The Octopus Effect (37 page)

“Absolutely not!” Miss Fanstrom said. “Those slippers and that standard-issue Historical Society Narrator bathrobe are marvels when you're facing danger. Which is almost certainly what lies ahead of us.”

“Is that right?” I asked with a gulp.

Miss Fanstrom nodded. “I'm afraid so. The entire universe is in its greatest danger yet, Mr. Geryson. Together, you and I are going to help save it.” She paused and steepled her fingers together. “Under the circumstances,” she said, “perhaps I'd best start calling you Greygor.”

(In case you're too lazy to use a dictionary or encyclopedia--though, let's be honest, those are much more reliable than this.)

 

 

Active Transport
The way a cell takes in or gets rid of objects (food, waste, messages-in-the-bottles). So instead of opening a mouth to eat, the cell creates a special bubble (called a vesicle) around the food and lets that in. Sadly, this makes it quite difficult for cells to chew gum.

 

Atom
The smallest part of matter. (Okay, that's not true. It's made of smaller parts—neutrons, protons, and electrons, some of which are made of even smaller parts—but the atom is the smallest you can divide matter without using an atom smasher or a nuclear explosion or something.)

 

Bioluminescence
This is when a living thing has an inner glow- literally. It has a natural way of giving off its own light without needing batteries or an electrical outlet.

 

Capacitance
Certain objects can conduct an electrical charge, and some of the conductors can store and release that charge. These capacitors are in electric circuits, among other places, and are exactly the wrong kind of thing to stick your tongue into.

 

Chromatophore
Pigment-containing cells. Octopi and certain other animals can change their skin color and skin texture thanks to these nifty things. So octopi are one of the few types of animals that cannot only look blue but actual
feel
blue.

DNA
(Stands for deoxyribonucleic acid, a word as hard to say as it is to spell.) Every cell of every living creature has a copy of its DNA- molecules filled with a code that defines what that creature will look like inside and out. (At least before it eats lunch or goes shopping.)

 

Double Helix
DNA molecules look like this--two curled lines intertwining like a spiral staircase. Except this staircase has all the information of life on its steps . . . so you'd better hope nobody trips as they walk up or down.

 

Drag
A special kind of friction between an object and a gas (such as air) or a liquid (such as water) around it. The more drag there is, the slower the object moves, which is quite a drag, if you'll forgive the really lame pun.

 

Epinephrine
Sometimes called adrenaline. This is the stuff that your body uses to get you prepared for danger so you can fight or, if you're not feeling too tough, run away. (A good pair of sneakers helps, too.)

 

Exoskeleton
Some animals--such as insects, arachnids, and crustaceans--have their skeletons on the outside (as opposed to on the inside, called
endoskeleton,
like humans do). Exoskeletons give these critters extra protection and strength; they also provide an extra crunch if they're squished.

 

Friction
Whenever two objects are touching, there's friction between them. The more friction there is, the harder it is to move them. When the two objects are in motion, it's called kinetic friction; when they're not moving (like you with your butt on the chair while you read this), it's called static friction.

 

Gene
Not to be confused with jeans, these are found on DNA molecules; each gene has a code on it, and that code causes a specific trait or attribute. (For example, you might have a gene that makes you look good in jeans.)

 

Gravity/G
There's a really good reason you don't just go flying off into space every time you take a step, and it's not the grippy soles on your new shoes. It's the force of gravitation, which is the attraction between two objects. The more mass something has, the more it pulls on other objects around it. So everything on Earth is pulled down toward the Earth's core, where most of its mass is. (It's believed that gravitation is linked to the space-time continuum--more massive objects curve space-time around them. Maybe if you eat a big enough lunch, you'll be able to affect space-time.)

 

Ion
When an atom gains or loses an electron, it gains an electric charge (not to be confused with a credit card charge). That atom is now either a positive or negative ion.

 

Mass
The amount of matter (solid, liquid, or gas) in something. More mass doesn't necessarily mean the thing must be big--a refrigerator box is bigger than the refrigerator that came in it, but trust me, the refrigerator is a lot harder to lift.

 

Megafauna
This is the name for any type of really big animal, especially ones that went extinct. You may want to try to pet some of them, but beware: even if some megafauna won't try to eat you, they might accidentally squash you.

 

Myopia
Nearsightedness--you can see things up-close just fine, but the farther away they get, the more blurry they get. So if you're myopic and you've just fallen off a cliff, you'll get an increasingly better view of the ground as you come closer to splatting into it.

 

Norepinephrine
This is related to epinephrine (as the name sort of gives away); it makes the mind more alert to match the body's increased readiness for fighting, running away, or playing a particularly exciting game of chess.

 

Phase Change
This is a shift between the different states of matter- solid, liquid, gas, or plasma, which is sort of the unofficial fourth state. The change occurs with heat: ice melts into water; water evaporates into gas—or cold: gas condenses into water; water freezes into ice. It's an especially important process when you leave the ice cream out of the freezer.

 

Plasma
Not to be confused with plasma in blood . . . this is the unofficial fourth state of matter. Extreme heat can strip away electrons from a gas, turning them into ions. The result, plasma, can be a pretty lightshow (like the aurora borealis) or an explosive, dangerous substance like that found in lightning or stars. (You know, like the sun, that big, hot thing way up in the daytime sky.)

 

Pseudopod
Translates to “false foot” . . . and that's what it is. Amoebas have 'em, forming them from their bloblike bodies as a way to move around. But they're not real feet, so amoebas have no need for wearing sneakers on them when they want to play soccer.

 

Space-Time
This is the combination of space and time--the where and the when of things--which are believed to be connected as a whole. The combo is known as the space-time continuum, and you're in it right now. (Say hello to the nice continuum.)

 

Spore
This is the way certain living things--such as fungi or plants that don't have seeds--reproduce. So some of these spores, which would look like tiny dots to humans (if we can see them at all), are really bouncing baby mushrooms. They'd be cute if they weren't so gross.

 

Terminal Velocity
This is a fun rule of physics that only applies when in an atmosphere. It's the speed at which something falling can't accelerate any faster because of friction with the air. That may sound like a good thing but trust me: if you're falling and reaching terminal velocity, your landing will still hurt. A lot.

 

Velocity
This is the speed and direction of something. If you're not moving, you have no speed or direction. If you're falling out of an airplane, your speed is really fast and your direction, unfortunately for you, is down. (Hope you remembered a parachute or a really, really soft cushion.)

 

Vesicle
This is a container—like a sac or a bubble--used to bring things into and out of cells during active transport. Think of it as a special type of gift-wrapping.

This is my second published novel but my first sequel—an exhilarating and frightening thing to craft that, in many ways, was more daunting than book one. While I got to thank many before, there are others who must be noted. (And if I leave anyone out, please forgive me.)

 

First, thanks again to my family for their love, support, and advice (even if I didn't always heed it): my dad, Sheldon, as an extra PR agent; my sister, Michele, getting her school to welcome me; my mom, Karen; and Grandma Elsie, and cousins, aunts, and uncles telling everyone they know about my book . . . thank you all. (And please, don't stop!)

Next, I want to send bottomless appreciation to specific people: Damon Ross, who, on top of connections and shared knowledge, gave me reading to sustain me. My agent, Nancy Gallt, who provided calming guidance when I was at my most crazed. Stephanie Owens Lurie, my wonderful publisher at Dutton, who ushered
The Gravity Keeper
through its final stages and then took the time to be my oh-so-patient (and tolerant) editor for
The Octopus Effect.
It couldn't have been easy to take on a hyper, oft-neurotic author stumbling through a complicated sequel, but she did so with grace, skill, and smiles . . . this book benefited immensely from her work. Debbie Kovacs of Walden Media, for her support, insights, and my Venezuelan birthday. Thanks also for PR magic from Samantha Del'Olio and Nicole White, and excellent innovations and effort from everyone at Penguin and Walden Media. I can't express how grateful I am to you all for helping me get Simon Bloom into the hands and hearts of others. While I applaud every single member of the Penguin sales force, a special cheer must go to Todd Jones, whose enthusiasm for my book moved me and so many booksellers.

Huge thanks go to everyone at The Gotham Group, especially my managers—Ellen Goldsmith-Vein, Lindsay Williams, and Eddie Gamarra—for their amazing work in steering a big pile o' pages into a bright 'n' shiny movie deal. Plus, of course, Peter Nichols for his deal-making wizardry, and Melissa for putting up with me as she slogged through that fierce contract. Deep appreciation goes to producers Gary Ross, Allison Thomas, and Naketha Mattocks at Larger Than Life, and to Jeffrey Kirschenbaum at Universal—thanks for seeing so much potential in my work.

 

All my friends were so encouraging and helpful and I love you all for it. I have to single out some who truly went above and beyond in spreading the word and book: Jo, Rahul, Ric, Jaime, Sarah and Zack, Rebecca W, and Dan B and Yael. Thanks also to Mike W for science tips and the bunny, and to Stephan for his generous and brilliant website work. And big hugs to Laura A and Amanda Y, whose passion for Simon Bloom helped shape its fate. I'd like to raise a glass to the mighty LAYAs—the LA Young Adult authors—who gave me sharp advice, potent laughs, and understanding shoulders on which to lean. (And a spotlight on the amazing Lisa Yee, who brought me into the group.) Once again, thanks to Lucia and Insomnia Café for being my second office and my sanctuary. There were many friends who listened to me whine and kept me sane, but I'd especially like to thank Garrett, Tara, Grace, Ronen, Robert M, Raj and Lora, Keary, Farrell, and Michael L. A separate, massive thanks goes to Yaniv Bar-Cohen, MD, for being a first reader, story adviser, scientific pointer-outer, photographer, videographer, and, of course, a great friend.

I'm no scientist, and so I heartily cheer my science consultants: Wendy and Larry Woolf, and Leigh Goldstein; this book wouldn't have worked so smoothly without their aid. An extra nod goes to rocket scientist Yosi Bar-Cohen, who got me to realize just how cool octopi are.

Finally, I'd like to express my respect and admiration to everyone out there who works so hard to bring books to people, especially young people. To the teachers, librarians, and booksellers who care enough to nurture and nudge, and to authors like Douglas Adams (always Douglas Adams), Terry Pratchett, Lemony Snicket, and every other writer who inspires others to read (and me to write). And finally, thanks to all of you—young and old—who've enjoyed Simon Bloom and shared your reactions with me. I'll keep writing 'em if you keep reading 'em!