Mrs. Zimmerman. You must be very proud of your son.”

  “Oh, I am.”

  “When did you first realize your son was a genius?”

  “Genius? Wow. I don’t know. I guess Timmy has always been different—you know? Always getting into one thing or another,” Mrs. Zimmerman said.

  “Right. And now Mr. Spinowski. Spinowski Toys has purchased all of Timmy’s amazing inventions. Is that right?”

  “That is correct.”

  “Like this amazing football that bites your hand when you try to catch it.” The reporter put his hand in the mouth of the Biting Beast Ball.

  “Yes, we call that one the Super Monster Football. You just pull the tongue—” Spinowski pulled on the Beast Ball’s tongue and its mouth opened. “And then throw it like a regular football. It will bite down on your friend’s arm. We hope to have it in stores in the next few months.”

  “Super Monster Football?” Stella asked out loud.

  “Sshh,” Vibs said.

  “Well, it looks like you’ve got your work cut out for you with all of these inventions,” the reporter said.

  “Yes we do. Keeping up with this, this little wizard will be a challenge,” Spinowski said, patting Timmy on the shoulder. “But we at Spinowski Toys are up for the challenge. We’ve been making amazing products here since 1935.”

  “There you have it, folks.” The reporter stepped closer to the camera. “I’m sure we’re going to be seeing lots more of young Timmy. This is Kent Bloomingtrip reporting live
with the young wizard of the Upper West Side.”

  “That fraud!” Stella jumped up. “That little fraud!”

  Vincent didn’t move.

  “Vincent, you have to say something!” Stella said as she pulled on Vincent’s arm.

  “Stella! Calm down,” Vibs said. “It is okay to have more than one young toy inventor on TV.”

  “She’s right. His inventions are great, Vincent,” said Norton. “I mean, that pen—wow! But you know that doesn’t take away from anything you’ve done, right?”

  “No, Mom. It’s not right!” Stella yelled.

  Vincent didn’t say a word.

  “Come on, champ, I mean, look at this truck,” Norton picked up Vincent’s latest creation. It had balloons for tires and a bicycle pump duct-taped to the back.

  “This is great too.” Norton pushed down on the pump and all four tires exploded.

  “Oh, no! I’m sorry, buddy. I’m sure we can fix it.”

  Vincent got up and put the milk carton back in the refrigerator. He had lost his appetite. First Danger Boy stole his inventions and now his final assignment of the year for Mr. Dennis had exploded. A drawing caught Vincent’s eye as he closed the refrigerator door. He pulled the drawing from the door. There, under flowers and hearts drawn in crayon and red permanent marker, lay a familiar shape. It was the Tesla device he had seen in Mr. Whiz’s Room of Firsts. The vacuum tube Tesla coil.

  “What’s this?”

  “Oh, those are Anna’s collages. Aren’t they neat?” Vibs answered.

  Vincent looked back at the refrigerator door. There, covered in pink crayon and red marker, were dozens of Tesla’s invention sketches.

  “Hey, champ. Don’t forget to take your migraine medicine this morning,” Vincent’s dad said.

  BANG! BANG! BANG!

  “Anna, I know you’re in there!” Vincent said, pounding on the bathroom door.