All These Things I've Done (Birthright #1)(81)

The bell rang. I told Win to go on ahead. ‘Good luck,’ he said.

I walked slowly to Dr Lau’s desk. I resisted the urge to apologize for my absenteeism. It’s a weakness to apologize before hearing what the other person’s grievances are. You don’t want to end up creating new grievances where there were none to begin with. (Another Daddy-ism, if you hadn’t already guessed.) ‘Ah, yes, Ms Balanchine,’ Dr Lau said, ‘I’d like you to have a look at this.’

She tapped the screen to send a file to my slate. I opened and then skimmed it:

TEEN CRIME SCENE ENRICHMENT SUMMER

JUNE 30-AUGUST 15, 2083
Washington, D.C.

Sponsored by the FBI and the National Society of Criminologists

Deadline: April 8, 2083

Teachers, only your best young criminologists need apply. Students must be rising juniors and seniors, have completed at least two (preferably three) years of forensic science (crime scene processing, the handling of trace evidence, etc.), and demonstrate extraordinary aptitude for the field.

Selection will be highly competitive.

I set down my slate and looked up at Dr Lau.

‘You’ve only had two years of forensic science, but they’ve been with me. I feel confident that two years with me stacks up to three years with most any other teacher,’ Dr Lau boasted. ‘It’s a solid programme,’ she continued. ‘Lots of field research, which is not something I can provide for you here. And you’d get to spend the summer away with kids your own age. They have activities – ice cream socials and bowling and such. Not that this is the point. You have a mind for forensic science and this could be an important step for you, Anya.’

The idea of visiting actual crime scenes was certainly appealing. But even more appealing than that was the possibility of spending the summer away.

The summer away. Other people spent summers away. Scarlet, for instance, had passed several of them at a theatre camp in Pennsylvania. I spent summers here, watching my brother and sister and Nana. And I knew for a fact that Win wasn’t doing anything this summer except filling out applications for college. There were worse ways to pass the summer than hanging out with my boyfriend, assuming I was able to keep him.

‘I can’t,’ I said finally.

‘I thought you’d say that.’ Dr Lau nodded. ‘I know a bit about your circumstances and I’ve prepared a counterargument. Would you like to hear it?’

I nodded.

‘Then I will speak bluntly. Your grandmother is dead, so you don’t have to watch her any more. In all likelihood, Nataliya will be attending genius camp with Miss Bellevoir—’

I interrupted. ‘How did you know about that?’

‘Teachers do talk, you know. Your brother, Leonyd, may be somewhat mentally disabled, but he is a grown man and you cannot babysit him forever. If anything, a summer away would be good practice for your inevitable separation from him.’ She paused to see how I was responding. I made sure to keep my face blank. ‘That deadpan will serve you well as a criminologist, Anya. My final point is that you haven’t been accepted on the programme yet. Despite the glowing recommendation I will surely write for you, they only accept one hundred students to the programme, and you have a handicap, which is that you’ve only had two years of forensic science. In other words, you may as well apply now and decide later.’

Her argument was well thought out and comprehensive. ‘Thank you,’ I said.

I put off my application until the last Sunday of Easter vacation. Mainly what tripped me up was the essay. There was a choice of five questions. After much deliberation, I picked the fifth: What is the relation of forensic science to your life? The writing did not come easily to me. It was such a personal subject, really. I wrote about my father being murdered and how the cops hadn’t done a thorough job investigating the crime scene because they had assumed he was a criminal. And though it was true that my father had been a criminal, he had also been a father and a son. I wrote that all people, no matter their background or how obvious the circumstances of their crime look, are owed a thorough investigation. I wrote that even more than the victims, the survivors of a crime are owed the peace of mind of knowing what happened, so that they can get on with their lives. Forensic scientists weren’t merely scientists for the dead, but, really, priests and therapists for the living, too.

Then I paid the postage, hit send and, for the moment at least, managed not to feel as if I was betraying anyone.

The phone rang. I thought it might be Win, but it turned out to be Mr Kipling. He said that he had some news for Leo. The animal clinic where Leo used to work had finally cleared up its health-code-violations situation, and would reopen on June 1. ‘I still don’t know where the original tip came from,’ Mr Kipling said, ‘but this is good news, right?’

‘You have no idea!’ I said. I told him about my application to Teen Crime Scene Enrichment Summer and Natty’s admittance to genius camp, and how much better I would feel knowing that Leo was back working at the animal clinic instead of at the Pool.

‘A summer away would be good for you, Annie,’ Mr Kipling said. ‘Just the thing to get you on the road to your first-choice college. Have you put any thought into that yet?’

‘Um . . .’

‘Well, there’s still time for that. And, of course, the offer about the college tour still stands,’ Mr Kipling said. ‘Maybe on the way back from your summer programme even?’