Counting by 7s(12)

As she gathered up her things and silently headed out the door, Dell realized that his somewhat hairy hands were both trembling.

He had never met a kid like this.

He quickly accessed the electronic file that he was required to complete after every interaction with a student.

But for the first time since his Four Groups of the Strange system went into operation, Dell put it aside and dug out Dickie Winkleman’s three areas of evaluation: Activity

Patience

Attention

Willow had the ability to pay attention.

She appeared to exhibit patience (she had listened to him drone on for the first half of the appointment).

But he could not rate her activity level.

Dell copied a paragraph from one of Dickie Winkleman’s old files. It had been written for a kid named Wesley Ledbetter.

Dell wondered if Wesley’s problem was that his name sounded like “Bed-wetter.” That could certainly throw a person off.

It said that Wesley appeared to be normal, but needed further evaluation for possible anxiety issues.

In truth, Dell knew that the twelve-year-old with the large eyes (who had told him to have his blood pressure checked just before she left) was anything but normal.

And for the first time in his professional career, he was not just motivated.

He was almost inspired.

The counselor had to add a new group to his system.

He had to access the color wheel on his computer and feverishly attempt to create something that would look metallic.

Something that would stand out like oozing gold ink.

Because Dell Duke believed he had discovered a new category of the Strange: GENIUS.





Chapter 8





After I was removed from Mrs. Kleinsasser’s class and taken to Principal Eczema’s office, my teachers and the other students treated me differently.

A few of my classmates, assuming that I’m some kind of cheater, asked me for answers to tests.

An eighth grader with what looked to me like a full-on beard demanded my math homework from last Tuesday.

I was so startled that I gave him my entire binder, which I later found on top of the trash by the boys’ bathroom near the gym.

He’d left half of a roll of breath mints inside, but I think it was an accident, not a gift.



I was surprised that I was looking forward to the long walk from Sequoia Middle School over to the district offices where I had my second meeting with Mr. Dell Duke.

Knowing that I had somewhere to go gave me a new sense of purpose.

Even if it meant again lying to my parents.

But it was easier to lie the second week than the first time around, which was sad.

I decided any behavior, good or bad, could become routine.

This was probably why people were able to empty porta potties or regulate the quality of canned cat food in factories with actual taste tests.

Now when the last bell rang, and the school suddenly exploded (because that’s how it felt), I gathered up my things with new gusto. (I like the word gusto. It should be used more in daily life.)

The doors of the school flew open and the students burst from the building as if there had been some kind of toxic-waste spill inside.

I was now part of that.

I, too, had someplace to go and a limited amount of time to get there.



When I got to his office, I could see right away that Dell Duke was prepared in a different way.

He still looked as if he had slept for the last week in his clothes; but his beard had been trimmed, or at least washed.

And his very cluttered office had been straightened up.

However, what made me smile as I stood in the doorway was that I saw he now had a small silver frame on the side table behind his desk.

And in the picture frame, like some kind of lost relative, was a photo of a lemur.



He was nervous.

He struggled to make conversation, but then he finally just blurted out:

“What would you think about taking a test again—like the one you did at school?”

I decided that was why he was anxious, and so I put an end to it.

“I’ll take one right now if you want.”

This made him very happy.

He had a folder behind his desk with test booklets inside. He was suddenly all jumpy and I had to help him with the pencil and the timer.

I tried to explain that I wouldn’t need the allotted fifty minutes.

He didn’t believe me until I finished the first test in fourteen minutes.

After he corrected the exam, I removed another booklet from the pile and did that one in twelve minutes and 7 seconds.

If I could have had perfect test conditions—a room with decent ventilation, and a glass of unsweetened green iced tea—I would have cut off another two minutes.

I got up to go, because my session was now over, and Dell Duke was smiling. Unbroken mouth expansion.

He said that I didn’t miss a single question, on either test.

I said, in a very matter-of-fact way:

“Flawless.”

Maybe he thought we were playing the word game, because he made a fist and pumped it like he was pulling down on a parachute cord (even though I’d never done that, I had an idea how enthusiastic one would be to pull the chute).

He then said in a voice that was too loud:

“Willow Chance!”