Inventor

Chapter Two

Inventor

 

ISABELLE MADE IT halfway down her block when she heard the explosion. It was a solid boom, and shook the ground, causing a horde of pigeons to take flight from someone’s yard, tittering loudly. Isabelle pressed her palms to her ears as the wave of trembling passed.

       Mystified, she stood on the sidewalk, waiting. Nothing happened for a few seconds, but then she noticed the smoke rising in tendrils from her house. “Oh crap…” she muttered, not really sure what else she could say under PG. Her eyes widened, and she took off sprinting for her house.

       As she ran onto the lawn, she could see where the smoke was coming from: it was pouring out from under the garage door. Isabelle ran inside, where the smoke had found its way into every square inch of air. Coughing, she cried, “Dad?” When she didn’t get a response, Isabelle covered her mouth with her sleeve, still coughing.

       “Dad!” She stumbled into the laundry room, which was black with the smoke. The fire alarm finally decided to go off, and she heard it screeching throughout the house. Isabelle slammed her hand against the garage door button on the wall, hoping that would release some of the smoke in there. Sprinklers sputtered to life, spraying down on her and helping to settle the smoke slightly.

       “Is!” came an upset voice from the garage. The girl stumbled through the door and into the welcome arms of her father. They coughed, embracing, for a moment, getting soaked form the sprinklers. When Isabelle was able to form a comprehendible sentence, she asked the first thing that came to her mind.

       “What happened?” she demanded.

       “This blasted machine!” her father raged, throwing his hands into the air. He walked over to the large contraption sitting in the middle of the room and kicked it lightly, which then proceeded to sigh out another volley of smoke into his face. “Egad!” the man screamed, coughing up a mouthful of the black substance. His daughter covered her mouth, hiding the smile that crept onto her face. The man turned back to his daughter.

       “What happened to you?” he asked, incredulous. He took her wrists and examined her arms. The sprinklers washed away most of the blood, but the bleeding continued.

       “I… had a little fall. But that’s not important. Was it your invention?”

       “Yes! This insidious hunk of metal! I’ll never get it to work!” the man yelled. He tore a frustrated hand through his mousy brown hair and sat on a small, wooden stool in the corner. He had a face that a mime would have worshiped. It was narrow at the chin, making it looked like he swallowed his cheeks, with prominent cheek bones and slits of eyes under aquiline eyebrows. It was perfect for contorting, giving any exaggerated expression. At the moment, his scowl and knitted eyebrows created a deluxe sulking look. Isabelle smiled timidly, knowing where she got her inner drama queen from.

       “But the fair is tomorrow, Papa. Your invention could win first prize.”

       The man snorted petulantly. “That is, if I can get it to work, and you’ve experienced my latest attempt.”

       “Papa, you can’t give up. Come on, just try it one more time.”

       Maurice Isaac Everhart had moved with his daughter to Amarillo, Texas when Isabelle was thirteen. He did this because at that time, price of living was cheap, and it was less likely anyone could steal his invention ideas. The only reason why he wasn’t sitting in an exquisite mansion right now was because that unfortunate occurrence had already taken place with his last genius invention.

       Isabelle knew this, so she tried to look at Amarillo as her father’s fresh beginning, but was having a hard time with that.

       He sighed heavily, his face relaxing. “Yeah... okay. Okay, I’ll try.” Isabelle smiled and hugged her father. As much as he annoyed her at times, their bond was unbreakable. Isabelle loved him dearly, because of he was so endearing. Still, she was irritated when he couldn’t stand up for himself. She acquired that trait from her mother. Often, her dad neglected her, mostly because of his absent-mindedness, but she still believed that he was the best man the world had ever known. This proved her theory that the best people had the worst luck.

“But,” he continued, “have the phone handy, in case the vile contraption decides to spontaneously combust.”

 

“Papa?” It was a quiet evening. The sun had already sunk below the horizon, and Isabelle was still in the garage with her father. She pulled the blanket around herself tighter, shivering from the sprinklers. Everything was drying off though. Her dad was under the belly of the machine, tinkering with things that he daughter knew nothing about. The last time she asked what he was doing, he gave her a ten minute synopsis. Half the things he said went over her head. The other half went way over.

       “Yes?”

       “I wonder how Katie is doing.” There was a pause.

       “Katie from New Jersey?”

       “Yeah.” The man sighed and crawled out, his hands black with soot.

       “Oh, Is, you have to move on, honey. I’m sure you’ll find another friend like her.” Isabelle frowned. She was used to her dad having that thinking. He looked at the world like one big machine; you could replace anything or improve on others. Not to mention that since they moved from New Jersey, almost four years ago, she hasn’t found another friend like Katie.

       “I don’t know, Papa. I just don’t fit in here.”

       “Ah, rubbish. My daughter is the most beautiful girl in Texas. You have your mother’s eyes, you know.”

       “Papa,” Isabelle warned.

       “I’m surprised I don’t have to beat the boys off with a stick. Who was that one boy? Mason was it? He’s a handsome fellow. I bet"”

       “Papa.”

       “What?” He looked up at her, huge, goofy goggles strapped onto his head. Isabelle frowned.

       “Nothing.”