Chapter 25: A New Experience

Jill arrived at Burger’s office several minutes later to escort Tamara to the next event, a gathering of all of the Clarke Scholars at the new Student Center building. There they were to speak to some other scholarship winners about their experiences at both colleges.

After Tamara had met everyone, she found herself in a group with Jill and Charlene, whose guide was Nancy Janvers. Charlene was speaking.

“That was weird, the way they kept us in the dark about the scholarships. They could have just told us when we arranged our visits. I got the tuition-only scholarship. But that’s okay; my folks can afford the rest of the costs. The 65 thou per year is a great deal.”

Nancy nodded. “That’s what I’m on. I think the reason they keep up the mystery might be because of what happened in my group. I think this guy in my group must have looked good on paper but he was rude and arrogant; he figured he was a super genius or something. He irritated the wrong people so the board must have withdrawn his offer. My own acceptance letter read that the scholarship was subject to a final interview so his must have too. They won’t discuss what happened, but ever since then, they don’t tell the kids what they were chosen for.”

“Hey, Charlene is coming here from Ohio and Tamara from Florida. Will your coming here break up any high-school romances?” Jill asked.

Charlene laughed. “I was the school’s chief certified geek and nerd. All the hot guys were chasing the popular girls—you know, the queen bees and their entourages. So I didn’t date much.”

“Charlene, you were saying that your school had the Program but then we got interrupted,” Nancy said, “and we didn’t get back to that. Even the nerdy kids on the Program get some action, I’ve heard.”

“I wouldn’t know. When it started at my school in my sophomore year, I was out of the country,” Charlene said. “My dad was on sabbatical; he’s a professor. We got back in January of my junior year and I had an internship at an industrial engineering company that spring, one half-day a week. I wasn’t picked then—not sure how that would have worked if I had been. This year, as a senior, I’m not in high school on Mondays and Thursdays; I’m taking college classes then. I told Tamara about that; my high school’s on the Ohio State campus and I was in a college-high school AP program. My name was called three weeks ago but it was on a Monday, obviously, so I wasn’t in school. The idiot Program coordinator told me that I’d have to do a second week because I missed the first day, and that I had to remain in the high school for those two weeks. I just told them I wasn’t about to miss any college classes and they could just stuff their Program.”

“Cool,” Nancy said. “They didn’t try anything when you refused?”

“They made some noise about forcing me. Dad’s a law professor. He got that talk stopped. But they won’t let me walk at graduation. Like I care. So, your original question? No, got no boyfriend. Tamara, what about you?”

She giggled. “Boy? What’s a boy? Seriously, I’m fifteen and I’ll be going to college soon. The boys in my classes—they’re seniors, obviously—they don’t do anything for me—and the juniors and sophs? Children. Hardly any of them can hold a conversation, let alone put together a sentence.”

They all laughed and Nancy expressed surprise at Tamara’s age, so Tamara told her how she had skipped grades.

Then she continued, “Actually, I don’t have any time for social stuff and I don’t find any boys appealing. They just aren’t mature.”

“So no one even hit on you?” Charlene asked. “You’re really pretty, Tamara, your skin just glows. It’s a light almond color ... so you must be a Latina, right?”

Tamara shook her head. “No, Haitian. My ancestors came from west Africa, not Spain or Portugal. Most Haitians are very dark, but my mom’s family has many Igbo ancestors; they tend to have fair skins. My dad’s grandparents and parents were from the Haitian upper class and most of those people tend to be almost white, but he’s a little darker, like me. And no, nobody has asked me on a date lately. I guess I project a ‘don’t bother me’ aura when boys are around. And I prefer not being bothered.”

“Tamara’s school never had the Program either,” Jill offered. “I guess one thing that the Program did was to get shy boys and girls together.”

Tamara shook her head. “No, not in any healthy way—including psychological health, too. Did you read those studies that that Atlanta high school mentioned in their articles, Jill? Especially the social effects one.”

“Um, no, that was about the information that they got from that anti-Program website?”

“Yeah. They talk about assaults, anxiety drugs, injuries—even some suicides. Given a choice between not having a boyfriend and the Program, I’d take the friendlessness any day,” Tamara told her.

“Hey, let’s not talk about that stupid crap anymore. You guys want to know about the good profs here and the ones to avoid?” Nancy asked.

“Sure!”... “Absolutely!”

The discussion topic moved to the courses they would take in their first year and their potential teachers.

For Tamara, she floated through her remaining tour. She was thrilled that she’d be going to Hopkins and studying with a world-class scholar, a Nobel laureate, no less.

Miami Edison High School, Florida

Back at school on Monday after her Hopkins trip, Tamara found it difficult to get back into the mind-set of high school. She had gotten a new tutoring “client,” another boy, a sophomore, and Tamara felt something disturbing about him—his emotional taste was metallic, almost like blood, but there were no negative or bad overtones in it, just sadness and a little fear. He was also so shy that he spoke almost in whispers to her.

“You’re Norman, right?” she asked after he came up to her table in the Media Center, where she did her tutoring, asking for her.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I’m not getting biology.”

“Um, let’s see,” Tamara said, thinking. “You should be doing genetics about now, is that right?”

He nodded.

“Is it something you don’t understand? Where can I help you?”

Norman pulled out some worksheets. “We have to fill these out and be able to identify the cell parts on the exam and know what they do. But I don’t understand most of this.”

The sheets he gave Tamara showed a cell undergoing the stages of division. There were lines leading from the drawings of the cell structures to labels which were to be filled in.

“Okay, Norman,” she said. “It’s mostly just memory. The easiest way to remember all this stuff is to break it up into groups. One group will be the cell and its parts. Then the nucleus and its parts. After that, the chromosomes and their parts. Finally, we come to the special parts that only appear during cell division. You with me?”

“Uh, I guess so.”

He was sitting uncomfortably, squirming a little as he sat.

“Let’s start with the cell structure. This looks like a plant cell—see, it’s sort of rectangular and has a prominent cell wall. How’s that different from animal cells? You recall?”

“Um, yeah. No wall ... animal cells are irregular shape too, right?” he asked as he shifted in his seat.

“That’s generally correct, but ... Norman, are you uncomfortable? You keep jiggling there,” she asked.

“No ... no, I’m okay.”

“Well, if you can’t be still, then you can’t concentrate, you know. I’ll point to each structure in the cell and see if you recall the name. Then write it in the blank.”

They worked for a few minutes but Norman kept losing focus.

“Listen, Norman,” Tamara said, getting exasperated with his inattention. “I think I know why you’re having problems understanding this stuff, if you can’t concentrate like you aren’t doing now. Are you like this in class too?”

He made an evasive gesture and grunted, “No. Um, not usually.”

Tamara could still sense that strange “taste” of his aura; his emotions were in a turmoil now and she also sensed an increased feeling of fear underlying his discomfort. So she decided to press him to open up.

“What’s scared you, Norman? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” he almost shouted.

She “pushed” a calming light green taste to him and “suggested,” “You can tell me why you can’t concentrate because you know you need to do it. Why are you scared?”

He started to cry. “Father ... beats me,” he choked out. “Gets drunk and ... whips me with ... belt...”

“Doesn’t your mother try to stop him?”

“Mother ... died last year. She stopped ... his beatings but when she died...”

“Is that why you can’t sit... oh! The aura. His metallic taste. Norman, does it bleed when he hits you?”

“Sniff. The welts do bleed. And sting for days.”

“Damn. If you don’t treat them ... Can you put antibiotics on them?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Do you have scars?”

“Yeah.”

“Get up. We need to see the nurse now!”

“No! He’ll find out and...”

Tamara “pushed” the command, “Norman. Come now.”

She led him to the nurse’s room.

“Mrs Towner, this is Norman Javits,” she whispered to the nurse while Norman was still somewhat dazed by Tamara’s command. “I just learned about his being abused by his father. He apparently has bleeding welts from beatings with a belt. Can you ... the school ... help him?”

“Oh dear,” Towner exclaimed. “I need to check him but yes, we can get him help if he’s being abused.” She looked at Norman. “He’s ... is he okay? He looks like he’s...”

“It’s all right; I kinda forced him to come here. He wanted to keep the abuse secret.”

Towner sighed. “That’s very common. Victims think it’s shameful and that’s why their abusers can continue the abuse. Mr Javits,” she addressed him, “come over to the exam table.”

He shuffled over and Towner drew a curtain across the room.

“Wait out there, dear,” Towner told Tamara. Then, “Norman, please slip your shirt off. Oh. Oh my. I need to get some antibiotic ointment and bandages. Wait a sec.”

She came out and nodded to Tamara. “You were right. He has some moderate to severe scarring and some fresh welts. Some of the older scars have signs of having been infected. I can take care of this now. Is he your boyfriend?”

“No ma’am. I was tutoring him and noticed that he was in great discomfort. I persuaded him to tell me what happened and then brought him here. I need to see him for a second—to tell him he’ll be okay. Can I?”

“Sure. You did a really nice thing for him. Thanks.”

Tamara went behind the screen; Norman had his shirt back on but the front was unbuttoned. She “pushed” more of the light green “taste” to him and said, “You’ll be okay now. Stay calm and don’t object to what the nurse, or anyone else, tells you to do. You want to stop your dad’s abuse. This is how you’ll do it. Okay?”

He nodded.

“Good. I’m going now—you won’t recall much of our time together, but you’ll listen to what you’re told. Right?”

“Uh huh,” he said, then looked around. “Hey, how did I get here?”

Towner came back to him with some supplies. “Tamara brought you here. Your back needs some attention. Then we need to talk.”

“‘Bye,” Tamara whispered to Towner as she slipped out.

Now I know what that metallic taste means, Tamara mused. Damn, I hope the poor kid gets out of that situation. Wonder if he has any other relatives? Should I...? Oh, hell, better not get any more involved.

She went back to the Media Center and retrieved her books; then packed up Norman’s bag and brought it to the nurse. Towner was alone but Tamara heard soft voices coming from behind the closed curtain.

“Mrs Towner, here’s Norman’s bag,” she told the nurse.

“Thanks again, Tamara. Norman’s with a counselor now. I think we’ll be able to help him with his family situation.”

“Oh, good. I was hoping you could help.”

“I think so. That was a very smart thing you did. Are you interested in the caring professions?”

“Not in health care, although my mom’s a nurse’s assistant. I’m gonna use science to help people.”

“Excellent. We need people like that too. Again, my dear, my thanks.”

This was her last period, so Tamara was free now. She called for her ride to pick her up, and on her way out of the building, she felt the warm approval glow of Erzulie Mansur fill her consciousness.

Miami Edison High School, Florida: two weeks later

“Hey, girlfriend!”

It was Linda calling from across the main hall at school.

“Hi, Linda,” Tamara greeted her. “What’s up?”

“You mean besides the news that the school district is finally gonna stop the Program in all the schools by next week?”

“Yeah,” Tamara laughed. “After that high school newspaper article from Atlanta telling kids to ‘just say no’ to the Program, and that here at Edison, we never even started it? My mom told me that her spy at the school district said that kids in all the schools were refusing to participate now.”

“Yeah and only six more weeks to graduation too,” Linda gushed. “You got a date for Prom yet?”

Tamara shook her head. “You know that I’m firmly in the no-boy zone, right? I don’t date. Most of the boys are still infants, or jerks, or conceits; the ones who aren’t are already taken. How can I date someone who turns me off?”

“But you gotta go to Prom. It’s the highlight of being a senior. It’s the high school experience you’ll never forget.” Linda argued.

“Somehow I don’t think so. Besides, I don’t see anyone lining up to ask me.”

Tamara thought that this would not be a good time to mention the negative “vibe” she projected to any boy who even looked at her twice.

“Carlos asked me to go,” Linda told her. “You know we’ve been dating for most of the senior year. I can ask him if he knows a nice guy who’ll ask you—and we can make it a double-date.”

“Linda, why is this such an issue for you? I won’t go with someone I just met.”

“How about meeting before Prom to see if the guy’s okay then?”

“Hey, girl. The way you’re pushing, I think that there’s a guy you already have in mind. Am I right?”

“Jeez, Tamara, you a mind-reader or something? You always know much more than you let on, you know. Yeah, Carlos’ cousin goes to Cushman High, you know, the private school? He’s a senior too. There are only maybe 35 seniors and they don’t have a big prom, obviously. They just do a dance social.”

Should I meet the guy? Tamara wondered. I suppose it wouldn’t be a big deal; if he’s tolerable, I might consider doing the prom then.

“Do you know him, Linda? He’s not a jerk?”