A Wizard of Mars, New Millennium Edition Read Free Page A

usually quite so simple, especially over there. Anyway, no question that your work’s improved the last couple of months. You’ve been trying a whole lot harder than you were before.”
    And this was true... which was why Kit couldn’t understand why he was standing here alone without a test paper in his hand.  Mama’s going to go so ballistic with me, we’ll be able to use her to launch satellites! I can’t  believe  I—
    “The problem might lie in the way your concentration comes and goes without warning, kind of like it did just then,” Mr. Mack said. “But we’ll chalk that up to end-of-term antsies, huh?” Then he grinned— an expression that Kit had rarely seen on Mr. Mack’s face before. Kit didn’t know if this was cause for alarm, but he was alarmed enough already. “Now, then—”
    Mr. Mack popped his briefcase open and pulled out one last test paper. Kit instantly recognized his own handwriting on it.
    “I thought I’d spare you the embarrassment of dealing with this in front of the class...” Mr. Mack said softly. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed that some of our older participants have issues.”
    If Kit thought he’d been sweating before, he now found that his pores had been holding out on him. Mr. Mack looked at him with a thoughtful expression.
    “And so,” he said, “because for all I know you may see some of them socially, I didn’t really want to give them a chance to make your life uncomfortable all summer because of—” and he held up the test paper— “this.”
    Kit gulped and reached for the paper, shaking slightly. At the bottom of the front page, circled, was a number:  99%.
    Kit’s eyes went wide. “Ninety-nine?” he said. “Ninety-nine!”
    “Best mark in the class,” Mr. Mack said. “Congratulations.”
    Then it hit Kit. “Ninety-nine??” he said, flipping the pages to look at them one after another. “ Why not a hundred!?”
    Mr. Mack looked at his watch. “Possibly one of the shortest bursts of gratitude on record,” he said. “Kit, I had no choice. You misspelled ‘Pyongyang.’”
    Kit was so torn between relief and completely unreasonable disappointment that all he could do was say “Oh.”
    “One ‘o,’ one ‘a,’” Mr. Mack said. “I checked. Sorry about that. But your essay was terrific. Best I’ve seen in a long while. You’re showing at least a few of the warning signs of falling in love with history.”
    Kit said nothing, partly from embarrassment at being praised, and partly because he suspected Mr. Mack was right, and he didn’t know what to make of that.
    “So you can tell your mother, who I know was giving you grief,” Mr. Mack said, “that whatever else you’ve done in your other subjects this spring, you’ve passed history with flying colors, and I’m really pleased with you. She should be, too. Tell her to get in touch if she wants any more details.”
    “She will,” Kit said.
    Mr. Mack smiled slightly. “So did mine,” he said. “Mothers. What can you do?... Go on, get out of here. And enjoy your summer.”
    Kit stuffed the paper hurriedly into his book bag and shouldered it. Mr. Mack closed his briefcase with the air of a man shutting a whole year into it, and good riddance. Then he glanced up. “Unless there was something else? Of course there was.”
    Kit gave up any hope of ever being able to put anything over this particular teacher. “Yeah. Uh—  How do you not sweat like that?”
    Mr. Mack looked briefly surprised, and then laughed out loud. “The phrasing’s unusual,” Mr. Mack said. “I take it you mean, how do I not sweat? And the answer is, I  don’t  not sweat.”
    Kit raised his eyebrows.
    “But I  do  waterproof the insides of my clothes,” Mr. Mack said.
    Kit stared at him. Mr. Mack laughed again, then, the sound of a sneaky magician giving away the secret to a really good trick. “It’s a Marine thing,” Mr. Mack said. “We used to do it on parade. We spray our shirts with