CHAPTER
6
Conrad’s father announced his death on national television. Everyone was watching. Especially Conrad. It is a very peculiar feeling to have your parent declare your death when you happen to know that you are still very much alive.
It was a day like any other on the McCloud farm. Before the sun rose Piper had taken Fido out to stretch his wings. As soon as they had returned to the farm Fido immediately went to Conrad, who was in his lab working on TiTI. Conrad had grown used to the snuffling and bumbling of his new pet and even let him sleep at the foot of his bed. For his own part, Fido didn’t like to let Conrad out of his sight and had calmed down considerably as he grew accustomed to the routine of farm life.
After lunch, Conrad, with Fido at his heels, helped Joe with a fence that needed fixing in the back field. By the time that was done and the animals fed for the night, Betty was ringing the dinner bell.
“Piper, I expect you to eat more than that,” Betty fussed, filling Piper’s plate with another helping of fried chicken. “Conrad, there’s a fresh pair of socks on your bed. You’ve been growing again; I swear your feet is a whole size bigger than last week, so I figured you needed more.”
“Thank you, Mrs. McCloud.”
Betty was always doing small special things for Conrad. Ever since he’d come to live with them something had told her that the boy needed a little extra mothering. For all of Conrad’s smarts, he seemed a little lost to Betty, and she took it upon herself to make him feel cared for, even if it was just making sure he had warm socks and a clean shirt to wear.
“And no feeding that—” Betty searched for just the right word to describe Fido, who sat begging at Conrad’s feet. “That—pet or whatever it is at this here table.”
“Yes, Mrs. McCloud.”
Unseen by Betty, Piper slid a small piece of driftwood about the size of a banana in front of her father. “Saw that when I was out flying,” Piper said quietly. “Knew right away that it was made just for you, and I picked it up.”
Joe McCloud was as quiet as his wife was chatty. A small sigh, a nod of his head, or shrug of his shoulder was all it took to get Joe’s point across. He was the favorite person to go to when someone needed to talk things out. As Joe fixed a fence or ploughed a field or mended a feed trough it was a common sight to see him trailed by one kid or another talking a mile a minute about something that was on their mind. It was a rare day when they walked away from Joe not feeling one hundred percent better, too.
His gentle hands, weathered by the sun of the summer and the snows of the winter, turned over the piece of wood and nodded. If he wasn’t a farmer and he didn’t call his whittling a hobby, some fancy city person might actually say that Joe’s wood carvings were art.
Joe tucked the piece of wood appreciatively into his pocket and Piper touched his hand with her small pale one.
After two slices of Betty’s fresh apple pie, the McCloud clan, both by birth and adoption, gathered around their newly acquired television. It was the night of the national election and Betty was eager to learn the results. As usual, she was as chatty as she was round and had opinions about all the candidates and wasn’t afraid to share them.
“Now, that there Senator Harrington would make a fine president. That’s who got my vote.” Betty nodded approvingly as Senator Harrington’s face flashed across the television screen. “He talks nothing but the truth, and I like that. Folks have gotta be able to trust their president, and I say Senator Harrington is as honest as the day is long.”
As much as she hated to admit it, even Piper could see why her mother felt kindly toward Harrington. There was something about the way Harrington talked that made you want to listen to him—and believe in him. He was almost hypnotic.
Suddenly Betty squinted and leaned forward to study the screen with a renewed intensity. “I declare, I din’t notice this ’fore but this brand-new TV is so sharp it makes me see that Senator Harrington looks a heap like our Conrad. Don’t he, Mr. McCloud?”
Joe McCloud nodded quietly, looking between the television and Conrad.
Piper squirmed uncomfortably. What would her parents think if they knew that Conrad really was the son of Senator Harrington? Betty and Joe had never asked where Conrad came from. To them he was simply a youngen who needed a place to stay and a family to keep him safe, both of which they were glad to provide.
“Senator Harrington’s a big phony,” Piper said quickly and with passion. “Sure, he’s got blond hair like Conrad, but lots of folks do. And I wouldn’t trust him farther than I could throw him.” Piper spoke more harshly than she meant to and she cast her eyes in Conrad’s direction to see his reaction. Conrad was sitting with Fido on his lap, petting him absently; his eyes fixed on the television screen, his face intense and unguarded, as though he had forgotten that anyone was around. Piper could see naked longing in his expression, as if he was drinking in every image of his father and was thirsty for more; as if he wanted to climb through the television and stand next to him.
Piper could imagine but never know what it must feel like to have your father heartlessly abandon you and never want to see you again. As much as Conrad acted nonchalant, something like that had to hurt.
For the better part of an hour the family watched the results come in and the analyses accumulate until finally they braced for the big announcement.
“And winning the election by a landslide,” the reporter on the television told them excitedly, “is Senator Harrington. I repeat, Senator Harrington is officially the president elect of the United States of America.”
Betty clapped excitedly. A flush spread across Conrad’s face and it seemed to Piper that he was looking at his father with pride.
When President Elect Harrington came forward with his wife, he also introduced his four-year-old daughter, Althea. Piper knew that it was the first time Conrad was catching a glimpse of his baby sister, who was born after Dr. Hellion had taken him away. She stood very still, holding her mother’s hand as the cheering died down and Harrington launched into his victory speech.
“I believe in action and results. I am a can-do man and this is a can-do nation.” President Harrington was tall with square shoulders and a handsome face. No question, Conrad was his spitting image.
“The recent death of my son was a hard test for my wife and me to overcome,” he continued. “But—like this great nation—we found a deeper strength inside of us. We found strength in our pain and used it to move us forward to reach for something better.”
Piper was aghast. “Did he just say his son died?”
Conrad’s face drained of all color.
It was one thing to reject your son; it was another thing to declare him dead in front of the entire world.
Conrad was not stupid: he knew that he wasn’t dead. He rationally and factually knew that he was very, very much alive. Which made it all the more strange that he suddenly felt the life seep out of him.
CHAPTER
7
By spring Conrad had a lingering cough that wracked his thin shoulders and caused his entire body to bend. Dark circles lined his eyes and he had somehow managed to lose even more weight so that his clothes hung like a defeated flag about his body. To Piper he looked like he was being habitually starved and whipped, neither of which was true.
Conrad walked slowly and kept his eyes down as they left the Lowland County Schoolhouse. He bent forward to counterbalance the weight of his book bag against his bony back.
“What you got in that bag?” Piper chirped, bobbing next to Conrad, as though her sheer enthusiasm might rescue his low spirits. “A small planet?”
“Math homework.” Conrad switched the lump of a bag to his other shoulder.
“You have homework?” Piper rolled her eyes. “Conrad, that’s plain crazy.”
“Actually,” he explained, “there’s nothing crazy about it. Most kids find math very challenging.”
“Most kids haven’t hacked into the United S
tates Defense Department mainframe and reprogrammed an orbiting satellite. And most kids haven’t figured out a way to bend the space-time continuum so—”
“Most kids at twelve years old—”
“You’re not most kids.” Piper stopped suddenly and blocked Conrad’s path. “You’re not even some kids. You’re in a group of one—you’re a super genius.”
“Not anymore.” Conrad stepped around Piper and continued down the path.
Piper sighed deeply: That again.
Ever since that darned election Conrad had become a different person. The very next morning Conrad couldn’t even get out of bed and didn’t go to his workshop in the barn. Long days passed where Conrad just sat in his room, staring out the window with Fido curled at his side.
Of course, when you have a brain that is soaring like a jet sitting on top of your shoulders and it suddenly grinds to a halt, there are consequences. Conrad developed blinding headaches; his head hurt so much that he couldn’t eat or get out of bed. His room had to be absolutely dark and he would lie perfectly still until the throbbing had eased enough for him to sit upright. Gradually he became accustomed to the pain and convinced Betty and Joe to let him go to the local country school. It was a basic place, but Conrad thought it might be good for him to attempt simple tasks like the other farm children of Lowland County to clear the fog that had settled over his brain.
He worked very, very hard at the Lowland County School, but as far as Piper could tell, the closer Conrad came to normal the sicker he got. When Piper had first met Conrad he was puffed up with anger and devious plans. His blond hair caught the light and framed his handsome face while his body, like his mind, was always in motion toward some greater purpose. That Conrad was a distant dream, and the person who walked next to her as they left the schoolhouse was shrunken and dull, like central casting had sent a bad stand-in for the real thing.
As another coughing fit wracked Conrad he dropped his book bag and held onto a tree trunk for support. He had already entered the wood that bordered the playground, and Piper leaned over, concerned.
“Maybe you should go see Doc Bell again. You’ve had that cough for months now.”
“I’m okay.”
“You look like something the cat dragged in.”
“I left my throat drops in my desk,” Conrad said through a cough.
“I’ll get ’em,” Piper offered quickly.
“No, I should—”
Piper turned on her heels and was gone before he could argue. When the coughing fit subsided Conrad slowly straightened up and once again began walking into the wood.
Just as the path rounded a bend and he was out of view of the schoolyard a branch snapped loudly. It was immediately followed by sharply rustling leaves. Moments later Rory Ray Miller emerged from the bushes, flanked by his four brothers.
Rory Ray was seventeen and bulky from hard work in the fields. His callused hands toyed with a tree branch, pleased with its weight and heft. It annoyed Rory Ray, more than he was already annoyed, that Conrad didn’t look scared and wasn’t trying to run away. It was only further confirmation of what Rory Ray felt about Conrad, which was that there was something wrong with him. He knew Conrad was different—it was clear that the boy was physically weak and in pain. But other times it was something else entirely—perhaps the hunch that Conrad was far more dangerous than he appeared and posed some unnamed threat to Rory Ray and everyone else, too. A twisted herd instinct that dwelled in the deepest reaches of Rory Ray Miller was activated by the mere sight of Conrad.
“I done told you that you ain’t wanted in these parts, Conrad No-name.”
Conrad wouldn’t tell anyone his true last name and so Rory Ray had taken to calling him “No-name.” Rory Ray sauntered forward and his younger brothers flanked his every movement. “If I din’t know better I’d start to think you liked these beatings.”
Conrad watched the band of boys but said nothing. He made no movement to run away or preparations to fight. He was for all intents and purposes frozen, as though he knew what was about to happen next, but was unable to participate in it in any meaningful way.
“Maybe we didn’t make ourselves clear,” Jimmy Joe sneered.
“Maybe he ain’t got the smarts to figure out exactly what our meaning is,” added another brother.
Conrad couldn’t think of what to say to this and so said nothing, giving Rory Ray the opportunity to lunge forward, smack him into the dirt, and force his face to taste muck. The four younger Miller brothers eagerly circled, Jo-Jo James getting a lick in with his strong right foot and Bobby Boo ripping Conrad’s book bag away to scavenge through it.
Elbowing through the pack, Rory Ray grabbed Conrad’s shirt in his beefy hand and yanked him up, eye level to dirty-sink teeth and stink breath. “We keep tellin’ you and tellin’ you that we don’t like strangers none. Seems to me you must have some sort of learning disability, ’cause we can’t seem to get the message through your thick head.”
“Maybe we ain’t talking right and he can’t hear us none,” a brother suggested helpfully.
“Or maybe we don’t need to talk at all.”
Conrad let himself fall limp like a helpless rag doll in the big boy’s hands as Rory Ray Miller and his four brothers each took a turn. Even as he lay submitting to their blows Conrad considered how strange it was that he wasn’t feeling any pain—or perhaps, he mused, that the pain had begun to feel good.
It would have gone on longer, but suddenly the leaves a few feet behind the boys scattered like they had been hit from above. Or like someone had dropped out of the sky on top of them. By the time the Miller boys turned around Piper McCloud was running full tilt at Rory Ray.
“Teacher’s looking for you, Rory Ray.” Piper squared off directly in front of the big boy. Even though she had turned eleven in August, Piper only came up to the middle of Rory Ray’s chest; heavy farm work had built his muscles and made him as strong as a bull.
“Outta my way!” Rory Ray reached to push Piper aside, but instead of flinching, Piper stepped forward and put her finger in the middle of his chest.
“I’ll make you sorry.” Her eyes blazed and her voice was low and threatening as she pushed her finger into Rory Ray’s chest like it was a knife.
Something about the way Piper was standing gave Rory Ray pause. His mother had always said Piper wasn’t right in the head. Then there was that strange Fourth of July picnic a few years back when she’d pulled some sort of weird flying stunt. After that strangers showed up and said that Piper had played a hoax on them. The strangers took Piper away, and when she’d finally returned, not that anyone in Lowland County had actually missed her a lick, this kid Conrad shows up out of the clear blue sky and moves in with the McClouds. No one knew who the heck Conrad was or where his kin was from, either. He wouldn’t even tell anyone his last name, for heaven’s sake. The boy stuck out like a sore thumb in Lowland County and it irked no one quite as much as Rory Ray Miller. Piper and Conrad were as thick as thieves, and while Conrad wouldn’t lift a finger to protect himself, it seemed like Piper was itching for a fight. What was it about the small girl with her brown braids and flashing blue eyes that made Rory Ray think twice?
“If teacher’s comin’ we best scat, Rory Ray.” His brothers shifted back and forth fretfully.
Piper waited for Rory Ray to back down, but the boy hated to walk away from easy pickings like Conrad.
“This boy needs a lesson.” Rory Ray’s voice hardened.
Piper got taller until she was eye level with the hulking farm boy and dealt him the full force of her stare.
“Show me what you got, Rory Ray.”
Seeing Piper’s feet rise up off the ground got Conrad’s attention even if the Miller boys hadn’t noticed it yet. “Piper, stop it.”
Piper pointedly ignored Conrad. Her finger burned a hole in Rory Ray’s chest, causing the fire in his eyes to flicker. He was not a smart boy, but he was smart enough not to tangle with a crazy girl.
“Likes of you ain’t worth my notice, Piper McCloud.” He laughed in a forced, hollow way and stepped back. “Like my mama says, something ain’t right in your head.”
Crumpled in the dirt, Conrad meekly looked away and let the boys pass, but Piper wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of averting her gaze. She waited until they had crossed from the thicket of trees and back into the schoolyard before she stood down. Only then did she take a good look at Conrad.
“Oh, Conrad, you’re bleeding.”
Conrad clutched at the place on his stomach where a steel-toed boot had found purchase. Bending down, Piper used her sleeve to dab at the cut on his cheekbone.
“I’m fine.”
“That’s what you always say. Or ‘I heal fast,’ or ‘Nothing I can’t handle.’” Tears formed in Piper’s eyes as she bent over him. “They’ve been beating on you more and more lately and you just let ’em. Why don’t you fight back, or run away, or do something?”
Conrad tried to roll over and get on his knees, but without Piper’s help he would have been stranded.
“I’m not gonna stand by and watch you do this, Conrad.” Piper shook her head and took a deep breath. When Conrad didn’t answer she pulled him toward home. “C’mon.”
Conrad stumbled, but managed to keep up with Piper’s marching gait. They walked most of the way home in silence, but by the time they reached the last hill Conrad noticed that Piper’s hands were still balled into fists.
“I’m fine,” Conrad said in an attempt to break Piper’s stony silence.
“No, you ain’t.” Piper was fit to be tied. “It’s like you’re sleepwalking. Snap out of it! I know you, Conrad, and I know what you are. You’re not like most kids struggling over their math homework, and you never will be. You’re a super genius.”
“Not anymore,” said Conrad, shaking his muddy head. “Besides, it’s not like all my smarts ever did anyone any good.”
“It’s what you are. You can’t not be what you are. What’s the point of being able to if I don’t fly? I’ve been blessed with flight, so I’ve gotta use it as a blessing. I don’t want to hide anymore and I don’t want to pretend to be what I’m not—and neither should you.”
The Boy Who Knew Everything Page 4