". . . the integer is then factored into this quantity, leaving the answer to be . . . anybody? Charlie?"
Charlie's head shot up in surprise upon hearing his name called. Casting a quick look over the board, the correct answer came immediately to his lips. Pausing, he shook his head and ventured an answer. "Um . . . three?"
Every head in the classroom turned to look at him. Charlie sank down slightly, but maintained an innocent look on his face.
Mr. Williams frowned in confusion. "Ah . . . try again, Charlie. Look carefully."
Charlie squinted at the board, pretending to be thinking hard about the answer. "Four?"
Someone snickered in the back of the room, but it was quickly stifled at a stern look from the teacher. Mr. Williams turned a concerned gaze onto his prized pupil, then looked out at the rest of the room. "Does anyone else have an answer?"
Charlie listened with half an ear as someone else called out the correct answer, cringing inside. Not being able to use his gift was eating at him from the inside out. It would be so easy to forget . . . so easy to go back to using his numbers . . .
No! Charlie shook himself. He pictured his big brother in his head, first defending him from Dylan Bradley, then yelling at him on the way home. It would be worth it in the end. He just had to be strong.
The bell rang, and Charlie quickly grabbed his backpack and took off out of the classroom before Mr. Williams could stop him. He didn't feel like explaining himself to anyone, and if he could avoid the confrontations, he would be just fine.
Mr. Williams' class was Charlie's last class of the day, and since it was Friday, that meant an entire two days with no school. Relieved to no end about being out of the public eye for the next couple days, Charlie rushed to his locker for the books he would need for the weekend. Once he had what he needed, he ran through the halls and outside to his usual meeting place with Don by the bike racks.
Don was standing impatiently, arms folded and foot tapping. As soon as his eyes fell on his hopeful younger brother's face, he turned without a word and began to walk in the direction of their home.
Charlie's face fell when he realized that Don still wasn't talking to him. He had hoped that, with a day going by, he would have calmed down enough to at least say hello. It would seem that Charlie had really messed up this time.
The walk home was spent completely in silence. Don was not in the least bit interested in talking to Charlie, and Charlie lacked the courage to find his voice. He simply walked several paces behind Don, careful not to make a sound. He didn't want to incur his brother's wrath again.
Mary was waiting outside for the boys when they reached home. She smiled warmly at her sons, kissing Don's cheek and reaching out to hug Charlie. "How was school, guys?"
Don shrugged. "Fine."
Charlie didn't answer. Mary felt his forehead, then cupped his cheek. "How are you feeling today, sweetheart? Any better?"
Charlie caught the angry look on Don's face and felt his stomach lurch a little. "Um . . . a little. I need to go do some, um . . . something in my room."
He slipped away from his mother and all but ran into the house. He didn't stop until he was safely in his room, flinging his backpack to the ground and flopping down onto his bed.
So far, he was hardly making headway on his plan. It was turning out to be much more difficult than he thought it would be. The numbers were swirling around in his head, pushing to pour out onto whatever writing surface Charlie could find. It seemed that everywhere he looked, there were numbers.
Twenty minutes to walk to school.
Fourteen houses, a gas station, and a small grocery store spread out in a five-
block stretch between home and school.
The increasing rate of students entering the school, proportional to the climbing hour as the time neared for the bell to ring.
The number of steps he took to and from school.
The number of lockers and ratio to students, as well as the faculty to student ratio.
Charlie squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his hands tightly to his face, trying to block out the calculations in his mind. He had to find a way to shut it off. He had to find a way to make it leave him alone. Or at the very least, to make them quieter in his head. If this kept up, he would never convince Donnie that he was normal.
Before Charlie even realized it, an entire week had gone by. It seemed to have passed him in a haze. He was dimly aware of his teachers' curious looks and tentative questions, and caught the occasional concerned glance from his mother, but he was so focused on deliberately hiding his abilities that he had little energy to pay them much mind.
He had tried to strike up a conversation with Donnie a couple times more, but Donnie had noticed the confusion and concern surrounding his little brother. Seeing the extra attention he was being paid had fed into Don's bitter resentment. Any attempts on Charlie's part to talk had been brushed off or downright ignored. In front of their parents, Don behaved lukewarm, but as soon as they were gone, Don went right back to being cold.
Charlie was confused. He had hidden all signs of his genius from everyone, and had acted like he thought a normal eight-year-old boy should. Instead of making Don like him, it was making things worse. That made no sense to Charlie at all. The entire ordeal frustrated the boy to no end, causing him to be distracted and much quieter than usual.
The walks to school in the morning and back home in the afternoon were not any better. Donnie continued to ignore him. School, too, was much more difficult. With his being deliberately obtuse, Charlie was having a hard time enduring the taunts from the other students. What had really stung was when three teenagers had pushed him around and ridiculed him mercilessly, all within earshot of his older brother. Charlie had made eye contact with Donnie for the first time since the week before, but Donnie had turned and walked away, leaving Charlie to take care of himself.
Charlie headed out of his fourth period class, but instead of going to lunch, he turned and headed upstairs for the second floor boys' room. It was barely used, and Charlie had taken to hiding out in the stall furthest from the door during breaks and some lunches. He was frequenting the bathroom more this week than he had all year, finding some solace in his hiding place.
Locking the stall, Charlie hung his backpack up and pulled out his lunch. Sitting on the floor with his back to the door, he began to pick at his food. As he forced himself to eat, a small part of him wondered how much longer he would have to endure all this before Donnie finally talked to him again. Charlie hoped it was soon. He wasn't sure how much more he could take.
Mary hung up the phone and cast a confused glance to her husband. Alan met her eyes, worry causing lines in his face. "Mary? What's wrong?"
"That was Charlie's trig teacher, Mr. Williams," Mary replied. "He just called because he was concerned about Charlie's behavior this past week in school."
"Behavior?" Alan echoed. "What, is he being disruptive?"
"No, nothing like that," Mary answered. "He said that Charlie's grades have slipped, that he's failing quizzes and a test. Mr. Williams also said that Charlie is behaving as though he doesn't have a clue how to do math anymore."
Alan's frown deepened. "Why would he do that?"
Mary sat at the table with her husband. "I have no idea. Do you suppose maybe we're putting too much pressure on him, having him go to high school with Don at his age?"
"Charlie would have told us if there was a problem," Alan told her. "Besides; he was so excited to go to school with Donnie. Why would that have changed?"
"I don't know," Mary said again. She looked down at her hands, then back up at Alan. "Mr. Williams suggested perhaps having Charlie tested again, just in case this problem is genuine."
Alan nodded. "All right. We can do that, just to be on the safe side. I'll call and have it scheduled as soon as possible."
Mary reached out and squeezed Alan's hand just as Don entered the room. Seeing his parents' worried looks, he paused. "What's wrong?"
"Donnie, have you noticed anything unusual about your brother lately?" Alan asked.
Don shook his head. "No, why? What's going on?"
With a glance to Alan, Mary related to her firstborn what they knew. When she finished, Don was shaking his head.
"He's faking it," he stated. "He's got to be. He can't just lose something like that."
"Why would he pretend?" Alan countered sternly.
Don shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe he's doing it for attention or something. Who knows?"
"Donnie . . . " Alan said, a warning in his voice.
Don affected an innocent look. "What? Look, Charlie's not sick, and he hasn't lost his gifts. Whatever he's dealing with will blow over, and he'll be back to normal again in no time. You're worrying over nothing."
Alan and Mary exchanged looks, each relaying the thought that, somehow, they didn't think it would be that simple.
