and how things had gone so horribly, and it made me feel bummed again. To make myself feel better, I thought about my life before sixth grade started, back when me and Drew were kings. Next thing I knew, I was daydreaming about my familyâs trip to Maine last summer.
Weâd rented a summerhouse for a week, and my parents loved hearing the waves out their bedroom window every night so much that when they came home, they bought a sound machine at Target. Itâs this little plastic box that you plug in next to your bed, and it has these different settings for relaxing sounds that help you sleep. You can listen to a recording of a rainstorm all night, or crickets, or the one my parents loveâthe sound of waves crashing on the shore. They got it so it would make them feel like they live next to the ocean year-round, and now they canât sleep without it. I know this because my dad went on a business trip earlier this year and complained that he couldnât sleep because he missed the sound of fake waves crashing onto the bedside table.
I bolted upright in my seat and took out my inventions notebook, because I suddenly had an idea for a new one. Maybe I could make a sound machine for people who miss living in the city! Carson moved here from Manhattan in third grade, and he always used to complain that Fenwick was way too quiet. Even though heâd already been here for a year before I moved in, he was still always whining about how naturey it is out here, because I think it makes him feel cool, being from the city. My version of the sound machine would make sleeping out in the sticks feel like home for city people. There would be three settings on the dial:
Â
Car Alarm
Opera Singer
Home Invasion
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A city person could set it to âCar Alarm,â and all night long theyâd enjoy a deep sleep as the machine imitated the sound of a car alarm outside going off all night long down the street. âOpera Singerâ would be that annoying opera singer who practices singing her scales at all hours of the night and who seems to live next door to everyone in the city, according to the movies. âHome Invasionâ would be for those nights you really have trouble sleeping out in the country. You turn the dial up and fall asleep to the sound of glass breaking, followed by menacing footsteps coming from the kitchen. âAnd it will be called . . . the Urban Sound Machine,â I whispered. Apparently I brainstormed the invention for two straight hours, because the next thing I knew, my dad was standing at the door.
âYou look wired,â he said. âI think youâve worked hard enough tonight. Why donât you brush your teeth and go to sleep.â
I hate brushing my teethâit always puts me in a foul mood when Iâm forced to do itâand this time it made me remember how horrible things were at school. Usually I play video games before bed because it helps me have funner dreams, but I felt so depressed that I voluntarily got into bed extra early for the first time ever. It wasnât even nine p.m., but I just lay there, staring up at the ceiling, trying to cheer myself up by telling myself that I might have just come up with the invention that would win the competition. And as for the situation at school, at least things couldnât get worse.
I was wrong about that last part.
Chapter Eight
T HE NEXT MORNING D REW AND I stood in the lobby torturing ourselves by watching everyone enjoy each otherâs company. Drew looked like he was about to cry. âI know youâre bummed,â I told him, âbut itâs going to take a little time. Weâll figure out how to change things around, but itâs not going to happen overnight. Itâs like grass seeds . . . you donât just plant them and then immediately watch the grass sprout, right? You have to be patient, and water the seeds every day, and then eventually the grass
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley