Thursday afternoon arrived, and with it the long-awaited meeting between Beat Simon and the proprietors of Uppity Downs Academy. The girl was riding with her parents in the yellow sedan that Roger had purchased after his used Crosswire car had fallen apart after only two weeks.

"I hope we're going the right way," said Mr. Simon, who could see nothing on either side of the road except barren trees.

"According to the directions, we are," responded Mrs. Simon, who sat in the passenger seat clutching a map she had printed from the Internet.

"Are we there yet, Mum?" asked Beat from the back seat. "I have to go to the toilet."

After about five more minutes of seemingly aimless driving through snow-covered forest, they saw a stone fence with a metal gate on the right side. The number on the fence was the same as the street number on the map. "This must be it," said Mr. Simon as he pulled the car to the side of the road.

All three climbed out of the car and approached the tall fence. Through the gate they could see a cement pathway leading through a vast lawn to a fabulous-looking mansion. Beat noticed that the name Putnam was inscribed on the top of the metal gate.

Mr. Simon pressed a white button by the side of the gate. Moments later a nearby speaker started to crackle, and a man's voice emitted from it: "State your business."

"We're the Simons," Roger responded. "We have an appointment with Mr. Putnam."

After a few seconds of silence, the voice from the speaker said, "Proceed."

A buzzing sound indicated that the gate had been unlocked. Mr. Simon pushed it open, and he started along the pathway with his wife and daughter.

"This is like the Wizard of Oz," Beat remarked.

"Mr. Crosswire should pay them a visit," Mrs. Simon suggested. "Perhaps they could give him a heart."

After roughly twenty minutes spent in three different lavishly furnished waiting rooms, the three guests were hailed by a finely dressed manservant. "Mr. Putnam will see you now," he announced.

The Simons stepped through the carved wooden door and found themselves in the largest, grandest room they had yet seen. A half-crafted chandelier hung from the ceiling, the walls were lined with shelves containing thousands of books, and there were granite statues of women in each corner.

At the other end of the vast room sat a huge red-stained desk, and behind the desk sat an old man wearing a brown suit and tie. The man was mostly bald, with a wrinkled, dog-like face and ears like a monkey's. "Come in," he called, gesturing toward Beat and her parents. "Don't be bashful."

They walked slowly across the room, admiring the architecture and catching an occasional familiar book title. Finally they arrived in front of the old man's desk. The man bent over and peered at Beat. "Beatrice," he mumbled with a smile.

"Call me Beat, sir," was the response.

"You can call her Beatrice if you like, Mr. Putnam," said Mr. Simon.

With great effort, the old man pushed himself out of his chair and trudged around the desk. He placed his hand on top of Beat's head and stroked her hair, then ran his fingers along her ears. Finally, he grabbed her by the chin and jerked her head back and forth slightly. Letting go, he muttered, "Oh, yes, you'll do nicely."

Beat reached up and tried to straighten her hair. "Begging your pardon, sir," she asked innocently, "but would you mind telling us how you became so rich?"

Beat's parents scowled at her. Mr. Putnam chuckled pleasantly.

"Not at all." The old man sat down on the corner of his desk. "I'm an inventor. When I was young I had a head full of ideas. Do you know what to do when there's an idea in your head? You work and work and work until it becomes a reality. And that's what I had to do for half of my life. I worked and worked and worked, until my inventions won me fame and fortune. After that, I didn't have to work anymore." He laughed. "But I do! Because I still have ideas in my head!"

"I have ideas in my head, too," said Beat.

Mr. Putnam chuckled with delight. "Oh, I'm sure you do. I understand you're the best in your class. Perfect marks in everything. Yes, I can use someone like you at my school. Follow me."

The old man walked slowly and creakily toward one of the bookshelves, as Beat and her parents followed. He reached into a shelf and seemed to pull a lever, upon which part of the wall receded and slid open, much to Beat's surprise.

They now stood in a doorway that led into what appeared to be a small laboratory. All of the tables were filled with electronic equipment and cluttered with scientific instruments. The drab, windowless walls were covered with pictures of design diagrams and circuit schematics. A horse woman wearing a casual blouse and skirt sat on a metal stool, manipulating the dials on an oscilloscope. She turned to Beat and said, "Oh, it's the new girl."

"This is Christina," said Mr. Putnam to the Simons. "One of my top scientists. She's a graduate of Uppity Downs."

"My pleasure," said Christina politely.

"Christina, this is Beat Simon," said the old man, gesturing toward the girl. He then turned to Beat's parents. "In exchange for your daughter's enrollment at my school, I ask only that she participate in a scientific experiment."

"That's it?" said Mrs. Simon incredulously. "There must be a catch. What are the risks involved?"

"The risks are virtually negligible," Mr. Putnam answered. "Tell me, has your daughter shown any evidence of sensitivity to strobe lights?"

"No," Mrs. Simon replied.

"Excellent," said Putnam.

The horse woman began to speak. "The experiment consists of subjecting your child to a series of rapidly changing color patterns. If she were sensitive to strobe lights or other forms of extreme lighting changes, then there would be an extremely small chance of long-term psychological damage."

"And what's the purpose of this?" asked Mr. Simon.

"It's a new way of learning," the scientist replied. "We believe it will revolutionize the process of education."

Mr. Simon turned to his wife. "What do you think, Penny?"

"It seems a bit far-fetched to me," Mrs. Simon answered. "But if it gets her into Uppity Downs, and the risks are small, then I can see no reason..."

"Thank you, Mum!" cried Beat, smiling gratefully.

The horse woman held out a clipboard with a sheet of paper attached. "All we need in order to go forward is your signatures on this legal waiver. It simply states that you understand the risks, and that we can't be held responsible for any psychological damage. Of course, we're not expecting any."

Mr. Simon took the clipboard, and he and his wife started to read the print. Meanwhile, Beat hopped impatiently, crying, "Sign it! Sign it!"

"Very well," Mr. Simon finally said. "We'll sign."

Ten minutes later, in another windowless room, Beat and Mr. Putnam were lying flat on a pair of adjustable medical beds. Both had large black visors attached to their faces, covering their eyes. Each visor was connected to wires that led into the back of a personal computer, into which Christina was typing instructions.

As she worked, Putnam was carrying on a friendly conversation with Beat. "So, who is your favorite classical composer?" he asked her.

"Oh, I just love Rachmaninov," the girl replied. "So romantic and passionate."

"He's my favorite, too," said Putnam.

"We're ready," Christina announced. "Beat, I want you to hold your eyes open for the next five seconds, and not blink."

"Okay," said Beat.

Christina pressed a button, and the darkness of Beat's visor was suddenly replaced with the most vivid display of colors and shapes that she had ever witnessed. Images flashed by at incredible speed, more quickly than her brain could seize hold of a pattern. Her mind seemed to advance to an altered level of awareness, as if knowledge was pouring in and she was able to absorb it all. It lasted for only five seconds, but it felt like a lifetime...

Christina loosened the straps on Beat's visor and removed it. The girl sat up and looked around the room curiously. She lifted her hands to her head, felt her nose, felt her hair, felt her ears. Turning to Mr. Putnam, whose visor had also been removed, she smiled glowingly.

"Congratulations, Mr. Putnam," she said without a trace of English accent. "It's a girl."

Minutes later she emerged through the doorway leading into the laboratory, accompanied by the slow-moving Putnam. "Mum, Dad, it was a success," she told her parents as the moving wall section closed behind them.

"What do you mean, a success?" asked Beat's mother.

"Christina has this wonderful device," Beat explained, speaking with an English accent once again. "She asked me a question and I didn't know the answer to it. Then she put the device on my eyes and turned it on, and asked me the question again, and I knew the answer."

"Interesting," Mr. Simon remarked. "I'd like to know more about this device. It sounds like a marvelous time-saver."

"The technology is still in its infancy," said Mr. Putnam, "but with your daughter enrolled in my school, you will be among the first to be made aware of its progress."

"Did you hear that, Beat?" said Roger, crouching down to look his daughter in the face. "You're getting your wish. You're going to Uppity Downs."

"Yes, it's lovely, isn't it?" Beat responded in an unusually mature voice.

"You're getting smarter already," Mrs. Simon noted. "You said 'isn't it' instead of 'innit'."

"One final note before you leave," said Mr. Putnam. "I'd rather keep this a secret, lest all the children in Elwood City should want to take the experiment and get a free ride. Therefore, you must tell no one the truth about who is paying your daughter's tuition."

"What should we tell them, then?" asked Mr. Simon.

"Oh, just make up something," Putnam replied. "You could tell them, for example, that it's due to a stipulation in her late uncle's will."

THE END (for now...)