The Select

'Can I say one more thing, Arthur?'

'Walter, we haven't got all day.'

'Just hear me out,' Walter said, rising and walking slowly around the table. 'Last winter we made out a list that we put on hold for possible admission to The Ingraham. All but one took that lying down. Miss Cleary did not. She took the initiative of coming down here on registration day in the hope of being admitted. Her chances were slim to none, but she did it anyway. That takes determination, that takes desire.'

'Or insider knowledge,' Arthur said. 'She might very well have known that this Crawford was not going to show up. The two of them might have cooked up this entire scenario together.'

'Then I say, Bravo! More power to her. If your suspicions are true, then all the more reason to accept her. We're always saying we want students with something extra, something that's not reflected in the grade point average, aren't we? Well, here it is. In spades. This young woman is utterly determined to come here. She will not take no for an answer. Isn't this the caliber of student we're looking for? With the training and direction The Ingraham can give her, won't she be one hell of a force in the outside world? Nothing is going to stand in this woman's way. Isn't this what The Ingraham is all about?'

'But—' Arthur began.

'Plus she's female,' Walter said, pressing on. He had the other committee members' attention, could see the growing interest in their eyes. He was not going to let Arthur break his stride now. 'The Ingraham is constantly criticized for not taking enough women. Here's a chance to accept a woman who has the potential of doing more than any ten other students on that wait list combined. I say to hell with the rest of the wait list. We accept Quinn Cleary now.'

'But the Kleederman equation questions,' Arthur said. 'She missed one.'

'Negative thinking, Arthur,' Walter said, wagging his finger. 'She may have answered only two of the three, but she got them both right. And if she'd got all three, she would have been one of our first choices for acceptance, am I correct?'

'Yes.' His tone was reluctant. 'But—'

'But nothing. She got two right. That's enough. She didn't get the third wrong, she simply didn't do it. Maybe she missed it. Maybe she wasn't sure and she was going to come back to it but ran out of time. It doesn't matter. She got two right. She qualifies, Arthur. And she'll be a credit to The Ingraham.'

'I don't know, Walter...'

It was Arthur's first show of uncertainty. Walter leapt to the advantage. He faced the other four.

'What do you say?' He met the stares of Cohen, Mercer, Cofone, and Miles one by one. 'Do we take her in, or do we tell her that initiative, tenacity, and determination have no place at The Ingraham and send her packing? Which will it be?'

'Accepting a woman in place of a male will cause rooming problems, but that's why we have extra rooms,' Mercer said. 'I'm for taking her.'

Cofone nodded. 'Sure. Why not?'

'After all, she's already here,' Cohen said.

Phyllis Miles frowned. 'I'm not saying this because I'm the only woman here, but The Ingraham could use another female in the incoming class. It's terribly unbalanced.'

'Then it's done!' Walter said.

Arthur cleared his throat. 'Not quite. I'll have to run this by the senator. He should be arriving within the hour. I'll show him Cleary's record and convey to him the sentiments of the committee.'

'And what are your sentiments, Arthur? Are you actively opposed?'

'I don't like prospective students to try and pull a fast one, but since I have no hard proof, I shall not contend against her. If she meets with the approval of you five and with the senator, then I shall go along.'

Good, Walter thought. Only one more hurdle, and that might be a tough one. It was difficult sometimes to predict how the Senator and the Kleederman Foundation would react.

*

The wait didn't just seem endless—it was endless.

Hours on those hard, narrow chairs in the Admissions Office. Quitting time had come and gone for Marge and Claire and Evelyn but all three had stayed on, encouraging her, warning her not to give up hope.

'Dr. Alston didn't tell me to start polling the waiting list,' Marge kept saying. 'That's got to mean something— something good.'

Tim was optimistic too: 'As long as they haven't sent you packing, you're still in the game.'

And then someone was walking down the Administration Building's deserted main corridor, coming their way. The five of them huddled on their seats, waiting. Quinn could barely breathe. A graying head with thick white eyebrows poked through the doorway.

'Miss Cleary?'

'Yes?' Quinn said, rising, trembling.

'There you are.' He smiled. 'Do you remember me?'

'Of course. You're Dr. Emerson. You interviewed me last winter.'

'Right. And recommended you very highly.'

'Thank you.'

'Well, it didn't do you much good on the first round, I'm sad to say. But that's all water under the bridge now. The committee has voted to let you take the place of the no-show.' He thrust out a gnarled hand. 'Welcome to The Ingraham, Miss Cleary.'

Marge cried, 'Yes!' and Evelyn cheered and Claire said, 'Praise the Lord!' over and over as Quinn stepped forward on wobbly knees to shake Dr. Emerson's hand.

His grip was firm and his eyes twinkled.

'Looks like you've gathered quite a cheering section here,' he said.

'It's been a long afternoon and we've all become well acquainted.'

'People seem to warm to you very quickly. That's a valuable asset for a doctor. Don't lose it.' He gave her hand one final squeeze. 'You can register officially here in this office tomorrow. Welcome aboard.'

Then he was gone, walking back down the hall. And suddenly Marge and Claire and Evelyn were all over her, hugging her, patting her on the back. Quinn stood in a daze, barely aware of them. The full import of what she'd just been told was seeping slowly through to her, like water soaking into a sponge. She'd made it.

I'm in! I'm going to be a doctor!

Christmas, New Year's Eve, her sixteenth birthday, all at once. She felt tears spring into her eyes as she glanced at Tim. He was still in his chair, legs crossed, arms folded across his chest. Everything she'd read about body language told her he was blocking something out—or locking something in. But then he smiled and gave her a thumbs up.

Quinn began to cry. Matt and Tim—such good friends. They'd saved her life—or the closest thing to it. How could she ever repay them?

She couldn't. Ever. But the least she could do was call Matt and let him know the plan had worked.

She broke away from the Admissions Office ladies, thanked them with all her heart for their support, then leaned over and kissed Tim on the forehead.

'Thank you,' she whispered.

He seemed embarrassed. 'Nothing to it.'

She turned back to the ladies and waved. 'I've got to call home and tell everybody the news. I'll see you all tomorrow.'

She ran for the phone booth in the hall and dialed home.

MONITORING

Louis Verran sat amid his blinking indicator lights, twitching meters, tangled wires, and flashing read-outs, dreaming of France. He'd spent July in Nice, with side trips to Camargue and Bourgogne. He'd gone alone, stayed alone—except for those nights when he found a companion—and returned alone. Four weeks had been plenty. As