The Select

here.'

'I know,' Quinn said. 'But I haven't anyplace else to go at the moment so I thought I'd give it a shot.'

More quick, that-poor-kid glances were exchanged, then Marge said, 'Well, might as well make the best of it. Have a seat. Make yourself comfortable. You're welcome to wait as long as you like. Want some coffee?'

Quinn would have preferred a Pepsi but didn't want to turn down their kind offer.

'Sure. Coffee would be great.'

*

Tim showed up an hour later. Quinn introduced him to 'the girls,' as they called themselves. They knew his name—after all, they had processed his acceptance. She told them she was going out to stretch her legs but would be back in a while to see if there was any news.

'How's it going in there?' Tim asked when they were outside.

'They're sweet. I feel like a rat deceiving them like this.'

'Who deceiving anyone? You're hanging around to try and take the spot of anyone who doesn't show up. That's an absolutely true statement.'

'But—'

'But nothing. It's true. The fact that we know something they don't is irrelevant.'

They found a shady spot under an oak by the central pond and sat on a wooden bench. The sun was in and out of drifting clouds, the air was heavy with moisture. A bathing sparrow fluttered its wings at the edge of the pond, disturbing the still surface of the water with tiny ripples and splashes. Off to her left Quinn saw a parade of sweaty new arrivals lugging suitcases, boxes, and stereos into the dorm. She looked around and was struck by how planned The Ingraham looked. The dorm, the caf, the administration, class, and faculty buildings were all two stories, all of similar design and color. And off to her right, up the slope, rose the science building; and rising beyond that, the medical center. Each set higher than the one before it, like steps to knowledge and experience.

'Where do you fit into this, Tim?'

He swiveled on the bench and faced her. She wished he'd take off those damn sunglasses. She wanted to see his eyes.

'What do you mean?'

'I mean, what's in it for you? You don't know me. Sure, we've met a couple of times, but we're not what you'd call close by any stretch. Why should you care if I get into The Ingraham?'

He smiled. 'I'm the compleat altruist. My raison d'etre is to help others. That's why I want to become a doctor.'

'Not.'

'You doubt my devotion to the human species? Okay, try this: I'm hoping that my getting you into The Ingraham will help me add you to my near endless list of beautiful female conquests.'

'Very funny.'

'Hey, don't sell yourself short. I think you're a knockout. And you've got a very nice butt.'

'And you need glasses,' Quinn said. She was annoyed now. 'I ask you a simple question...'

She pushed herself off the bench to head back to the Admissions Office. This was dumb. Tim's hand on her arm stopped her.

'Okay, okay,' he said. 'Forget everything I just said— except the part about your having a nice butt—'

'Tim...'

'Well, I meant that. But as for the rest of it...' He paused, as if searching for the right words. 'Look. Places like The Ingraham, they're systems. A bunch of nerdy little dorks get together and figure out a way to set someplace up so they can push all the buttons, pull all the levers, call all the shots—run the show. They've got the bucks, that gives them power, and they think they can make everybody jump through their hoops. But they couldn't make Matt jump. With his family's kind of clout, he can tell them to go jump. People like you and me, though, Quinn...if we want to get into their system, when they say jump, we've got to ask, 'How high?''

'That's the way the world works, Tim. You can't change that.'

'I'm not saying I can. But I make it a point to screw them up every chance I get.'

'Oh,' Quinn said slowly, wondering if she should feel insulted. 'And I suppose helping me get into The Ingraham is screwing them up.'

Tim slumped forward and rested his forehead on his forearms. He spoke to the grass. 'This conversation is heading for the tubes. Maybe we should just go back to saying that I thought it was a shortcut to adding another notch in my, um, belt and leave it at that.'

'No,' Quinn said softly. 'You're going out of your way to do me a favor. We've only met three times, talked on the phone a few more. Can you blame me for being curious as to why? TANSTAAFL, remember?'

Tim lifted his head. The blank sunglasses stared at her again.

'Fair enough. Okay. I like you. I like you a lot.'

Quinn felt herself flushing. Now she really wished she could see his eyes.

'And I don't know of anyone,' he continued, 'who wants to be a doctor more than you. I mean, it shines from you. And with your MCAT scores and GPA, I can't think of anyone—with the possible exception of myself—who deserves to be a doctor more.'

'Really, Tim—'

'No, I mean it. And I was pissed, really pissed, when I heard that these jokers had turned you down. Not as pissed as Matt, of course. I mean, he wanted to nuke the place. Neither of us could figure it out. Every other med school you applied to took you, but not The Ingraham. Why? What is it about you that doesn't fit into their system? Was it because you're female? Do they have something against nice butts?'

'Please stop talking about my butt!' She did not have a nice butt or a nice anything. 'Can't you be serious for two consecutive minutes?'

'I'll try, but...I don't know, Quinn...show me an anal-retentive system like this one that's screwing somebody I know and it's like waving a red flag in front of a bull. I want to beat that system.'

'So, if you're Don Quixote, who am I? Sancho Panza?'

'Hardly. Take the casinos as a for instance. They're a system. They set up the rules so that the percentages are always with them. Somebody wins big once in a while, but that's the exception. They publicize those exceptions to bring in more losers. But systems aren't set up for wild cards. I'm a wild card. Their blackjack system has no contingencies for someone with an eidetic memory. Fortunately for them, we're rare birds. But with my memory, I can screw up their system and win most of the time instead of lose.'

'But The Ingraham is not a casino.'

'Right. But it's a system. And Matt is the wild card here. His family's got—pardon the phrase—fuck-you money. He qualified, they accepted him, but they can't buy him. They can buy you and me, Quinn. We'll gladly put up with their bullshit rules for a free medical education. Hell, we'll fight for it. We need them. But Matt doesn't. He's the chink in their armor. How many people did you say have turned them down?'

'Two in the last ten years.'

'Right. But they're well prepared for that contingency anyway: they've set up a highly qualified waiting list. But I'll bet they've got no contingency plan for what Matt's going to do.' His expression was gleeful as he pounded his knees. 'And that's when we stick it to them.'

'Tim Brown...radical.'

'Not a bit,' he said, raising his hands, palms out. 'I'm not out to destroy anything, or throw a monkey wrench into anybody's works. The whole idea is to stick it to them without them even knowing they've been stuck. If you cause noticeable damage, or you make a big deal about it and strut yourself around bragging how clever you are, you queer it for the next wild card. Because they'll fix that weak spot in their system. But if everybody keeps their mouths shut, someone may get a chance to stick it to them again.'

'Is sticking it to them so important?'

'How important is it to you right now?'

'Touche.'

'All right. Then let's do it.' He checked his watch. 'Registration's pretty well closed. Any minute they ought to