Eric Flint: TITLE: Grantville Gazette.Volume XVIII

"He made it."

"That's the point. He should be in school, not making crossbows. Gifted child or not, he has to be like everyone else."

"Do you listen to yourself?" Allan asked quietly. "I mean, really listen. Blaise isn't a theoretical 'gifted' child. The mentally-challenged need someone who knows mental challenges. Leave them with Owen. He likes them and does a fair job with them. He is so far out of his depth with Blaise or kids like him that it is almost funny. I want Mary and Jacqueline too."

"You are not…"

"We are not in West Virginia anymore."

"That is no excuse for… "

Allan placed a piece of crumpled and bruised paper over the picture in the book.

"What's this? Your resignation? His suicide note?"

"The boy you want to be like everyone else was trying to demonstrate the theorem of similar triangles. He wasn't pulling a prank. He was trying to apply a mathematical theorem with a crossbow and a cheap ruler. Looks like he might be more than one kind of genius."

Archie took in a deep breath and closed his eyes. "Allan, how can you do that dead? I can have Blaise put in your class. I don't know about Jacqueline and Mary. They are elementary school kids."

"You can't keep someone like him in a regular classroom. You'll kill him in a regular classroom. Jacqueline might kill in a regular classroom. She hates the Fluffy Bunny reading series. I don't blame her."

"Second graders love the Fluffy Bunny reading series."

"You are missing the point! Jacqueline, like her brother, is gifted. Have you seen some of the stuff she's written?"

"I've heard some of it. Her reading teacher gives me a synopsis. I don't know whether to laugh or cry. Some of the words she uses… I thought we were talking about Blaise."

"We were talking about me taking Blaise, his sister and Mary."

"I can probably give you Blaise…"

"All of them."

"Allan… he is a child. Okay… a smart child… "

"We failed, Archie. In the year 2000, we failed. We failed kids like him. We were looking to save a few bucks and free up some class space so we ignored or didn't fund the gifted programs. Nobody felt sorry for 'gifted' kids. Who the hell did they think they were anyway? Acting so smart. Suck it up and deal, smart ass! Stop being so smart and be like everyone else!"

"Allan…"

"That boy out there wasn't scared that he almost died. He wasn't vandalizing the church or pulling a prank. He was applying math. It didn't work so he was going to show that stupid, cheap ruler… If he had the metal one I gave him this wouldn't have happened."

"He was making a catapult with that ruler. Owen was right to have taken it from him. Imagine the chaos if every kid made a catapult in class… "

"… a trebuchet… " Allan added.

"Whatever! I don't care if he was making a nuclear reactor! He was

…"

"Blaise, the boy who is sitting outside your office right now, the same boy who is in this encyclopedia, was deriving equations to relate load arm length to trajectory. I have the math he was doing in my classroom."

"He was misusing school property! Like the time he took apart the computer in class… "

"Okay, fine, he was 'misusing' an expensive metal machinist's ruler which, by the way, I gave him. He's taught himself algebra and now he's working on calculus, Archie. He wasn't doing it because he wanted to get into college or because Dad wouldn't let him have the car if he didn't score above 1200 on the SAT. Learning and creating are what he does. You put him in a regular classroom then you're right, Archie, he should have broken his neck up there. He would be better off than he is in that classroom."

"Allan, you're being melodramatic…"

"You remember another kid who wasn't so lucky?"

"Allan," Archie looked up at Allan with pleading eyes, "Don't. Don't even… "

"We failed them. We failed him. He killed himself because someone thought it was better to put him with kids his own age and pretend he wasn't writing symphonies. Are we going to do that with Blaise, Mary and Jacqueline? We know what Blaise is capable of. And his sister, what about her? She's writing books and she's eight."

"Allan…"

"We don't need school board meetings and committees. We don't need to convince a mother that her boy is just like everyone else. We don't need to lie to anyone. The Ring of Fire gave us a brand new start."

"We didn't lie, Allan. It was decided that… it would have been better for him… Allan… David Weller was different. He. .. he… "

"Maybe we could have lied about David Weller and pretended it was a fluke and now that he's dead who's to say what he was or wasn't? He didn't get his name in an encyclopedia. He didn't have a chance. We didn't give him a chance. Owen didn't think the boy was gifted, then blamed his 'gift' for the suicide."

"Enough!"

The death of David Weller was a sore issue with Archie. Allan knew that. David Weller's grave came through the Ring of Fire. His parents and family didn't.

"When will we admit to knowing we were wrong?"

"Allan," Archie sighed, "you are not being fair."

"Fair?" Allan whispered back like a judgment of guilt.

No one likes to find a child dead. Finding a child dead by his own hand was far worse.

"We were trying to make the best out of…" Archie closed his eyes again. "We did our best, Allan."

"I don't blame you. They dumped him in your lap because the school board was too afraid to deal with it themselves. They asked me to put together a few math sheets for him. Keep him busy, I was told. Keep him busy and quiet."

"Allan…"

"No one likes the gifted. We had the Special Olympics and everyone clapped as the 'special' people staggered across the finish line or threw a ball. A ten year old writes symphonies and we hush him up and tell him to be like everyone else. Not again, Archie. Never. I won't hush him up. There is a genius waiting outside your office right now. Let's do better this time."

Allan stood and left.

Archie stared down at the book. The picture was covered by the piece of notebook paper but the name was not.

BLAISE PASCAL (1623-1662)

Archie looked down at the end of the entry.

Whether we look at his pure mathematical or at his physical researches we receive the same impression of Pascal; we see the strongest marks of a great original genius creating new ideas, and seizing upon, mastering, and pursuing farther everything that was fresh and unfamiliar in his time. We can still point to much in exact science that is absolutely his; and we can indicate infinitely more which is due to his inspiration.

With something that could be tears in his eyes he looked up at the walls of his office.

He remembered when he had first accepted the position as principal. He had held it in his mind like he had held his first child.

He remembered how his shoulders had gone back and the smile that refused to leave his face. He remembered how proud he had been.

Now, looking at the pieces of paper on the walls of his office from places that probably wouldn't exist, ever, he remembered the opposite moment.

He remembered finding a boy hanging from a pipe in the boy's washroom on the second floor.

The tears in his eyes were real now.

Julie hated being right.

Of course, she loved it too. Her greatest successes had come from being right when everyone else had been wrong.

"Tell me I didn't waste your time." Julie sighed, the crossbow dangling from her hand.

Chief Matheny looked around the room. Stepping into it was beyond possibility without a wrecking bar and explosives. Someone, a very young and dangerous someone, had carefully planned this room to hold everything it contained and still allow a small body to worm its way in and breathe.