Connect the Stars Read Free Page A

have an onboard computer like mine, and I can see how you might get that impression. Automatic hundreds on everytest, and no pesky studying, right?
    If only things were that simple.
    Not that I’m complaining. My brain does come in handy. If you need to know all the vice presidents in chronological order, or the definition of onomatopoeia, or what the fourteenth element on the periodic table is, then I’m your man. In first grade, when Hardy Gillooly picked me to be on his football team at recess, I dropped six straight passes, and he got sort of mad, but after I recited every single Heisman Trophy winner since 1932 at lunch, he forgot all about it, and we’ve been best friends ever since.
    On the other hand, if you want to know something that’s not written down anywhere, like how a king feels about his kingdom, or the true meaning of a poem—well, I’m coming to that.
    When I got to seventh grade, my English teacher, Mrs. Dunaway, who was also the Quiz Masters coach, told me I should join the team. Which turned out to be a good idea. My teammates elected me captain, and we swept all our matches leading up to the state finals, where we were favored to win the Pennsylvania State Quiz Masters Championship. For six straight years, the Dolley Madison Destroyers of West Chester County (that’s us) had been runners-up to the Philbrick Philosophers of Pittsburgh, but this season, that was going to change.
    All the pieces were in place. The sixth grade had thrown a car wash to buy us uniforms with our names on the back. The student council had held a bake sale to raise money for a nutritious lunch at the Spaghetti Factory before the competition started. The volunteer fire department had made a donation so we could ride to Harrisburg in a limo, a yellow stretch Hummer.
    The West Chester Watchman did an article on us and put our picture on the front page: Hardy Gillooly, Jimmy Stell, Andrea Lark, and me. The reporter made it official. In letters two inches high, she declared DESTROYERS DOMINATE: THIS IS DOLLEY MADISON’S YEAR!
    On the ride to Harrisburg for state finals, Mrs. Dunaway ran the team through one last set of drills. To simulate actual game-time conditions, she sat us in a row on the backseat of the Hummer, set a bell on the little table bolted to the floor, and barked questions at us.
    â€œHistory,” she began. “The Smoot-Hawley Tariff was signed in what year?”
    Ding. “Nineteen thirty,” I said.
    â€œGeography. The nation bordered by Ethiopia, Somalia, and Eritrea is—”
    Ding. “Djibouti,” I said.
    â€œWild Card,” said Mrs. Dunaway.
    I liked Wild Card. It could get interesting.
    â€œOf the two most famous T.E.s in history, one is Thomas Ernest ‘T. E.’ Hulme, noted British poet, and the other is—”
    Ding. “Thomas Edward ‘T. E.’ Lawrence, 1888 to 1935, also known as Lawrence of Arabia,” I said. Of course, there was also T. E. Newell, who played one game at shortstop for the St. Louis Brownstockings in 1877, got zero hits in three at-bats, and disappeared before anybody could find out what his T. E. stood for, but no way was he up there with Lawrence of Arabia, so I kept him to myself.
    â€œCorrect,” said Mrs. Dunaway. “Geology. The temperature at the Earth’s core is—” began Mrs. Dunaway.
    Ding. “Ten thousand eight hundred degrees Fahrenheit, or six thousand Celsius,” I said.
    â€œSo,” said Mrs. Dunaway, setting down her notecards, “the team strategy is to depend on Aaron for all the answers?”
    â€œExactly!” replied Hardy.
    â€œYes, ma’am!” said Jimmy.
    â€œI guess,” sighed Andrea.
    â€œAndrea?” said Mrs. Dunaway.
    â€œIt’s just that sometimes—” began Andrea.
    â€œYes?” prodded Mrs. Dunaway.
    â€œI feel kind of awkward,” said Andrea. “I wish the restof us had more to do. I mean, I