by John Saul
Until now, none of the students had ever filled in so much as half the answer sheets. It looked as though Josh had come close to completing nearly seventy-five percent of it.
Unless, at the end, he’d simply been taking blind guesses. Well, Engersol thought, he’d soon know. Taking the sheets back to his office, he began scanning them into his computer.
In less than a minute he’d have Josh’s results.
“Hildie?”
Hildie Kramer looked up from her desk to see Tina Craig standing in the doorway to her office. At thirteen, Tina was already blossoming rapidly into womanhood, and by next year, when she would begin taking all her courses at the university, she would undoubtedly look several years older than she actually was. Which meant that once more there would be boys between eighteen and twenty-one arriving at the house, trying to figure out why the girl they’d made a date with was living with “the kids.” First, of course, they’d assume she worked there—they always did. And then Hildie would have to explain Tina’s true age, and that she lived there because she was part of the Academy. The boys would flush with embarrassment, unless they were a lot more mature than they normally were, and then flee, leaving Hildie to explain to Tina that she’d been stood up. Hildie sighed. Tina was going to be a problem. “What is it, Tina?” she asked, beckoning the girl into her office. “Is something wrong?”
“Not with me,” Tina replied. “It’s Amy Carlson. I’ve been trying to talk her into coming to the picnic, but she won’t leave her room. She’s even more homesick than I was when I first came, and I didn’t think anyone could get it worse than I did. All Amy says is that she wants to go home, and she’s not leaving her room until her parents come and get her.”
“All right.” Hildie sighed, putting aside the report she was working on and lifting herself out of her chair. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Sometimes, she reflected as she started the long climb to the third floor, trying to act both as administrator of the Academy and chief housemother as well seemed like too much. And yet every thing was going so well, and George had accomplished so much in the few years since the Academy had been established, that it made the long days all worthwhile. Amy was just the kind of child the Academy had been created for. To lose her now, before they’d even had a chance to get started with her, would be a shame.
She tapped softly at the little girl’s door. When there was no answer, she twisted the knob and let herself into the room.
Amy was lying on her bed, her eyes red from crying. Next to her, rubbing against her legs and mewing to be petted, was Tabby, obviously aware that something was wrong with his new friend, and worried about it.
“Didn’t you hear me knocking?” Hildie asked, sitting down on the chair in front of Amy’s desk.
Amy, her face stormy, made no reply, and when Tabby tried to work his head under her hand, she jerked the cat petulantly away.
“That’s not very nice,” Hildie commented. “All he wants is tobe petted.”
Amy’s little chin jutted out. “I’m not feeling very nice,” she said. “I wish Tabby would go away and leave me alone. And I wish you would, too.”
“Well, I’m not going to,” Hildie replied. “At least not until you tell me why you won’t go to the picnic. It’s a beautiful day, and I know you like to go swimming.”
“I don’t want to go swimming,” Amy shot back. “I just want to call my mother arid have her come and get me.”
“I thought we had an agreement,” Hildie said reasonably, choosing to ignore Amy’s angry tone. “You talked to your mother twice on Thursday, and again yesterday. And we agreed that you’d talk to her again tomorrow, but not today.”
Amy’s chin began to tremble, and her eyes glistened with tears. “I don’t care! I miss my room, and Kitty-Cat, and everything else. I hate it here, and I want to go home!”
“But we all agreed that you’d try it for a week. That’s only a few more days, and—”
“I want to go home now!” Amy demanded. “Nobody here likes me, and I don’t have any friends.”
“Well, that’s just not true,” Hildie argued patiently. “Tabby likes you, and I like you, and Tina likes you—”
“She does not! She’s just being nice to me because you told her to!” “Actually, she’s worried about you. She didn’t think anyone could be more homesick than she was, but she thinks you are.”
For a split second Hildie thought she saw a flicker of uncertainty in the little girl’s eyes, but then her face settled once more into a stubborn mask.
“If I have to stay here, I’ll die,” she said.
“Now, that’s just silly, Amy. Nobody dies of homesickness. I know how much it hurts, but you’ll get over it—”
“I will not!” Amy shouted. “Why don’t you just leave me alone? I didn’t ask you to come up here. All I want is to be left alone!”
Ever since Wednesday, Amy had spent as much time as she could alone in her room, and yesterday hadn’t even gone to her classes. If it went on much longer, Hildie would have no choice but to call the Carlsons and tell them that it wasn’t working out But she wasn’t ready to give up. Not yet.
“I’ll tell you what I’m going to do,” she said. “I’m just going to stay right here with you, and not leave you alone for a minute. I can have a bed brought up here, and then I can even sleep with you. After all, homesickness is mostly loneliness, and if we’re together all the time, how can you be lonely? We can even have our meals brought up here. I’ll just take a few days off—”
Amy was staring at her now, her eyes wide. “No,” she wailed. “I don’t want you staying with me. I want you to go away!”
“Well, that may be what you think you want, but it’s not what you’re going to get,” Hildie said placidly. “After all, I’m a lot older than you, and I think I know a lot more about it than you do.” She would have gone on talking, but Amy leaped off the bed, sending Tabby sprawling to the floor, and stormed out of the room. By the time Hildie had gotten to the hall, Amy was pounding down the stairs. Smiling, the housemother followed. When she reached the loggia, she found Tina standing there, looking even more worried than before.
“Amy just went tearing outside,” the girl told her. “She was crying like crazy, and when I tried to stop her, she just jerked away from me and kept going.”
“Which way did she go?” Hildie asked.
“Out there,” Tina said, pointing to a clump of redwoods planted in a circle near the middle of the front lawn, their massive roots completely hidden by thick shrubbery.
Hildie nodded in satisfaction. “She’ll be fine,” she told Tina. Amy hadn’t taken off for the front gate after all, but only for the hiding place the children had named the Gazebo. Yes, little Amy would be just fine.
Tina cocked her head and regarded the housemother, remembering the day five years before when she herself had wanted more than anything to go home. When the house had finally closed around her, and she hadn’t thought she could stand it anymore, she had run.
All the way out to the front lawn, where she’d burrowed through the shrubbery beneath the trees that formed the Gazebo. Within the circle of immense trees, hidden from view, she’d slowly begun to feel better. She’d sat down on the thick mat of fallen needles that blanketed the ground within the circle, and decided that it was her own secret place, a place she could retreat to when she just wanted to think, or be by herself. In the five years since, it had never occurred to her that she wasn’t the only person at the Academy who used the Gazebo for exactly that purpose. She studied Hildie. “Did you know that’s where I went, when I first came here?” Tina asked.
“Of course,” Hildie said blithely. “I know everything that goes on here. Now go along down to the beach. I’ll be along later, when Amy’s ready to come. And don’t let them eat all the potato salad before I get there!”
As Tina headed off to the beach a mile away, Hildie returned to her office, determined to finish the report she was working on. Yet e
ven as she worked, she kept half an eye on the Gazebo. It wouldn’t do to lose Amy Carlson now.
The little girl had far too good a mind to allow it to go to waste somewhere else.
Amy crawled through the dense shrubbery, ignoring the twigs that scratched at her face and caught at her T-shirt. A few seconds later she emerged from the bushes and paused to catch her breath. Sprawling out on her back, she peered at the branches that mingled a hundred feet above her head, casting their deep shade into the clearing within the circle. It was cooler here, and the air smelled of the fallen needles that carpeted the ground and squished softly under her whenever she moved.
Then, from off to the right, she heard a sound.
Startled, she turned her head and saw a boy about her own age, staring at her. For a moment she didn’t recognize him, but then realized she’d seen him from her window, arriving with his mother that morning. But what was he doing here? If he was coming to the school, why wasn’t he down at the beach?
She thought she heard him sniffle, and saw him wiping his nose on the sleeve of his shirt.
“That’s gross,” she said. “Don’t you have a handkerchief?”
The boy shook his head. “I don’t need one. I’m okay.”
Amy rolled over and propped her chin on her hands. “You don’t look okay.”
“You don’t, either,” the boy replied. “Why don’t you blow your nose? It’s dripping snot all over your chin.”
Reaching into the pocket of her jeans, Amy pulled a wadded-up hankie out and wiped at her face. “Why don’t you go away?” she challenged.
“I was here first. Why don’t you go away?”
“Maybe I don’t want to,” Amy shot back.
“Well, maybe I don’t, either,” Josh replied, his voice turning truculent.
The two children stared at each other for a while, until Amy looked away. “Is your mom making you come here?” she asked, sure she knew why the boy was hiding in the circle of trees.
“She’s not making me,” Josh replied with a show of bravado he didn’t feel. “Besides, it doesn’t make any difference what she wants. I flunked the test.”
Amy cocked her head. “Don’t be stupid. Nobody flunks the test. It’s not that kind.”
“But I couldn’t even finish it,” Josh said, his voice catching in spite of himself. “I mean, I didn’t even come close!”
Amy, her own problems suddenly forgotten for a moment, moved closer to Josh. “How much did you get done?”
Josh shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe three-fourths of it.”
“Three-fourths!” Amy squealed. “I didn’t even get half of it done! How’d you do so much?”
Josh stared at her. Was she lying to him, just trying to make him feel better? “What are you doing here?” he asked, instead of answering her question. “How come you’re not at the beach with everybody else?”
Amy felt herself flush. “I … didn’t want to go,” she said so quietly Josh could barely hear her.
“How come?” Josh asked. “Don’t you like the beach?”
“Do you?” Amy countered.
Josh shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never been. I live out in the desert.”
“Not anymore,” Amy said darkly. “If your mom’s like my mom, you’re gonna have to live here now.”
Josh’s brows knit into a frown. “But everyone likes it here, don’t they?”
Amy shrugged. “I don’t. I hate it. I don’t have any friends, and nobody likes me. I just want to go home.”
Josh was silent for a moment, then he giggled.
“It’s not funny!” Amy exclaimed.
“Sure it is,” Josh told her. “I’m hiding out ’cause I flunked the test and I’m not gonna get in, and you’re hiding out ’cause you want to get out. That’s kind of weird, isn’t it?”
Amy thought about it, then nodded. “I guess so,” she conceded. “What’s your name?”
“Josh MacCallum. What’s yours?”
“Amy Carlson. And you didn’t flunk the test. I already told you, it’s not that kind of test. It’s just to find out how smart you are, and how much you already know. And it finds out a bunch of stuff about what you’re good at, too.”
Josh eyed her suspiciously. “You really only finished half of it?”
Amy nodded. “It’s the only hard test I ever took. How come they made it so hard?”
“I don’t know,” Josh said. Then: “So what’s the beach like?”
Amy shrugged. “I haven’t been to the one here yet. But in L.A. it’s really neat. We always go to Huntington Beach, and it’s real wide. And when the surf’s high, it’s scary. But my dad taught me to body surf this summer, and it’s really fun.”
Josh was silent, wondering what it would be like to have a father who took you to the beach and taught you things. He guessed he’d never know. “D-Did your friends go to the beach with you?” he asked, his voice suddenly shy. “I mean, in L.A.?”
Amy glanced at him quickly, wondering if he knew she didn’t have any friends back home, either. But there was something about Josh’s voice that made her hesitate, and when she spoke, she found herself telling him the truth. “I didn’t have any friends there, either,” she admitted. “They kept skipping me in school, and I was always the youngest one in my class.”
Josh nodded. “Yeah. That’s what happened to me, too. That’s why my mom wants me to come here.” He looked away then, and when he spoke again, he couldn’t bring himself to look at Amy. “I—I was just thinking that if I get in, and you don’t go home, maybe—well, maybe we could be friends.”
Amy, feeling flustered, didn’t say anything at all for a long time, and Josh wished he’d kept his mouth shut. She was just going to laugh at him, like all the rest of the kids. Just as he was turning away from her to start crawling back through the bushes, he heard her speak.
“That’d be nice,” Amy said softly. “Maybe we could just talk to each other sometimes.”
A couple of minutes later they emerged from the Gazebo and brushed the twigs and needles off their clothes before starting back toward the building in which Dr. Engersol’s office was located.
Hildie, leaning back in her chair and watching them through her window, smiled.
Amy Carlson, she was sure, had just gotten over her homesickness. And Josh MacCallum, she suspected, was never going to have much of a problem with it at all.
George Engersol went over the results of Josh’s tests once more, looking for some possibility that a mistake had been made.
Yet there was none.
The computer had scored the test in an instant, charting Josh’s scores on the various scales: Intelligence, Mathematical Skills, Logical Abilities, Vocabulary, Science, Aptitudes.
What Engersol couldn’t get over was the proportion of the test the boy had succeeded in completing. From the speed with which he’d been working, Engersol had been certain that toward the end he’d simply been making guesses.
And yet, in the sections of the test that required answers that were either right or wrong, the boy had made no mistakes at all.
Not one.
Though he hadn’t been able to finish all the problems, he’d solved the ones he had attempted.
Finally, as he’d reviewed the tape made by the camera that had been placed just above the table at which Josh was working, the answer to the puzzle became clear.
Clear, but almost unbelievable.
In the last half hour, when Josh had realized he was running out of time, he had changed his working method.
The tape bore witness to the transformation. At four forty-one, Josh had spent precisely eight seconds staring at a complicated algebraic equation.
Only eight seconds.
Then he had begun turning the pages, marking answers to the aptitude questions, which required little thought, only reactions to statements of choice. He’d worked quickly, picking the questions out and marking his answers, until he’d abruptly stopped and flipped back to the page con
taining the complicated equation. Selecting the correct answer from among the five choices, he’d marked its space on the answer sheet, then found the next problem, one having to do with physics, a subject about which he should have known very little.
Again he’d simply looked at the question, his finger touching it briefly before going back to the subjective questions.
What he’d been doing, George Engersol realized, was solving the difficult mathematical problems in his head, while at the same time working on other questions. Only when he had the answer in his mind did he go back to the question, identify the code for the answer he’d come up with, and mark the sheet.
In all his experience with gifted children, he’d never seen anything like Josh MacCallum.
At last he leaned back in his chair and faced the boy’s mother, who was perched nervously on the edge of her chair.
“Well?” Brenda asked. “How did he do? Did he pass?”
Engersol spread his hands helplessly. “As I told you, there isn’t any passing or failing. But I have to tell you, Mrs. MacCallum, that I’ve never seen anything quite like this before. Josh—Well, he seems to be unique, at least in my experience.” Slowly, choosing his words carefully, he explained to Brenda what her son had done.
“The thing that amazes me,” he finished, “is that he was able to work these problems out in his head while he was thinking about other things.”
“But what does it mean?” Brenda pressed. “Are you going to take him?”
Engersol arched an eyebrow. “Oh, yes. We’ll take him, with pleasure. In fact, I suspect he’ll be the biggest challenge we’ve ever faced. I have to tell you, Mrs. MacCallum, Josh is probably the brightest child I’ve ever come across. After looking at these”—he held up the test results—“it’s easy to imagine the problems he must have had.”
