Hypergifted, p.10
Hypergifted, page 10
I sat down at the desk, opened my laptop, and entered my credentials to log onto Wilderton’s mainframe computer. Once I was in, I called up my AI project, AIDAN.
A message came back: PROGRAM NOT FOUND.
I tried again, but the message was the same: PROGRAM NOT FOUND.
Frowning, I logged out of the mainframe and logged in again, this time hacking in under Dr. Menzies’s identity. Same result.
Alarmed now, I ran a quick remote diagnostic on the Wilderton system. Everything came up normal. For confirmation, I even did a test run of Arlene’s project, GATORGAB. It worked perfectly, proving that nothing was wrong with either the mainframe or my own laptop.
There was only one logical conclusion: AIDAN was gone.
18
Hypermotherly
Arlene Pulaski
My boyfriend, Gator, isn’t much of a romantic. When it comes to bringing presents, I always end up with either flowers or chocolates. I used to get frustrated at how uncreative he can be.
I will never make that mistake again. Not after looking into that gift box and seeing a dead vampire bat staring back at me.
It was the mouth that got to Claudia—wide open, fangs ready to drink blood. For me it was the wings. Sure, the creature was dead, but I could almost feel those spiny, papery horrors flapping against my skin.
When you get a bad gift, you’re supposed to tell yourself it’s the thought that counts. But this was really stretching things a lot.
Of course, Noah was an exceptional case. With an IQ so high, who could even guess what was going on inside that remarkable brain of his? I was almost tempted to believe that he was right and everyone else was wrong—that a dead bat really was the ideal gift.
And it was—for the biology assignment Noah had envisioned. In a way, it was incredibly thoughtful—and not just hideous, nightmarish, gruesome, and disgusting.
“He was trying to help,” I explained to Claudia. “I was struggling for a topic and he gave me one. He had no way of knowing I’d already picked capybaras.”
“You’re making excuses for him,” Claudia accused me. “You’re nineteen years old. Why do you need this middle school kid in your life?”
How would I ever be able to explain it to her? My life as Gator’s girlfriend was a blur of motorcycle rallies and tractor pulls and football tailgates and UFC fights. And I liked those things. Honest, I did. But . . .
I’m smart. I get great grades in school. I was valedictorian of my graduating class. I was accepted into the science department of an elite university. To my eyes, though, Noah was someone absolutely unique in the world. His thought processes were so elevated that none of the rest of us could imagine how his mind operated. His research in AI was astonishing. Even Dr. Menzies was struggling to keep up. To know a person like that—to talk with him; to work alongside him; to be his friend—was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
In most other ways, though, Noah was like a lost puppy. Any kid his age would have a hard time fitting into college life. But I got the feeling that Noah had a hard time fitting into any life, whether it was middle school or Wilderton. He was just too different. Maybe it was my motherly instinct, but watching him flounder broke my heart. Like when the salad place in the student union ran out of romaine lettuce, he drew a nutrition chart explaining why the iceberg kind was inferior. He was right; he was usually right about everything. On the other hand, why didn’t his intelligence let him see that the poor kid at the cash register wasn’t a wizard who could make romaine magically appear out of thin air? Or the medium salsa at Chipotle? Or the pepperoni pieces that were flat, not concave? How could someone who understood so much about the world be so completely clueless about how ordinary life worked?
I only had one class with him—Advanced Computer Seminar with Dr. Menzies. Even though he was the star of the class—light-years ahead of the rest of us—he was awkward around the other students. We were older and more mature, so it was no wonder he couldn’t relate to adult topics like car insurance or dating or student loans. But when the subject turned to the disappearance of Porquette, he couldn’t handle that either. He would actually leave the room when there was any discussion about the mascot. Like he was too tenderhearted even to consider what might have happened to her.
I had to admit that the other college kids didn’t exactly go out of their way to make him feel welcome. They felt threatened by his brilliance—the same way Gator didn’t like to hang out with my Wilderton friends. I would never mention Noah to Gator—he might think I was comparing him to a 206 IQ. Claudia mentioned Noah once, but I quickly stepped in and changed the subject. That had been a close one.
* * *
I thought Dr. Menzies was going to cry the day Noah told the class that AIDAN had disappeared from the Wilderton mainframe. It was such a breakthrough—the talk of the entire computer science department. And now it was gone.
But beneath all the tsk-tsk sympathy, there was a lot of gloating from the students. The boy genius had finally been knocked down a peg or two.
“Now he’ll find out what life is like for us knuckle-draggers,” I overheard someone commenting in a corner of the lab.
“You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” I told him. “All of you. Him being smart doesn’t take anything away from the rest of us. He may be the kid, but you’re the ones acting like children!”
I got so emotional that I actually choked up a little. That was when it really began to sink in how much Noah Youkilis had gotten under my skin. He was more than a genius to admire or a young kid to protect. He was my friend. And a dead vampire bat in my living room was a small price to pay.
Now these jerks were tearing him down just because they were jealous. Maybe Noah wasn’t mature enough for college, but they weren’t mature enough for kindergarten!
The one person who seemed all business about this was Noah himself. He rushed from station to station in the computer lab, pounding keyboards, the picture of concentration. We just hung back, watching. Even Dr. Menzies became a part of the audience, enraptured by the master at work.
It went on for over an hour. By the time he faced us, his glasses were fogged from the sheer heat of his efforts.
“I’ve got it,” he said at last. “I’ve figured out what happened to AIDAN.”
“What?” I asked, looking from face to face among my classmates who’d been so threatened by Noah. Could one of them have been rotten enough to have sabotaged his project?
“I programmed AIDAN with self-protection protocols,” Noah went on. “But I left it up to its AI to determine the best way to do that.”
We all stared. What kind of answer was that? What was Noah talking about?
Only Dr. Menzies was starting to clue in. “You’re not saying—” he began.
Noah nodded gravely. “I think AIDAN deleted itself.”
19
Hyperdisappointed
Raina Overbrook
Remember May?
That was my favorite month. The weather was warm, but not hot and sticky yet. I was finishing up middle school with straight A’s. I was looking forward to my summer job—not a counselor-in-training, but a full counselor for the first time.
The tulips were up; the buds were popping; the days were getting longer. The whole world was coming alive with the possibilities and potential of a new season.
And now that it was here, all I wanted to do was dig a hole and crawl into it until winter.
What a disappointment! The dream job—leading a group of happy kids through their best summer ever. I should have known when we ended up Baloney that we were doomed from the start. Why didn’t I put my foot down when Donovan came up with that awful name?
Not that it would have changed anything. The reason our group wasn’t having much fun was the reason none of the groups were: Porquette. We played the same games, competed in the same sports, participated in the same activities. But we were just going through the motions, acting out what Mr. Arthropod put on our daily schedule. I used to roll my eyes when my parents told me Porquette was the heart and soul of the entire campus. Not anymore.
The Jalen situation wasn’t making things any easier. He was still disappearing at least three times a week. Forgive me, I even tried to use the missing mascot to convince him he needed to stay put.
“These are the times that we really have to stick together,” I reasoned. “You know, keep up our Baloney spirit.” My face still twisted every time I said that name.
“Oh, yeah, definitely,” he agreed.
“What if Porquette comes back and you’re not here to see?” I went on. “You’ll be the last to know.”
“Someone will tell me,” he replied confidently. “I have connections.”
In other words, he was upset about Porquette, too, just not enough to let it interfere with his side plans, whatever they might be.
That day, he vanished for nearly three hours before resurfacing near the high jump pits with his pockets full of uncooked penne pasta.
We were facing the Choco-Squad in some track-and-field events, when I saw that one of our opponents—a big boy with a shock of bright red hair—kept staring over at us, his expression intense.
Victor noticed it too. “What’s that guy looking at?”
“Uh-oh.” Manny was worried. “What if everybody hates us?”
Claire stood up, chin stuck out. “Let’s go find out.”
I sat her down on her seat. “I’m sure he’s just being friendly.”
During the break between the high jump and the relay races, the curious kid came over to our side.
Claire came off the bench, ready to block his way, but he strode past her and past Manny too. He walked right over to Donovan. “Hey—you’re that guy.”
Donovan looked amused. “Could be. I’m definitely a guy.”
“No,” he said. “I mean the guy from the video.”
My counselor-in-training shook his head. “I think you’ve got me mixed up with somebody else. I haven’t been in any videos.”
“It looked just like you,” Red Hair insisted. “You were wearing this heavy snowsuit. And you were climbing a mountain.”
Donovan laughed out loud. “You’ve definitely got the wrong person. I’m not the mountain-climbing type. If it was a napping-on-the-couch video, I might believe it was me.”
The kid went back to his own side, but he kept peering over his shoulder at Donovan. To be honest, I was surprised Donovan hadn’t tried to take credit for it, whatever “it” was. That was his style—to luck into the easy route and be admired, whether he deserved it or not.
He might have been the biggest disappointment of all. Okay, it wasn’t his fault that I’d had visions of a counselor-in-training who would be my partner this summer and would learn the ropes from me. That definitely wasn’t Donovan. He didn’t learn the ropes from anybody. Donovan didn’t do ropes. He just showed up and did the absolute bare minimum. And for some reason, everybody loved him for it.
Me, if I stood on my head and spit nickels, I couldn’t get anybody’s attention. Donovan was different. There was something about him that people just liked. Even me. I liked him, despite the fact that he drove me crazy. Besides, there was no way someone as brilliant as Noah Youkilis would be best friends with Donovan if he wasn’t a good person. I’d only met Noah that one time, but in those few minutes, I could feel the intelligence and strength of character emanating from him. You could bet there would be logic and purpose behind every move he made.
After track and field, as we headed for the student union, Donovan stopped dead in front of a bench by the side of the path. A gavel symbol had been painted on top of the picnic table, but next to it, in much fresher paint, there was a new drawing: a spiral, tight at the core and opening up into a sweeping curve.
“They’re all over the campus,” I told him. “Nobody knows what they mean.”
“It could be a new secret society,” Jalen suggested. “Like the Gavel, only cooler.”
“Maybe it’s not even new,” Victor mused. “But it’s so secret we’re only finding out about it now.”
“Hurry up, you guys,” Donovan prodded. “Let’s get to the snack machines before there’s nothing left but the healthy stuff.”
That was all Manny needed to hear. He led the stampede to the student union.
Once in the building, our campers raced among the vending machines, jamming in coins and pulling out treats. It was the last part of our day before we assembled back at the football field for pickup.
“Hey, look!” Claire piped up through a mouthful of potato chips. “There’s that picture again!”
She was standing by the bulletin board, which was dotted with notices about tutors available, volunteers wanted, apartments for rent, and kittens for adoption. Prominently placed at the center of the board was what looked like a sign-up sheet, with signature lines one through forty. There was no written explanation of what this enrollment would be for. The only clue: At the top of the page was that swirling spiral symbol we had just seen outside on the picnic table.
“It’s the new secret society!” Luna exclaimed.
“It’s nothing,” Donovan said firmly. “Come on, let’s go.”
“Wait a minute,” Manny protested. “Maybe I want to sign up.”
“Absolutely not,” I told him. “What kind of empty-head posts a sign-up sheet that doesn’t even tell you what you’re signing up for?”
Donovan shot me a strange look I couldn’t identify except that it seemed to convey five or six different emotions at the same time.
That might have been the most annoying thing about Donovan of all. Why did he always seem as if he knew a whole lot more than he was letting on?
20
Hypermountaineer
Donovan Curtis
There was no denying it. Porquette wasn’t getting better. If anything, she was getting worse.
We hardly ever heard the sound of her hooves scraping against the bathtub anymore, which meant she wasn’t even trying to get up or move herself around.
“This is bad, Noah,” I said nervously. “How much longer can we wait before we take her to a vet or someone who can help?”
Noah looked scared and I didn’t blame him. The entire campus had spent the past three weeks losing its mind over the missing mascot. People had been squirming down culverts and into crawlspaces searching for her. If we had to admit we’d been hiding her all this time, there was going to be a mass butt-kicking in the quad—with our butts as the main target. Especially when the word got out that it was our elderberries that had poisoned her.
“I’m not convinced,” Noah countered. “A poisoned pig wouldn’t have any appetite. Porquette’s eating up a storm. Aren’t you, girl?”
In answer, Porquette wolfed down another sourdough biscuit.
It was hard for a guy like me to debate an actual genius. I was freaking out because the mascot didn’t look right, but Noah actually did his research. A sick pig refused to eat. A sick pig lost weight. That wasn’t Porquette. In fact, the bathtub seemed to be getting smaller, which could only mean Porquette was getting bigger.
“Okay, explain this, then!” I reached around Porquette’s massive flank and pointed to her stomach, which was redder than the usual gray-pink of her skin and seemed swollen.
Noah placed his hand on her belly. “An infection would be warm to the touch. Porquette’s skin is cool.”
It was an argument we had three times a day—one that Noah should have won easily. There was only one sticking point: If Porquette was so healthy, why wouldn’t she get up out of our bathtub?
You could still see the Fibonacci spiral on Porquette’s flank, although the Magic Marker had faded due to the frequent showers that made the bathroom livable. Noah had created a cardboard stencil of the design that he was using all over the campus. Every night after dark, he went out with the stencil and a can of white spray paint. His goal was to put one of those spirals everywhere he found the sign of the Gavel.
“By the way, I saw your sign-up sheet in the student union,” I told him.
He regarded me eagerly. “How many names were on it?”
“None,” I replied. “How many did you expect? It doesn’t say what you’re signing up for.”
“Well, if I put that, it wouldn’t be a secret society, would it?” Noah reasoned. “The Fibonacci spiral speaks for itself. It’s one of the most famous symbols in math.”
“Well, if your new club attracts everybody around here who’s as smart as you, you could hold your meetings in a closet.” I stood up. “I’m going to the cafeteria to get some chow. Want anything?”
“See if they have any bagels for Porquette. But no poppy seeds. They don’t agree with her.”
“Gotcha.”
It was only about a ten-minute walk to the cafeteria from Butternut Hall, but it was getting more uncomfortable every day. People were starting to stare at me. Their wandering eyes would light on me and suddenly lock on. Some did double takes, looking away and then back in a hurry. What was going on? Did I have a giant zit? Was my fly open? Was my shirt inside out?
I ducked into a bathroom for a quick wardrobe check. All clear. But as soon as I got back out there, it started again. People nudged each other, gesturing in my direction.
“That’s him,” I heard someone whisper.
My first instinct was to go full panic. They knew about Porquette living in our bathtub. But if that was the case, people wouldn’t just point and stare. Campus security would bust down our door and rescue their mascot. So it had to be something else.
As I walked through the door to the cafeteria, a college kid high-fived me. “You’re a beast!” he said with genuine admiration.
“Uh—why?”
But he was already gone.
I snagged a sandwich, snuck four whole-wheat bagels into a to-go bag for you-know-who, and sat down at a small table. I had just stuffed my mouth with the first bite when Raina burst in and stood blazing down at me.
