“Really,” said Will.
“I like to picture Dr. Greenwood in those early days. Standing out here alone on a warm summer night. Gazing at the stars, lost in dreams about this bold experiment he’d brought into the world. Right here, in the middle of the heartland, on the edge of the great North American plains. When our country itself was on the cusp of first realizing its own potential. What a perfect place to dream.”
What a perfect place to die, thought Will.
With that, he pitched forward, unconscious, and face-planted on the transparent floor.
OceanofPDF.com
BROOKE SPRINGER
Will heard soft classical music, then voices murmuring nearby. He opened his eyes and found himself lying on a bed in a dimly lit room. Shades of white and gray appeared as the room gradually came into focus.
“He’s awake,” he heard someone say.
Dan McBride sat by his bedside, regarding him with gentle concern. Lillian Robbins joined him a moment later. A young female nurse in a crisp white uniform appeared on the other side of the bed.
“Where am I?” asked Will.
“The infirmary,” said McBride. “You gave us quite a fright, young man.”
“How are you feeling?” asked Robbins.
His head ached sharply when he tried to move. He raised a hand to the left side of his head where it hurt the most and felt a thick bandage. His left index finger wore a clip connected to a pulse monitor that the nurse was now checking.
“Okay, I think,” said Will. “What happened?”
“An adverse reaction to the Infinity Room,” said McBride. “You passed out and banged your head when you fell. Took six stitches to zip you up.”
Will noticed a small bandage inside his right elbow.
“What’s this?”
“A blood sample,” said Robbins. “Precautionary tests.”
“If it’s any comfort,” said McBride, “you’re not the first new student to find that place a bit overstimulating. I haven’t set foot in there for years.”
“Dr. Rourke sends his apologies,” said Robbins.
Will closed his eyes against the pain. “How long was I out?” he asked.
“About twenty minutes,” said Robbins. “Dr. Rourke drove you himself.”
“How long do I have to stay?”
“Until they check under the hood,” said McBride. “And no more rugby for you today, young man.”
The curtain ahead was yanked aside, and a teasing female voice said, “You’re definitely up for a Drama Club Award, though.”
A girl about Will’s age, wearing a school uniform skirt and blouse, held the curtain at the foot of his bed. She was slender, athletic, with shoulder-length, fair curly hair the color of wheat and cornflower-blue eyes. And she wore a wry, crooked smile slightly at odds with the rest of her delicate, freckled features.
“For Most Dramatic Entrance Ever,” she said. “Bleeding all over the headmaster is a real attention-getter.”
She’s definitely got mine, thought Will.
“Will, this is Brooke Springer,” said Robbins. “Brooke will be your student liaison for the first few days.”
“She’ll show you around and help you settle in,” said McBride.
“They give me all the hopeless cases,” said Brooke with the sweetest smile.
“I feel better already,” said Will. “Is this going to leave a scar?”
“Your injury, or spending time with me?” asked Brooke.
“Guess I can always come back for more stitches,” he said.
Brooke giggled. Good sign, thought Will.
They let him out of bed after the nurse rechecked his vitals. She told him to come in for a follow-up in two days, avoid strenuous exercise, and get plenty of rest. He didn’t appear to have a concussion, but he was to call if any symptoms appeared. The nurse insisted he use a wheelchair, which Brooke insisted on pushing to the infirmary’s back door.
OceanofPDF.com
#86: NEVER BE NERVOUS WHEN TALKING TO A BEAUTIFUL GIRL. JUST PRETEND SHE’S A PERSON, TOO.
“So this is your idea of a good time,” said Will. “Pushing guys around.”
“Hush,” whispered Brooke. “They’ll think you’re still woozy.”
“Let’s meet in my office tomorrow morning at nine, Will,” said Robbins as they stepped outside. “We’ll go over your schedule and curriculum. Mr. McBride’s volunteered to be your faculty counselor for now.”
“If that’s all right with you, Will,” said McBride.
Will said that was more than all right. He stood up, shook hands with both adults, and they walked the wheelchair back inside. Brooke pointed to an electric golf cart parked nearby, bearing the Center’s crest and colors.
“Your chariot awaits, sir,” she said.
Will’s duffel sat in a basket in the back. He eased himself into the passenger seat while Brooke slipped behind the wheel. Will’s forehead pulsed with pain, his side ached, his left ankle throbbed, and even though the sun had warmed the air into the low thirties, he was still absolutely freezing. But after all he’d been through, these discomforts rooted him firmly into his body and felt oddly reassuring.
“This is all you brought,” she said. “You travel light.”
“Habit, I guess.”
“So tell me: What’s your first impression?”
“At six I could do a pretty awesome Scooby-Doo.”
She frowned at him. “How many head injuries have you had?”
“None that I remember. Is that a bad sign?”
“I meant your first impression of the school, you goof,” said Brooke.
She twisted her hair into a ponytail, secured it with a clip, slipped the cart into gear, and steered them onto a crosswalk. She wore gray suede high-top cross-trainers with a school logo.
“Where are you from?” she asked.
“We’ve lived all over.”
“Military family?”
“No. Where are you from?”
“I’ll ask the questions, Mr. Newbie.” She waved at some buildings they passed, like a model on a game show pointing out prizes. “Those are the kitchens. That’s security, transportation. This, as you may have gathered, is the more quotidian side of the campus.”
Like I don’t know what quotidian means. A spike of irritation prompted Will to say, “Would you like to hear what I know about you?”
She glanced sideways at him and instead of “Oh, please”—which Will knew she was thinking—said, “What could you possibly know about me?”
“You’re fifteen,” said Will. “An only child. Wealthy family. You play the violin. You grew up in suburban Virginia, but you’ve lived in at least two Spanish-speaking countries because your father works for the State Department—”
Brooke slammed on the brakes and looked at him in alarm. “How could you know that? Did you read my dossier?”
Will shook his head and smiled. Brooke’s eyebrows knotted, her eyes flashing. She drummed her fingers on the wheel, expecting an explanation, letting him know she didn’t like waiting.
“I study regional accents,” said Will. “You have calluses on the fingers of your left hand consistent with playing a stringed instrument. I speak Spanish, and you sound like you learned it as a second language. I put that together with proximity to DC and came up with ‘State Department.’ ”
All of which would be much easier for her to accept than My parents trained me to obsessively observe and assess every stranger I meet for reasons they never bothered to explain. And it’s a hard talent to turn off, especially when the “stranger” is a beautiful girl.
“How did you know I’m an only child?” she asked.
“Takes one to know one. Am I right?”
“Yes. And Dad was the ambassador to Argentina. But I don’t play the violin. I play the cello.”