OPIS
The stench of horse manure woke Max Einstein with a jolt.
“Of course!”
Even though she was shivering, she threw off her blanket and hopped out of bed.
Actually, it wasn’t really a bed. More like a lumpy, water-stained mattress with frayed seams. But that didn’t matter. Ideas could come wherever they wanted. She raced down the dark hall. The floorboards—bare planks laid across rough beams—creaked and wobbled with every step. Her red hair, of course, was a bouncing tangle of wild curls. It was always a bouncing tangle of wild curls. Max rapped her knuckles on a lopsided door hanging off rusty hinges.
“Mr. Kennedy?” She knocked again. “Mr. Kennedy?”
“What the…” came a sleepy mumble. “Max?” Are you okay?”
Max took that question as permission to enter Mr. Kennedy’s apartment. She practically burst through his wonky door.
“I’m fine, Mr. Kennedy. In fact, I’m better than fine! I’ve got something great here! At least I think it’s something great. Anyway, it’s really, really cool. This idea
could change everything. It could save our world. It’s what Mr. Albert Einstein would’ve called an ‘aha’ moment.”
“Maxine?”
“Yes, Mr. Kennedy?”
“It’s six o’clock in the morning, girl.”
“Is it? Sorry about the inconvenient hour. But you never know when a brainstorm
will strike, do you?”
“No. Not with you, anyway…”
Max was wearing a floppy trench coat over her shabby sweater. Lately, she’d been sleeping in the sweater under a scratchy horse blanket because her so-called bedroom was, just like Mr. Kennedy’s, extremely cold.
The tall and sturdy black man, his hair flecked with patches of white, creaked out of bed and rubbed some of the sleep out of his eyes. He slid his bare feet into shoes he had fashioned out of cardboard and old newspapers.
“Hang on,” he said. “Need to put on my bedroom slippers here…”
“Because the floor’s so cold,” said Max.
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