"This is the test that you took last week. Please remain quiet in class while I distribute these. After that, she gave each student an envelope with their name on it. Except for a compiled score, neither the school district nor the teachers are aware of the results. The purpose of this was to assess the intelligence of students in this grade level for the federal government. We can't use it to change what you're learning or where you're in class. Open it at home and show your parents what it says. She said, "See you tomorrow," as she gave the last envelope to someone.

I quickly got up from my seat and headed for the side exit when the bell rang. I slowed down to open the envelope once I was off school property. I didn't have to listen to the other kids' teasing because, fortunately, I drove them all away. I carefully slipped my finger under the envelope's front flap, taking care not to tear the paper.

I slid the folded piece of paper out as I lifted the flap to see what was inside. It didn't mean anything to me when I looked at it. Although the numbers were very large, a series of them were listed under various headings. The categories were also strange, and there was no way to tell what they were. This was a total disappointment. These tests typically included percentages compared to other students. That is the very thing I needed to see. There wasn't so much as a clarification with regards to what the numbers implied.

As I was studying it, I felt a sudden surge of pain that filled my entire world, and I almost lost consciousness when the air in my lungs suddenly disappeared. I was struggling to breathe as I lay on the ground.

"Little monster, what's the matter? As I began to control my breathing, I heard, "You can read my mind, so you should have known that was coming."

Jamie was watching me when I looked up. Even when he was in the first grade, he had always been the meanest of the kids. I wished he had been shipped out and come from a military family, but that wasn't my luck.

He punched me in the face before I could say anything—not that I would—or even stand up. I tasted and felt a lot of blood in my mouth.

Pinky: "If I have to beat you up, you'll cry." I merely sat there without speaking. After that, he picked me up and balled my shirt in his fist.

He punched me multiple times in the stomach and then repeatedly in the face as soon as I got back up. Because it really hurt, I prayed that I could take his punishment. However, I wouldn't allow myself to cry.

I overheard someone say, "Jamie, get away from her." I saw his mother as I looked over. I had previously seen her, but I didn't really know her. She never seemed to punish him for hurting me, even though she had stopped him from severely beating me in the past.

I picked up my test results once more and put them back in the envelope before continuing my walk home. My hair bothered me. Why was my hair required to be pink? Although it wasn't actually pink, it frequently appeared to be, and I detested that. As I walked home, I had visions of shaving it all off with the clippers. That would eliminate the issue, at least until it reappeared.

My mouth was bleeding, my face and stomach were severely hurting, and even though the walk was short, it seemed to take much longer than usual. When I got home, I immediately went to the kitchen with the intention of purchasing a snack and perhaps some ice for my face. My mind was still racing with thoughts of the clippers.

Be that as it may, I came to an unexpected end when I saw Momma and Daddy finding a spot at the table with a more seasoned man and a sort of youthful looking lady. The man had silver hair and seemed as though somebody's granddad, yet he additionally sort of seemed as though one of those priggish legislators or attorneys. He was sort of a cross between the two. The individual was significantly younger than Mrs. Hartman.

Understanding this was grown up talk, I chose to go to my room and stand by to get a tidbit. In addition, I needed to wash my hands in the bathroom. In any case, I should not have interrupted them while they were speaking.

As I attempted to sneak back out, Momma said, "Shirley, please come sit down."

"Yes, Madame," I brought the guest chair up to the table next to Daddy and snatched it up there. As I sat, Mom and Daddy probably tried to figure out why I was acting strange by looking at me. But I always behaved strangely.

I was taken aback when Daddy asked, "Would you tell us what happened?"

In response, I asked, "Nothing, why?"

"Because you're a little scuffed and have a little swelling on your face."

I responded, "I'm fine, Daddy." We also had guests, so I didn't want them to worry about something they couldn't control. Daddy and Momma gave each other a brief glance, but they did not push any further.

“So Shirley Brager is here. As if nothing had happened, the older man said, "It is a real pleasure to meet you."

I stood and gave him a polite handshake because I was aware of what was expected. It was nice to meet you, sir.

Such politeness. This is Mrs. Trulin, the director of new student orientation. My name is Headmaster Michael. We're from Oakmont Preparatory School,” he said with a light, jovial chuckle.

My thoughts seemed to have stopped working as soon as he finished speaking. My whole body started to sweat, and I started thinking about Mr. Radnick. I almost felt like he was gently touching me. His hand was underneath my skirt, and he was gently rubbing the top of my leg, which was a little bit above the bottom of my skirt. I forced myself back to the real world with a lot of effort and the gentle rub of Daddy's hand on my back, forcing the memories back into my mind.

Like the Headmaster, the woman extended her hand to shake mine. I nearly fell to the ground as a sharp pain shot through my head as I grabbed her hand. The initial jolt passed quickly, but there was a sensation that persisted for some time afterward. When you looked at a bright light or maybe saw lightning very close, the memory was like an afterimage.

I didn't know what to say because I hadn't heard of Oakmont Preparatory School and was getting my thoughts back. I sat down and just looked up at him, thinking that silence would be better. The old man then smiled slightly wider. I apologize. Most likely, you are unaware of our school. We think you might be one of the most gifted children in the nation, and Oakmont is a special school just for students with certain talents.

That quickly caught my attention. A school exclusively for gifted students? It made me wonder whether it was in South Anchorage. It must have been since they were here in our house because I had never heard of it. It might not even have been a boarding school. Although it could have been down on the Kenai, Anchorage seemed like a more logical choice. After all, Anchorage was the state's only large city. Of course, the government frequently constructs odd structures, but private boarding schools, as far as I knew, were not.

"Shirl, don't worry about it yet. Daddy looked over at me and said, "We haven't decided to allow it because they haven't told us what they're offering." I was unsure whether to be happy or sad. It would be amazing for me to attend a school where I could actually learn, but I was not interested in attending another boarding school.

"Well, we definitely want to make your daughter an offer to attend Oakmont. Her FICAT scores were made available to us, and we are very impressed. That test is a very good way to see how gifted a student is. It is superior to all others, which is why it is being tested as it is. Headmaster Michael stated, "There'd probably be a similar offer for your son in a year or two if she attends and does well."

When the FICAT was mentioned, I thought back to the scores in my lap-held folder. I generally had the organizer, which contained anything project I was chipping away at. It currently contained my work on that math thesis, as well as the FICAT scores envelope. I had a strong desire to give them the scores and possibly learn what they meant.

Daddy turned to look at me as Headmaster Michael finished his work. I suppose it was evident that I was eager to speak. Shirley, yes. Knowing me so well, Daddy asked, "What is it?"

I burst into words like the top of a shaken soda bottle. They gave us the scores today, Daddy. I was extremely excited, but I am unsure of their meaning. When comparing my scores to those of other children, they don't have the usual numbers.

The Headmaster inquired, "Mr. Brager, may I explain?"

In response, Daddy stated,

“Shirley, the evaluation of your knowledge as measured by the test is what the scores are. It is not intended to evaluate you in comparison to other people but rather to you alone. It measures your level of education and a few other mental abilities. By and large, it is a proportion of your true capacity," he informed me, and stopped, allowing me to process that.

“The agency that oversees the test forwarded your scores to us because we want to use that test to find the best students across the country because your potential is so high. We want the kind of scores you have at our school. He paused once more and said, "You have unique talents that we want to help train." Just to let you know that you ranked among the top 1% of students nationwide for your gifts, out of everyone who has ever taken this test. This seems to mean a lot to you.