Will’s heart skipped a beat. He tried to hide his shock as a single thought raced through his mind: How did this happen?
“Attaboy, Will,” said Barton, rubbing his hands with glee. “What do you think about that?”
Will had attended the man’s stunningly average high school for less than two weeks when he took that test, but Barton clearly intended to grab whatever credit he could for his results.
“Will?” asked Dr. Robbins.
“Sorry. I’m kind of … speechless.”
“Perfectly understandable,” she said. “We can go over specifics if you like—”
A buzzer on Barton’s console sounded. Barton snapped his fingers at Rasche, who turned and opened the door. Will’s mother walked in wearing a scarf around her neck, her eyes hidden behind her big sunglasses.
Will looked for some indication of her disappointment—he had screwed up big-time and blown his anonymity—but his mother just smiled at him. “Isn’t it exciting?” she said, rushing to give him a hug. “I came as soon as Dr. Robbins called.”
Will pulled back and caught his reflection in his mother’s mirrored sunglasses. That was odd. She never wore sunglasses indoors. Was she wearing them now so he couldn’t see her eyes? She was acting all excited for the benefit of the other adults in the room, but Will knew she had to be really angry with him.
As Belinda stepped back, Will caught a faint trace of cigarettes. Odd. She must have been around some smokers at her office. Could workers in California legally light up anymore?
Will’s phone buzzed. It was a text from Dad: CONGRATULATIONS, SON! Mom must have called him with the news.
Will’s mom shook hands and exchanged pleasantries with everyone in the room. Then Dr. Robbins took charge again. “If you’d indulge me, Will,” she said, “and if everyone will excuse us, I’d like you to take one other quick, simple test.”
“What for?”
“Curiosity,” she said simply. “When somebody shatters the existing statistical model, scientific minds crave confirmation. What do you say? Are you up for it?”
“If I say no, what’s the worst that could happen?” asked Will.
“You go back to class, finish your day, and forget we ever had this conversation,” she said.
Talk about a convincing argument. “Let’s do it,” said Will.
OceanofPDF.com
THE TEST
Will trailed Dr. Robbins down the hall to an empty office with a small table and two chairs. A black tablet computer the size of a small square chalkboard rested on the table. Robbins sat on one side and silently offered Will the opposite chair.
Dr. Robbins tapped the tablet and it powered up with a faintly audible whoosh. Using her fingers, she stretched out the dimensions of the borderless black square the way a sculptor might manipulate wet clay. Except the tablet was made of metal. When she was done, the tablet had grown in size until it nearly covered the entire table.
“What the heck is this thing?” asked Will.
“Ah. That would be telling,” she said playfully. “Put your hands here, please.”
The glowing outlines of a pair of hands appeared on the screen. The blackness beneath the lines glistened, as if there were unseen depths below. Will felt like he was staring into the still water of a moonlit lake.
Will set his hands down just inside the lines. The instant he made contact, the screen thrummed with energy. The lines glowed brighter, then faded, leaving his hands floating on top of a bottomless liquid void.
“I’m going to ask you some questions,” Dr. Robbins said. “Feel free to respond any way you like. There are no wrong answers.”
“What if you ask the wrong questions?”
“What’s your name?”
“Will Melendez West.”
“Melendez. That’s your mother’s maiden name?”
“Yes.”
A pleasant wave of heat rose from the screen, washing over his hands like soft seawater before subsiding.
“And Will’s not short for William?”
“It’s not short for anything. They wanted a cooperative kid, so they named me the opposite of won’t.”
She didn’t smile. “How old are you, Will?”
“Fifteen.”
“When’s your birthday?”
“August fifteenth. Every year, like clockwork.”
A swirling riot of colors erupted from the depths below, then disappeared. Will had the disturbing thought that if he pushed his hands through the surface, he would fall right into the screen.
“Is this some kind of lie detector?” he asked.
She narrowed her eyes. “Would it make you more comfortable if it were?”
“Is that a question from the test, or are you really asking?”
“Does it make a difference to you?”
“Are you going to answer all of my questions with questions?”
“Why, yes, I am, Will,” she said, smiling pleasantly. “I’m trying to distract you.”
Will’s defenses ratcheted up a notch. “Keep up the good work.”
“What’s your favorite color?”
“Cerulean blue. I had a little zinc tube of that paint once in art class. Real dark blue, like the sky on a cold, clear day—”
“It’s not an essay question. Where were you born?”
“Albuquerque,” he said. “We only lived there a few months. I can spell that for you, if you like.”
Subtle tones sounded from deep beneath his hands, like muted woodwinds. Corresponding shapes—obscure mathematical symbols, or some archaic language he couldn’t decipher—swam around below him in complex patterns.
“It’s not a spelling bee, either. What’s your father’s name?”
“Jordan West.”
“What does he do for a living?”
“He’s a freelance rodeo clown.”
“Hmm,” she said, chewing on her lip. “That might have been a lie.”
“Wow. You are good.”
“Oh, it’s not me,” she said, then leaned forward, pointed to the screen, and whispered, “You can’t fool the machine.”
“Okay, busted. He’s an academic researcher.”
Robbins smiled. “That sounds slightly more plausible. In what field?”
“Neurobiology, at UC Santa Barbara.”
“What is your mom’s full name?”
“Belinda Melendez West.”
“What does she do?”
“She works as a paralegal.”
“Where is her family from?” asked Robbins.
Will raised an eyebrow. “The Melendezes? Barcelona. Her parents came here in the 1960s.”
“Are your grandparents still living?”
“No.”
“Did you know any of them?”
“Not that I remember.”
“Would you classify yourself as Caucasian or Hispanic?”
“Neither. I’m American.”
Dr. Robbins seemed to like that answer. “Where else has your family lived besides Albuquerque?”
“Tucson, Las Cruces, Phoenix, Flagstaff, La Jolla, last year Temecula, and then here in Ojai—”
“Why do your parents move around so much?”
Good question, Will thought. Out loud, he said, “That’s the price Dad pays for working in the exciting and highly competitive field of neurobiology.”
“This part’s going to hurt a little,” she said.
He felt something sharp and prickly—like a steel brush—scrape his palms as the surface of the tablet crackled with a hot flash of light that filled the room, then just as quickly went dark.
Will yanked his hands away in alarm. The surface of the screen glowed like a pool lit underwater. Dust and debris floating in the air above rushed down into the black square as if caught in the pull of a magnetic field. Then the light went out, the surface stabilized, and the black tablet shrank back to its original chalkboard size.
Okay, Will thought. That is truly deeply weird.
Will looked at his hands. Both palms were red, and they pulsed as if he’d set them on a hot stove. Robbins took his hands in hers and examined them.