The Fourteenth Goldfish (11 page)

My grandfather is grounded.

Raj and I wait for him by the flagpole after school. He waits with me most days now. He says the betting money’s on my grandfather getting detention again.

My grandfather comes running up to us. He’s wild-eyed and frantic.

“I know why they deactivated my key card!
I know why they closed my email account!” he exclaims.

Raj and I look at him.

“The company’s been bought! They’re moving to Malaysia!”

“Malaysia?” I ask.

“It’s all over the Internet! Who knows what’s going to happen to my
T. melvinus
? They’ll probably just throw it out!”

He slams into the bathroom the minute we get home. I decide to set up my microscope and try to lure him out of his bad mood. It comes with a set of prepared slides. There’s a fern spore. A cotton fiber. A salt crystal. And, oddly enough, a goldfish scale. I guess not everybody flushes their fish when they die.

I look at the goldfish scale under the microscope. It’s beautiful, a fan of color, and I think of all the Goldies. Maybe they would have lived if they’d had the
T. melvinus
compound. Maybe we’d have a big tank of them swimming around.

The doorbell rings and when I answer it, a kid is standing there holding a pizza box.

“Pizza delivery,” he says.

His hair is in a Mohawk, and he’s got a few rings in his ears and one in his lip. Delivery boys always look a little sketchy, like they’re the kids the malls don’t want to hire.

“Hang on,” I say, and call my grandfather. “Did you order a pizza?”

“Pepperoni,” the kid clarifies.

My grandfather comes to the door. “I didn’t order anything,” he says with a frown.

“What street number do you have?” I ask the kid. He looks at the slip in his hand and gives an apologetic smile.

“Oops, my mistake,” he says, and lopes away.

As I watch him walk away, I remember my grandfather saying how the lab assistants like to eat pizza.

I look at my grandfather and smile.

“I think I know how to get into building twenty-four.”

I detail my plan to Raj and my grandfather at the lunch court.

“Raj dresses up as a delivery kid. He takes a real pizza and he gets buzzed in by the lab assistants. He drops it off, and on the way out he grabs the
T. melvinus
. That way, we don’t have to worry about the security guard or the whole key-card thing!”

“Not bad,” my grandfather says.

I turn to Raj. “What do you think? Would you do it?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Sure. I’m in.”

“And your brother, too,” my grandfather adds. “We need a ride.”

We plan it for Friday; that’s the night my mom stays late to run lines with the actors. It should give us plenty of time to get to the lab and back home again without her finding out. It’s perfect.

Except that when Raj shows up on our front porch on Friday, he’s alone.

“Ananda’s car is in the shop,” he explains.

We stand around the kitchen trying to figure out what to do.

“He said it should be fixed by next week,” Raj tells my grandfather.

My grandfather is frustrated. “I don’t want to wait until next week! Who knows what will happen in the meantime to my
T. melvinus
?”

“So let’s just take the bus,” Raj says.

“Do you know how long it will take if we go by bus? We have to find a pizza place, and then get the pizza, and then take four buses to get there, and walk and …”

But I’m not listening to him; I’m too busy staring at my puzzle on the kitchen table. It’s almost finished now. The bustle of the city. The people rushing down the sidewalk. The storefronts.

The yellow taxicabs.

People on television hop in and out of cabs all the time, like it’s no big thing. But I’ve never been in one, and everything about it seems exotic. The meter on the dashboard. The smell of pine air freshener. The way the cabdriver talks nonstop into his headset. He doesn’t even seem surprised to have three kids in the back of his cab.

My grandfather has the driver stop at a pizza parlor. He orders two pizzas, four sodas, and
breadsticks and gives the kid behind the counter an extra hundred for his cap, his shirt, and a cooler with the pizza-place logo.

It’s almost seven when we get to building twenty-four. There are only two cars in the parking lot.

“Looks quiet,” I observe.

“Typical Friday night,” my grandfather replies in a scathing voice. “Everyone leaves early. This generation has no dedication.”

Raj puts on the shirt and cap. He looks perfect. I’m suddenly worried. I touch his arm.

“Don’t get caught,” I tell him.

He looks at me steadily.

“I won’t,” he says.

“I’m keeping the meter on,” the cabdriver informs us loudly as Raj walks away.

The meter ticks up. Forty dollars. Sixty dollars. Seventy dollars. And then Raj suddenly appears next to the cab, holding the cooler. A wave of relief rushes over me.

“Did you get it?” my grandfather demands.

“Yep,” Raj says. “It was a piece of cake. They
didn’t even ask me who ordered it. The guy just waved me back.”

My grandfather has the cab drop us off at a Chinese restaurant for an impromptu celebration.

“Order anything you want,” he tells us. “I’m getting moo goo gai pan.”

As if there was any question.

Raj taps on the menu. “They have jellyfish. We should totally order it.”

I grin.

The food arrives, and we start eating. Raj bites into the jellyfish.

“What’s it taste like?” I ask him.

He chews. And keeps on chewing.

“Rubber bands,” he says.

I can’t help myself. “Jellyfish: you can use it to organize things!”

He catches my drift right away. “You can use it as an eraser.”

“You can bounce it like a Super Ball!”

It’s like the crispy corn dog thing, only better.
Raj and I out-jellyfish each other until we’re laughing so hard, we can barely breathe.

“So should I wear a bow tie?” my grandfather asks.

Raj raises an eyebrow. “It’s probably a bit much for middle school.”

My grandfather corrects him. “No, to the Nobel ceremony. It’s black-tie.”

Raj turns to me. “What should
we
wear?”

“You?” my grandfather scoffs.

“Excuse me. Who got the
T. melvinus
out of the lab?” he asks.

“He’s right,” I agree.

My grandfather makes an annoyed noise. “Fine. But I’m getting primary authorship.”

We linger after we’re done eating, hogging the table and reading fortune cookies. The restaurant is buzzing with the crush of Friday night, but our table is the center of my universe. I want this night to last forever.

My grandfather has the waiter bring us more
tea, and he fills our porcelain cups. His college ring is too big on his slender finger.

“A toast,” he proposes.

Raj looks at the cooler sitting in a chair. “To jellyfish?”

But I shake my head because I already know the perfect toast.

“To the possible,” I say, meeting my grandfather’s eyes.

He gives me a small smile.

We all lift our teacups and say,
“To the possible!”

When I wake up, my bedroom is freezing.

Fall has finally arrived, and my mother doesn’t like to turn on the heat unless it’s below sixty-five. She says it’s California, not Alaska, and I should just put on a sweater.

Even though it’s cold, excitement warms my veins.

The
T. melvinus
is safe in the freezer in our garage, and my grandfather is full of plans for what
to do next. He wants to get the ball rolling. Rent a space. Set up a real lab. Buy equipment. Refine the compound. Then he’ll be able to announce it to the world.

I can hardly sleep waiting for the next part. Is this what Salk felt like when he knew his vaccine had worked? Maybe we
will
win a Nobel Prize.

My grandfather’s comments about what to wear tease at me. I’ve never been to anything fancy. What would I wear? A long dress? High heels? I remember that Marie Curie won a Nobel and wonder what she wore to the awards ceremony. I decide to look it up.

Most pictures show her in old-fashioned black dresses, and her hair was totally frizzy, just like mine. I can’t find a photo showing what she wore to accept her Nobel, but I do discover something I hadn’t known before. Something my grandfather left out.

Marie Curie was exposed to a lot of radiation during her experiments. Eventually it poisoned her.

Her discovery killed her.

It’s windy and chilly on the lunch court. I’m standing in line with my tray, waiting to pay. It’s crispy corn dog day.

Across the way, Raj and my grandfather are at our usual table. Their heads are bent together and my grandfather is scribbling in his notebook.

“Hi, Ellie.”

I turn around and freeze. It’s Brianna.

She’s standing behind me, holding a bottle of juice. I wait to feel the burning stab of pain that usually accompanies her appearance, but it doesn’t come. There’s a twinge, an ache, the way a scraped knee feels after the swelling’s gone down. I know I’ll be fine.

“Hey,” I say. “How’s volleyball?”

She hesitates. “It’s a lot harder than I thought. Super competitive. I’ll have to try out again next season.”

“Oh,” I say.

There’s a moment of awkward silence. Then
Brianna looks down at my tray, gives me one of her old smiles.

“It’s a crispy corn dog. I used to love them,” she says, and it almost sounds like an apology.

I swallow. “Me too.”

And I feel relieved, like this part is over somehow and it’s okay. Because I’ve moved on. I’ve got my grandfather. And Raj.

“By the way, I saw your old sitter Nicole at the mall,” Brianna says. “She said to say hi.”

I look across the lunch court at Raj, remember Nicole mentioning her discount. Maybe I could get Raj an earring.

“Who’s that boy you’re with all the time?” Brianna asks, following my line of sight.

“That’s Raj,” I say.

“I meant the one with the long hair,” she clarifies.

“Oh, that’s my cousin Melvin. He’s staying with us,” I explain.