Chapter 32

Maddie's Turn:

I'm in COLLEGE! Yes, little Maddie Reynolds is in college. And I'm YOUNG for it. I'm two years ahead. It's because of the hurricane, you know. The hurricane hit last year and the storm surge pushed a wave through our high school and forced us to go to school at the nearest high school that was undamaged. Now you have to understand that I live in one of the least populous parishes (that's counties in the other forty-nine states) in Louisiana, so we're not talking about several HUNDRED students, but when we all descended on the next school, we over-loaded the place.

The guidance counselor reviewed files. Dad says he's the exception that proves the rule for government employees, a guy who actually puts an effort into his work. But I digress. Several of us got tested, a few got pushed up a grade. Or two. And I found myself on the stage getting a diploma two years early.

Mom and Dad freaked. Well, in a good way. We sat down and had a discussion. We bumped into one another and had several more. College is not a money problem. Mom and Dad letting their sixteen year old daughter loose in a college full of hormonally-challenged males IS a problem.

I saw myself headed for the nearby university, not a bad place in and of itself, but when it shows up on a resume', it makes no impact, or gets a 'huh?', at best.

I had a friend. It's a miracle that she was my friend, because in the years before, I was one of a little clique of girls who only spoke to her when we wanted to be bitchy and feel superior to somebody. She was on the edge of poverty prior to last year, and an easy target. Then this last year, after the hurricane, she showed up like a whole different person.

First, like me, she was thrown into a new school, so we were both outsiders, and us from the old school just gravitated towards one another. Second, she wasn't wearing Wal Mart's (or Goodwill's) best. She looked different. She acted different. From somebody who was just a face I recognized from last year, we became friends. Nikki. Last time I saw her, she was Nikki Domingue, daughter of a mom whose name showed up in a lot of the wrong kind of conversations.

This year, she showed up with a gold band on her finger. I naturally figured that from her reputed background that there was a baby at home and she was living with her 'husband' in his parents' house or something like that.

Nope.

That she was as dull as her clothes were the year before.

Nope.

That she'd dish out what she'd received from me and the little clique.

Nope.

"I wasn't that receptive to being a friend that year myself," Nikki told me. "I was a wreck. Grandma died. I had to live with Mom. Mom might've not had any shame, but I had enough for both of us."

A bunch of us gravitated to Nikki's side. Actually, Nikki and Dan's place. Dan's her husband. He's Dad's age, maybe a couple of years older. Engineer. And a good teacher.

Let me explain. Rural parishes don't have a lot of places for kids to hang out in the first place. Add to that a storm surge that topped twenty feet, wiping out the few places there were, so you know you're going to end up at somebody's house. For those of us that still had houses.

Then you subtract the houses of people who had families you really didn't want to mess with, or who didn't want a bunch of teens in the house, and pickings get thin. So Nikki's house. Nikki's good. So's her husband. The place is clean. And we're welcome. Lots of pluses. Add to that the fact Dan's a very apt teacher at the beginning, and that Nikki herself passed the whole bunch of us up about a month into the school year, and academically it was great.

Socially, it was even better. Safe. The fact that it started out as a STUDY group sort of shielded us from a lot of bullshit. We had a little turnover, and there were a couple of kids that weren't regulars, but we coalesced into a group of regulars: Nikki, because it was HER house, after all. Me. Kellen, a year older. Slade, the rare intelligent and academically inclined jock, Holly. Bret. Bret the nerd. And by the end of the school year, Bret 'n' Holly, the unit.

So when Nikki tells me that she's a member of a sisterhood, a community, and they're all going to Auburn, I march in on Dad one day and say "Dad, can I go to Auburn?"

"For what?"

"Business and accounting." I knew Dad's biggest fear was that he'd dump a hundred K on Medieval Literature. "Like your office stuff."

"Why Auburn?"

"Looks good on a resume'," I said.

"And Nikki's going there."

"Mister Dan's new business is there. They're moving there. And I know that Nikki knows three others going there."

"She's doing engineering."

"I know. But it'll be like I have family there. You like Dan. So does Mom."

Dinner that night was interesting, but I nailed 'em. And here I am.

Oh, we had the big migration, you know. Dad says I'm not getting a car, not just yet, not without living at home. "You're not eighteen, Maddie." We worked out the idea that my friends would help me out there. Including flying me home for the holidays.

But we had the Trail of Tears as Mom and Dad deposited their only daughter four hundred-odd miles from home.

I have a room-mate, Anita Searcy, eighteen, a serious student I knew from church camp. And I had an apartment. Brand new. Two bedrooms. In the same building as Nikki and Dan. And Cindy and another Dan. And Tina and Alan and Terri. And Sim and Beck and Rachel.

Got the serious talk from Alan about the conditions of our living in that apartment. From Mom and Dad it was "treat Dan like you would your own father. And the others likewise. We can't be here, but we know you know right from wrong."

"Yes, Mom. Yes, Dad."

From Alan, speaking on behalf of the others, "This is not a party venue. You're sixteen. No underage drinking. No partying. No live-in boyfriends. The apartment is leased to your parents. And you're my unofficially adopted daughter."

"Who's a year younger than your wife," I giggled.

He TRIED to look serious.

I bowed my head. "I shall bring honor to you and your house, master."

"Oh sure," he laughed. "Nikki and Tina warned me."

So I'm part of this. Got to be a bigger part, because I exist within the Community, a real entity that revolves around 3Sigma Engineering and Auburn and the families with which I am associated. The other girls make regular trips through the engineering offices from time to time. So do I. It's a different world. Interesting. They didn't have an administrator. I knew that Nikki's Dan (Dan 2.0, I'm told) was not fond of those duties. Turns out that's almost a characteristic of engineers. They talked to Beck, an actual adult female, wife of Sim, mother of Rachel, the dark-haired one of the two community elves. Beck agreed to become a part-time administrator, part-time homeschool educator.

"So," I said to Beck, "If Cindy can be The Engineer's Apprentice, then can I be The Beancounter's Apprentice?" That idea was run by the engineers and now I schedule hours in the office around my school schedule and Beck's home-schooling efforts. I get to answer the phone. I get to work up billing.

I am NOT allowed to make coffee. That's a result of the great pot-washing of 2013. Dan 1.0's (Cindy's Dan) has a specific ritual for preparing coffee and although I couldn't tell the difference, he swears that I stripped the 'cure' from his pot. Tina commiserated with me. Beck offered me herbal chai.

I was sitting there talking one day with Susan about this little community. "You know, I felt the same way. I pick up one friend and end up with this whole crazy thing. It's like I fell down the rabbit hole in Alice in Wonderland." Oh, yeah ... go to class, I might just as well be wearing a 'See the Freak' sign, because I'm just barely seventeen, but honestly, I don't think that this first semester stuff is much of a hurdle. Anita's about the same. She was in advanced placement classes in high school, and that gave her a lot of credits. I took my counsellor's advice, since it was HIM that got me here in the first place, and tested out of several subjects, too. I'm pulling enough hours to be considered a full-time student, but It's not as scary for me as it is for some of my classmates.

Of course, I look at Nikki and Cindy ... Anita said, "They're almost scary. Nikki ... was she like that at school?"

"It's hard to say," I said. "She did what you expect from an 'A' student in class. A little participation. Turned in the homework. Took the tests. And smiled."

"You did all that," Anita said.

"Yeah, and so did you."

"But I was eighteen. Senior."

I giggled. 'Yet here we are."

"But this bunch ... Maddie, they're crazy smart. Not like that kid..."

"'That kid' was also 'scary smart'. And obnoxious. Seemed like he lived for inappropriate behavior. Finally ended up being taken out of school. As they say, 'He had issues.'"

"That's what I mean," Anita returned. "I think that Nikki and Cindy are smarter. And they act so normal outside the academic thing..."

"You mean, besides Cindy getting married when she was fourteen and Nikki was fifteen."

"Yeah, that too. I knew about Nikki in school. Jumped on the 'she's gotta be pregnant' bandwagon like everybody else. But no. Thought 'little slut-puppy.' But no. I wish I could say I always acted with as much decorum as those two. Or any of the others."

"Using 'decorum' in a conversation. Nice," I said.

Anita laughed. "Yeah, that's another thing. Where do I go to hear a good old-fashioned normal teen conversation with 'like' an' 'yaknow' and 'knowhatI'msayin?'"

"Stop outside the classroom. You'll get plenty..."

"Oh, gosh, I know ... But this bunch? Uh, no. I saw more stuff goin' on at my last family reunion."

"It's a strange world, isn't it?"

"Yeah," she said. "Strange. But they let us fit right in where we want to."

That was the case. Our circles overlapped a lot. I enjoyed the evening get togethers. I enjoyed the communal meals, even contributing side dishes.

And I picked up the little sister I never had. Two of 'em, actually, because you seldom see Terri without Rachel, or vice versa. The way this works is surreal. I'm sitting there with a textbook open, Anita's across the coffee table with her laptop, and my phone dings, announcing an incoming text. From Terri.

"Are you too busy for company?" - Terri.

I text back. "No. Need a break. Come on."

A minute later, the door opens. Terri. No Rachel.

"Where's Rachel?"

"Something Jewish going on. She's with her mom and dad. Whatcha studying?"

"Economics 101."

"Beancounter Basic," Anita added

Terri's got a delightful giggle, as is fit for an eight year old girl. "You sound like my dad," she said. "He says beancounters are minions of the Antichrist."

"And I am an acolyte," I said. Terri's knowing smile told me that yet again I had not exceeded her grasp of vocabulary.

"So what's in it? I suppose I need to know sooner or later."

"Anita," I said, "Let's give Terri a lesson in Econ 101."

Afterward Anita and I were watching TV.

"Terri," she said.

"What about her?"

"My sister's got a kid that age. First time I saw Terri, I thought they were the same. Same age. Same height. Both third graders. Thought they'd be the same."

I smiled. I know where this is going.

"Clarissa is ... Well, if you look up 'brat' in the dictionary, they have a picture of her next to it. Terri's not only an 'only' child, but she's got a step-mom and a bunch of aunts right there with her. If there ever was a kid in a position to be spoiled, it would be Terri. But she's not."

"Neither is Rachel."

"Yeah," Anita said, "but we know who the alpha is in that pair."

"Yeah," I said, "and just think of what would be possible if those two WANTED to be trouble."

"Scary," Anita replied. "But she just bopped in here and asked what you were studying, and acted like she expected you to take the time to teach her."

I smiled. "Yes, that's exactly what happened."

"And you got me involved and now I feel like I REALLY studied the stuff."

"You don't mean to suggest that we just got played, do you?" I questioned.

Anita shook her head. "I dunno. D'ya think she's THAT smart? And why would she do it?"

"I don't know how smart she is, but I don't think that's the limiting term. I don't know if she made a conscious effort, that's all."

"I'm afraid to ask," Anita said. "Might be some kind of magical thing, where if you ask, you break the spell."

"Oh, Lord," I said. "Now we're talking about magical powers. That means..."

"Cindy," Anita said.

"Nikki was always talking about Cindy at the end of last school year. Remember? We met her and the others at graduation."

"I saw you with 'er," Anita said. "I just figured she was, you know, a bright one, like you and me." She hung her head a little. "She's bright, like you and me. She's not, you know."

"She's not?"

"Not like you and me. I didn't pay attention to Nikki last year, either. Those two are scary. I asked Dad about the math they're skipping. Told 'im that Cindy was tutoring her teacher on masters' level math. Dad thinks she's a freak."

"Only her brain. She's normal. Laughs, loves, plays, lives. Just like us."

"Except she walks into the professor's office and tests out of a semester's worth of subject matter in a week."

"So does Nikki."

"I know," Anita said. "It'd be sickening if they weren't just so nice..."

"Like that kid..." I said. "They're not like that kid."

Cindy's turn:

We finally got to fire it. 'It' being our railgun. We got the bullet trap in and positioned and bolted to the floor. Susan and Jim the machinist finally gave us a set of usable copper rails. Jim's machine shop turned us a dozen projectiles.

We've run the voltage up on the charging system to a hundred and fifty percent of the original voltage rating of the capacitors, just once. And we dropped the sphere to trigger the discharge into two electrodes stuck in a plastic barrel full of salt water. The measured temperature rise was within a decent range of our calculations. It was time.

So we did it. A ten percent test. We knew that ten percent would get the projectile out of the barrel, or off the rails, if you want to be technical. Made a satisfying snap and a clang as it hit the scroll of the bullet trap. High fives and giggles and congratulations abounded, all witnessed (and participated in) by Doctor Embert and a couple of researchers from the university.