The Clueless Girl's Guide to Being a Genius (18 page)

“Anyway,” Mindy continued, “here it is.”

I blushed and said, “Thank you.” The package was about six inches square and wrapped in silver with a pink bow. Inside was a plastic frog. It had a wide mouth and a long red tongue that flew out when I squeezed. The class had glued feathery wings to it.

“Because you taught us that frogs can fly,” said Adam.

My smile was so wide there was barely room on my face for it. Then the bell rang, and the students raced from their seats like they were on fire. Most screamed their good-byes on their way out. A small group risked being late for their next class to give me a personal send-off.

Mindy was the last to go. She hesitated, as if gathering her thoughts. “I guess this is it.”

“My plane doesn't leave until tomorrow.”

“All the same, I'm going to say this now, to make sure it gets said. I apologize for being mean and telling you to go back to Harvard. I didn't really want you to go. I was angry because Adam danced with you instead of me. I wanted to hurt you, but I ended up hurting everybody, because you really did leave.”

“It wasn't just you,” I admitted. “I would have had to leave anyway. Harvard wanted me back. How could I say no?”

“So you're happy at Harvard?”

The question took me off guard. “I'm . . .”
What was the way to describe it?
“I'm fulfilling my destiny.”

Mindy looked down at her shoes. “Remember when I said that we couldn't be friends, that it would be too weird? It wasn't true. You were the best friend I ever had.” Then she hugged me. It was not a more-arms-than-chest hug like I sometimes saw Mindy give Jordeen, Veronica, or Summer, but a long I'm-going-to-miss-my-best-friend hug that required me to stop breathing for a second so I wouldn't ruin it.

 

“It was my sister,” said Father as he hung up the phone that evening. “She's down with the flu again and wanted to know if I could go over and help her with the little ones.”

“Go ahead,” said Mother. “You can bring along the casserole that's in the freezer.”

I had just finished packing my bag and bringing it downstairs to set near the door so I would be ready to leave first thing in the morning.

“I'll be back as soon as I can,” said Father, grabbing his car keys.

He wasn't gone five minutes when the phone rang. It was a customer with a plumbing emergency.

“Sorry,” said Mother. “Would you keep an eye on Hermy for me?”

I pulled a chair next to his playpen. Hermy was sound asleep, sucking his pacifier in and out as he breathed. I stroked his hair. Ten minutes passed. Twenty minutes. An hour. I wished he would wake up so I wouldn't be alone. That way, I wouldn't have to think about what I was doing—returning to Harvard.

I turned on a television show about predatory insects, but my mind kept wandering back to Harvard.
Was I happy there?
That's what Mindy had asked. I could do important work there. I could utilize my talents there, like my professors wanted me to. But was I happy? It was such a simple question; I could hardly believe I had never considered it before.

I thought about it for another hour, until Mother finally came home. “Someone flushed a sock,” she reported. “When will they learn that even a toilet needs a little respect to function?” She headed upstairs to shower, like she always did after a plumbing job.

I waited until she was dressed. We sat in the den, across from her collection of Golden Plunger Awards for Plumbing Excellence. I got straight to the point. “Would you be too disappointed if I decided I didn't want to be a famous mathematician anymore?”

The color drained from her face. “But it's all you've ever wanted,” she said. “Principal DeGuy, the people at the gifted testing office, your teachers and professors, they've all told us it is what's best for you, your destiny.”

“But destiny, if there is such a thing, is what brought me to Carnegie Middle School. Destiny isn't just something that happens to you. Like Father says, ‘Life is what you make it.' ”

She took my hand and held it on her lap. “It is,” she agreed, nodding as she spoke. “Of course it is.”

For a few moments we were both silent as we appreciated the magnitude of what had just taken place. Finally, I asked, “You're not too disappointed?”

“A bit surprised, yes; disappointed, no. But if you don't go back to Harvard, what will you do?”

I had absolutely no idea. Suddenly my future was a wide-open field and, regardless of my IQ, I could spin through that field as fast or as slow as I wanted. I didn't have to be anything except me.

It's funny how the smallest things can make the biggest difference in a person's life. Fate and destiny were qualities that were hard to calculate. Like the sock that Mother had to unclog the night before I was supposed to go back to Harvard. If that sock hadn't ended up in someone's pipes, Mother might not have left me alone with the time that I needed to think. Of all the possibilities in the universe, it was, for the third—
and final
—time, a toilet that changed my life, forever.

That night, before I went to sleep, I counted all of the cash I had accumulated. Then I cleared a spot in the center of my bedroom, hugged Hershey Bear to my chest, and spun. Around and around and around. And when I stopped, at that exact moment when my brain hadn't yet caught up to my body and it felt like I was still spinning, I stumbled upon what I wanted to do.

 

“Three more steps,” I told Mindy. It had taken an entire week to get my surprise ready for her. Halfway through the drive there, I had made her put on a blindfold. Now we were standing on the sidewalk, getting ready for the big reveal.

“Now?” asked Mindy.

“Now,” I said.

She pulled the scarf off her eyes and was so startled she almost stumbled.

The Baton Barn had never looked better. It had been repainted flamingo pink. Batons poked from the ground lining the path to its doors. Across the face of it was a huge sign: UNDER NEW MANAGEMENT.

“I made Miss Brenda a better offer,” I said. “So you can keep taking lessons as long as you want.”

The crowd behind us began to whoop and cheer. Our families, the math team, the teachers from Carnegie Middle School, the guys from the Shoot-M-Up pool hall, Miss Brenda's students, even the news reporters—everyone we knew had turned out for the surprise.

“What a great story of friendship,” said the reporter from the
Carnegie Signal Item
. “You two are amazing. You should write a book together:
From Bonehead to Infinity,
or
Aphrodite Wigglesmith and the Toilet's Flush
.”

“Only a total genius would read that hilarious book,” said Timothy.

The whole thing was captured for the evening news: Mindy jumping up and down, screaming for joy; the other baton students doing cartwheels; Mr. Finch bending over so people could rub his lucky tattoo; Timothy telling me another one of his amusing jokes; me telling him my Einstein joke; Timothy laughing; me calling dibs on him.

“What's dibs?” he asked.

“It's a girl thing,” Mindy told him.

I had never noticed how cute he was. Maybe I could convince him to sign up for baton lessons. Now that I owned the Baton Barn, I would have to figure out how to twirl. I already had experience as a math teacher, but being a baton teacher was going to be a whole new challenge. Sure, I was still a math genius, but that wasn't
all
I was anymore.

The batons lining the walkway had sparkly streamers on their ends. I pulled one out and drew the symbol for infinity in the air with it. Then I placed my hand around the center of the shaft. A formula came to me. I calculated the height of the Baton Barn, the distance to the other buildings, and the wind speed. Then I spread my legs out for balance, lowered the baton, and flung it in the air.

It flew like it had wings—up, up, up, three stories high. While I watched the baton tumble to earth, Mindy grabbed my arm and pulled me over a few feet. She extended my hand, palm up. The baton landed perfectly, filling the void in my palm between my life line and heart line.