Dr. Austin caught his own reflection in the window of the library office. He smoothed his hair and beard. Then he pointed at one last stairwell. "And now, would you like to take a look at your school?"
Dr. Austin started down to the basement without waiting for a reply. He turned right at the bottom of the stairs and led the way through a hallway of whitewashed cement walls tinged green by fluorescent lighting. He stopped at a room bearing the sign PROTEIN LAB. "This is Mrs. Hodges's kitchen, from which you will receive your delicious and nutritious protein shakes."
They then walked past a series of classrooms with signs such as MATH 6 and SOCIAL STUDIES 6. Kate thought, This is it. This is the mushroom farm.
When Kate spotted a door that said WORKROOM, she spoke for the first time on the tour. "Is this where old Mr. Pogorzelski died?"
Dr. Austin appeared surprised that Kate was still there. "Yes," he answered cautiously. "Yes, it is. Mr. Pogorzelski died right in this room, on the job."
"From what?"
Dr. Austin's eyes shot to the door. "From old age. The poor man was nearly sixty when Pogo was born. He was in his nineties when he died."
They retraced their steps to the lobby with no further talk and ascended from the basement just as Cornelia, Ma, Pa, and June descended in Elevator #2.
As they waited for the elevator, Dr. Austin commented, "This building is distinguished both for what you see and for what you don't see."
Kate was startled by this sudden admission. She mouthed the word, "Ghosts?"
But Dr. Austin meant something else entirely. "Unlike many formerly great American libraries, this one has not been converted into a flophouse for the homeless."
The elevator doors opened. Ma, Pa, and June walked out ahead of Cornelia, like robbery victims. Kate and George fell in step with them, and the five family members took off, without another word, toward the exit.
Kate's brief interest in the building's mysteries vanished as soon as she hit the night air. Shortly into the ride home, she turned around in the front seat and leveled another piercing look at George. "So, George Melvil? Did he win you over? Are you going to be one of Dr. Austin's little super test takers?"
George was offended, but he tried to hide it. "No. But you must admit, he was nice to me. He treated me like somebody important."
"So what? You don't think the same thing would happen at Lincoln?"
"No, I don't think it would," George answered sincerely. "I think I'd be just another geeky little sixth grader. Someone to make fun of and to push into the lockers. Then I'd be a geeky seventh grader, and then a geeky eighth grader."
Kate couldn't think of anything to say to that. She told him, "Fine, then. You should go to the Whittaker Magnet School, for ten thousand dollars a year. If it's the best school for you, you should go there. Lincoln's the best school for me, so I should go there. For free."
George replied bluntly, "But you can't go there. You no longer live in the Lincoln school district. You live in the Whittaker district now."
"I live exactly where I've always lived!"
"But the district lines have changed, and there's nothing you can do about it. It's over, Kate. What's done is done."
Kate stared at him angrily for five more seconds, then she turned away. As they drove along next to the dark river, she thought about her uncle's words, What's done is done. She answered them silently: And what's done can be undone, too. Some way. Somehow.
11. The First Class, the First Test
The first day at the Whittaker Magnet School began with an assembly in the lobby. Dr. Austin made some remarks about the school's "national championship test scores." He read aloud e-mails from the state's governor, two senators, and seven representatives congratulating Whittaker on its success. He urged everyone to "keep Whittaker's winning streak going."
Kate wasn't really listening until she heard him say, "It is especially important for indigent students, such as Kate Peters and George Melvil, to use every minute here wisely. Their parents will be performing menial tasks right here in front of them in hopes that young Kate and George can someday lead better lives."
Kate could only look down at her feet, so complete was her humiliation. George whispered, "It's going to be okay, Kate."
"No, it isn't. Didn't you hear him? He just made us the poster kids for poverty."
Dr. Austin next introduced the school's teachers, but not by name. He called them simply "the Dozen." The Dozen stepped forward and formed a straight line in front of the students. Each teacher wore an identification badge showing his or her subject and grade. Each held out a list of names at arm's length, like a medieval proclamation.
The returning Whittaker students knew what to do, and George followed their lead. He approached all the teachers with 6s on their badges —MATH 6, SOCIAL STUDIES 6, READING 6, and SCIENCE 6. He found his name on each teacher's list and noted when he was scheduled to attend each class.
Kate remained sitting in her chair amid the swirl of students. George knew better than to talk to her at that moment. Instead, he approached the teachers with 8s on their badges and compiled Kate's schedule for her. Then he sat down and asked her gently, "Are you going to be okay?"
"No."
"What can I do to help you?"
"Uncle George, what if I just walked out of here and took a bus to Lincoln?"
"They wouldn't let you register at Lincoln. Taxpayers' dollars for the education of Kate Peters go to Whittaker now."
"This can't be happening. I'm supposed to be at Lincoln. With normal kids. There must be a way out of here."
"There might be. But for now, you're stuck. You have to accept that."
The lobby grew quiet as students poured down the stairwell, like grain down a chute. George pressed Kate's schedule into her hand. "You start with math eight; I start with math six. Then we move to social studies eight and six, reading eight and six, and science eight and six. After that, we go home. Okay?"
Kate looked at the empty lobby and the gaping hole of the stairwell. "We wouldn't go home at Lincoln. We'd go to play practice, or band practice, or soccer practice." She sighed deeply and then trudged down to the basement with George.
George spotted his math 6 classroom and ducked inside. Kate continued down three corridors, under sputtering fluorescent lights, until she found math 8.
She walked in and took the last available seat, all the way in the back, in the row farthest from the door. She looked around at the room. The walls were whitewashed rectangular blocks, completely bare. Then she looked at her classmates. The lights gave them all an unhealthy greenish pallor. Aside from a big goofy boy who had to move his feet to let her pass, none made eye contact with her. She decided that she would have no friends here. These were not her people. These were Mushroom Children.
Kate heard a rattling sound out in the corridor, joined by the squeak of metal wheels. Then Dr. Austin entered, talking rapidly. "Good morning, students. It is nearly time to begin today's testing. But, first, whenever you see this rolling refrigerator, you know that you are in for a treat!"
He pointed to the open doorway. Kate could barely make out the stiff figure of Mrs. Hodges, posed with her hands atop a steel coffinlike contraption.
"Mrs. Hodges and her assistant, Pogo, make delightful energy drinks for you right here in the basement's Protein Lab. Here at Whittaker, we are pioneering the use of herbal derivatives—ginseng, Ginkoba, gotu kola—just to name a few. The human brain is a unique machine. It needs its own special fuel to keep it running smoothly." He faced the doorway and called, "Thank you, Mrs. Hodges," prompting her to push the rattling refrigerator farther down the hall.
Dr. Austin turned again to the class. "Let me explain your seating arrangement. It has been worked out with mathematical precision, again to optimize your performance on assessments.
"You will sit in four rows; each row will have four desks." Dr. Austin came to a stop at the head of the row closest to the door. "Traditionally, this first seat in the f
irst row belongs to the student who achieves the highest test scores the preceding week. Conversely"—Dr. Austin pointed to the seat that Kate had chosen—"the last seat in the last row belongs to the student who received the lowest test scores."
Then Dr. Austin addressed the teacher for the first time. "Now, Math Eight, I will leave you to your duties."
Kate turned her attention to her first-period teacher. She was pretty, Kate thought. She was dressed in a dark blue blazer with matching skirt and a white blouse.
Kate relaxed a little, expecting to hear about classroom procedures, rules, objectives, and so on. Instead she heard, "Please take out two sharpened number-two pencils." Math 8 then passed out a pile of booklets.
When Kate got hers, she read the cover: The New Jersey Test of Basic Math Skills. She leaned toward the goofy boy and hissed, "What's this? We have a test on the first day?"
He shot a fearful glance at Math 8. Then he whispered, without moving his head, "Well, yeah. We have a test every day. In every class. That's what we do."
Kate broke into a grin. "You can't be serious."
The boy did not respond.
Kate's grin faded slowly. Then, like every other student in her classroom and every other student in the school, she opened the test booklet and began to bubble in answers.
The students worked in silence for fifty-five minutes, after which Math 8 announced, 'Torn: time is up. Put down your pencils." She led them back through the test, page by page, revisiting each question and demonstrating how to find the correct answer.
Then a soft bell intoned, and Kate got up and filed next door, in step with the Mushroom Children.
12. Democracy in Action
A well-dressed woman in the next classroom briefly introduced herself as Social Studies 8. Then she announced, "We will not be testing today. Instead, we will be taking a field trip upstairs to the County Commission Room. Before we do, please make note of your first essay topic. The essay, in five-paragraph format, is due to me on Friday." Social Studies 8 held up an index card and read out: "Why the Homeless Should Be Banned from Public Libraries."
Kate dutifully wrote down the topic, as did fourteen other members of her class. One did not. A skinny boy in a blazer and tie was not writing. He was leaning forward and leering at Kate. She realized then that one of the Mushroom Children in this class was Whit Austin himself.
The students rode upstairs together in the steel-lined service elevator. Whit stood right behind Kate, too close for Kate's comfort.
Upon arriving on the eighth floor, they formed a line outside the County Commission Room. Kate looked through the Plexiglas and saw Cornelia Whittaker-Austin inside speaking to a group of adults.
As the students waited, Whit casually removed a book from a case marked PRIVATE COLLECTION—DO NOT TOUCH—THIS MEANS YOU! He perused the contents for barely three seconds then shoved it roughly back into the case, still opened, breaking its leather spine.
Then the students filed inside and sat on folding chairs, except for Whit, who took a seat upon the white dais. Cornelia asked everyone to stand while Whit led them in the Pledge of Allegiance, with one modification. It now ended,"...with liberty and justice for all in this great building erected by the Whittakers."
The center seat on the dais was occupied by a flitty birdlike woman whose silver jewelry clanked when she moved. A sign on the table in front of her read CHAIR, KING'S COUNTY COMMISSION. The four remaining seats on the dais were occupied by men in suits. Signs in front of them indicated only that they were representatives of Technon Industries.
The chairwoman gaveled the meeting to order. "I am Susan Singer-Wright, chair of the County Commission. Before we begin today, my husband wants to say one little old thing. What is it, Bud?"
A portly man in a loud sports coat stood. "I just want to say a quick word to these Whittaker students. You're gonna hear about an audition that's coming up. We're looking for the right girl to play that big, lonely fish Orchid the Orca in a very special performance."
Susan rattled her wrist jewelry at him. "Now, Bud, we're going to hear more about that very special performance in just a few minutes. First, we have some exciting news from the director of Library Services for King's County and the distinguished headmaster of our wonderful Whittaker Magnet School, Dr. J. Kendall Austin."
Dr. Austin rose from his seat and stood before the students and adults in attendance. He spoke as if he were narrating a historical documentary. "On Monday of this week, Dr. J. Kendall Austin received two FedEx letters from the White House in Washington, D.C.
"The first was from the chief of staff of the First Lady of the United States." He lifted up a letter and read, "'Dear Dr. Austin: The First Lady accepts your invitation to tour the Whittaker Building on Tuesday, October sixth. The Secret Service will contact you this week to make arrangements for a preliminary security screening. We look forward to a mutually beneficial visit. Signed, Rosetta Turner.'"
He shuffled the papers. "The second letter was from the Secret Service. 'Dear Dr. Austin: The president of the United States is considering your school, the Whittaker Magnet School, to be the site of a major presidential address on education. You will be contacted soon about potential security arrangements. Signed, Special Agent James J. McCoy.'"
Cornelia leaped to her feet and started to applaud. The county commissioners followed suit. But Dr. Austin raised the letters high, a signal to quiet the celebration. "Please! Wait for the official announcement. The White House and the Secret Service like to do things their own way."
"Thank you, Doctor," Susan Singer-Wright said. "We'll all hush till we hear that announcement. Now let's move on to old business. As you all recall, we faced a lawsuit from the families of those construction workers who died here a couple of weeks back. Our county coroner has determined the facts of that case and is ready to present them to us today. Dr. Cavendar?"
A gaunt old man rose from a chair in the back. Dr. Cavendar, the King's County coroner, could have been mistaken for one of his autopsy subjects. He was ancient and unhealthily thin. He wore a threadbare black suit that looked like it had been robbed from a corpse several decades before.
The doctor made his way to the front, stepping spryly for someone his age. He faced the commissioners, moving his mouth only as much as needed. "I have completed the coroner's report on the three workers who allegedly fell to their deaths in the lobby of the King's County Library Building."
Dr. Cavendar removed an index card from his suit pocket and read from it. "The autopsy revealed that the oldest of the three men had a simple heart attack, a coronary occlusion, totally unrelated to his work on the library roof. My examination confirmed that he would have died of that heart attack at that hour, of that day, regardless of where he had been or what he was doing.
"Unfortunately, in his desperation, he clutched at two innocent coworkers. Once he latched on, he would not let go. The three of them crashed through a hole in the roof. It was, of course, entirely the first man's fault.
"Earlier this morning, the county prosecutor tried him in absentia before a grand jury. He was found guilty and convicted of two counts of first-degree manslaughter. Because of this conviction, the families of the other two workers are barred from suing King's County for damages."
Susan peered around the room. "And are any of those people here today?"
"No. I suspected a touch of tuberculosis in one of them. I had their homes quarantined until we can be sure that none of them are contagious."
Susan nodded appreciatively. "Of course. We certainly can't take any chances with the public health. Then, if there are no objections, this case is closed." Susan banged her gavel, and Dr. Cavendar started back to his seat. "Thank you, Doctor. Good work.
"Next, for you students, we have a special treat. As you know, the county commissioners select a best essay every week from the students here at Whittaker. Well, the commissioners got together over the summer, looked at all of those prize essays, and selected the best essay fo
r all of last year. Once again, it's that rascal Whit Austin who won. That boy sure can write!"
Whit stood up and surveyed the crowd casually. Then he stopped. Kate realized, with a sudden chill, that he was staring at her again. He held out his hand, took a piece of paper from his mother, and read from it flatly, "'Why Higher Test Scores Mean Higher Real Estate Values,' by Cornell Whittaker Austin.
"The higher the test scores, the more people who want to move into your school district. The more people who move into your school district, the higher the tax revenues. The higher the tax revenues, the more money to invest in the schools. The more money to invest in schools, the higher the test scores." Whit handed the paper back to his mother and sat down.
"That was so compact and eloquent," Cornelia commented. "Just like Abraham Lincoln's Gettysburg Address. It combined—"
Susan pounded the gavel. Cornelia glared at her, but she stopped talking. Susan said, "Now on to new business. Our first petitioner today is Mr. Bud Wright."
Bud Wright walked forward to the dais, but he swiveled so that he could address everyone. "As all of you know, I purchased that big community swimming pool three years ago. Nobody else wanted it, so I bought it. I turned it into an educational destination, a place that fulfilled our students' science requirements and that doubled as a fun family attraction.
"Well, now Bud Wright's Swim-with-a-Dolphin Aquatic Park is officially dead. It died two weeks ago, when my old male dolphin went belly up, and my new female dolphin, as you all know, turned out to be an orca. A damn killer whale. She's swimming around that big pool right now, sucking down about a ton of seafood every day."
Susan interrupted gently. "Can the commission do anything about this?"
Bud nodded. "Yes, darlin', it can. I need a new direction for the aquatic park. Nobody wants to swim with an orca. I can tell you that. They got a bad reputation that way. But! If we could get another orca, a male mate for this here female one, we could save the park. I know we could.