Eric & Einstein Page 3

  Nathan twisted and turned like a wild snake. Eric could barely hold onto him. He wanted to tell Einstein that soon he would have to let go, but he could hardly get a word out. ‘Enough!’ he shouted, hoping Einstein would hear.

  But Nathan thought Eric was shouting at him, asking if he’d had enough. Nathan had. ‘OK!’ he yelled back. ‘Stop. Please STOP.’

  Nathan lay panting on the ground, exhausted. And in the next instant Eric felt Einstein crawl up his own arm again. You can let him go now, Einstein said. Eric released his grip, and stood up. That was fun: amusing, enjoyable, entertaining, the mouse added.

  Eric couldn’t help feeling a bit sorry for Nathan Sharp. The bully was cringing on the ground, fear splattered all over his face. Eric reached down to help him. But Nathan pulled away, quite sure the little boy was going to rough him up again. He scrambled to his feet and ran for his life. His mates followed closely behind.

  A NEW PERSON

  Word about Eric’s fight with Nathan Sharp spread like grass fire. In no time at all everyone at school knew. Some kids gave him the thumbs-up, a few slapped him on the back. Older boys stared suspiciously at Eric, but left him alone. A bunch of girls even smiled at him. By the end of the day, Eric was walking taller, and feeling rather pleased with himself.

  ‘It’s like I’m a new person,’ he said to Einstein as they walked home from school. The mouse was curled up in his top pocket, almost asleep, but Eric kept talking anyway. ‘The New Me.’ He punched at the air. ‘Superbrain! Tough Guy! Out of my way!’

  Mrs Graymouth had also been pleased with him. Too pleased, in fact; she wouldn’t leave him alone. She asked Eric questions all afternoon, and squealed with delight when he answered them correctly. She even gave him a big hug once, gushing all over him with her stinky breath. By the end of the day Eric had had enough attention.

  Einstein had had enough, too. By the time Eric reached home, the mouse was snoring loudly. Eric had to wake him for dinner before his parents got home.

  ‘All that thinking,’ Einstein sighed. ‘Quite exhausting.’ He paused while there was a whirring sound, and then continued. ‘Tiring, draining,’ he added. ‘Wears you out,’ he gasped and began eating.

  Eric was surprised at how much Einstein ate.

  ‘Got to keep up the energy,’ the mouse explained as he wolfed down his fifth piece of cheese and slurped a third thimble of milk. ‘Energy, power, force,’ he punched at the air with his tiny paw. ‘Good old get-up-and-go!’

  Eric laughed. ‘You are just like a little person,’ he said.

  ‘Person?’ Einstein tilted his head and there was a whirring sound again. ‘Human. Being. Individual.’ Then he thought for a moment. ‘Yes, you’re right.’

  ‘Are there other mice like you in the pet shop?’ Eric said.

  Einstein shook his head. ‘No way. They were all thugs, bullies, ruffians, just like that boy today.’

  ‘Nathan?’

  ‘Yes. All muscle and no mind. All brawn, no brain.’

  ‘So where did you come from?’

  The white mouse stared at Eric for some time. ‘I’m not sure.’ He wracked his brain and wrinkled his brow. ‘From far away, I know that much.’ He closed his eyes. ‘I remember two men leaning over me. One of them was small but had a big head, and he was —’ Einstein began shaking, and his voice trembled. ‘He was hurting me. Yes. I was tied down and he was hurting —’

  The mouse gave a shrill scream and his eyes burst open. Eric was shocked at how frightened he looked. The boy reached out. Einstein scampered up his arm into his pocket. Eric could feel his little body shaking.

  What a strange mouse, Eric thought later that night as he lay in bed gazing across at Einstein fast asleep on his pillow. There was so much he wanted to know about him. Einstein squeaked, dreaming perhaps, and rolled over.

  Eric lifted up the mouse and placed him under his pillow in case his parents came in to say goodbye in the morning while he was still asleep. Then he lay back and sighed. Was this really happening? Surely he’d wake up in the morning and find it had all been a dream.

  A wonderful dream.

  REEDWEED POSES

  A PROBLEM

  It wasn’t a dream. When Eric woke, Einstein was sitting beside him. The mouse still looked very tired, though.

  ‘It’s all this thinking,’ Einstein said. ‘It’s exhausting!’ As if to prove it, he almost fell asleep again.

  Eric made him a big breakfast. ‘You have to keep your energy up. Who knows what sort of questions they’ll ask today?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Einstein agreed, his eyes drooping already. ‘Totally, utterly and —’ He gave a long yawn. ‘Completely.’

  By the time Eric left for school, Einstein was sound asleep in his top pocket.

  Mr Growlworthy and Miss Graymouth grabbed Eric the moment he arrived. A tall thin man who reminded Eric of a pencil in a suit was standing with them.

  ‘So this is your little genius,’ the man said. Eric didn’t like him one bit. He had beady eyes and a mean mouth. Eric liked him even less when the man began measuring his head with a set of callipers, and making notes on a clipboard.

  ‘Professor Reedweed has come all the way from the university,’ Mr Growlworthy told Eric. ‘He wants to ask you a few questions.’

  ‘Now?’ Eric cried. Einstein was fast asleep inside his pocket. ‘Can’t it wait.’ But it couldn’t – the professor was a busy man – and soon Eric was sitting at a desk. He poked at his blazer pocket, trying to wake Einstein. But the mouse didn’t stir.

  Professor Reedweed stood in front of Eric. ‘A genius, eh?’ he sneered. ‘We shall see.’ He placed a page on the desk. ‘Only one problem for you,’ he said, handing Eric a pencil and a calculator. He chuckled. Eric gulped. ‘Take your time.’ He chuckled again.

  Eric did take his time. He had no choice. If Einstein stayed asleep, he would be taking quite a lot of time, in fact. Like forever. He prodded at his top pocket with the pencil. He hunched over the pocket and whispered into it: ‘Wake up, please!’ He even tried thought-talking to the mouse. But nothing worked. Einstein remained fast asleep.

  Eric pretended to be working. He poked and pressed at the calculator, and scribbled on the page. But he could only keep that up for so long. And all the time, the professor was watching him, taking notes, hovering in the background.

  After half an hour, the professor became impatient. He drummed his fingers on the clipboard and cleared his throat loudly. Soon he was standing in front of Eric.

  ‘Having a little trouble?’ he asked with a nasty grin.

  ‘Um.’ Eric’s face was bright red. ‘Just a little.’

  Before Eric could do anything, the professor plucked the page from his hand. ‘Just as I thought,’ he huffed, turning to Mr Growlworthy and Miss Graymouth. ‘Your genius has done a rather bad drawing of a mouse, plus a number of indeterminate scribbles.’ He threw the page on the floor. ‘What a complete waste of my time. Good day!’

  Professor Reedweed grabbed his briefcase and walked to the door. Growlworthy and Graymouth followed, begging him to wait. Eric leaned down to pick up the page. As he did, Einstein slid from his pocket and fell onto the floor, right onto the page itself.

  ‘Ouch!’ the mouse squeaked awake, and stood, rubbing his eyes. It was a loud squeak, but the adults were blabbering too much to hear. Eric held his finger to his lips and shushed at Einstein. Then he pointed at the page. The mouse caught on at once and inspected the problem. A moment later he winked at Eric.

  ‘Too easy,’ he said, then scampered up onto Eric’s shoulder and whispered in his ear before slipping back into his blazer pocket.

  Professor Reedweed was just about to walk through the door when Eric called out, ‘Six to the power of eight.’ The professor stopped in his tracks. His briefcase dropped to the floor. He turned.

  ‘What did you say?’ The professor’s face was whiter than white.

  YOU’RE THE GENIUS

  Eric’s parents received an urgent
phone message that afternoon: please come to the school at once. When they arrived they had to park two streets away. A huge crowd was gathered outside the school gates.

  ‘What’s happened?’ Eric’s mother asked the first person she met.

  ‘Some kid at the school. He’s got a mega-brain or something.’

  Eric’s father sighed with relief. ‘For a minute I thought it had something to do with Eric.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s his name, Eric. Your kid, is he?’

  ‘No,’ Eric’s father laughed. ‘Not my boy.’ But the Wimplebys looked at each other and hurried through the crowd.

  Inside the school grounds, newspaper reporters and television crews were busy doing interviews.

  ‘He’s a genius,’ Professor Reedweed was telling one reporter. ‘I knew it the moment I set on eyes on him, of course. There isn’t a thing he doesn’t know. We’ve tested him all day. Quite exhausting. Maths, science, history, literature, you name it! He’s a walking computer. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life.’

  Miss Graymouth was speaking to a newspaper journalist. ‘He’s a wonderful boy. He’s like a son to me. And to think I’ve played my part in helping his marvellous mind blossom.’

  ‘It’s so rewarding,’ Mr Growlworthy beamed into a television camera. ‘At last our hard work at Templeton Grammar is starting to bear fruit. We encourage our students to show their true genius. And let me stress,’ he said, leaning in closely to the camera, ‘our fees are very moderate.’

  In all the commotion, Eric’s parents sneaked past the media mishmash and into the school. They found their son eventually, curled up asleep in the headmaster’s office. Mr Wimpleby bundled up the boy in his arms and they slipped unnoticed out a back door.

  Eric remained fast asleep. He didn’t stir on the way home in the car, or in the elevator, and was as quiet as a mouse when his parents put him to bed. They did wonder about a whirring noise at one point, and Mrs Wimpleby thought she heard a squeak when she hung Eric’s blazer on the back of the bed.

  ‘Is this really happening?’ Mr Wimpleby asked his wife.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she replied. ‘Let’s see tomorrow.’

  Eric woke in the early hours of the morning. He sat up at once. Einstein was nowhere to be seen; not on his pillow, or under it, not asleep beneath the sheets. Eric sprang out of bed. Not in his blazer pocket either! Where was he?

  Eric found Einstein eventually. He was in the kitchen, spreading some butter onto a piece of bread with his paw.

  ‘I thought I’d lost you,’ gasped Eric.

  ‘I got a little hungry,’ Einstein said. ‘No, more than hungry. Starving. Ravenous, in fact. Could eat a horse.’

  ‘I can see that,’ Eric laughed. Einstein had butter all over his snout, and was hungrily munching a piece of bread. Eric buttered a slice and sat on the bench too.

  ‘How come you know so much?’ Eric asked after a while.

  Einstein stopped eating. ‘Not sure,’ he replied. ‘Just do. Isn’t that enough?’

  ‘Guess so. But it’s amazing.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, mice don’t usually do mega-sums in their heads, and know what the capital of France is, and the formula for sulphuric acid.’

  ‘Are you sure? Perhaps mice know a lot more than you think.’

  ‘Nuh. Most people don’t even know half the stuff you do. You heard what the professor said. You’re a genius.’

  ‘No, no, no. You’re the genius. I’m just your — ’ Einstein paused.

  ‘My friend,’ Eric said. ‘You’re my friend.’

  ‘That’s it,’ Einstein beamed. ‘Friend, pal, buddy, mate.’

  THE BIG BRAIN GAME

  ‘Buuurrrpppp! It’s him!’

  News of the boy genius spread all over the world. Eric’s story made headlines in one country after another, and his face flashed on television screens around the globe. It even reached a castle in distant Bulgonia.

  Ever since the mouse had vanished, Dr von Burpinburger had spent every minute of every day searching newspapers and scouring television for any sign of him. Eventually, on a newsflash about an amazing boy genius, the doctor caught a glimpse of Einstein’s head peeping out from the boy’s blazer pocket. The mouse appeared for no more than a second, and no one else would have even noticed, but the doctor saw him at once.

  ‘YES! I’ve found him at last.’

  ‘Are you sure, Master?’ Tikazza Brique growled and twitched.

  ‘Of course it’s him. The shaved head, those intelligent eyes. I’d know him anywhere.’ The doctor danced around the castle. ‘Pack our bags at once. We’ve got a mouse to catch!’

  The next morning, Mr and Mrs Wimpleby didn’t rush off to work. When Eric came to breakfast, they were waiting at the table, staring at him as if he was an alien.

  ‘I keep telling myself this has to be a dream,’ his father said. ‘There’s a crowd of reporters downstairs. We’ve had to take the phone off the hook. You’re on the world news. You’re famous.’

  Eric gazed down at his top pocket. He could just see Einstein’s eyes peering up at him. Hear that? Famous!

  ‘So is it true?’ his mother asked. ‘Are you a genius?’

  Eric turned red. ‘That’s what they say,’ he shrugged. One part of him dearly wanted to tell the truth. But they’d only laugh, for sure, and think he was weird. He didn’t want them to think he was weird. Anyway, he wasn’t even meant to have a mouse, so he couldn’t tell them about Einstein. ‘How should I know?’

  ‘Well either you’re a genius or you’re not,’ his father said. ‘Let’s see. What’s fifteen times six hundred and forty-two?’

  ‘Nine thousand six hundred and thirty,’ Eric answered at once. That’s how it was with Einstein now. The mouse’s thoughts passed straight into Eric’s head as if they were his. ‘No need to check,’ Eric added as his father reached for a calculator. ‘It’s right.’

  ‘What’s the scientific symbol for iron?’

  Eric paused for a moment. ‘Fe. Its atomic number is twenty-six.’

  ‘Who wrote the play Macbeth?’

  ‘William Shakespeare. He also wrote Hamlet, Julius Caesar, King Lear …’ Eric would have continued but his father leapt up.

  ‘Yahoo!’ He began dancing around the room. ‘He’s a genius. It’s true. My son is a genius!’ Mr Wimpleby hugged his wife, and then the two of them hugged Eric. They hadn’t done that for years. ‘Marvellous,’ they shouted. ‘Wonderful.’

  ‘Fabulous,’ Eric shouted back. ‘Terrific, tremendous, great!’ And he meant every word, even though they weren’t really his words. It was great to be hugged by his mum and dad. It was terrific to bounce around the room in their arms. He didn’t want it to end.

  ‘And I thought it was all a dream.’ Eric’s father flopped down on a chair. ‘Like the mouse I saw last night.’

  Eric stopped and stared at his father. ‘You saw a mouse?’ He also felt an uncomfortable wriggling in his top pocket. ‘Where?’

  ‘A mouse!’ Eric’s mother shrieked. ‘We’ll have to put out traps!’ Eric felt more wriggling in his pocket.

  ‘It was just a dream,’ Eric’s father insisted. ‘It had to be.’ He burst out laughing. ‘I was in the bathroom. There was a mouse standing on the sink. And do you know what he was doing? He was cleaning his teeth, struggling with a toothbrush twice his size! I shook my head and rubbed my eyes. When I looked again he’d gone.’

  Eric sighed, relieved. ‘It was just a dream, then.’ He glanced down at his pocket. Two red eyes looked back. Is that true, Einstein? Eric glared.

  The eyes blinked. A genius can’t have bad breath! Einstein replied.

  Suddenly Eric realised that he really had to tell his parents. What if his mother did put out mouse traps? He cleared his throat. ‘I’m afraid there is one thing you should know.’ His parents stepped seriously closer. Eric gulped. ‘You see —’

  But the Wimplebys didn’t hear a thing. Eric’s voice was drowned out by a loud th
udding, thumping noise as a bright red helicopter landed on their penthouse terrace. Printed on the side of the aircraft were the words:

  CHANNEL 4. WE MAKE THE NEWS.

  A dark suit with sunglasses leapt from the chopper.

  ‘Oh my goodness,’ Eric’s mother cried. ‘It’s Dwyer McHiflyer!’

  ‘What?’ Eric’s father sprang up. ‘From The Big Brain Game?’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘Come on!’

  PIECE OF CHEESE

  ‘Sorry to drop in like this, guys,’ said Dwyer McHiflyer. ‘But I’ve got a deal that’ll blow your socks off!’ The TV presenter grabbed Eric’s hand. ‘You must be the genius.’ He shook it hard. ‘Hi, kid.’

  Eric heard Einstein squeak. What a jerk! Fool, twit, moron, idiot!

  Dwyer McHiflyer then turned to Mr and Mrs Wimpleby with a grin. ‘I’ve got one question for you folks: Who wants to be RICH?’

  Eric’s parents shook with excitement. ‘That’s a no-brainer,’ they cried. ‘Whooooo doesn’t?’ It was part of the show’s advertising spiel.

  ‘Hey!’ Dwyer McHiflyer clapped his hands together. ‘Easy to see where the boy gets his brains.’ The TV star threw his arms around Mr and Mrs Wimpleby and drew them closer.

  ‘Let’s cut to the chase. We’re talking three episodes, prime time, worldwide coverage: The All or Nothing Challenge. We fire ninety questions at the kid, thirty per episode. If he gets the lot right, you pocket a million big ones. But if he gets one wrong – just one – he gets nothing.’ Dwyer held out a contract in one hand, a pen in the other. ‘Whaddya say?’

  Mr and Mrs Wimpleby grabbed the contract. But Eric wasn’t so sure. He glanced down at Einstein. What do you say?

  Too easy. Einstein grinned back from his pocket.

  ‘Wait,’ Eric said as his parents were about to sign. ‘I’ll only do this on one condition.’ He took a deep breath, and nodded to Einstein. At once the mouse climbed from Eric’s pocket onto his shoulder. ‘He’s part of the deal.’