John Saul - Shadows

“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 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.”

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 are mad at me for what I did, and you’re just sorry you can’t get rid of me! I’m glad I flunked the stupid test. Do you hear me? I’m glad!”

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!”

“Honey, that’s not true—” Brenda protested, then stopped, hearing her own words ringing in her ears, words she’d never intended for Josh to hear — words that certainly hadn’t been meant in the way he’d interpreted them. But if all he’d heard were the last few words she’d said to Dr. Engersol …

“Oh, darling, I’m sorry,” she told him, kneeling down and hugging him close. “Of course I want to take you home. But this is where you belong. You didn’t flunk the test. You did better on it than anyone ever has before! All I was saying was that I’m sorry you can’t start right away!”

Josh was staring at her, his eyes widening as what she was saying sank in. “I passed?” he asked. “I got in?”

“Of course you did,” Brenda told him.

“B-But what if I don’t want to stay?” he asked, his voice quavering with uncertainty. “What if I don’t like it here? What if I want to go home?”

Before Brenda could answer, the little girl she’d seen outside George Engersol’s office a few moments ago tentatively approached the car.

“Josh?” Amy asked. “What’s wrong?”

“N-Nothing,” Josh stammered, unwilling to tell Amy how frightened he suddenly was. “Maybe I just don’t want to come here.”

Amy looked hurt, but then reached out and took Josh’s arm. “But you have to,” she argued. “You promised, remember? If you got in, I’d stay, and we’d be friends.”

“That was before,” Josh mumbled.

Amy’s eyes welled up, but she stood firm. “You mean you don’t want to be my friend?”

“N-No,” Josh said. “I mean, that’s not what I mean. It’s—”

“But you can’t be my friend if I never see you again,” Amy told him.

“So what?” Josh objected. “You don’t even know me.”

Amy hesitated, then made up her mind. “Yes, I do,” she said, her own face setting as stubbornly as Josh’s. “You’re just like me. You’re scared, that’s all. And you said you don’t have any friends back in the desert anyway. So you might as well stay. Okay?”

Josh blinked at the little girl. Was it possible she really meant it? That she really wanted him to be her friend? But he’d already made up his mind. How could he change it now?

And then his mother spoke. “Look,” she said. “I didn’t mean what you thought I meant, and I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to do. So why don’t we go to the picnic on the beach, like Mrs. Kramer asked us to, and you can make up your mind later on. Afterward, if you still don’t want to stay here, I promise I’ll take you home, and never even suggest a place like this again. Okay?”