HEAR Read Free

to change this summer.”
    â€œWe did spend some time together when you were a young child, right here on campus,” Brian clarifies. “I have pictures somewhere around here . . .” He picks up one of the avalanche-worthy piles on his desk, looks underneath it, then shrugs, acknowledging the futility of the effort. “Well, I’ll find the photos at some point. Your parents would bring you when they came back for reunions. And you were also here for one of the many summer enrichment programs my colleague Chris Figg and I used to run on campus.”
    Dad had reminded me of that too. But I only have the vaguest memories of the camp and the ponytailed man who ran it. Mostly I remember that it wasn’t very camp-like. Not much fun, no swimming or volleyball, but lots of puzzle matching memory game type stuff. What stands out most vividly, still, is one mean little boy stomping on a popsicle-stick house I’d built. My first reaction was to cry; then I punched him. I think I was “excused” from the rest of the day’s activities. I don’t recall going back to camp after that.
    â€œMy parents met as students at Henley,” I tell Alex, mostly to fill the sudden silence. “At a Hounskull party. It’s one of the Concord Clubs.” I hear myself spouting the story of my parents’ romance, and I feel slightly ill.
    â€œ You wouldn’t think so looking at me, but there are some very good genes in the Black family pool,” Brian adds.
    â€œObviously.” Alex smiles agreeably and gives me a wink. “So, Kass, are you staying in the dorms with the rest of us?”
    I look at my uncle.
    â€œShe’ll be residing with me,” Brian explains. “My nephew, Kass’s father, made that a condition of her stay here.”
    â€œWell that’s too bad,” Alex replies.
    When our eyes meet, I wonder if he has a girlfriend. He must . . . though maybe they have a “what happens at Henley stays at Henley” policy?
    Brian wags his finger at Alex. “We might have to watch out for this juggler.” Before either of us can reply, he continues, “Kass, I know your dad hasn’t told you much about what’s expected of you this summer.”
    I nod, feeling Alex’s eyes on me.
    â€œAs I mentioned, HEAR stands for Henley Engineering Anomalies Research,” Brian explains. “It was established in the nineteen forties as an interdisciplinary department, comprised of engineers, physicists, neuroscientists, and psychologists.” He pauses and I feel like he’s waiting for me to ask a question.
    â€œSo . . . what do you study?”
    For some reason, this makes Alex laugh. I can feel my face getting hot again.
    â€œAs the name suggests, we study anomalies,” says my uncle, shooting a stern glance at Alex. “Phenomena that deviate from the common order.”
    â€œLet me translate,” Alex says wryly. “He means they study random stuff that no one can seem to explain.”
    â€œ You could do your research at my high school,” I say, hoping to redeem myself.
    Brian arches an eyebrow. “Really? What makes you say that?” He leans forward across his desk.
    â€œI, um . . .” I summon my confidence. “A lot of kids pride themselves on being ‘anomalies’ . . . you know, bizarre and unknowable creatures. But most of them are just basic, trying to act cool. Then there are the kids who are far from normal but have no idea that’s the case.”
    Alex laughs again. “That’s every high school, isn’t it?”
    â€œIndeed.” Brian nods. “And what we also find is that many young people who possess truly extraordinary minds try to hide their gifts. They’re worried they’ll be thought of as different, even freakish. But even average teenagers have fascinating brains from a neurological standpoint, far more interesting than the average adult