Invasion

2

7:30 A.M.

Pulling off Main Street into Costa’s 24-Hour Diner, the right rear tire of Beau Stark’s black Toyota 4Runner hit the curb and the vehicle bounced. Sitting in the front passenger seat, Cassy Winthrope’s head bumped against the passenger-side window. She wasn’t hurt, but the jolt had been unexpected. Luckily she had her seat belt on.

“My God!” Cassy exclaimed. “Where’d you learn to drive, Kmart?”

“Very funny,” Beau said sheepishly. “I turned a little too soon, okay?”

“You should let me drive if you’re preoccupied,” Cassy said.

Beau drove across the crowded gravel parking lot and pulled to a stop in a slot in front of the diner. “How do you know I’m preoccupied?” he asked. He pulled on the brake and killed the engine.

“When you live with someone you begin to read all sorts of little clues,” Cassy said as she undid her seat belt and alighted from the car. “Especially someone you’re engaged to.”

Beau did the same, but as his foot made contact with the ground, it slipped on a rock. He grabbed onto the open door to keep from falling.

“That settles it,” Cassy said, having caught Beau’s latest sign of inattentiveness and temporary lack of coordination. “After breakfast, I’m driving.”

“I can drive fine,” Beau said irritably as he slammed the car door and locked the car with his remote. He met up with Cassy at the rear of the car and they trudged toward the diner’s entrance.

“Sure, just like you can shave fine,” Cassy said.

Beau had a small forest of tissue paper plastered to the various nicks and cuts he’d inflicted on himself that morning.

“And pour coffee,” Cassy added. Earlier Beau had dropped the pot of coffee and broken one of their mugs in the process.

“Well, maybe I am a little preoccupied,” Beau reluctantly admitted.

Beau and Cassy had been living together for the last eight months. They were both twenty-one and seniors, like Pitt. They’d known of each other from their freshman year, but had never dated, each certain that the other was always involved with someone else. When they’d finally been brought together inadvertently by their mutual friend, Pitt, who’d been casually dating Cassy at the time, they’d clicked as if their relationship were meant to be.

Most people thought they resembled each other and could almost be brother and sister. Both had thick, dark brown hair, flawless olive-complected skin, and shockingly crystalline blue eyes. Both were also athletically inclined and frequently worked out together. Some people had joked that they were a brunette version of Ken and Barbie.

“Do you really think that you are going to hear from the Nite people?” Cassy asked as Beau held the door open for her. “I mean, Cipher is only the largest software company in the world. I think you are just setting yourself up for big-time rejection.”

“No question that they’ll call,” Beau said confidently, entering the restaurant behind Cassy. “After the resume I sent, they’ll be calling any minute.” He pulled aside his Cerruti jacket to flash the tip of his cellular phone stuck in his inner pocket.

Beau’s snappy attire that morning was no accident. He made it a point to dress nattily every day. It was his feeling that looking successful bred success. Luckily, his professional parents were able and willing to indulge his inclinations. To his credit he was a hard worker, studied diligently, and got outstanding grades. Confidence was not something he lacked.

“Hey, guys!” Pitt called from a booth beneath the front windows. “Over here!”

Cassy waved and wormed her way through the crowd. Costa’s Diner, affectionately labeled the “greasy spoon,” was a popular university hangout, especially for breakfast. Cassy slid into the seat across from Pitt. Beau did likewise.

“Did you have any trouble with your TV or radio last night?” Pitt asked excitedly before any hellos were exchanged. “Did you have anything turned on around ten-fifteen?”

Cassy made an expression of exaggerated disdain.

“Unlike other people,” Beau said with feigned haughtiness, “we study on school nights.”

Pitt unceremoniously bounced a piece of wadded-up napkin off Beau’s forehead. He’d been nervously toying with the paper while waiting for Beau and Cassy to arrive.

“For those of you nerds who have no idea of what’s going on in the real world, last night at quarter past ten a whole shitload of radios and TVs were knocked out all over the city,” Pitt said. “Mine included. Some people think it was a prank by some guys in the physics department, and I’ll tell you, I’m steamed.”

“It would be nice if it happened over the entire country,” Beau said. “Within a week of no TV the national average IQ would probably go up.”

“Orange juice for everyone?” Marjorie the waitress asked. She’d appeared at the tableside. Before anyone could answer she began pouring. It was all part of the normal morning ritual. Then Marjorie took their orders and barked them in Greek over the counter to the two short-order cooks.

While everyone was enjoying their juice, Beau’s cellular phone’s muted ring could be heard under the fabric of his jacket. In his haste to get to it, he knocked over his juice glass. Pitt had to react instinctively to avoid a lap full of OJ.

Cassy shook her head captiously as she pulled out a half-dozen napkins from the holder and blotted up the spilled juice. She rolled her eyes for Pitt’s benefit and mentioned that Beau had been pulling off equivalent stunts all morning.

Beau’s expression brightened when he realized his hopes had been answered: the call was coming from Randy Nite’s organization. He even made certain to pronounce the name, Cipher, very clearly for Cassy’s benefit.

Cassy explained to Pitt that Beau was looking for employment with the Pope.

“I’d be happy to come for an interview,” Beau was saying with studied calmness. “It would be my pleasure indeed. Whenever Mr. Nite would like to see me, I’d be happy to fly east. As I indicated in my cover letter, I’ll be graduating next month, and I’d be available to begin work... well, really any time thereafter.”

“‘Thereafter!’” Cassy sputtered. She choked on her orange juice.

“Yeah,” Pitt chimed in. “Where’d that word come from? That doesn’t sound like the Beau I’ve learned to love.”

Beau waved them off and shot them a dirty look. “That’s correct,” he said into the phone. “What I’m looking for is some permutation of the role of personal assistant to Mr. Nite.”

“Permutation?” Cassy questioned, suppressing a laugh.

“What I like is the muted but fake English accent,” Pitt said. “Maybe Beau should go into acting and forget computers.”

“He is a rather good actor,” Cassy said, tickling his ear. “This morning he was pretending to be a klutz.”

Beau batted away her hand. “Yes, that would be fine,” he said into the phone. “I’ll make arrangements to be there. Please tell Mr. Nite I look forward to meeting him with great alacrity.”

“‘Alacrity’?” Pitt voiced, pretending to gag himself with his index finger.

Beau pressed the end button and flipped his cellular phone closed. He glared at both Cassy and Pitt. “You guys are like really mature. That was possibly the most important call in my life, and you’re clowning around.”

“‘Like really mature’! That sounds more like the Beau I know,” Cassy said.

“Yeah, who was that other guy talking on the phone?” Pitt asked.

“He’s the guy who’s going to be working for Cipher come June,” Beau said. “Mark my word. After that, who knows? While you, my friend, are going to be wasting another four years in medical school.”

Pitt laughed out loud. “Waste four years in medical school?” he questioned. “Now that’s a curious, albeit twisted perspective.”

Cassy slid over next to Beau and started to nibble at his earlobe.

Beau pushed her away. “Jeez, Cass, there are professors in here that I know, people who might be writing me letters of recommendation.”

“Oh, don’t be so uptight,” Cassy said. “We’re just teasing you ’cause you’re so wired. Actually I’m amazed Cipher called you. It’s quite a coup. I’d imagine they’d get lots of job inquiries.”

“It’s going to be even more of a coup when Randy Nite offers me a job,” Beau said. “The experience would be mindboggling. It’s a dream job. The man is worth billions.”

“It would also be demanding,” Cassy said wistfully. “Probably twenty-five hours a day, eight days a week, fourteen months a year. That doesn’t leave much time for us, especially if I’ll be teaching here.”

“It’s merely a way to get a jump on a career,” Beau said. “I want to do well for us so that we can really enjoy our lives.”

Pitt pretended to gag himself again and pleaded with his breakfast companions not to make him sick with mushy romantic stuff.

Once the food came, the threesome ate quickly. They all involuntarily glanced at their respective watches. They didn’t have that much time.

“Anybody up for a movie tonight?” Cassy said as she drained her coffee. “I’ve got an exam today and I deserve a little relaxation.”

“Not me, Pumpkin,” Beau said. “I got a paper due in a couple of days.” He turned and tried to get Marjorie’s attention to get the check.

“How about you?” Cassy asked Pitt.

“Sorry,” Pitt said. “I’m doing a double shift at the medical center.”

“What about Jennifer?” Cassy asked. “I could give her a call.”

“Well, that’s up to you,” Pitt said. “But don’t do it on my account. Jennifer and I are on the outs.”

“I’m sorry,” Cassy said with feeling. “I thought you two guys were a great couple.”

“So did I,” Pitt said. “Unfortunately she seems to have found someone more to her liking.”

For a moment Cassy’s and Pitt’s eyes held, then they both looked off, feeling a twinge of embarrassment and a mild sense of déjà vu.

Beau got the check and smoothed it out on the table. Despite all three having had various college math courses, it took them five minutes to figure out how much each owed once a reasonable tip had been added.

“You want a ride to the med center?” Beau asked Pitt as they pushed out into the morning sunshine.

“I suppose,” Pitt said ambivalently. He was feeling a little depressed. The problem was that he still harbored romantic feelings toward Cassy despite the fact that she had spurned him and Beau was his best friend. He and Beau had known each other since elementary school.

Pitt was a few steps behind his friends. His inclination was to go around to the passenger side of Beau’s car to hold the door for Cassy, but he didn’t want to make Beau look bad. Instead he followed Beau and was about to climb into the backseat when Beau put his arm on his shoulder.

“What the hell is that?” Beau asked.

Pitt followed Beau’s line of sight. Stuck in the dirt directly in front of the driver’s door was a curious, round black object about the size of a silver dollar. It was symmetrically domed, smooth, and in the sunlight it had a dull finish that made it difficult to tell if it were metal or stone.

“I must have stepped on the damn thing when I got out of the car,” Beau said. The indentation of a smudged footprint clearly angled off to one side from the object’s rounded peak. “I wondered why I slipped.”

“Do you think it dropped out from under your car?” Pitt asked.

“It’s weird-looking,” Beau said. He bent down and, with the side of his hand, brushed away some of the sand from the partially buried curiosity. When he did so he could see eight minute little domes symmetrically arrayed around the object’s edge.

“Hey, come on, you guys!” Cassy called from inside the car. “I got to get to my student teaching assignment. I’m already late as it is.”

“Just a sec,” Beau answered. Then to Pitt he asked: “Any ideas what it is?”

“Not a clue,” Pitt admitted. “Let’s see if your car starts.”

“It’s not from my car, you lunkhead,” Beau said. With his thumb and index finger of his right hand he tried to pick the object up. It resisted his efforts. “It must be the end of a buried rod.”

Using both hands to scrape away the gravel and sand from around the object, Beau surprised himself by quickly upending it. It wasn’t part of a rod. The underside was flat. Beau picked it up. At the height of the dome it was about a centimeter thick.

“Shit, it’s heavy for its size,” Beau said. He handed it to Pitt, who hefted it in the palm of his hand. Pitt whistled and made an expression of amazement. He gave it back to Beau.

“What’s it made of?” Pitt asked.

“Feels like lead,” Beau said. With his fingernail he tried to scratch it, but it didn’t scratch. “But it ain’t lead. Hell, I bet it’s heavier than lead.”

“It reminds me of one of those black rocks you find once in a while at the beach,” Pitt said. “You know, those rocks that get rolled around for years by the surf.”

Beau hooked his index finger and thumb around the margin of the object and made a motion as if to throw it. “With this flat underside I bet I could skip this thing twenty times.”

“Bull!” Pitt said. “With its weight it would sink after one or two skips.”

“Five bucks says I could skip it at least ten times,” Beau said.

“You’re on,” Pitt said.

“Ahhh!” Beau cried suddenly. Dropping the object, which again half buried itself in the sand and gravel, Beau grabbed his right hand with his left.

“What happened?” Pitt demanded with alarm.

“The damn thing stung me,” Beau said angrily. By squeezing the base of his index finger, he caused a drop of blood to appear at the tip.

“Oh, wow!” Pitt said sarcastically. “A mortal wound!”

“Screw you, Henderson,” Beau said, grimacing. “It hurt. It felt like a goddamn bee sting. I even felt it up my arm.”

“Ah, instant septicemia,” Pitt said with equal sarcasm.

“What the hell’s that?” Beau demanded nervously.

“It would take too long to explain, Mr. Hypochondriac,” Pitt said. “Besides, I’m just pulling your leg.”

Beau bent down and retrieved the black disc. He carefully inspected its edge but found nothing that could have accounted for the sting.

“Come on, Beau!” Cassy called angrily. “I gotta go. What on earth are you two doing?”

“All right, all right,” Beau said. He looked at Pitt and shrugged.

Pitt bent down and from the base of the latest indentation the object had made in the sand, lifted a slender shard of glass. “Could this have been stuck to it somehow and cut you?”

“I suppose,” Beau said. He thought it unlikely but couldn’t think of any other explanation. He’d convinced himself there was no way the object could have been at fault.

“Beauuuuu!” Cassy called through clenched teeth.

Beau swung himself up behind the wheel of his 4×4. As he did so he absently slipped the curious domed disc into his jacket pocket. Pitt climbed into the backseat.

“Now I’m going to be late,” Cassy fumed.

“When was your last tetanus shot?” Pitt questioned from the backseat.

A mile from Costa’s Diner the Sellers family was in the final stages of its morning routine. The family minivan was already idling thanks to Jonathan, who sat expectantly behind the wheel. His mother, Nancy, was framed by the open front door. She was dressed in a simple suit befitting her professional position as a research virologist for a local pharmaceutical company. She was a petite woman of five foot two with a Medusa’s head of tight, blond curls.

“Come on, honey,” Nancy called to her husband, Eugene. Eugene was stuck on the kitchen phone, talking with one of the local newspaper reporters whom he knew socially. Eugene motioned he’d be another minute.

Nancy impatiently switched her weight from one foot to the other and eyed her husband of twenty years. He looked like what he was: a physics professor at the university. She’d never been able to coax him out of his baggy corduroy pants and jacket, blue chambray shirt, and knitted tie. She’d gone to the extent of buying him better clothes, but they hung unused in the closet. But she’d not married Eugene for his fashion sense or lack of it. They’d met in graduate school, and she’d fallen hopelessly in love with his wit, humor, and gentle good looks.

Turning around, she eyed her son, in whose face she could definitely see both herself and her husband. He’d seemed defensive that morning when she’d asked him about what he’d been doing the night before at his friend Tim’s house. Jonathan’s uncharacteristic evasiveness worried her. She knew the pressures teenagers were under.

“Honest, Art,” Eugene was saying loud enough for Nancy to hear. “There’s no way such a powerful blast of radio waves could have come from any of the labs in the physics department. My advice is to check with some of the radio stations in the area. There are two besides the university station. I suppose it could have been some kind of prank. I just don’t know.”

Nancy looked back at her husband. She knew it was difficult for him to be rude with anyone, but everybody was going to be late. Holding up a finger she mouthed the words “one minute” to Eugene. Then she walked out to the car.

“Can I drive this morning?” Jonathan asked.

“I don’t think this is the morning,” Nancy said. “We’re already late. Shove over.”

“Jeez,” Jonathan whined. “You guys never give me any credit for being able to do anything.”

“That’s not true,” Nancy countered. “But I certainly don’t think putting you in a situation of having to drive while we are in a hurry is appropriate.”

Nancy got in behind the wheel.

“Where’s Dad anyway?” Jonathan mumbled.

“He’s talking with Art Talbot,” Nancy said. She glanced at her watch. The minute was up. She beeped the horn.

Thankfully Eugene appeared at the door, which he turned to and locked. He ran to the car and jumped in the backseat. Nancy quickly backed out into the street and accelerated toward their first stop: Jonathan’s school.

“Sorry to keep everybody waiting,” Eugene said after they’d driven a short distance in silence. “There was a curious phenomenon last night. Seems that a lot of TVs, radios, and even garage door openers suffered damage in the area around the university. Tell me, Jonathan. Were you and Tim listening to the radio or watching TV around ten-fifteen? As I recall the Appletons live over in that general area.”

“Who, me?” Jonathan questioned too quickly. “No, no. We were... reading. Yeah, we were reading.”

Nancy glanced at her son out of the corner of her eye. She couldn’t help but wonder what he really had been doing.

“Whoa!” Jesse Kemper said. He managed to keep a steaming cup of Starbucks coffee from splashing into his lap as his partner, Vince Garbon, bottomed out their cruiser on the lip of the driveway going into Pierson’s Electrical Supply. It was located a few blocks away from Costa’s Diner.

Jesse was in his middle fifties and was still athletic. Most people thought he was no more than forty. He was also an imposing man with a bushy mustache to offset the thinning hair on the dome of his large head.

Jesse was a detective lieutenant for the city police and was well liked by his colleagues. He’d been only the fifth African-American on the force, but encouraged by his record, the city had commenced a serious recruiting effort toward African-Americans to the point that the department now racially mirrored the community.

Vince pulled the unmarked sedan around the side of the building and stopped outside an open garage door next to a city squad car.

“This I got to see,” Jesse said, alighting from the passenger seat.

Coming back from a coffee run, he and Vince had heard on the radio that a repeat, small-time crook by the name of Eddie Howard had been found after having been cornered all night by a watchdog. Eddie was so well known at the police station that he was almost a friend.

Allowing their eyes to adjust from the bright sunlight to the dim interior, Jesse and Vince could hear voices off to the right, behind a bank of massive floor-to-ceiling shelving. When they walked back there they found two uniformed policemen lounging as if on a cigarette break. Plastered to a corner was Eddie Howard. In front of him was a large black-and-white pit bull who stood like a statue. The animal’s unblinking eyes were glued to Eddie like two black marbles.

“Kemper, thank God,” Eddie said, holding himself rigid while he spoke. “Get this animal away from me!”

Jesse looked at the two uniformed cops.

“We called and the owner’s on his way in,” one of them said. “Normally they don’t get here until nine.”

Jesse nodded and turned back to Eddie. “How long have you been in here?”

“All freakin’ night,” Eddie said. “Pressed up against this wall.”

“How’d you get in?” Jesse asked.

“Just walked in,” Eddie said. “I was just hanging out in the neighborhood and suddenly the garage door back there opened by itself, like magic. So I came in to make sure everything was okay. You know, to help out.”

Jesse gave a short derisive laugh. “I guess Fido here thought you had something else in mind.”

“Come on, Kemper.” Eddie moaned. “Get this beast away from me.”

“In due time,” Jesse said with a chuckle. “In due time.” Then he turned back to the uniformed officers. “Did you check the garage door?”

“Sure did,” the second officer replied.

“Any sign of forced entry?” Jesse asked.

“I think Eddie was telling the truth about that,” the officer said.

Jesse shook his head. “More weird stuff happened last night than you can shake a stick at.”

“But mostly in this part of the city,” Vince added.

Sheila Miller parked her red BMW convertible in her reserved spot near the emergency-room entrance. Flipping the front seat forward, she eyed her stricken VCR. She tried to think of a way of getting it, her briefcase, and a separate stack of folders into her office in one trip. It seemed doubtful until she saw a black Toyota utility vehicle pull up to the unloading bay and discharge a passenger.

“Excuse me, Mr. Henderson,” Sheila called out when she recognized Pitt. She made it a point to know everyone by name who worked in her department, whether clerk or surgeon. “Could I see you a moment?”

Although obviously in a hurry, Pitt turned when he heard his name. Instantly he recognized Dr. Miller. Sheepishly he reversed directions, descended the steps from the loading dock, and came over to her car.

“I know I’m a tad late,” Pitt said nervously. Dr. Miller had a reputation of being a no-nonsense administrator. Her nickname was “Dragon Lady” among the lower-echelon staff, particularly the first-year residents. “It won’t happen again,” Pitt added.

Sheila glanced at her watch, then back at Pitt. “You’re slated to start medical school in the fall.”

“That’s true,” Pitt answered with his pulse rising.

“Well, at least you’re better-looking than most of the ones in this year’s crop,” Sheila said, hiding a grin. She could sense Pitt’s anxiety.

Confused by the comment, which sounded like a compliment, Pitt merely nodded. In truth he didn’t know what to say. He had a sense she was toying with him but couldn’t be sure.

“I’ll tell you what,” Sheila said, nodding toward her back seat. “If you carry that VCR into my office I won’t mention this egregious infraction to the dean.”

Pitt was now reasonably certain that Dr. Miller was teasing him, but he still felt it better to keep his mouth shut. Without a word he reached in, lifted the VCR, and followed Dr. Miller into the ER.

There was a moderate amount of activity, particularly from a few early-morning fender-benders. Fifteen to twenty patients were waiting in the waiting area, as well as a few more back in the trauma section. The staff present at the front desk greeted Dr. Miller with smiles but cast puzzled looks at Pitt, particularly the person Pitt was scheduled to relieve.

They walked down the main corridor and were about to enter Sheila’s office when she caught sight of Kerry Winetrop, one of the hospital’s electronic technicians. Keeping all the hospital’s monitoring equipment functioning was a full-time job for several people. Sheila called out to the man, and he obligingly came over.

“My VCR had a seizure last night,” Sheila said, nodding toward the VCR in Pitt’s hands.

“Join the club,” Kerry said. “You and a bunch of other people. Apparently there was a surge in the TV cable line around the university area at quarter after ten last night. I’ve already seen a couple of players that people brought in early this morning.”

“A surge, huh,” Sheila remarked.

“My TV blew up,” Pitt said.

“At least my TV’s okay,” Sheila said.

“Was it on when the VCR blew?” Kerry asked.

“No,” Sheila said.

“Well, that’s the reason it didn’t pop,” Kerry said. “If it had been on you would have lost your picture tube.”

“Can the VCR be fixed?” Sheila asked.

“Not without essentially replacing most of the guts,” Kerry said. “To tell you the truth it’s cheaper to buy another one.”

“Too bad,” Sheila said. “I’d finally figured out how to set the clock on this one.”

Cassy hurried up the steps of Anna C. Scott High School and entered just as the bell announced the beginning of the first period. Reminding herself that getting freaked out was not going to help anything, she rushed up the main stairs and down the hall to her assigned class. She was in the middle of a month-long observation of a junior English class. This was the first time she’d been late.

Pausing at the door to brush hair from her face and smooth the front of her demure cotton dress, she couldn’t help but hear the apparent pandemonium going on inside the room. She’d expected to hear Mrs. Edelman’s strident voice. Instead there was a mishmash of voices and laughter. Cassy cracked the door and looked within.

Students were haphazardly sprinkled around the room. Some were standing, others were sitting on the radiator covers and on desks. It was a beehive of separate conversations.

Cracking the door further, Cassy could see why there was such chaos. Mrs. Edelman was not there.

Cassy swallowed hard. Her mouth had gone dry. For a second she debated what to do. Her experience with high school kids was minimal. All her student teaching had been at the elementary-school level. Deciding she had little choice and taking a deep breath, she pushed through the door.

No one paid her any attention. Advancing to Mrs. Edelman’s desk in the front of the room she saw a note in Mrs. Edelman’s script. It said simply: Miss Winthrope, I will be delayed for some minutes. Please carry on.

With her heart accelerating Cassy glanced out at the scene in front of her. She felt incompetent and an imposter. She wasn’t a teacher, not yet anyway.

“Excuse me!” Cassy called. There was no response. She called more loudly. Finally she yelled as loudly as she could, which brought forth a stunned silence. She was now graced with close to thirty pairs of staring eyes. The expressions ran the gamut from surprise to irritation at being interrupted to outright disdain.

“Please take your seats,” Cassy said. Her voice wavered more than she would have liked.

Reluctantly the students did as they were told.

“Okay,” Cassy said, trying to bolster her confidence. “I know what your assignment was, so until Mrs. Edelman arrives, why don’t we talk about Faulkner’s style in a general sense. Who’d like to volunteer to get us started?”

Cassy’s eyes roamed the room. The students who moments earlier were the picture of animation now appeared as if cut from marble. The expressions of those who were still looking at her were blank. One impertinent red-headed boy puckered his lips into a silent kiss as Cassy’s eyes briefly locked onto his. Cassy ignored the gesture.

Cassy could feel perspiration at her hairline. Things were not going well. In the back of the second row she could see a blond-headed boy engrossed with a laptop computer.

Stealing a glance at the seating chart in the middle of the desk blotter, Cassy read the boy’s name: Jonathan Sellers.

Looking back up, Cassy tried again: “Okay, everyone. I know it’s cool to kinda zone out on me. After all I’m just a student teacher and you all know a lot more about what goes on in here than I do, but... ”

At that moment the door opened. Cassy turned, hoping to see the competent Mrs. Edelman. Instead the situation took a turn for the worse. In walked Mr. Partridge, the principal.

Cassy panicked. Mr. Partridge was a dour man and a strict disciplinarian. Cassy had only met him once when her group of student teachers was going through their orientation. He’d made it very clear that he was not fond of the student-teaching program and only agreed to it under duress.

“Good morning, Mr. Partridge,” Cassy managed. “Can I help you in some way?”

“Just carry on!” Mr. Partridge snapped. “I’d been informed of Mrs. Edelman’s delay, so I thought I’d stop by to observe for a moment.”

“Of course,” Cassy said. She turned her attention back to the stony students and cleared her throat. “Jonathan Sellers,” she called out. “Perhaps you could start the discussion.”

“Sure,” Jonathan said agreeably.

Cassy let out an imperceptible sigh of relief.

“William Faulkner was a major American writer,” Jonathan said, trying to sound extemporaneous.

Cassy could tell he was reading off his LCD screen, but she didn’t care. In fact, she was grateful for his resourcefulness.

“He’s known for his vivid characterizations and, like, his convoluted style... ”

Tim Appleton sitting across from Jonathan tried vainly to suppress a laugh since he knew what Jonathan was doing.

“Okay,” Cassy said. “Let’s see how that applies to the story you all were asked to read for today.” She turned to the blackboard and wrote “vivid characters” and next to it “complex story structure.” Then she heard the door to the hall open and close. Glancing over she was relieved to see that gloomy Partridge had already departed.

Facing the class again she was pleased to see several hands up of people willing to get involved in a discussion. Before she called on one of them, Cassy gave Jonathan a tiny but grateful smile. She wasn’t sure but she thought she caught a blush before the boy looked back down at his laptop.