“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 containing 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
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.”
Brenda sighed. “It’s been terrible,” she agreed. “I just wish you could take him right now. I know he belongs here, and I just don’t know how much longer I can cope with him at home—” She was about to say more when the door, which had been only partly ajar, was pushed open. Josh was standing there, his face stormy.
“I knew it,” he shouted. “You
Turning, he raced away again, and this time Brenda followed him, almost stumbling over the little girl who was also standing in the hall, staring after Josh. Only when Brenda was gone did Amy step shyly into Dr. Engersol’s office.
“Is it true?” she asked. “Did Josh flunk? Isn’t he coming here?”
Engersol shook his head. “Of course he didn’t flunk, Amy,” he told the obviously worried little girl. “If he wants to, he’s certainly coming here. And I very much hope he does.”
“I do, too,” Amy agreed, then left the director’s office, intent on going to find Josh. If she couldn’t talk him into staying, she decided, she was definitely going home, too.
Even if she had to run away.
Brenda found Josh by the car, sobbing. “Honey, what is it?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”
“I heard what you said. You don’t even want to take me home!”
