Edison's Gold by Geoff Watson Page A

mom had seemed a tiny bit suspicious when Snert showed up on their doorstep right after breakfast, but once again Noodle had saved the day, informing Mrs. Edison that Snert was lending his film expertise to help them put together a music video for his NYU summer program.
    â€œAnything to separate me from all the other bozo applicants,” he’d told her.
    And when Tom’s mom had wondered why the three of them weren’t spending their time away from school relaxing and riding bikes like all the other neighborhood kids, Noodle had responded with a sly wink. “Because all that time I spend at school is interfering with my real education, Mrs. E.”
    Tom couldn’t tell if she’d bought his line or not, but he’d charmed her in classic Noodle style.
    Now Snert was acting like he owned the place. “We’ll have to make a couple of minor adjustments to this old clunker. Whip up what we don’t have,” he asserted, then immediately began directing the kids like a traffic cop.“First, a base for the projector. And the stock’s too wide for these spools. We’ll need something to thread the film. What’re ya standing around for?” His pudgy hands clapped. “We need to move, people! Time is money!”
    â€œSnert, you might be a genius, but you’re still only twelve,” Colby reminded him, tweaking his ear as she passed.
    Fortunately, Tom’s basement was a promised land of widgets, gadgets, and discarded whatchamacallits, so even if they couldn’t find the exact part Snert needed, there was always a close approximation lying somewhere nearby.
    Snert showed Noodle how to feed the old film over and under four empty spools, while Colby had to glue a flashlight to the inside of the old projector to replace its gray-filmed, blown-out bulb. The phonograph, however, proved to be a much easier machine to assemble. They constructed its spinning base as a group project, by sticking a pencil through a pizza tray then hammering it to a bicycle wheel. In a final blaze of Snertspiration, the sixth-grade wonder fastened a large kitchen funnel to serve as the record player’s amplifier.
    It only took three hours, including a quick scramble upstairs for turkey-and-Swiss sandwiches, until the crewwas ready for the Sub Rosa short film world premiere.
    â€œWe ask that you please turn off all cell phones and pagers,” said Noodle, crouching behind the movie projector, his index finger positioned over one of the wooden spools that had been screwed into its side.
    â€œWhat if it’s, like, the first Dracula movie ever?” Snert grabbed a handful of microwave butter-flavored popcorn as Colby snapped off the overhead lights. “Like, pre-
Nosferatu
. If so, I think I deserve a distribution cut, okay?”
    â€œHow about this instead?” Noodle thwopped the back of Snert’s neck. “You make me glad to be an only child.”
    â€œOkay, folks.” Tom flicked on the projector’s flashlight and took a seat next to Colby, while Noodle powered on the machine. They watched in silence as the film was pulled quickly past a magnifying glass that had been glued to the front of the projector to replace its cracked lens.
    On the hanging white bedsheet they’d rigged up as an improvised movie screen, a blurred image took shape.
    It didn’t look like much of anything.
    â€œIt doesn’t look like much of anything,” said Tom.
    â€œEasy fix!” Snert hopped up from his crate seat andmoved the magnifying glass a little farther … and farther from the film, until the picture on the wall slowly, wobblingly, shifted into focus.
    â€œI see something,” squeaked Colby. “Maybe. No.”
    â€œYes, you do see something, ’cause I see it, too,” said Noodle. “It’s … two old people … doing some kinda waltz?”
    The grainy film continued to flicker, and the image of a