The Intuitives(52)
“Although there does not seem to be any specific formula for creating a synergistic team, experts agree that certain factors are necessary for it to exist, and believe it or not, you have hit on several of them already with your band example.”
Christina beamed at Daniel and turned back to the whiteboard. Next to ‘Know the Music,’ she wrote ‘Expertise’ on the right side of the board. Across from ‘Good Musicians,’ she wrote ‘Proficiency.’ For ‘Key’ and ‘Meter,’ she wrote ‘Place’ and ‘Time.’ Then, on the left side, she wrote ‘Vibe/Groove,’ and on the right side, she wrote ‘Synergy.’
“For a synergistic team to form,” she said, “the team must co-exist in space and time. This does not have to be literal. Teams can work together in virtual space, for example, and can contribute to a process at different times, but studies have shown that synergy appears much more consistently when a team is located together in the same physical space, collaborating simultaneously.”
As long as they all have their own expertise, Sam thought bitterly. As long as they’re all at least marginally proficient and not pathetic losers who don’t know what they’re doing on the team in the first place.
Sketch leaned forward and turned to stare straight at her. Sam had no way of knowing that out of the corner of his eye, Sketch had noticed a sudden change in the flames that zipped around her, or that he had seen them start to slow down, changing gradually from their usual white to a deep, indigo blue. All she knew was that he was staring at her, silently accusing her of not belonging there at all.
“What are you looking at?” she demanded. “You’re not really a team with Rush, either, you know. There’s no magical synergy there. He totally carries you on that stupid video game, and he only plays with you because he feels sorry for you.”
“Samantha!” Christina exclaimed, even as Rush growled out, “What the hell is your problem?”
“Oh, please,” Sam snapped back. “What are you going to do? Ground me from summer school? Are you going to take away my phone, too—the phone that doesn’t even work here? Wait, I know, you’re going to tell me I can’t go out, right? In case you hadn’t noticed, there’s nowhere to go! I’ll tell you what, I’m going to go ground myself to my room and pack my bags. Let me know when you’re ready to do me the favor of kicking me out, OK? Thanks.”
With that, Sam got up and stalked out of the room. Just as she had expected, not one person went running after her.
23
Penance
Sam hit her room with every intention of snatching up her bags, stuffing every last thing she had brought with her into them haphazardly, and then waiting defiantly for one angry adult or another to come drag her off to the airport. But she hadn’t even finished hauling her suitcase out from the back of the closet when an overwhelming sense of wrongness threatened to suffocate her where she stood.
OMG, seriously? Now? NOW? Of all the worst possible times to show back up, you pick now???
There was no denying it. Her sense of destiny was back, and it was screaming at her, in no uncertain terms, that this was not the time to leave.
Really? she thought. You couldn’t have let me know this five minutes before I shot my mouth off and insulted the kid?
She wasn’t sure who she was talking to, exactly, but as she finally began to cool off, she discovered that she was starting to feel kind of bad about what she had said to Sketch. Sam had never had a brother or sister to fight with, but she imagined it probably felt a lot like this—intense rage, followed some time later by the warring emotions of sullen anger and halfhearted regret.
On the one hand, the little snot kind of deserved it for staring at her. On the other hand, though, she had to admit, now that she was thinking a little more clearly, that the look Sketch had given her might not have meant anything quite so accusing as she had made it out to be at the time.
I hate people, Sam thought to herself. They’re so freaking complicated.
She retreated from the depths of the closet, leaving her suitcase where it was, and took a flying leap for the bed, twisting in the air to land on her back and folding her hands behind her head so she could think properly.
OK, so I feel like I shouldn’t leave, but maybe that’s just because I don’t really want to leave. Which is weird, because I do want to leave… don’t I?
But did she? Sam turned the idea over in her mind for a while, trying to feel it out, but she couldn’t seem to wrap her head around it. She thought she wanted to leave, but then again, she felt somehow like she didn’t. Eventually, without really intending to, she just gave up and fell asleep.
When she woke up again, it was dark outside her window, and she felt disoriented for a moment until her mental clock adjusted to the unexpected change. 9:47 p.m. Apparently, no one had come to cart her away, which meant they probably weren’t going to. But was she disappointed? Or relieved?
Sam rolled onto her side and started idly running her fingers over the luxurious bed cover. If she was being truthful with herself, maybe she didn’t really want to leave, after all. Maybe what she wanted was to be special, like everyone else at the ICIC, and to have a pathway of her own. Any pathway. A talent for gardening even. Or for skiing. Or blacksmithing. Or yodeling.
Well, maybe not yodeling.