The Adjusters (10 page)

“Ignore him,” Blake said.

“What is with this place anyway?” Henry asked quietly, unable to keep the frustration from his voice. Academically, he’d never been one of the high achievers, but he was
comfortably above average. Top of the class in a couple of subjects, like French… Or at least, he had been. He’d always felt sorry for those kids who seemed to struggle with every new
thing that came along, but during the course of the day, he’d gained a fresh sympathy. He’d
become
one of them. “Were those classes supposed to be for geniuses or
something? Because I am no genius.”

“Geniuses?” Blake asked, genuine confusion in his tone. “Oh, you mean the gifted and talented kids? No, they have different classes by themselves. Y’know, more difficult
stuff.”

“Right,” Henry said, slamming his locker shut. He was beginning to suspect that behind Blake’s apparently guileless exterior, there was something altogether smarter going on.
He could sure as hell speak good French, for one. And hold his own in a conversation about Einstein’s theory of relativity. But so could most of the other kids at Malcorp High, it seemed. And
if these were the average kids, what were the gifted and talented like?

They ran out of the changing rooms onto the sports field to meet the gym instructor, a middle-aged guy with greying hair who looked fitter than most of the kids in the class. He sent them on a
warm-up jog around the field and then called them back in with a blast from his whistle. Henry pushed his way to the front of the group. This was one lesson where he knew he could make a good
impression, and he intended to do so.

“Sports day coming up in less than a month,” the instructor said, his accent clipped and British. “So, we’re practising middle distance events, starting with the three
thousand metres.”

There were a few theatrical groans around the group, which the instructor acknowledged with a grin.

“Yes, I know this is your favourite, so let’s put on a good show.” He pointed at Henry. “New kid, try to keep up. But don’t push it, okay?”

“I’m fine, sir,” Henry said. He’d run cross-country at his last school for a while. He could manage three kilometres.

The instructor slapped his hands together. “Okay. Everyone line up. And remember, it isn’t a race!”

The class ran over to the track and as he joined them, Henry noticed a lone figure sitting atop the bleachers. Christian. Typically, his uniform looked as if it had been dragged through a hedge
and he was missing his tie. He raised his hand and offered a little salute as he saw Henry looking.

“Good luck,” Blake said, nudging his arm.

Henry looked round at him. “What did he mean?
It isn’t a race
.”

Blake gave him one of his innocent looks. “Well, it isn’t. Sports are non-competitive at Malcorp High.” He bent slightly, preparing for the start along with the rest of the
class. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”

“Non-competitive,” Henry repeated as he prepared for the start as well. Then something occurred to him. “What about the football teams? How do they do
non-competitive?”

“Easy. They just take turns winning.”

Before Henry could respond, the instructor raised his starting pistol and fired. The class started off and Henry sprinted in line with them. Competitive or not, he intended to do well.

Putting his head down, he caught up with Blake and passed him with ease. To his surprise he also passed Steve, who was at the head of the group, a second later. Then, without having to push
himself too much, he found himself steaming ahead of the rest of the class. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the twenty or so other boys running together in a huddle as he moved steadily away from
them.

“Ward!” the instructor yelled across the track, as he came to the bend. “Slow down, dammit!”

Almost tripping over his feet in confusion, Henry slowed his pace until the others caught up with him. Steve shot him a murderous look as they passed.

“Get with the programme!” he hissed.

Henry fell back until he was jogging alongside Blake, who looked at him and said, “We run as a unit. I should have explained.”

As they completed their first lap of the track, the instructor fired his gun into the air again. On this signal every boy in the group doubled his running pace. Surprised by this sudden change,
Henry found himself struggling to keep up. By the time he’d caught up with Blake, the instructor had fired his gun once again.

The group doubled its pace once more. Getting wise to what was going on, Henry was ready to increase his work rate this time and had no trouble keeping up. Blake nodded his head and said,
“Now you’re getting the idea.”

Henry almost laughed with relief. Finally, a class where he wasn’t a million light years behind everyone else…

The starting gun fired again.

The group broke into a full-on sprint. Henry kept with them as they tore around the track. After a revolution at this sprint pace his heart was racing and he was gasping for breath, but the
group showed no sign of slowing. Casting a look at Blake he was surprised to see him at full sprint and not in the least fatigued. In fact, he hardly appeared to be out of breath. None of the class
did.

The starting pistol fired again, barely audible to Henry above the blood thundering around his temples. The group actually increased its pace once more. They completed another circuit of the
track. By this time, Henry’s head felt as if it was going to explode with the blood pulsing around it from the effort of the prolonged sprint.

The gun fired again. The runners’ speed increased…

Henry gasped and tried desperately to keep up with them. He managed another two hundred metres before his legs simply gave way. He collapsed on the grass beside the track, barely able to get
breath into his lungs. For a moment he lay on his back, before a wave of nausea overcame him and he rolled over and vomited.

“Difficulty keeping up, newbie?” the instructor said, appearing at his side. He showed little concern at Henry’s condition.

Henry wiped his mouth and looked round as the class flew by on another lap of the track. After almost two thousand metres they were still running like they were in a hundred-metre sprint.
“I’m fine,” he said.

The instructor gave a snorting laugh and walked away. Face burning as much from humiliation as from the blood pumping like crazy around his body, Henry turned towards the bleachers.

The spot where Christian had been sitting was empty.

“They really need to get a grip on their sterilization procedures. I mean, no wonder they’re having contamination issues when there aren’t even no-touch soap
dispensers in the lab.” Jennifer Ward paused briefly to spoon cornflakes into her mouth before she carried on talking at a mile a minute. “I really think I’m going to be able to
raise their fertilization rate by four to five per cent without having to break a sweat…”

“That’s great, Mom,” Henry said, pushing his cereal around in his bowl distractedly.

The last two days at Malcorp High had followed the same pattern as his first. In every class he felt lost with the sheer complexity of what was being studied and the speed with which the other
students moved through the material. Even the jocks, like Blake and Steve, left him for dust. Just as he thought he was getting a handle on a subject, they’d move onto something else that
he’d never even looked at in his last school. From what he could gather, they were studying college-level material in all subjects.

Jennifer stopped talking and looked at her son with concern. “Listen to me, rattling on. How’s things, kiddo?”

Henry gave her a smile. “Great. Just great.”

“You are a terrible actor,” she said. “What’s up?”

Henry shrugged. “You know. School stuff. I’ll get a grip on it…” He didn’t want to admit that he was struggling in class – in
all
classes. He’d
never had problems in school before. A couple of subjects, maybe. But not
everything
.

“If you want me to talk to your teachers…”

“Mom!”

“Okay! Okay!”

She reached round and grabbed a note from the fridge.

“I forgot to say. Your friend Christian dropped this round while you were in the shower. I asked him to come in, but he said he didn’t want to wait.”

Henry reluctantly took the note from her hand and unfolded it. It said:
How’s class? Coming round to our way of thinking yet?

“That kid is not my friend,” Henry said, scrunching the note in his fist and throwing it at the trash.

“Over here, Henry!” Blake yelled across the lunch hall.

Carrying his tray of food, Henry approached the long table near the windows looking out across the sports field. It was the nicest spot in the room and, he’d quickly learned, the exclusive
domain of the in-crowd at Malcorp High. Steve and most of the football team sat along one side, with a collection of cheerleaders who looked like they’d stepped off the front cover of a
magazine.

As he approached the empty place next to Blake, the six-foot quarterback on the other side placed his foot on the seat.

“Henry’s okay,” Blake said, giving him a look. The quarterback reluctantly removed his foot.

Henry sighed and looked at Blake. “If this is a problem…”

“Hey, you’re one of us!” Blake said, waving him into the chair. “Or at least, you’re going to be. Right?”

“I guess,” Henry replied as he sat down. This really wasn’t his scene. Looking along the table, he met the eyes of everyone else in the group. Steve and several of the others
were staring at him with barely hidden hostility.

“My grandad said we should help you fit in,” Blake said, loud enough for the entire table to hear.

It was like a switch had been thrown. Frowns turned to smiles the length of the table. Hands were raised in greeting.

Henry raised a hand back. “Uh, nice to meet you all.”

Only Steve was still staring at him frostily.

“Y’know, you’ve been seen with that kid Christian again,” Blake said. “You don’t want to get associated with that freak.”

Henry felt the need to defend the other kid. “Christian’s not a freak. Just a little…unusual.”

Blake laughed. “That’s my definition of a freak.” His attention wandered across to the far side of the hall and his expression turned to a frown. Henry followed Blake’s
gaze to a table where a group of pretty normal-looking kids were sitting.

“When’s the last time that kid got a haircut, d’you think?” Blake asked, referring to a boy whose hair was only slightly shaggy.

“We should remind Principle Carpenter about the school regulations on hair length,” the cheerleader to his left said.

Blake nodded. “Why don’t you do that, Stacy? And mention uniform standards at the same time. Half of the student body look like hobos, walking around with their shirts hanging
out.”

This caused laughter around the table. Henry found himself surreptitiously reaching to tuck his own shirt in.

“We could start a poster campaign!” Stacy exclaimed.

“I’ll get the football team to do uniform checks in the halls,” the quarterback added, cracking his knuckles.

Henry looked at Blake, who grinned and took a bite of pizza. “It’s all about standards, Henry. Our crowd has to set the tone.”

“Our crowd, right,” he replied, glancing down the table at Steve, who was whispering with one of his friends. “He doesn’t like me much.”

“Don’t mind, Steve,” Blake said. “It’s just the way he’s put together. Suspicious of outsiders, but once he gets to know you—” He stopped at the
sound of a crash from the other side of the hall.

Henry looked round with the others. Near the food line a tall, skinny kid had dropped the contents of his tray on the floor. As they watched, the kid started walking in a circle around the pizza
and fries on the floor, rubbing the side of his head vigorously with the palm of his hand, like there was something inside he wanted to get out. Silence fell over the hall as the kid stopped
circling, reached down and grabbed a handful of fries from the floor and stuffed them into his mouth.

“Jesus,” Henry said.

Blake nodded to the other end of the table. Steve and two of the larger boys from the group rose and started across the hall to the kid, who was now on his hands and knees scooping up food from
the floor and eating it.

“What’s wrong with him?” Henry asked as they watched Steve and the others grab the kid. The boy gave no resistance, going limp like a rag doll as they pulled him towards the
exit.

“Tommy?” Blake said as the others turned back to their lunches as if nothing had happened. “He had an accident a few weeks ago.”

“Accident?”

Blake tapped the side of his head. “Got hit during football practice. Knocked something loose. Know what I mean? Steve will make sure he gets taken care of.”

Henry raised an eyebrow at that, but said nothing, wondering what getting
taken care of
by Steve would entail. Unsettled, he finished his lunch quickly, made an excuse about having a book
to pick up from the library and left the hall.

It was chance that Henry’s first lesson after lunch took him right past the school medical room, but what happened next wasn’t. With the image of Tommy from the
lunch hall still in his head, Henry found himself stopping in the corridor outside, when he should have been carrying on to class.
What had happened to that kid?
On impulse, Henry walked
through the open door rather than carrying on by.