CHAPTER 1 When is it My Time to Fly?

They call me Levy the Brainiac. It's because in my head there are always ideas brewing and wheels turning. What I don't tell anyone is that the two halves of my brain are always fighting to be heard. He holds his head with his hands. Even now when everything is quiet in the school Science lab, those voices have a fact, opinion, or concern that have to be aired.

You’re almost done. No one is here to bug you. So stay focused.

There goes my logical side.

Don't burn yourself out. You need to eat something and take a break sometime. You’ve been at this for days.

And my emotions always have to jump in. He sighs. There are times I wish I was a computer or a robot, no an android. That way I wouldn’t have emotions getting in the way.

Right.

Really? You need me, too.

Sometimes I feel like a referee or some sort of moderator inside my own head. Levy rubs his temples in slow circles. He breathes slowly through his nose. That's the part that worries me having a brain like mine. I wonder if I’m the only one who has this problem?

He turns his attention back to his work. The NIA are going to flip when they see this. He adjusts the carburetor for the tenth time and rubs his hands briskly. I have never spent this much time on any of my inventions. This has to be the one.

There is a scratching at the huge Science lab’s glass window. The oak tree outside is tapping on the glass. The wind is whipping up and a shower of fall leaves slide along the glass. Then they disappear in a whirlwind of oranges, reds, and browns.

It breaks Levy from his intense focus. He spends so much time in his head with his constant thoughts and ideas, that the world outside can easily fade away. The wind is changing. I wonder if that means for me too? He lays out various sizes of screwdrivers. His fingers pluck the smallest flat head.

This is not a normal Science fair. The real dudes will be here. The National Inventors of America! The judges and hosts in Washington are inventors from around the world. They also represent big companies looking for the next great idea.

Levy glances at the flyer at his elbow. Who would have thought our little nothing town of Remick would have been chosen for this? Then again, who would have guessed someone would build this Bill Gates Charter here, too? I guess this might a chance for underdogs like me to get their chance. I hope I don’t blow it.

He holds the circular frame of his prototype engine. Levy adjusts a set of dime-sized gears. They’re going to award a grant to get the winner’s invention built and marketed.

Levy’s finger nudges the gear and watches the belt’s progress. The wheels of opportunity are lining up for me. This could be my chance. I can’t screw this up. He takes a breath. Think clear. Use smart words. Keep smiling.

His eyes fall on the invitation sticking out of his faded denim backpack. Today was the day everyone from schools across the county checked in their projects. Tomorrow at 9 am, Friday, was when the real magic began.

His finger traced the embossed lettering on the form. He carefully put it back for safe keeping. It’s weird because they decided to hold this NIA competition in late fall. I’m used to the spring with when it comes to Science fairs. That caught Levy off guard, so he’s scrambling to get his invention done before Thanksgiving break. This isn’t more than a science fair. This is real recognition for something the world can really use.

Bill Gates pulled some strings to get the NIA to come to this charter school. He is, after all, Bill Gates. This is a STEM charter school, but wow, this is a big deal. Everyone in this group was nominated by someone at his or her school. I guess someone here is rooting for me. That made him smile; then it quickly turned to a thoughtful frown.

No pressure to win this at all. Right. With all this push to go green and find alternative energy, I hope they see why the Fizz-E-Drive is what the country is looking for. I just don’t want a prize or a grant, I want this baby to get into people’s hands.

He closes his eyes and imagines what that day might be like.

The judges gather around and Levy’s cheeks are sore from smiling so much. “You actually built an engine that runs off the sugar in soda.... soda pop?” The head judge asks in awe.

“The sugar and the carbon dioxide.” Levy reminds them. All the other members of the National Inventors swarm around his entry.

The head judge shakes his head. “It looks so small and fragile.” He is the judge-that strangely resembles Bill Nye the Science Guy right down to the red bow tie. “Why is that?”

Levy clears his throat. “I tried to create an engine that would use mostly recycled parts. They are inexpensive to replace and highly economical on fuel.”

The judge raises an eyebrow. “It can be part of a electric hybrid or even solar charged engine and can be part of a self-charging power system.”

The judge leans into the mechanism. “Is your engine round or is that just the intake system?’

Levy lifts the engine up for them to examine. “No, it’s round. I figure it might be something we might see in the future. I have a thing for spherical...things.”

The bow tie judge makes a few quick notes on his phone. “Why did you design the more heavy-duty cage for your engine...” He examines his notes “The Fizz-E-Drive, correct?”

“Yes that’s what I call it.” “Why the cage?” Levy waves a hand. “It’s to protect the engine during start up. The soda does pack a punch and it tends to shake. So, I made sure it doesn’t blast into space.”

The judges all stare. “It’s a joke.” Levy smiles. They all look at each other and smile back. That’s when the judges all begin talking like a cage full of excited birds.

“How did you get the right combination of gasses and sugars?”

“Did you build this from scratch or did you modify an existing motor?”

“How many miles will you get with this fuel mixture?” “Can any flavor of soda power the engine?” “Is the fuel still drinkable, if you got thirsty?” All the judges look at the twenty-something female judge. She pushes back her glasses. “What?” She looks around at the other older judges. “It’s just all this talk of soda made me thirsty.”

The judges barrage the boy with one question after the other. However, Levy is anticipating, even yearning for the numerous questions. He’s able to answer them all with precision and clarity.

The judges take furious notes and all beam with broad toothy smiles. “This is it, people.” The bow tie judge announces. “We’ve found our next great inventor! You can tell the other applicants to try again next year. Our winner this year is Mr. Levy Roarke.”

There’s a roar of applause that echoes off the walls. “You and your family pack your bags.” The head judge shakes Levy’s hand vigorously. “You are going to meet the president.” Then the judge whispers in his ear, “I hope you are ready for fame and fortune, Mr. Roarke.”

Levy lets a smile warm his face. “Yeah. This will be my golden ticket to getting my name in the history books. Maybe this will get my family out of the hole we’ve dug ourselves into? It’s all on me to do this.”

He opens his eyes. The boy at the next lab station snickers. I said that out loud, didn’t I? They caught you daydreaming again, dork. Get back to work.

The girl next to him whispers something and they shake their heads. Levy closes his mouth and is thankful the other students ignore him as usual. It isn’t a full lab class, but I like working alone. One more person is one person too many when he gets into my work. You never know who could steal your ideas.

Levy looks back over his shoulder to see whose eyes are on him. I know what you’re all thinking. Good old Brainiac is just blabbing away. He organizes his tools by size. Just ignore the nerd and his mad scientist ideas.

Levy slips off his safety glasses and rubs a line of sweat out of his eye. “Aye, it burns.” He looks up at the science lab clock. “I have a half hour to get this finished.” Levy mutters to himself and squints to make sure it really says 2:25 pm. “How did lab go by so fast?”

He sets down his needle nose pliers and listens. Levy stares at the huge clock on the wall. Tick, tock. Gees, it never stops. Double time, Brainiac. Snap out of it.

Slipping his safety glasses back, he reinforces the engine mounts. I wish we didn’t have clocks. We could get so much more done without them. That’s one invention I wish some brain case didn’t create.

He smirks. That’s a funny thing for an inventor to complain about. When the pressure is on, Levy often finds that retreating into his head becomes the best escape. It keeps him focused.

I have this really weird creeping thought that there’s a clock out there with my name on it. Tick, tock. I am so afraid that time will run out for me. I’m only twelve. Why am I such a stress-case?

Levy gazes out the large glass panels that made up one wall of Science 401. The afternoon sun provides all the lighting they need to complete their projects. Even though it’s late in the year, November is still nice in California.

It’s hard to believe Thanksgiving is just around the corner. I’m thankful for this view at least. I wish we had more days like this, but it’s supposed to change this week.

His teacher had gone green and never used the indoor lights during this period. Levy loves the organization of each test tube, beaker, and ignited Bunsen Burner. They say nature is beautiful, but so is technology. Look at the colors and smell the odors. Green and red liquids bubbling, the blue flame of a burner, the scent of chemicals cooking, ah.

He holds his thumping chest. Clean freak heaven. Levy sighs. Organization is the key, Grandpa use to say. Levy lets his hand rest on the cold metal seat. His fingers caress the shiny nuts and bolts that hold it together. The hard ashwood legs of the table and the black laminate surface of his station, put him in the inventing mood with each touch.

Levy looks down at his fingers. These were his eyes, ears, and expression. They call it being tactile, learning by touch. Yeah, how else can we know all there is to know? You have to love the feel of things. Rough, hot, cold, dry, wet...

He opens his hands palms and wiggles his fingers. Levy rubs his fingers together in concentric circles. It gives him focus and clarity when things get a bit confusing or something has gotten his undivided attention.

Yeah, Heaven. He looks around at the other twenty seventh and eight grade honor students. I don’t care how weird that makes me. I only wish that Chandler or Raul had this class. They are the only ones that get my nerdiness.

The Einstein clock breaks his thoughts. He drums his fingers. Tick, tock. The clock’s minute hand moves. Whodeedoo. He closes his eyes.

Levy, stop looking at the clock. Stay focused. Think about what you are doing. That’s how accidents happen, remember?

Levy taps his head. Right. The left side of his brain that saw the world in cold logic was his voice of reason. It is his nickname and his alter ego at the same time. He depended on it heavily as one would a no nonsense PE coach.

Thanks, Brainiac, for the nudge.

Time is not a toy; it’s a tool. Use it wisely.

Levy gives a salute to the hidden left half of his mind. Right, Brainiac.

Right, I mean, correct. Levy closes his eyes. Maybe if I talked to people more, I wouldn’t be constantly carrying on these conversations in my head

He opens his eyes again. The Sweet Fizz-E-Drive, my old friend. Levy looks lovingly at his latest invention. Hm, I left off that ‘sweet’ part because I didn’t think that sounded very scientific. But soda and tech are sweet in their own way. The motor is just about complete, but he examines every inch to make sure. You might look small and weak, but you have heart, just like your inventor.

Levy recalls the various parts he had to recycle from used and discarded engine parts. FED, you’re a mixed breed just like me. Half Puerto Rican from Dad, the other half Jewish and German from Mom, that’s why we understand each other, right?

Levy looks down at the hole in his jeans. A flush of embarrassment heats his cheeks. He pokes his bare skin with one finger. Then he quietly folds the pant leg down. Levy hopes no one saw how worn his clothes were. I love Jeans Day when we don’t have to wear the Gates uniform. I hate Jeans Day because I am reminded how bad things are at home. Mom says try to make my stuff last a little bit longer.

Levy glances up at the boy and girl texting on the latest cell phone. His old school phone with the chipped screen sits like a mute lump in his pocket. Gaww, I forgot to charge it again. It stinks being broke. It’s not the old days anymore.

Get your mind off it, Levy. Think happy thoughts.

He pictures his Grandpa in his overalls doing the same examination to a ’69 Chevelle. Check vit your hands, eyes, nose, de vorks, Levy replays it with Grandpa’s German accent. Give everything you do 100% and you will never fail.

Levy had removed the engine and attached it within an enclosed metal frame. It was easier to transport and keeps the engine vibrations to a minimal.

FDSCC. FDSCC.

He did a mental mantra exercise with that acronym. Mom and Dad had taught him how to use mnemonic devices to improve his memory. He used everyday objects to jog his ideas or simply create an acronym like:

FPSCC For Plenty of Speed Chug Chug One more run down just to be sure. 1. Fuel tank full. 2. Pulley system on tight. 3. Spark plug clean. 4. Crank tight. No Knots. Pulls smooth. 5. Carburetor. Check.

“Keep your list simple, not more than you can count on two hands or less.” He mutters one of dad’s memory mantras.

He takes one more examination of the holding tank, the multiple pulley housings, and follows the fuel line. It leads to a set of pumps that are squeezed between the lower frames. Levy lets his fingers run over the sets of gears. The tiny cooling fan moves just slightly back and forth.

MMMM, new car smell. He enjoys the new rubber aroma from the belt and how it clings snuggly in the grooves of the pulleys. Bubbling with pride, Levy hefts it up off the lab counter.

Dad can’t say I need exercise. With a hand on each grip, he does two curls. Yeah, that’s...ouch...enough. “Oww.”

I love the weight and the girth of it in my hands. It is surprisingly light for its size. Levy can’t stop smiling. I built this myself. No one else helped me.

Levy had been studying engine designs for the past few months. He had tried to make everything as compact as possible. Looking at an engine put him in a state of awe.

His fingers wiggle in delight. I think it was a miracle that someone even figured out how to make an engine work. Levy considers this idea. I think inventors had to have some Heavenly inspiration to figure out all of the intricate details.

Levy rights the engine, setting it back on his lab station. He notices a scar on his hand and a few more hairs he hadn’t noticed before. I have Grandpa’s hands, inventor’s hands, that’s cool.

He sits back with folded arms. I finally took one of my crazy dreams and did something with it. Grandpa told me that if I ever stayed the course and stuck to one idea, I’d be unstoppable. Levy snaps his fingers. Looking around he opens his faded denim backpack. He carefully pulls out a large sealed plastic bag. With an air of great reverence he opens it, carefully removing his journal.

He said treat your ideas like gold. He folds back a few pages that had designs, ideas, research and observations to aid in his inventions. Levy ran his finger over the early ideas for his masterpiece. He said write down everything and something will come of it no matter how insignificant it might seem.

Levy slides his finger to the next journal page and writes:

So, today, September 17th was an exciting and very sad day too. I wish Grandpa would’ve lived to see me make the Fizz-E-Drive. He would be the first to cheer if...when I won.

He draws a happy face with curly hair and one with a frown next to the elaborate designs for his invention. Grandpa, you’re here in spirit, aren’t you? We inventors are not always understood. It’s not easy being the first to try something. It can get very lonely.

He held up the engine. Done. For the most part, you are ready. A few more tweaks, but I think you are presentable. Now I can take a breather. He puts pressure down as he writes. The anger is boiling in his heart.

It’s been hard to trust anyone but myself. After Grandpa...died. He said he would be there to see me be a great inventor. Dad made the same promise but he had to get in that accident. We had no money after that. I love my dad but I don’t like what he did. People promised to help me but they flaked off too. They got busy and forgot about me. Is it any wonder why I do things myself. I can’t count on anyone but me. I don’t trust them.

Before he knew it, Levy began to free write. Normally his journal was just chicken scratch and disjointed notes. Not today. Whether it was always his scientific mind needing some answers or his right brain expressing its frustration, he wasn’t sure. The lines often got blurred in THE journal. Maybe it’s another platform for his mind to process questions that he couldn’t always put into words.

I am what you call a grunt on the food chain here at Bill Gates Charter. We all know the links on that chain. I am not only a Newbie, but a Class Three Nerd. Yep, I consider myself a moderate in Nerdom. Some dudes and dudettes can hide their nerdiness behind a sport or a cool instrument. Others like me can look cool but I will admit it's what I say that puts me on the radar. All I need to do is hear someone mention a sci-fi classic or superhero flick and my mouth starts yabbering.

Did I mention my mouth gets me in trouble? I can't help it but I like to use big words. I always have. No matter how hard I try to use monosyllabic words and simple conjugations, ah, uses, it just doesn't come out right. I have to hold my tongue and smile.

Levy shakes his hand to get the cramp out of his fingers.

I have to speak my mind. That’s another blip on the nerd radar...hm...nerdar? So, I am working on talking like a normal middle school...dude. It’s like learning a foreign language. If I am going to blend in I need to work on my normal...dialog...communication...words.

I am not a Class One Nerd because I can fit in a social situation without embarrassing myself. I know some guys who are so smart but they don't get the clue when to stop talking. That's some Brainiac’s curse,

the social setting. It can be some people's Kryptonite if you know what I mean. They think everyone, even the Normies, are totally into their idea but sadly, that look of brain dead on their face is real. People don’t always get that smart guy or girl.

Chandler, who has been my bud since Elementary, is a five. Yeah, he has been trying to hide his brains behind humor and coolness for years. Let’s just say he has always been my social guru dude.

My other best friend, Raul, is a Normie but I think he has secret nerdly tendencies. If there was anything I could say about him is that he gets me. He just doesn’t put up with my quirkiness, he actually understands me. Not too many nerds, that I personally know, can say that they have a real friend like that.

Levy looks up from his chicken scratch writing. Good luck to anyone trying to steal my ideas. My writing is as bad as a doctor’s. He looks around his favorite place at Gates. The boy and girl at the next lab are so into their own project to notice his observations.

This science lab is sort of like a hideaway for nerds. We can be ourselves here, for the most part. You can have a hair-brain idea and no one thinks you're crazy. Still, we do have the Normies who need to take science for a core class. Most of the time they ignore or overlook us. But you still have to navigate around them.

Lucky me, Mr. G.Q. has given me some Normies at the next station. I think that's because I won't scare them off with any mad ideas. Threes can blend well when they need to.

Today though, I have been bubbling over with Class Two behaviors. Stress does that to me. I have never had so much trouble with an invention. It’s been fighting me. I thought I wasn’t going to make this deadline. Stress can elevate the Nerdatonium levels in your blood. At least that's my theory.

(Yeah, I know I make up my own words but I think the elemental building block of a nerd being Nerdatonium is pretty cool in its own way.)

Levy closes his journal. He reseals it in the bag and carefully puts it in the secret compartment in his worn denim backpack. He pats is lovingly. Ah.