Ungifted
Page 16
I snapped to attention. “We’ve been with Katie four hours already. One more hour and—”
A flicker of hope animated Abigail’s features. “No summer school?”
Dr. Schultz smiled. “Perhaps some good has actually come out of this horrendous experience. I will personally sign your credit.”
“But we have to put in the final hour,” Oz added.
“I wouldn’t leave anyway,” I announced. “Not till I’ve seen our baby!”
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UNBURDENED
ABIGAIL LEE
IQ: 171
I refuse to let this mess leave a hole in my record.
I spent hours, days even, trying to draft the perfect line to take credit for being on the robotics team without taking blame for what the robotics team had done. Disqualified was such an ugly word; banned was even worse. Conduct unbecoming a scientist—no, don’t even go there.
I finally went with: 2012 State Robotics Meet, First-Place Power Ranking (DNF). Maybe no one would look into the definition of DNF (Did Not Finish), or realize that there was no such thing as a first-place power ranking—which just meant that our robot beat the snot out of Cold Spring Harbor’s robot. I don’t think Harvard’s admissions department would be too impressed by that. It wouldn’t hurt someone like Noah. He would get into college wherever he wanted. Sadly, he would probably go nowhere at all. I never thought I’d say this: There was such a thing as being too smart. Confession: I was jealous of Noah. I’d give anything to spend an hour inside his head, to take a mind like that out for a test drive. But I wouldn’t want to be him—even though he’d always be above a black mark like the robotics meet, which would be an Ivy League deal breaker for the rest of us.
Another thing Harvard could never be allowed to find out about: how close I came to going to summer school for Human Growth and Development. Do you think their admissions department would care that it wasn’t my fault? Of course not. Everybody knows who goes to summer school: People who can’t pass in the fall, winter, and spring. People who actually have to open up their report cards to find out their grades. People who think a Rhodes scholarship is Driver’s Ed. At least I’d been spared that black mark—thanks to Donovan Curtis.
Yes, I know I was really hard on Donovan, and said a lot of terrible things about him. And I stand by my original opinion that he never should have been in the gifted program. But that doesn’t mean that we all weren’t really lucky for the Atlas incident that put him in Oz’s class.
Which brings up the final piece of information that Harvard could never be permitted to learn. Ditto Yale, Princeton, Columbia, Brown, Dartmouth, Stanford, Penn, and Cornell. If anyone accuses me of this, I’ll deny it. I might even sue.
I was the one who hacked into the library computer and helped Donovan cheat on the retest.
Surprised?
Me too.
UNCHALLENGED
NOAH YOUKILIS
IQ: 206
I’m not sure how the clip made it to YouTube.
The organizers said that the official video of this year’s state meet would never be released because our “disgraceful thuggish behavior degraded school robotics programs everywhere.”
Somehow, though, the video of Tin Man vanquishing the competition appeared the very next day under the title “Robots Behaving Badly.”
I would have called it “The Second-Most Fantastically Awesome Blow for Justice Ever Struck by an Automaton (after the Terminator Turned Good).” But that might have been too long. People on YouTube don’t want to read; they want to watch. You have to keep it simple to generate traffic. Example: “Robots Behaving Badly” had already surpassed “Tin Man Metallica Squarepants Exposes Teacher’s Underwear” in barely a week online.
I felt a little insulted that this new clip had so easily bested my most popular video. But it was okay, since I was the costar of “Robots Behaving Badly,” bounding onto the scene at the end to beat the Cold Spring Harbor entry into submission with a folding chair.
It was a great action sequence, every bit as exciting as the real steel-chair battles in WWE videos. I could be wrong, though.
After all, I’ve been wrong before.
The old-fashioned dot-matrix printer in the main office made a screeching noise as it spat out my class schedule. It sounded like victory. The secretary tore off the page and placed it on the counter along with my student card and locker information.
She smiled at me. “New in town?”
“I’ve lived here all my life,” I told her. “It just took me this long to get thrown out of the gifted program.”
This great day never could have happened if I hadn’t been wrong about the sex of Katie Patterson’s baby. Just the thought that when I calculate, interpolate, extrapolate, infer, deduce, adjudge, analyze, derive, figure, reason, or surmise something, there’s a chance that I might not be right filled me with a sense of infinite possibility. Surprise didn’t come exclusively from YouTube anymore. It was a gift.
I owed this, too, to Donovan. Without him, I never would have crossed paths with Tina Mandy Patterson, seven pounds, fourteen ounces. I’d suggested Marie Curie Patterson, but Katie said no. Tina would be named after the star of the day of her birth—Tin Man.
I pointed out that, since Tin Man had been disqualified, he wasn’t technically the star of the robotics meet or anything else. But Katie overruled me. And anyway, Orchard Park Patterson was a really stupid name for a baby girl.
I’m not big on babies, but I had to admit that Tina was a very cute specimen of one. Subscribe to my YouTube channel to see what she looks like. There’s a clip of her spitting up on my shoes that’s particularly excellent. It’s my favorite because I got to hold her. Katie gave each of us a turn so long as we promised to wash our hands for three minutes uninterrupted. One minute would have been plenty given the strength of the antibacterial soap in the maternity ward, but I kept my mouth shut because I didn’t want to miss my chance.
Chloe got in trouble for hogging the baby.
I thanked the secretary, gathered my things, and left the office.
I was wrong. It still tickled me to think about it. And for sure that’s what had given me the confidence to do what needed to be done to make this glorious moment possible.
“Noah?” came a voice behind me in the hall.
I wheeled, and there he was, the author of all my good fortune. My former schoolmate and now my schoolmate again.
Donovan. “What are you doing here?” he asked.
I felt my chest swell with pride. “This is my new school.”
He was shocked. “They kicked you out of the Academy? Because of the chair?”
“Oh, no,” I replied. “They didn’t even mention that. It was because I helped you cheat on the retest.”
First he looked surprised, then angry. “I knew it! If you weren’t a genius, you’d be an idiot! You shouldn’t have done that, Noah! I wasn’t going to be able to hang on in there much longer anyway, test or no test. Why would you risk your whole school career to cheat for me?”
“I didn’t,” I informed him cheerfully. “I just said I did.”
His voice was rising. “But why?”
“Ms. Bevelaqua told me cheating was a serious offense, and whoever did it would be expelled. How could I pass up an opportunity like that?”
Donovan groaned. “You’re crazy. And the worst part is, now I’m never going to know who really did it.”
I shrugged. “Sure you are. It was Abigail.”
“No way!” His eyes bulged. “Abigail hated me from the first day I walked into the lab! Why would she help me?”
It’s strange to me how often I have to explain the obvious to people. “For your robot-driving skills and your sister. Abigail has always been about one thing—Abigail.”
“I don’t believe it,” Donovan said stubbornly.
“Believe it,” I recommended. “I had to erase all the compu
ter evidence that she did it when I created the fake evidence that I did it.”
He took this in with a mixture of amazement and resignation. “You’re crazy.”
“I don’t care,” I replied readily. “See, now that I go here, I can say that. Who cares? Not me! I could not possibly care less! What do I care?” It felt good, like I was unburdening myself of a great weight.
He heaved a sigh. “Well, congratulations, I guess. You got your wish. You managed to get yourself booted out of the only school with half a chance of challenging you.”
I was honest. “The Academy wasn’t very challenging either.”
“More challenging than here,” he shot back. “This place is a slumber party for a guy like you. Maybe even a morgue.”
I shook my head earnestly. “I was wrong about Katie’s baby, and that means I can be wrong about anything. Challenge isn’t going to come from any curriculum, no matter how hard they make it. It’s going to come from life.”
That sounded pretty good, even to me. I felt the exhilaration of facing the unknown. I wasn’t just heading into the future; I was taking it down, WWE-style. I was Noah Youkilis, version 2.0, and the best was yet to come!
Then again, I could always be wrong.
How awesome was that?
UNLITTERED
DONOVAN CURTIS
IQ: 112
The image was fuzzy at first. Noah pounded the keyboard of his laptop and the picture solidified into a rugged face, obscured by goggles, a chinstrap, and a heavy black helmet. Interference crackled over the audio, and a loud motor roared in the background.
“Lieutenant Patterson?” Noah ventured timidly. Louder: “Lieutenant Patterson?”
My brother-in-law looked around in confusion.
“Who’s saying that?”
Another member of the tank crew came into view, pointing out at us. “Look, Brad, it’s that kid from YouTube! The one your baby puked on!”
Noah seemed pleased to be recognized. “Nice tank. How’s Afghanistan?”
“Brad, it’s Donovan,” I piped up. “We’ve got something to show you.”
Brad squinted through the goggles. “Is Katie there? Is it happening?”
Katie leaned in front of the laptop. “Hi, Brad. It won’t be long now.”
The tank commander was excited. “Turn the computer! I want to watch!”
Noah swiveled the laptop, giving Brad a view of the sterile white walls of the clinic, and also of Chloe, Abigail, Latrell, Jacey, and Kevin. At last, the image stopped on Dr. Orsini in his surgical mask.
The other soldier opened his eyes wide. “What’s going on, Brad? Didn’t this happen last week? Don’t tell me they’re going back in for the twin they missed!”
Noah made a final adjustment, providing a view of the patient—Beatrice the chow chow, fat and round, about to litter.
“Beatrice!” Brad cried, his voice choked with emotion. “It’s Daddy! Hang in there, girl!”
And as his tank jounced along the Afghan terrain, Lieutenant Patterson watched, tears squeezing out from under the goggles, as his beloved pet deposited six tiny puppies onto the operating table. Compared to the four hours Katie had spent in labor, Beatrice had it easy: The whole thing was over in ninety seconds.
“They make dogs really fast,” commented Noah.
“They’re beautiful, Brad,” said Katie in a husky voice. “You missed Tina being born, but I’m so glad you got to see these little guys.”
Noah spoke into the laptop’s condenser mic. “Your signal is getting weaker. Are you near a mountain or something?”
“That’s classified, kid,” Brad replied. “I don’t know who you are, but I owe you. Anybody who can Skype a tank in action has really got it going on.”
“And I loved you in ‘Robots Behaving Badly,’” the other soldier added admiringly.
Then, with a burst of static, Afghanistan went dark.
“Transmission lost,” Noah reported. “Should I hack into another satellite?”
“No,” Katie decided. “Leave them alone. They’re working.”
That was how our Human Growth and Development class turned into Canine Growth and Development—at least for one afternoon. The decision was made to keep a puppy for baby Tina, and find good homes for the others. Chloe adopted one dog. I was kind of glad about that. It gave me an excuse to stay in touch with her—you know, just to keep an eye on how Beatrice’s kid was getting along.
Noah fit in better than I expected at Hardcastle Middle School. Some of that might have been because I recruited the Daniels, and the three of us formed a bodyguard unit to keep him from being wedgied to death. Who knows what would have happened without us. We liked him, and Sanderson was convinced he was a master of “Dorkido,” a secret martial art practiced only by geniuses. But Noah was the biggest dweeb who’d ever walked the face of the earth. And while he insisted he could be wrong again at any moment, it hadn’t happened so far.
By special request from Oz, both Noah and I traveled by minibus to the Academy three times a week for robotics. The plan was approved by Dr. Schultz himself, who was in a good mood because the insurance company had finally paid up and the gym was being repaired. What was left of Atlas had joined its celestial sphere in the administration building’s subbasement. I hoped I didn’t have to polish that piece too. I still had five and half hours of community service to go.
Dr. Schultz had put boxes in all the schools, soliciting suggestions for a new statue. I filled out a card for a Titanic memorial—a quiet nod to my ancestor and fellow survivor, James.
Noah didn’t mind spending a little time back at the Academy because I was going too. And I loved the change of scenery, and the chance to hang out and ply my joystick in the lab. I never confronted Abigail about how she had cheated for me on the retest. She definitely still hated me, but I had a sense that my reading on her personal grudge-o-meter had gone down a little. Maybe she was more comfortable now that all the cards were on the table. She was still smart, and I was officially ungifted—except for robotics, part-time.
We were working on Heavy Metal, our robot for next year’s competition. We’d be in the high school division then, and hopefully no one would remember whose entry had busted up the middle school meet. Tin Man’s rampage would live forever in infamy, but maybe the team behind him would fade into the background. Soon the riot would belong to Tin Man alone, and all that remained would be the question, What made the robot go berserk like that?
Hey, I had that answer. It was the same wild impulse that could make a guy whack a statue in the butt, setting off a chain of events that reshaped the world—or at least my little corner of it. It was the part of me that ancestry.com couldn’t explain. I was working to control it, but sooner or later it would show up again and get me into twice as much trouble.
You don’t have to be gifted to know that.
About the Author
GORDON KORMAN has written more than seventy middle-grade and teen novels. Favorites include the New York Times bestselling THE 39 CLUES: CAHILLS VS. VESPERS BOOK ONE: THE MEDUSA PLOT; POP; SCHOOLED; NO MORE DEAD DOGS; SON OF THE MOB; and BORN TO ROCK. Gordon lives with his family on Long Island, New York. You can visit him online at www.gordonkorman.com.
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Credits
Cover art © 2012 by Jonny Duddle
Cover design by Sarah Hoy
Copyright
Balzer + Bray is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
Ungifted
Copyright © 2012 by Gordon Korman
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Korman, Gordon.
Ungifted / Gordon Korman. — 1st ed.
p. cm.
Summary: Due to an administrative mix-up, troublemaker Donovan Curtis is sent to the Academy of Scholastic Distinction, a special school for gifted and talented students, after pulling a major prank at middle school.
ISBN 978-0-06-174266-8 (trade bdg.)
ISBN 978-0-06-174268-2 (lib. bdg.)
ISBN 978-0-06-224007-1 (Scholastic ed.)
EPub Edition © 2012 JUNE ISBN 9780062218605
[1. Behavior—Fiction. 2. Middle schools—Fiction. 3. Schools—Fiction. 4. Gifted children—Fiction. 5. Robots—Fiction. 6. Robotics—Fiction. 7. Humorous stories.] I. Title.
PZ7.K8369Un 2012
2012008408
[Fic]—dc23
CIP
AC
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12 13 14 15 16CG/RRDH10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
First Edition
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